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saltymongoose · 2 years

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OK SO I REALLY LIKE THE IDEA OF TAKING OTHER CHARACTERS INTO MADCOM AND SINCE GoW IS ONE OF MY FAVE GAMES I HAD TO

I feel like Kratos would tolerate the your other vassals at best. He doesn't have the patients to deal or even talk to them since all they do is try to pry into his past or compare themselves to himself. He's only focused on what needs to be done and that's it. He also only really talks/listens to you, since he knows he can trust you, which probably leads to a lot of conversations where the others try to chime in but are ignored (Trying to teach Kratos about guns with the others and he only responds to them like 😒ok)

Also if you brought in young Kratos before the fall, Phobos would be dead in -5 seconds. Would also lead to Kratos not trusting you much because Phobos being so "Ohh Player my lord and savior💖" would lead him to believe you ARE a god.

I would write more but I can't come up with words and I'm bad at writing. Idk if you like GoW but I wanted to share anyway <:))

😱OMFG!! THIS IS SO COOL!!! I would have never thought of Kratos in Madcom without this; this is amazing, I love it. You're definitely right in how he would only really be tolerant of the grunts, but would in no way entertain them and their inquiries. They're untrustworthy compared to you, and they don't really have any legitimate reason to be prying into his personal life, so he could care less about interacting with them in any broader way than just being cordial.

If anything, he'd be most focused on getting home, since he has his son to watch over and who knows what trouble has found Atreus without him there to keep an eye on things. And you'd immediately assist him with this because that's what you do.

(Rest under the cut because this response got long.)

The others would probably be curious about Kratos and very interested in his abilities at first (their Player said he was a legitimate God and there isn't anyone else like that in Nevada, at least not to the extent you described him as). However, Kratos is so unresponsive that nothing gets answered or elaborated on; speaking to him is like talking to a brick wall, he just ignores everything they say and do. Asking him questions or trying to give him new weapons yields no response. The only time they actually see him fight is if you need him to, most likely for your protection (in which case they'd be distracted by killing targets themselves, so they can't take in everything anyway).

Honestly, to the others it probably feels like they're "third-wheeling" or something like that, since Kratos really only listens and responds to you, and you're so focused on helping him that they don't get much attention. You also have drawn-out discussions with the man sometimes, and the grunts have to just sit and watch silently because you're too immersed in the conversation while Kratos simply ignores any attempts they make to add their own input. A side-eye is the most they'll get out of him, and nothing more. It's very weird for the grunts, but it's not like you're gonna ask Kratos to be nicer to them and he won't change regardless.

I can honestly imagine Deimos complaining about it to Sanford as well, like a "What's up with this guy? Who the hell does he think he is?" type deal. Your grunts can argue that Kratos doesn't value you as much as they do since he doesn't shower you in praise or affection, but it's not like the point would make much of a difference; you'll still help the God out, and you have a long history that makes you doubting him very unlikely. Plus, the guy was married and lost his wife pretty recently, and he's got a kid, the last thing you'd want or expect is for him to show any feelings towards you beyond respect or trust.

And you also want to make sure Atreus stays safe too, so Kratos needs to get back home asap. Though at this point, Doc is honestly considering having the S.Q. help you find a way to get Kratos back to wherever he's from, so at least you have their assistance in that. It'd certainly stop him from being a nuisance to them in how he's interrupted their routine with you.

As for young Kratos, there isn't any question, any threat would be just eviscerated immediately - especially regarding the "God Emperor" of Nevada. I'm not sure if Kratos would completely turn against the Player because of how Phobos worships them as a God, but I do agree that he'd be more suspicious of them. Then again, Phobos is also a fool, so you could just play it off by saying that he mistakenly thought you were a deity, which is the truth. Though given that Kratos' history is filled with betrayal, it doesn't fully appease him.

With this case, I think it would probably be best to just reinforce the notion that you don't want or need him to do anything specific for you; he's not your errand boy and he has no "oath" towards you, unlike what the other gods demanded of him, so that could help a lot with repairing the trust you had. He's strong and can protect you, but you don't have a task for him to do. Even killing Phobos could have been done by another one of your vessels, so he has the free will to do what he wants (it's just more helpful to have him assist in getting you both where you need to be since you do have to get him home at some point).

[Also, can I just take a moment to fawn over this art? I've always loved the way you draw the boys, but omg, this is just phenomenal. I love the facial expressions they have, and just how your designs for them look (Hank's goggles especially, the way you colored them adds a lot of dimension). And Kratos too, he looks so cool and you really captured the essence of him well. I am just in awe, thank you so much! ❤️💕💗💖💝]

#tw: yandere #Kratos is an a+ dad #(And Deimos was actually his brother in GoW so that's pretty weird)#Ragnarok is coming out soon so I'm excited to see how that looks haha #GoW is honestly such an interesting series #distressedwalnut #other's art #ask

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91percentpynch · 3 years

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jean moreau x pride months

happy pride month kids, here‘s some wholesome jerejean content for your soul!! does this make any sense? no. is it a mess? yes. hope you enjoy this!!

the first pride month

it‘s the beginning of june and jeremy starts acting weird

he smiles more, the real smile normally reserved for winning an exy game or when he‘s alone with jean

he started drawing flags on his face or on his eye lids, jeremy never wore make-up, not more than his usual eyeliner and nail polish

„what does that mean?“, jean asks, pointing at the flags on his cheeks.

„the pink, yellow, blue one means i‘m pan. you know, i like more than one gender, i told you that already. and the grey, purple, white and black one that looks like an arrow? that means i‘m demisexual, you know how i only feel sexual attraction to people i have a bond with? that‘s demisexual. those are pride flags, it‘s pride month. didn‘t you know that?“

of course jean didn‘t know, after all he was locked up in a bassement for 10 years and he didn‘t exactly talk the first time he came over here last year at the end of june.

„what‘s pride month?“, jean asked softly, knowing that jeremy would never judge him, never think he was stupid.

„it‘s a month for lgbtqa+ folks. that stands for lesbians, gays, bisexuals, transgender, questioning, asexuals, aromantics and everything inbetween. we celebrate ourselves this month, show how proud we are of ourselves and our community. we celebrate marsh johnson, the black transgender, gay sex worker who started the riots, stonewell, and basically threw a brick at a police officer and started the fight for gay rights“

„how do you know you‘re not straight?“, jean asked quietly. thinking about the way his mind keeps wandering back to jeremy, keeps wandering back to the thought of kissing him, holding his hand, the feeling of his soft, badly dyed ginger hair between his fingers.

„well i always payed more attention to the personality, than the gender. i never really cared what‘s between the legs. and it took me quite a while to figure out that i only feel sexual attraction to people when i have a connection to them“

„have you ever kissed a guy?“, jean asked, curiously now. in the nest it was forbidden, but kevin wanted to try it once, in the dark of the night, the saftey of their room. jean couldn‘t tell if he enjoyed it or not, he never really felt any kind of attraction really. only bone deep fear. burning anger. and whatever the fuck his heart was doing when kevin held him close.

„yeah, i had a boyfriend throughout highschool, sophmore year until the end of summer of our senior year. and then freshman year of college i had this girlfriend who was really controlling and yeah. that‘s it. have you?“, his voice was soft, it reminded jean of the sunlight forming some kind of halo behind jeremy.

„kevin wanted to try it once. riko caught us. that‘s how it began“, jean replied, a shadow crossing over both his and jeremy‘s face. in a moment of weakness, at the beginning, jean told jeremy what they did to him in the nest, after jeremy accidentally touched him from behind.

„do you want to try it again?“, jeremy asked, a small smile on his lips. „with me, that is“, he added, barely audible.

„okay“, jean replied, leaning in.

jean was a couple inches taller than jeremy, and jeremy had to stand on his tiptoes to close the last few inches between them.

it was a soft kiss, a different than the stolen ones from kevin. better. these tasted like sunlight, like warmth, like home.

jean kissed jeremy back. carefully, softly, being scared he would break him, destroy him with his darkness.

„how was it?“, jeremy smiled at him after they were done, exchanging kisses, not stealing them. they were equals, no one would hurt him for wanting this

„i think i‘m only attracted to you“, jean admitted quietly. „but like not sexually. i don‘t like sex. never did. i never thought anyone was sexually attractive, i never wanted this and i still don‘t. i‘m sorry“

„you don‘t have to apologize, jean. that‘s being called asexual, the lack of sexual attraciton that is. and the not wanting sex part? sex repulsed. very valid. i will never be like them, i will never force you to do anyhting you‘re not comfortable with“

„and what if you miss having sex and want it and i can‘t give it to you?“, jean asked, tears burning behind his eyes. „i‘m not worth of your light, your warmth, your love as it is. i‘m broken, i‘m dark, i‘m everything you don‘t deserve. you deserve someone who is fixed and happy and can give you the entire world and go places without a panic attack and and and“

„ssh, jean. it‘s alright. it‘s alright. i want you. no one but you. i really, really like you and i am glad you like me to. you‘re not broken, you‘re not dark. you are wonderful. and no one is fixed, we‘re all a little broken in our own ways. i struggled with an eating disorder. i have adhd. sometimes i feel a little sad without any reason and can‘t get out of bed. sometimes i can‘t sleep and other days i could sleep for days. i don‘t need the entire world, i just need you“

it was this june, about a year after jean arrived in california, that he not only found a person who saw more in him than his scars, but a person who loved him not despite of them but for them

the second pride month

it‘s been a year since jean and jeremy kissed for the first time. a year full of highs and lows, fights and making up, miscommunication and cuddles, sweet kisses and ones tasting of tears. but it was also the year jean figured out that he might not be a boy after all.

„do you ever feel like you‘re not a entirely a boy?“, jean asked softly, threading his fingers through jeremy‘s soft blonde hair.

„dude, i‘m genderfluid, remember? alvarez bursted in our room and threw these in our face so people could refer to me with the right pronouns“

„that‘s why you changed your middle name to sol isn‘t it? because you like the sun and you like your hispanic heritage and it‘s a female name?“

„exactamente mi corazón“

„what are you today?“, jean asked softly, as he did every day.

„they/them, i don‘t feel like a guy or a girl today. just vibing“

„i- i think i‘m not entirely a boy either. like i know i was born as a boy and i‘m okay with that. but i feel like there‘s more to that. i can‘t put it in words but i think i want to try to go by he/ they. what do you call those people who don‘t quite find in the binary? i think i‘m that“

„that‘s nonbinary darling. i‘m proud of you. you‘re doing great“

jean didn‘t know how to repeat to that so he just decided to pull jeremy closer to him.

this pride month jean found a little part of himself, another puzzle piece to the mystery that his own person and it felt like a tiny little step towards a future he never dreamt he would have.

it was also the month he started wearing nail polish, because he loved the look on jeremy‘s face when they did them. occasionally he will wear some eyeliner.

the third pride month

another year passed, this year jean got himself a support dog. to help with the anxiety attacks. to help him heal.

it‘s a dalmatiner, called luna. she was trained to feel when he is uncomfortable and come closer to him, licking his hands, being close, being there

it is also the month he wanted to join jeremy for pride

„what are you today?“

„a girl i think. jeremy or sol are both fine“

„will you draw the flags on my face?“, he asked on the day of the parade.

„are you sure you want to go honey?“, sol asked softy, while she went to the bathroom to get her things.

„would i have asked if it wasn‘t moi amour?“, jean replied. „wait hold on, don‘t answer that“, he laughed looking at jeremy‘s face.

„but i‘m sure. first of all it makes you happy. second of all you missed it the last two years. third of all it will piss kevin off and i love that almost as much as i love. and lastly i have luna, she makes sure i‘m fine and i can always leave when i feel uncomfortable“

„okay, babe. what do you want me to do?“

„i want my flags on my face and maybe you can do my nails“, jean replied, smiling at jeremy as he did ever so often. „cover the tatoo, will you?“, he asked softly, touching the cursed three, counting the days for his cover up appointment in july.

„it‘s soon gone honey. it‘s gonna be alright“, jeremy whispered, feeling the tension in jean‘s shoulders.

„which color do you want your nails? mine are pastel rainbow look! alvarez got me those for my birthday last month! do you want matching nails?“

„whatever you want darling, you can choose“

„neat!“

this year jeremy‘s hair were a soft pink. it was 2 am when he bursted into the room whisper shouting „jean i‘m gay i must do something drastic to my hair. help me?“ and who was jean to question his beautiful date mate.

so jeremy took jean‘s face carefully in his hands, starting to draw jean‘s pride flags (demiromantic, asexual, nonbinary) on his face, hiding his tattoo underneath the black/ white/grey/ purple stripes of the asexual pride flag.

„they have no power over you anymore mi corazón. and if anyone gives you shit i will come for them“, jeremy whisperes against jean‘s lips before softly kissing them. „and now give me your beautiful hands so i can do your nails. i‘m feeling a pastel rainbow“

for the parade jean is wearing one of the shirts jeremy got him. it‘s yellow with a rainbow on it. „so you have a little brightness in your life“, he would tell him when he go it for him. it was before they started dating. it was before jean was able to tell him „but you are the brightest thing in the world and somehow you chose me as your person“, paired with light blue ripped jeans and his yellow fans. they started wearing yellow when they came to california, cutting off black completely, replacing it with colors and brightness.

jeremy on the other hand wore rainbow dungarees with a white shirt and white doc martens. his hair was up in two space buns, little pride flags put into them.

„do you think they get the hint?“, she smiled with a blinding smile.

„you‘re so unbelieveably beautiful sol“, jean replied.

they got luna and went to the parade.

it was scary, yes. but it was also beautiful.

people approaching them, asking for selfies, talking to him.

at first he was a bit anxious, but sol took their hand and luna licked his feet and it was alright. no one was hurting him. no one would punish him. he was surrounded by pride and love and happiness.

at some point he asked a girl with rainbow hair, she reminded him of renee, if she could take a picture of him and jeremy. she said yes, took one of them smiling, one of them kissing, and one of them where jeremy just smiled at his person.

it was the pride month he came out via social media. it was the pride month kevin called at two am, telling him how happy he was for them. that he himself found a boy, fell for him, but is too much a coward to do something about it. it‘s the year where he gets a lot of love, many fans telling him how proud they are of him and at least the same amount of hate. but it was alright. they had jeremy and that was all that truly mattered.

now

year after year they returned to the pride parade, with flags on their faces, or around their shoulders

sometimes neil and andrew or aaron and kevin would join them, sometimes they would go with laila and alvarez and sometimes jean and jeremy would go on their own

after college jean quit exy, jeremy went pro and gave his money to moriyamas, while jean opened his own tattoo studio, wrote songs, wrote crappy poetry and slightly better novels, tried himself as a part time model and fashion designer

they found happiness and home in each other and celebrated their love not only in pride but also every single day of the year

jean and jeremy got more dogs, an apartment of their own with big windows so they could watch the sunrise and sunset together

they have their ups and downs, like every other couple, but that doesn‘t matter. never did. what truly matters is that they keep finding back to each other. that they keep ending up in the same bed, in each others arms.

jean moreau never believed in love, never believed in soulmates and yet he found their soulmate, found the love of his life. and they are happy they stayed, kept fighting, to find this. to make a difference to the world. to be finally free. to be alive, living instead of only existing.

„jean?“, jermey says, fidgeting with his fingers.

„what is it moi soleil?“, jean relies getting lost in these ocean blue eyes.

„do you remember what happened five years ago?“, jeremy asks, his eyes looking anywhere but jean.

„we kissed for the first time?“, jean answers, panic slowly crawling through his veins.

„exactly so i thought we could celebrate this at the beach. you know, where our first date was?“, jeremy says nervously.

„honey are you alrighgt?“, jean is getting more and more worried, jeremy has never been that nervous.

„sure, come on mi corazón“

so jean slowly gets up and carefully puts on his shoes. something is weird here, something is wrong

jeremy seems off the entire ride to the beach they had their first date at.

when they arrive jean takes jeremy‘s hand, noticing that they are shaking ever so slightly. it is something like a nervous tick of them.

jean and jeremy arrive at the beach in time to watch the sun setting, making place for her lover the moon.

jean looks over to jeremy, when they suddenly get up and start pacing.

„jer, you‘re scaring me. please tell me what‘s going on up there“, jean says touching his head lightly.

„okay. i can do this“, jeremy mumbles as he gets down on his knee. „jean moreau, you are the love of my life. the light of my existence. ever since i saw you for the first time i knew i liked you, more than i was supposed to. i never dared to hope you would ever like me, or love me for that matter, but somehow you did. somehow you didn‘t turn away when i told you i‘m demi or pan or genderfluid. you stayed. you supported me. you love me. and i want to spend the rest of my life with you, so do me the favour and in the name of god, should they exist, do me the favour and marry me“

jean feels tears running his cheeks. „of course i will marry you, you loser“, he laughs, as he pulls jeremy down to him and connects their lips together. and it feels like their first kiss. it always does. and they would do that for the rest of their lives.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king’s men #jeremy knox #jean moreau #jerejean #jeremy knox x jean moreau #ship: jerejean

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princip1914 · 3 years

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A few thoughts on writing longfic

I’ve had this post brewing for a while and I figured since today is a Friday I might as well let it out into the wild.

First off, this is not writing advice. I don’t feel qualified to give writing advice. This is a few observations I’ve made over the course of trying to write something that feels, well, long. Fandom is full of excellent authors writing long chaptered fic, but I don’t see a lot of people talking about how they go about producing such fics. I remember feeling like long fic was really out of reach for me when I started writing again in the summer of 2019 after not writing for years and years and I wanted to talk a bit about how that changed for me. Of course, this post comes with all the caveats that there is no need to ever write long fic if you’re not feeling it. Some of my favorite authors write mostly or only oneshots! But, if you are interested, here’s my lengthy, self indulgent, and entirely personal take on ~the longfic process~ below the cut.

First, to get this out of the way: long fic is anything that feels long or complicated to you, the author. “I’m working on my long fic” can mean that you’re branching out from microfiction to write something that’s 2k long, or it can mean you’ve got a multi-part 800k epic. There’s no objective measure of if something is “long fic,” Your own personal definitions can also change as you grow in confidence or change your focus as a writer (a little over a year ago when I finished Doubt Thou the Stars are Fire topping out at 31k, that felt very very long to me. Now it feels….still long, but not very very long.)

Here are a few specific things that helped me write something long. I don’t know if they will be interesting for anyone else, but at the very least writing these down has been a fun way for me to reflect on my own process.

Practice exercises. Ok, this is going to sound exceedingly obvious, but writing one shots prepares you for writing chaptered fic. Here’s what I mean more specifically: if you know you want to write (as a totally hypothetical example) a chaptered fic set in America in the summer that relies heavily on a nature metaphors, is written out of chronological order, and features a melancholy tone--it helps to write a few one shots like that before you embark on the Big Fic. Just like artists tend to do sketches before starting a big piece, it’s very helpful to write something small that gives you a feel for the ~vibe~ of what you’re trying to do in the long fic. It’s helpful for all the usual reasons--you get to know a specific version of the characters which helps plan out a character driven plot for the long fic--but it’s also helpful because you will learn if the tone and mood of the fic has enough staying power to capture your interest for the long haul. For instance, I have a few unfinished chaptered fics that have a humorous tone. I wish I had done more short humorous fics before starting them, because I would have realized that I don’t currently have the mental stamina to hold up a humorous tone for the length of a chaptered fic (hopefully that will change and I will finish Last Days some time this century!).

Plan it out ahead of time. I used google sheets for The False and the Fair. I do not think God intended google sheets to be used for fiction, but that was not going to stop me. On a more serious note, I think the best tool for planning fiction is the one you’re the most comfortable with--the notes app in your phone, handwriting, word, google drive, sheets, chalk board, summoning circle, the blood of your enemies, etc. The reason I chose to use sheets is that I knew from the very beginning that I wanted certain things to happen at specific places in the story--for instance, I wanted the first kiss to happen at the end of the first third of the story and I wanted the “reveal” about the mine accident to happen at the end of the second third of the story. But, I didn’t know what was supposed to go in between those elements. A traditional outline for a story at this point in development might have looked like:

Meet cute

Kiss

Reveal

Ending

But, what my brain needed was to preserve the blank spaces in between these story elements, and specifically to preserve the right amount of blank space between these story elements so that it didn’t end up, for instance, that the first kiss was halfway through rather than a third of the way through. In this way, I found google sheets an invaluable tool for pacing in the early parts of the planning process. I simply made 30 rows assuming 30 chapters, and started plugging in the elements I knew I wanted in the locations I wanted them. Then I filled in the blank spaces by asking myself “how do we get from X plot element to Y plot element in Z amount of chapters.” I’m not a mountain climber, but I’ve often thought about the first things that go into the spreadsheet in terms of mountain climbing terminology. In climbing, a crux move, which can be anywhere along the route, is the most difficult move of the route: if you can’t do it, you can’t do the route. I think of the first things that go into the planning spreadsheet as the crux moves of the story, the most important pieces around which everything else turns. It was not an accident that those were also all the first scenes of the fic that I wrote; if I couldn’t do those scenes, I couldn’t do the story the way I planned it so I wanted to know early on if I needed to make changes.

Make changes if you have to: even though it helps to have things planned in advance, don’t resist the story if it tries to change on you while you’re writing it. Usually the feeling that you have to make changes stems from having a plot that is not entirely character driven. As you write the story, the characters reveal themselves and sometimes the plot has to change to change with the characters’ motivations. Here’s an area where fanfic writers have a leg up on everyone else: if you write fic, you already know the characters really well. That means, (in my experience anyway) it’s less likely that you’ll have a surprise character development which leads to a rethinking of the whole plot. Less likely, but not completely unlikely, unfortunately.

Lie to yourself: The False and the Fair was supposed to be 90k words. I thought that sounded reasonable, a little less than 3x the longest fic I had ever written. Now it's 161k and will probably top out a little over 170k. Ooops. But I never would have set out to write something that long. I wouldn’t have thought I could do it, even though anyone more experienced looking at my plans for the fic probably would have laughed at the idea I could cover all those plot points in 90k. Ignorance is bliss. Protect your ignorance.

Scrivener: Long fic for me means “fic that is long enough you can’t hold all the parts of it in your head at once.” That’s where Scrivener comes in (or another app if you’d rather, but I really like Scrivener for the ability to see the project either linearly or as condensed notecards). You can put together an organizational scaffold in Scrivener that allows you to move back and forth between the forest and the trees. So, for instance, you might be going for a jog and come up with the perfect line of dialogue for chapter 27 when you’re only up to chapter 5 in terms of writing progress. With Scrivener, you can go home, and put that dialogue in the “bucket”/index card/whatever for chapter 27 without compromising your ability to see chapter 5 clearly or muddying up your google doc. You can then use the fact that you’ve started writing bits and pieces of the later chapters in conjunction with the tool of lying to yourself that, actually, you’ve written a lot more of the fic than you realize and that when you get to chapter 27 it won’t be as hard as chapter 5 because you’ve put in the groundwork already. In my experience, this lie turns out to be true about 50% of the time, which is better than 0% of the time.

Digestible mini arcs: The False and the Fair was originally broken up into thirds. I thought it would be 90k and 30k was the longest I had written, so thirds seemed to make sense. Also, 3 is a nice, time honored storytelling number. I think it’s good to give yourself seemingly achievable milestones along the way to completion. These milestones (for me anyway) lined up well with the “crux moments” I’ve described. If you’re someone who likes to write out of order, writing your way to an already written milestone can feel like sailing to an island where you get to rest for a bit from the stormy seas before setting out for the next island in the archipelago.

“It's all part of the process”: I’m categorically incapable of describing things without resorting to running metaphors, and so I apologize in advance, but I am now going to do the insufferable thing of comparing writing a long fic to running a marathon. Here’s the thing with a marathon. You are not going to feel good every step of the way. We all know this. It’s a marathon, it’s supposed to hurt a little bit, especially at the end. In the same way you literally cannot write something novel length or even novella or long short story length without, at least at some point, feeling bad about yourself and your writing. But you also can’t run a marathon if the whole thing is agony, and for most people, it’s not--your meat sack shuffling along the course is subjected to the slings and arrows of all sorts of weird body chemistry that only happens when you push it to its limits. So, you’ll be in agony and then the endorphins will kick in for a while and you’ll be thinking “this isn’t nearly as bad as everyone said,” and then you’ll drink some water at a rest stop and feel like a God for half a mile before you crash and you’re in agony again until that one perfect song comes up on the playlist...and you get the idea. Writing something long, for me at least, is a bit like that. There are massive ups and downs. The key for me is to just understand it’s all part of the process, a necessary step on the way to the finish line. If the fic is 10 chapters long, at some point you have to write chapter 5. Just like you have to write chapter 5, at some point you also have to go through a bit of despair before reaching the end. It is unfortunately non-optional. In fact, despairing is something you can check off your list each time you’ve done it. Cut dialogue tags, check. Feel awful about my writing for thirty minutes, check. Write ending section, check. Often I feel that the stress and shame and fear that come with bad emotions while writing are worse than the bad emotions themselves. It really helps me to remember these emotions are all part of the process and nothing to worry about. If I didn’t have them, then I would worry!

I certainly have plenty more to say about writing, but this ramble has gone on long enough. If you’re interested in any of this stuff, please feel free to send me an ask.

I would also love to know more about everyone else’s writing processes, so feel free to pop into my ask box to talk about your own approach too! I am very interested in this stuff!

#long post #writing #fic #princip's fic #princip writes #princip's musings #longfic #how make words go

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years

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Crockett Marcel x reader D’accord (Oneshot)

Written by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: Mature themes, America has HORRENDOUS gun laws, seriously as a Canadian I get second hand anxiety about your gun laws/judicial system (even though Canada’s is far from perfect)/healthcare system, April is not written well here but I’m gonna do a nice fic for her soon, pardon my French (literally, quite a bit of this fic is in French with translations)

You’d been surprised to find another Francophone in Chicago. After you’d moved there from Quebec, you weren’t expecting much. Only a couple of “Oui, oui,” and “hon, hon, hon”’s from some unintentionally insulting Americans. So when, during your fifth shift, you swore in your native tongue “merde!” you’d been pleasantly surprised when Crockett had responded without missing a beat.

You’d shown him French-Canadian food, he’d shown you Cajun food, and you had each gained a confidant at med. And you’d both needed it. You were in a new country with very different social customs and laws, and April had kissed him while Choi was deployed leaving him a magnet for gossip. You’d both just needed someone to talk to, and speaking French with each other was just an added comfort.

“What did Doris say this time?”

“I don’t care that people are talking about me, I really don’t. Gossip is just part of hospital life and that’s fine, but I am so tired of being glared at and avoided. People aren’t even bothering to get to know me. I am just so tired about having to fight for a basic level of confidence in my colleagues for something that I didn’t even do! She kissed me, she just walked up and kissed me, how is this my fault?”

“I’m sorry Cherie.”

“I know. How was your day?”

“Anderson pretended to shoot at me again.”

“Seriously? You should report him to HR.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to be overreacting.”

“He is pretending to have a gun and waving it at you on a daily basis because he knows that you are from a country with decent gun laws. What about the day he comes in with a real gun? And loaded? What if he actually shoots you? You need to report him, Cher.”

“Okay, I will. At the end of the day.”

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

You sat at Molly’s away from the main group, shunned by your colleagues. “It was just a joke, Y/N, can’t you take a joke?” But it didn’t feel like a joke. Not to you. You already felt like you should be wearing a kevlar vest on a regular basis; you didn’t need to be made fun of for your very real fear. You were busy moping when someone plopped down in the stool beside you. “Mon journée a sucé. Dites-moi que le vôtre était meilleur.” (My day sucked. Tell me yours was better)

“Voyez-vous la foule de gens qui me regardent et qui parlent de moi là-bas?” (Do you see the crowd of people looking at me and talking about me there)

“Zut. J'espérais vraiment que ça irait mieux.” (Damn. I was really hoping it would get better)

“Moi aussi.” (Me too)

“The hell are you two speaking? Swedish?”

“... It’s French, Hermann.”

“If you say so Y/N... You guys want another round?”

“Yes, please, kind sir.” Trying to make a joke with the man everyone said had a heart of gold and a belly full of laughs at all times.

“Well, okay then. French people are weird.” Both you and Crockett sucked in a breath. Explaining was always the hardest part. “We are not French people. Crockett is Cajun, and I am French-Canadian.”

“Okay, I don’t know what Cajun is, but isn’t French-Canadian just a Canadian who speaks French?”

“Mon Dieu.” (My God)

“Sacre bleu (Damn it), Hermann. No, a French-Canadian is not just a Canadian who speaks French, and unless you want to start a war in a country you don’t even live in, I advise you to refrain from speaking in that manner again. And just for the record, a Cajun person is someone descended from Acadia settlers in Nova Scotia who left for Louisianna to flee the British.”

“... Okay. I’m sorry I asked.” You just held your breath as Crockett swore under his breath. You opened your eyes, grabbed your glass over bourbon and downed it. “Je sais que je viens juste d'arriver, mais je veux déjà partir.” (I know I just arrived, but I already want to leave)

“Allons-y alors.” (Let’s go then) Marcel threw cash down on the bar before you could argue and helped you put your coat on. “Avez-vous déjà mangé des tapas? J'ai entendu dire qu'il y avait un super endroit à quelques pâtés de maisons d'ici.” (Have you ever eaten tapas? Heard there is a great place a few blocks from here)

“Montrez le chemin.” (Lead the way)

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There was a new hot button topic of gossip the next day at MED. You and Marcel. Of course, no one was that cordial. ‘He couldn’t have a nurse so he went for an intern?’, ‘What, she thought being an intern is too difficult so she’s hooking up with a doc so she doesn’t fail?’. None of anything they were saying was true. First of all, April kissed and then rejected him all while she was dating someone else, second, he wasn’t even your attending. You did your ED rotation before he got here. You were on your pediatrics rotation, and kicking ass at it. Third, he didn’t know anyone here besides you thanks to April, so who exactly was he gonna say ‘give her a pass for me’ to? You just rolled your eyes and continued working. At the end of the day, that was what would speak for you.

You hadn’t been very close to April, or anyone in the ED really, they’d all had their own drama going on the entire time you were there, so you just faded into the background. But now, April was making an effort to talk to you. You would have found it odd, had it not been at the time the rumours were really flying, and if you hadn’t seen the burning question behind her eyes. She was jealous. She damn well wouldn’t admit it, but she was. And you were angry at her, and at least you were grown up enough to admit that. She had hurt Crockett. Damaged his work relationships and reputation before he’d even started. So you acted like you enjoyed her company. You talked about literally anything that wasn’t Crockett Marcel. You watched as her questioning eyes grew more and more desperate. If she was going to come to you acting like a jealous girlfriend she should have had the decency to be honest. But she wasn’t. And Crockett was paying the price. So you tortured her a bit. It wasn’t that bad, honestly. Plus, what made her think she had any right to know about relationships you may or may not be in? But her feelings did become noticeable. To the other nurses, doctors, interns. Suddenly everyone was aware that she had kissed Crockett, and that Ethan wasn’t the only doctor she had feelings for. You felt bad for Crockett, he’d gotten sucked into a wormhole before he even knew his feet were leaving the ground. The same thing could be said for Dr. Choi’s fist.

You pushed back the curtain and marched over to Crockett who was too busy arguing with Maggie to notice you at first. “Have you gotten a CT done yet?”

“Oh- Dr. Y/L/N. Uh, let me check. Uh... Here.” Maggie handed you and a skeptical Will the tablet with Crockett’s head CT already loaded. The black and white image should have comforted you. It looked good, no injuries or anomalies. But you kept looking, you kept gripping the tablet no matter how much your knuckles, and fingers, and wrists were starting to hurt. “Cher?” You slowly looked up, Maggie and Halstead had left the room at some point. “You seein’ something Halstead didn’t?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have the voice to. Instead, you regarded his face intently. Choi had only gotten in a single punch, thankfully, so there was only bruising around his right eye. You moved to stand in front of him, standing in between his legs which were dangling off the side of the bed. “Cher?” The bruise was already purple, the section around the forehead turning black. Your lips pressed into a firm line. After setting the tablet on the end table you gently took Crockett’s face in your hands. Ignoring the rest of him, you gently drifted your fingers around the bruising. Your stomach sunk the more you looked at it. It wasn’t inflamed, there wasn’t any bleeding, his CT was clear. But you just couldn’t shake the weight in your gut. You didn’t even know what you were looking for. But you kept looking. “Cher.” No inflammation. “Cher.” No bleeding. “Cher.” Clear CT. “Cher.” Keep looking. “Cher.” Crockett delicately grabbed your wrist, finally grabbing your attention, bringing more than the bruise on his eye into your focus. “I’m okay, Cher.” His eyes were boring into yours, pleading for you to listen to him. He moved his hand from your wrist up overtop of your hand before intertwining your fingers together and leaning his face into your clasped hands at the side of his face.

“D’accord?” (Okay?)

“D’accord.” (Okay) He smiled gingerly. Still looking at you with soft eyes that made you melt he opened his mouth, you could tell that words in his native language were on the tip of his tongue, when the curtains in the room were pushed back suddenly. April stood, tall, strong, and with a look of utter betrayal on her face. No one in the room said anything, no one in the room breathed. Slowly, as if she were avoided a cornered coyote, April backed out of the room, her chest starting to shake, her eyes watering. Soon you were left alone in the room, your hand still wrapped in Crockett’s. Now in full view of the entire ED staff and gossip mill.

#One Chicago #chicago med #crockett marcel #crockett marcel x reader #april sexton x Crockett Marcel #april sexton #maggie lockwood

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shattered-mirror-fanfic · 3 years

Photo

Took way too long but it’s here, enjoy!

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32206135/chapters/82349017

Chapter below the cut for my readers who don’t prefer Ao3

Henry walked back onto the campgrounds, books in hand with Frisk following close behind. It was close to becoming 1 o’clock to their surprise.

“Guess we spent longer in the library than we thought, guess we gotta apologise to Toriel about being almost a half hour late home” Henry spoke, knowing he was in trouble for keeping Frisk away for so long.

“Mom most likely won’t mind if she knows that you were keeping me safe Mr. Henry” Frisk replied smiling. Henry nodded and the two entered the camp that was their temporary home.

“Hey kid, I’m gonna pop your books in your tent ok? Why don’t you got snatch us some lunch?” Henry asked. Frisk nodded and hurried over to the camps center to see if Toriel had any leftover pie for them. After Henry left Frisk’s books in their tent he made his way over to the medical tent, only to see Right Hand Man inside, sitting on a chair next to the table where a large container was, holding the fragments of their chief’s soul.

“Hey ‘enry” The man said, in a surprisingly soft tone. Heny set the book down on the table and pulled out a chair, sitting on it a tad awkwardly with it’s back in front of him.

“What’s up boss? Is the chief’s death really hitting that hard?” Henry questioned.

“He’s not-! No, he’s not dead.” The Right Hand Man argued. Henry frowned, knowing something was off.

“Well if he’s not dead, then how come his prized medallion is draped over the tank with his broken soul?” The white-haired man asked, tilting his head to the side.

“You shut your damned mouth or ah swear…” Right spoke with his thick australian accent adding an extra layer of intimidation.

“Okaaay, you’re going through some stuff, I’ll let you be.” Henry quickly responded. He sat up and walked out of the tent quickly to avoid getting Right Hand Man in more of a huff, just to bump into a familiar short yellow lizard. “Oh hey Doc, sorry ‘bout that.”

“I-it’s fine, have you seen the Right Hand Man? I meant to talk to him about your boss's soul.” She asked.

“Mister five stages of grief is in there.” Henry answered, pointing a thumb back to the tent he was just in. “Actually, have you seen Ellie? Meant to ask her something.”

The scientist twiddled her thumbs a bit before answering. “No, but she did leave a note saying she would be back by dinner, I have no idea where she is though”

“Damnit Ellie, be more specific next time.” Henry muttered.

~~~

Ellie wasn’t too fond of her soul trait. PERSEVERANCE had the lamest magic in her opinion, DETERMINATION could bend time, BRAVERY could teleport, JUSTICE could make people tell the truth, KINDNESS could heal and make shields, PATIENCE could freeze in place to avoid damage, INTEGRITY could change gravity, but PERSEVERANCE...it could only make plans based on a few minutes of worth of events. It sounds ok at first but in practice it’s not that great. Luckily, this came in handy for plotting a surprise sneak attack against your local government camp after they killed your boss.

The red-head was positioned behind a bush up on a short cliff only a bit away from said government camp. She pulled out her walkie talkie and leaned in.

“Hey Svensson, you got the coordinates for the government rats?” She asked, in response she got a groan.

“Yes I did, and I am still your superior, so it’s Mr. Svensson to you.” He complained on his end.

“Well Mr. Pain in the ass, ready to beam down the rocket launcher?”

“For the third time, you aren’t getting a rocket launcher. I’m sending down Burt, Carol and a few others.”

“Man, do you not trust me with explosives?”

“Not after the ‘Me and Henry are going to rob a chuck e cheese’ incident.”

“It was fun and it was one time!” She all but shouted into the device. She turned it off and looked back at the camp. So maybe exploding it isn’t a great idea. Ellie glanced over at one of the tents that was larger than the rest, and had a large red medical cross. Bingo.

~~~

“Hey Chara, can I ask you something? Do you know what happened to Asr-” Frisk started.

“No, we don’t mention him.” Chara said, cutting them off. Frisk set down their fork on the plate.

“Okaaay, then what about Flowey?” Frisk reiterated.

“Didn’t he want to stay behind? I mean, he thought he wouldn’t survive out here without a soul.”

“Well what if he was wrong Chara?”

“Don’t tell me you actually cared about that little bugger! He tried to kill you, Frisk!”

The child sighed and stared up at their ghost companion.

“He can change, he’s done it before, and he can do it again.”

~~~

The flower in question sat among his non-sentient copies in the beginning of the underground. Or was it the end? He didn’t know, and didn’t care. Flowey sighed, and stared up at the entrance to the underground. No one ever visited him, after all, he tried to kill everyone and steal their souls to become a god. That was only the second time. How would anyone forgive him? No one would. Why would anyone care about him though? He only hurts, it’s all he’s good for.

No. He won’t hurt again. The golden flower promised himself this, He pondered to himself about how to get out easily. Through personal research he deemed he could only travel for five minutes under the earth before needing to pop back out for at least another minute, as well as, it was difficult staying on the side of a wall without some proper hold. Thinking, Flowey noticed a vine that had fallen some time after the barrier broke. That’ll do.

Flowey popped down under the ground then resurfaced under the vine. He wrapped one of his own vines on it and slid up it like a snake, reaching the top in under a few minutes. He looked out at the mid afternoon sun, basking in the potential photosynthesis he would gain if he just gave up and stayed a flower forever. But no, he had to keep going.

After scanning the area a bit he noticed a camp in the distance that took up a hidden clearing. So that's where they went. He thought to himself. But hey, the worst case scenario is that it was a human camp, but he could blend in as some of the natural buttercups that grew around the mountain. It would take a while until he got there, but he knew it would be the start of his redemption.

~~~

“Ok would you rather fight an elephant sized axolotl or a hundred axolotl sized elephants? Honestly, either would do for me.” Chara asked, smiling.

“Am I allowed to spare either? If not then an elephant sized axolotl, it would give up to get to water.” Frisk answered. Henry laughed and leaned back.

“Nah, a hundred axolotl sized elephants, that way they won’t crush you on the way to the water.” He spoke. “Plus, I ain’t a pacifist, I won’t have a burden on my shoulder.”

“But those are innocent elephants!” Frisked shouted.

“What if they had caused the deaths of thousands? Then would you reconsider?”

“You’re cruel sometimes Chara.” Henry chuckled. Frisk smiled and knew, maybe more humans were like the toppats, they didn’t seem that bad.

“Gasp, I, the dead child sharing a soul with another child, is cruel.”

“Ok, ok, you two, reel it in, we’re meant to have a nice picnic, minus the food.” Frisk laughed. It was nice after most of their life living by themself as an orphan, to finally have a family. Sure, they didn’t have an exact father figure, but they had a mom in Toriel, a sibling in Chara, and now an older brother in Henry. It was everything they could ever dream of.

“Sorry Frisk.” Chara apologized sarcastically.

“Sorry kid, plus Chara isn’t as cruel as another demon I know.” Henry apologized, gazing at the air next to him like he was gesturing towards someone. But no, player was off minding their own weird business off somewhere that Henry didn’t care. They couldn’t do anything with Henry being there as a physical form. With this, they were most likely trying to chase a squirrel up a tree to find it’s home to (attempt to) destroy it.

“Speaking of whom, you said you’re in a similar boat to us, yeah? Well, haven’t seen your little soul buddy, where are they?” The red ghost asked, folding their arms. “Seriously, the fact you can see me means you aren’t lying, are you just in stage one?”

“No, they just don’t like people, and people don’t like them. They also much prefer tormenting squirrels than answering questions about elephants and axolotls.” Henry addressed. Chara scrunched their face while Henry just smiled.

That’s when the two humans felt something off, Frisk in specific heard dirt churning. Chara looked at them oddly as they weren’t sitting to feel the disturbance. That’s when a golden buttercup popped out of the ground.

“Well, that’s not normal, or I’ve been on the orbital station for too long.” The adult said, questioning himself. That’s when the flower turned its head, showing its face.

“That damned flower got out!”

“Nice to see you too Chara.” The flower spoke. “Anyways, Howdy! I’m Flowey, Flowey the Flower!”

“I can tell.” Henry sarcastically responded.

“Oh goodie goodie, the smiley trashbag comedian has a human twin.” Flowey spoke with a caustic remark, while Chara proceeded to lose their mind laughing at the realization of the similarities. “Anywho, I actually came here to say something.”

“What is it Flowey?” Frisk asked.

“Well…..” He paused. Why couldn’t he do it? He recited what he wanted to say on the way over, he knew he wanted to apologise, but the words wouldn’t form. He couldn’t say sorry, he couldn’t tell them the promise he made to himself...

He just was incapable of feeling true remorse.

“Of course, typical unfeeling flower. Will want everyone’s attention, then goes silent. Typical.”

“Chara! That was rude!” Frisk scolded. Flowey sighed, and popped back into the ground. Maybe it wasn’t time to repair that burnt bridge.

When Flowey popped back up, he moved himself next to a large tent near the edge of the clearing (as indicated by the large trees next to the tent). Chara was right, I have no soul, I can’t feel… Thoughts like that raced through his mind, he wanted to be better, but without a soul it was useless.

He stared around for something to do when he saw a tall man, leaning against a tree with a cigarette in his hand.

“Hey, Smokey! Y’know you’re gonna get yourself killed with that!” Flowey snarked loudly at the man. Right Hand Man looked down at the flower with a cold gaze.

“Wow Einstein, you’ve cracked the code and can leave the simulation now, hurray.” He laughed. Flowey was not amused. Instead he slid up the tree Right was leaning on and sat on one of the low branches. “And hey, ‘anks for the concern, but ah don’t get cigarettes that have tar in ‘em. So I’m lung cancer safe.”

“Huh, didn’t know those existed, anyways, I’m Flowey!” The buttercup had returned to his normal jovial mood.

“Nice to meet ya Flowey, I’m Right Hand Man.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“What kind of name is Flowey?”

“Touché” The two chuckled a bit, then Flowey asked the question that he completely forgot about in favor of introductions. “Say, why are you smoking in the first place?”

“Everytime I light a new one, ah ask myself the same thing. Then I remember my best friend is dead, there’s no HOPE left for anyone, and no amount of what if’s are gonna bring him back!” RIght started before going off into a tangent and yelling to himself.

“Hey big guy, calm down, there’s got to be some way to bring him back, yeah? Do you have his soul?”

~~~

Honestly, Flowey didn’t expect a yes, and he especially didn’t expect it to be stuck in such disrepair.

“Holy mother of asgore! What’d you do to him?!” He exclaimed.

“Only managed to get ‘im in by the time he was like this.” Right answered truthfully. He put a hand on the tank, rubbing it thoughtfully while the flower starred from his new-found perch on the Right Hand Man’s shoulder.

“Man, rough timing, eh? Anyways, do you perchance have a pot I could dip into? Soil is much more comfortable.” Flowey requested. Right sighed and kneeled down and grabbed a clay pot from under the table that had been left, he went outside and scooped a bit of dirt in before planting Flowey in it. He went back inside and set the pot next to Reginald’s soul tank before sitting onto the chair still left out from the events of earlier today.

“So, did you know that most likely if his being still exists somewhere, like the void, he would be in complete agony? I mean, I myself wouldn’t know as I have no soul, plus I’m a monster, but probably a broken soul would mean a world of pain?” The plant addressed, looking up at the top of the tent before facing the Aussie with the last point.

“Reg is strong, he can take it, he’s been through worse.” Right replied sternly.

“I’m just saying, if you really cared, you would be working your butt off trying to get him out of this state.”

“Shut it flower boy, Ah don’t need to hear how much of a failure I am.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Flowey retorted, managing to bounce his pot closer to the tank. Two vines shot out of the pot, waving about frantically, acting like arms to demonstrate his frustration. Damn his subconscious want of misery in others, he would definitely need to work on that later. “I’m not saying you failed! I’m just saying you’re lounging around crying about your problems instead of fixing them! There’s plenty of things you could do!”

“Well do YOU have any smart ideas? Or are ya just goin’ to be a thorn in mah side?!” The toppat argued back. Flowey stewed for a moment before spotting a leather book on the other end of the table, noticing a keyword, soul. He reached for it with a vine.

“Correction, buttercups don’t have thorns. Plus, this book here may do the trick!” He pulled the book to him with immense speed. Too immense in fact that it hit the glass of the soul preserving tank. It wobbled for a moment before tilting off the table.

Smash!

#shattered mirror #undertale #thsc #the henry stickmin collection #flowey #crossover #inspired #post-pacifist ending #toppat recruits #fanfic #fanfiction #also I now put the fanfic with the post #thats fun

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apples-r-rubbish · 4 years

Text

Institute (13th Doctor x Reader) Part 1

Summary: After a weird encounter on a victorian street the doctor is drawn to you a fellow time traveller AN: HI!! this is a 13 x fem! reader as I started this a while ago and it would’ve meant very heavy delays if I had altered it Word count: 1.6k Warnings: death mention

(PART 2) (PART 3) (PART 4) (PART 5) (PART 6) (PART 7) (PART 8) MASTERLIST

The doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, rubbing her hands together “C’mon gang, let’s get a shift on. Lots to see, lots to do.” She said taking the lead and walking ahead. The victorian streets were cobblestone, and covered in mud, “Doc, I thought the victorian era was supposed to be more, I don’t know? Glamorous.” Graham sighed

“Oi! This is real history, you can’t believe everything you see in movies. They’re more historically inaccurate than you’d think,” The doctor snapped jokingly

“Then why’s she wearing jeans?” Ryan asked, gesturing towards you. The entire group turned to look at you.

“Another time traveller probably. I’m not the only one knocking about time and space. She’s definitely not a time agent because she would be dressed era appropriate, so I assume she’s just passing through,” She rambled. Whilst she talked about the intricacies of the time agency you approached them.

“You do understand it is rude to talk about someone, and not include them, regardless, of how well you know someone, Doctor, Ryan, Graham, Yaz,” You interrupted

“Who are you? Sorry, time travel, you should know what it’s like, nothings ever in the right order. Especially with people,” A confused expression fixed on her face

“Oh, of course, that makes sense. It’s all coming together,” You said glaring at the vortex manipulator and sticking your hand out to her “My name’s (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N).”

“That’s a lovely name. A really lovely name,” The doctor said smiling widely, Ryan and Yaz chuckling at her.

“You’ll see me again,” You said kissing her on the cheek “That’ll make more sense eventually, I promise,”

“Do you happen to know an archeologist by any chance?”

“I think I know the one you’re referring to. We happen to be friends I’ll have you know,” You blinked staring off into the distance for a second “Well, if you haven't met me yet, I should get going,” You said tapping the travel device and slamming your hand down against it. You vanished.

“Well that definitely was one of the more confusing interactions we’ve had,” Yaz frowned. Electricity fizzed and you reappeared behind them, “Sorry, sorry,” You said making them jump “Doctor, when you see me next, give me this, it’ll make sense to her, maybe. Anyway, onwards,” You handed her a heavy ring as you spoke, ”I’ve always wanted to die on a foreign planet.” And before she could respond, you vanished into thin air once again.

“How- How did she do that?” Graham asked “And what did she mean? Die on a foriegn planet,”

“Vortex manipulator, nasty way to time travel, bad for the kidneys,” She frowned “as for the death bit, I don’t know,”

It’d been 3 months since the doctor had met you. She had tried to search for you and found nothing. She’d bored the fam to death rambling about time and the way it worked and who you could be and things she’d done to try to track you down. Nothing seemed to work, at one point they’d tried to stage an intervention which did not help as it merely gave her a platform to theorise. Until one day they arrived on Earth.

“Right gang, this is an abandoned building, middle of London. 3 hours to get some stuff done before we set off again,” the doctor said as she pushed the door open. The building outside the doors was definitely not abandoned. It looked like an office, floor to ceiling windows and a beautiful view of London outwards, a desk opposite them.

“Are you sure you’re right? This looks awfully officey for an abandoned building,” Ryan commented with a frown. The room was large, there were a variety of chairs placed around the room, along with a few futuristic looking lights

“No, it’s definitely Earth the gravity feels right,” The doctor answered, she licked her finger and lifted it into the air, “It’s earth, middle of London, Wednesday and it’s 11:02am,” She said a smug smile framing her face, wiping her finger on Yaz despite her protests. A door opened, you stepped out looking younger than the version in the victorian street, dressed in a suit, the opposite to how you were in the street.

“Hello, you’re the doctor, and I presume these are your companions? Assistants? Friends? Whatever you call them now,” You said extending a hand out to the timelord

“Yes, I am and yes they’re friends,” She said taking it “So you’re (Y/N) (L/N) then? What is this place?”

“Yes I am. It’s my office, I’ll explain on the tour, follow me, this way,” You said taking the lead and exiting the room

“We can’t tell her about what we saw, it runs the risk of collapsing reality or potentially ruining a fixed point, which is very, very bad, specifically 4 suitcase fulls and a bus journey full of bad,” The doctor explained in a hushed whisper to the other three

“But what if we could save her? Stop her from believing she’ll die on another planet?” Yaz asked empathetic as always

“Look, we can’t, I’ve tried that before and it ends up worse, we can’t do that. We can’t choose who lives and who dies,” She said glaring at all of them before snapping back to her usual sunny disposition and following you out of the room, the others trailing behind

“We always knew you would visit us at one point, it was inevitable given what we deal with,” You stated

“What is this place? Is this some kind of database an information hub? Why didn’t it show up on TARDIS scanners?” She asked, her list of questions increasing

“No, we’re an institute. Future tech, didn’t want you interfering. We help people, or we try to. London’s best kept secret, used internationally, U.N.I.T. doesn’t even know we exist. It didn’t show up on scanners because we planned for you and we knew that, of we wanted to do our jobs properly we couldn’t have interferences be it human or otherwise, especially not from you,” You replied

“What exactly are you the institute of?” Graham interrupted

“Formally, rehabilitation of former time travelers and people who come into contact with aliens. Informally, cleaning up after the Doctor. We’re The Bad Wolf Institute, formerly known as The Trenzalore institute, but Captain Harkness insisted we change it, after an old friend of yours, I believe”

The doctor froze in her tracks “Sorry? The Bad Wolf institute?”

“Yes, Jack was very insistent, pitched it to Me and she seemed to like the concept. The meeting of human and alien so to speak,”

“Did you just refer to yourself in the third person and first person?” Yaz mumbled

“No, Lady Me founded the institute and is formally the director of it, however, when she is away with one of your former friends or running trap street, I become acting director,” You explained opening a door and ushering them inside “She did claim she was trying to protect the world from you. She kept her word Doctor.” Inside the room was sectioned off areas of ground and a locked cabinet. “Vortex manipulators,” You answered the moment the doctor opened her mouth to ask “Called in a favour from Jack and Torchwood, he owed us after the 456 issue, but we took care of it. Use them to jump planets and time, smooth over any damage you’ve done, better us than the time agents, you know what they’re like.”

“Isn’t that a violation of time having them in the 21st century considering they were invented in the 51st century?”

“Yes, however, we’re erased from future narratives, we’re ghosts in the future, barely echos of echos,”

The doctor stopped suddenly, “How can I trust you? Hm? How do I know you aren’t lying? You could be a trap, a trick,”

“I can pull out a file on any former companion and read it to you. Amy, Rory, Jack, Martha, Clara, Rose, Harry, Donna, Jamie, pick a name and we’ll find it,” Your tone was neutral, but your face wasn’t harsh.

“Too general, anyone from U.N.I.T can do that, I need something more specific,”

“I was the rep assigned to Amelia and Rory Williams, the Ponds. Visited her, 1946, New York, made some connections for her. Hooked up with an adoption agency, her and Rory adopted a son. She also repeatedly referred to you as raggedy man, and told me you used to eat fishfingers and custard which is something we didn’t have on file. We didn’t add it, you’re allowed some secrets, old man, no matter how vile it sounds,” A smile gracing for face at the last words

“Sorry? You used to be a man?” Graham asked. You chuckled at that, the formal facade finally slipping.

“Yes? That’s what you take away from that Graham? I believe you, no one other than her calls me that.” The doctor nodded at you, pulling the weighted silver ring from one of her many coat pockets “Oh before I forget, someone told me to give you this. They said it was important.”

You examined the ring for a second, a small chuckle escaped you “This was my mother’s, it went missing not long after she died. Never found it, searched the whole house, nothing,” You explained, slipping it on to your finger. “Thank you, I presume it was me then. My future must be in safe hands.”

“How did you- How did you work that out?” Ryan asked

“Time travel, it’s weird,”

“Want to come with us?” The doctor said unexpectedly

“Not especially. I have an institute to look after while Me runs Trap street, ask me again one day and I might just say yes,” You sighed a small wink directed towards her at the end of your sentence “Leave the TARDIS here as long as you’d like, no harm will come to it here.”

And that’s where it began.

#13th doctor #13th doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #13th doctor/reader #13th doctor/you #13th doctor x you #doctor who self insert #13th doctor self insert

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caandlelit · 4 years

Note

omg werewolf matsukawa elaborate i want dem hcs

ok so ive got this horrible word doc with my jambled mess of a concept for this witch makki werewolf matsun fic im writing its like 3% done expect it within 2 business years

(edit. this post is too long but i cant stop typing this is good)

werewolf matsun is the SEXIEST idea ever anyone thats done it is doing gods work because that shit is hot . its fucking sexy okay

in my barely formed au he becomes a werewolf in third year

he hears about weird sounds in the forest at night ok

and he convinces witch hanamaki that they shld camp out and see what it is

because he’s been so interested in the witchy supernatural shit since even before he met him

and hanamaki is like okay fine But im wearing my warding pendent and matsukawa is like WHEN WILL U ADMIT YOU’RE A WITCH and hanamaki, mid-putting on his witch hat, ruffles his hair and says idk what ur talking about

they camp out and they’re just bantering and its cute and fun for 2 hours then

matsun hears growling and snapping noises and he’s like hanamaki stay in the fuckin tent

and obviously hanamaki is like on god that is the stupidest thing uve ever said issei no

and matsukawa steps outside and he holds a hand back to stop makki and he steps out and looks around, eyes narrows

and he’s like … straightening up and furrows his brows and ‘theres nothing here’

and he feels like everything is slow and odd and unreal and he turns and sees bright, yellow eyes and he hears the snarl and jerks back

and he’s being attacked and leaped upon and he shouts curses and screams and theres sharp teeth at his side and the smell of matted fur

and hanamaki sprints out and ?? magic spells it away (leave me alone)

what is the spell? what kindof witch is hanamaki? what does he say?

(begone thot!)

the wolf creature howls and thuds off, fast and loping and hanamaki turns and he’s panicked and is like ‘issei? oh FUCK’

matsukawa is like fuck fuck fuck

leaning against a tree and lightheaded and he collapses, head back against the trunk and sweat pouring down his temples, iron in his mouth where hes biting his tongue to keep from scremaing at the sharp pain

touches his side and his fingers come away bloody

his breath is heavy and hes like takahiro im dying

and hanamaki’s dropping down beside him and lifts his arm and says shut the fuck up you’re not dying you asshole and hes sniffling

and matsuns like im sorry i dragged u out here and hanamaki’s like shut up shut up. issei. shit . issei you were right

and hes like wh what was i right about and hes like you were right. im a witch . and youre not fucking dying here, asshole

issei mumbles fuck yeah and does like a little fist pump

and he whispers a spell to carry him over back to his house

and he bandages him up and matsun is tired and in pain and staring at him in the moonlight

MONDAY

go to school and matsun has white bandages wrapped around his side hidden under his shirt and hes a little scraped up even though hanamaki healed and cleaned up as much as he could

someones like oooh matsukawa your arm is scraped up wtf

and hes like yeah man i got in a fight to protect takahiros honor

makki’s like yeah…. :/// he lost

and matsuns like shut up asshole and theyre laughing and theyre good theyre okay

half way through the school day, long and tired and the bell seems louder and harsher and shriller and everything is too bright and loud and making his eyes and ears hurt

in the bathroom matsun takes off the tape bc hes feeling nauseous and everything feels a little too much for some reason hes assuming bc of the wound, maybe its infected

and he checks it while hes inside and the bandages come off and

its clean no bite no blood no mark

and he stares at it and says what the fuck and texts hanamaki

and hanamaki sees the text and its just ‘SOS BATHROOM NOW PLELASE’

asks his teacher to let him go to the bathroom and he steps into the bathroom and matsun spins around and gestures at his side and chest wordlessly

hanamaki like blinks at the sight of matsuns abs and then blinks again at the healed skin and hes like what the fuck

he has sharper vision and sense of smell and hearing

and hes like takahiro……..everything feels horrible and too much and hanamaki’s like ok so what do u want me to do knock u out so u don’t feel anything? and matsukawa’s like huh actually and hana’s like Shut up Dumbass

werewolf matsukawa suddenly stronger and hanamaki so so bitter about it ignoring his personal ‘im attracted to him’ feelings and pretending hes mad abt the super strength

matsukawa’s eyes glinting yellow on occasion and hanamaki trying not to scream bc god that’s sexy

the day they see the healed skin they like walk home silent and shell shocked

matsukawa staring hollowly at the sidewalk his posture lost

hanamaki squinting off into the distance

makki opening his mouth angrily at one point

only to close it defeatedly bc he cant even……

a conversation in hanamaki’s bedroom along the lines of

‘issei why is my life literally teen wolf why am I stiles from teen wolf’

matsun perks up ‘oh that’s dylan o briens character right? does that make me derek !!!’

and hanamaki turns from where hes muttering angrily and squints at him and says slowly

‘why the fu- dude? u r scott ??? because u are a FUCKING WEREWOLF ??????? why would u be derek ???? ur my best friend that turned into a GODDAMN WEREWOLF-‘

‘okok calm down hiro fine fine chill out‘

matsuns like slumping like ‘ugh, scott. i don’t wanna be scott hes painfully straight-‘

and hanamakis like throwing his hands up and shouting like ‘SO THEN !! why would u want to be derek!!!’

and issei’s like ‘…….nevermind we r not in the state to have a conversation about teen wolf, a show neither of us finished and obviously dont have any knowledge about’

im gonna have it properly set in 2013 itll be so cringey and fun

matsukawa also has insomnia and and gets migraines sometimes

and hanamaki’s witchy incense smelling house and bedroom having him nodding off so easily and he sleeps over a lot

especially after he gets bitten, because the migraines get worse

moreso near the full moon

and he comes in through the window and hanamaki is half asleep but always automatically pulls up his blanket and lets him in

big spoon matsun

he curls into his chest as best as he can, pressed tight between the wall and matsukawa

also i have this

italics: makki

bold: mattsun

list of signs pointing towards issei probably being a werewolf:

got bit by a giant dog-creature the bite mark disappeared next day (???? freaky shit)

sudden super healing and durability (useful for when oikawa serves the ball into your head – lmfao)

sudden heightened senses (my headaches r .. multiplying - :( )

sudden super strength (fuck u issei – i didn’t ask to be bitten takahiro – oh no u were bitten how sad for u and ur six pack – the werewolf actually decided i deserve super strength bc of how cool i am – and immeasurable pain every full moon too huh ???? – ...sacrifices were made)

90% sure he got stupider – sign of a dog brain ?? (FUCK OFF – do u want me to explain what a percentage is <3 – no </3)

hair growth (wtf does that mean ??? – it means i suddenly have more chest hair its very weird – ngl to u u were already pretty hairy - fucker)

eyes turn yellow sometimes (wait, really????? – yes its so fucking weird – that sounds fucking epic actually – no comment)

big dick energy went up the ROOF (ok that’s enough asshole – tell me im lying hiro.)

edit: ok the full moon happened we’re all traumatized and hes definitely a FUCKING werewolf.

ill finish this as a fic one day ill post when i do

might also make a useless porno oneshot with just werewolf matsukawa and ? possibly dancer makki im very into dancer makki atm

long post im very sorry but !!!! thanks for the ask

#ask #digimondestined #matsuhana #my writing #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #it is 2:30 am #goodnight guys #haikyuu #this is a fuckin mess and my word doc is even messier #hq

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minuteminx · 4 years

Text

Tiger

I was fighting jitters waiting at the doc’s office, and so my hand slipped and I wrote a little interaction between my Sole Survivor, Charlie, and MacCready about my dear friend @third-rail-vip ‘s Sole Survivor, Ivy, who I just adore.

—

MacCready wore an easy, distant grin that didn’t quite fit with his typical demeanor, like a dream lingering at the corners of his mouth. Any person making an educated guess about that look could have easily assumed the mercenary was in love, his typically sour face all doe-eyed and youthful, gazing out at nothing. He didn’t even notice when Charlie approached him as obnoxiously as she could, and barely even reacted when she snatched his hat and pulled it down backwards on her head. In fact, he didn’t move at all until she tousled his surprisingly clean hair with her fingertips.

“What the heck, Chuck,” he asked, swiping at her in a flustered attempt to snatch his hat back.

She moved out of his reach before he could even stamp out his cigarette and stand from his ridiculous spot in the dilapidated lawn chair, against a sea of faded pink flamingos. Charlie didn’t know how in the hell those, of all things, managed to survive the bombs. Adjusting her newly claimed hat, she smirked at the scowling young man before her. “You washed your hair.”

“So?” MacCready lunged forward for the hat and Charlie stepped backwards again. “I wash my hair sometimes.”

“Twice in a few days?” She clicked her tongue. “Whatcha hiding Mac? Who are you trying to impress?”

“Nobody.” He huffed and crossed his arms, comically similar to a pouting child.

“You were so off in la-la land, you didn’t even notice me walking by,” she continued to tease, “I’ve never had such luck snatching your shit.”

“I was just... thinking, Chuck. Geez. Leave me alone”

“Washed hair, thinking while gazing longingly out into the horizon.” Charlie paused for dramatic effect, slinging an arm around his shoulder “Are you—“

“Don’t say it,” Mac snapped, taking the opportunity to grab his hat back and pull the brim down to hide his expressive baby blues.

“You are!” She couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread slowly across her face.

“No!”

“You’re in love.” Charlie released his shoulder and trotted away to plop down in the lawn chair, kicking her feet up on the table nearby.

“You’re getting on my last damn nerve,” MacCready said dryly, not particularly seeming to mean it.

“Hey! That’s five caps to the swear jar big guy.”

He rolled his eyes. “How many caps do I have to put in the jar for you to mind your own business?”

The words stung and she slouched a bit, letting her legs slide from the table and back down so that her feet were on the grounds. “I’m sorry, Mac. I was just messing around. Didn’t mean to push you.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, and sat down in the other chair opposite to Charlie with a sigh. “You didn’t. I just.... I don’t know how to talk about these things.”

“Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much...”

A lopsided smirk cracked the edges of his expression. “I think I’m good with the whole birds and bees thing.”

“Oh. Right….well good because things were about to get real awkward.” She winked at him and leaned in. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a girl,” he explained tentatively, eyes flicking between the surface of the table and Charlie. “And… she’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Well, I mean of course she’s drop dead gorgeous,” he explained nervously, clearly beginning with the thing that came easiest.

“Of course,” Charlie remarked as if it were a given.

“She’s got these big brown eyes and freckles, and a dopey smile that, well... I’d do almost anything to see.” His eyes glazed over slightly, dreamy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth again. “I’ve actually done some pretty dumb sh— stuff to make her smile.”

Charlie nodded, chest swelling at the sincerity her friend had chosen to show her. “Been there, done that.”

“She’s also got this way of seeing the best in people.” He shifted in his seat bringing an ankle up to cross over his knee. “Like, when she looks at me it’s like she’s seeing someone different than the guy I look at in the mirror, y’know?”

Charlie laughed, fondly. So many times she’d avoided Preston’s gaze just because she didn’t compare to the person she saw in his eyes. “I do.”

Mac frowned. “Don’t tell me this is reminding you of Garvey. Christ.”

“Nope,” she lied, “Not at all! Completely different. Go on.”

“It’s weird. I’ve not ever felt like this before,” he admitted, “I mean I loved Lucy more than anything, but now... I don’t know. It probably sounds stupid to you.”

“You’re never going to have the same kind of love with two different people Mac.” She glanced down at her own hands, and the ring that still shown brightly on her left, and then back up to him. “But that doesn’t give them more or less value. You can still love Lucy and—“

“Love Ivy too,” he interrupted, jumping up to his feet.

“Oh, her name’s Ivy?” She brought her hand to her mouth. “That’s adorable.”

“I should talk to her, yeah?” Mac scratched at his chin nervously and adjusted his hat again, his collar, his sleeves.

“You look fine, Mac,” Charlie insisted, picking up a pack of gum he’d left on the table and popping a piece in her mouth before tossing the pack to him. “Chew some of this on the way.”

“Thanks, Chuck,” he said quietly.

“Go get her, Tiger,” she responded standing up and slapping him on the back firmly. “And don’t let her go.”

#fallout 4 #maccready #rj maccready #sole survivor #ivy kendrick #charlie smart #my writing #long post

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everwizard · 4 years

Text

Back to the Present

Summary: After arriving back on Earth, Hera and Minkowski try to return Eiffel's memories through movie nights. Tonight's movie is Back to the Future.

Words: 1,374

Warnings: Spoilers for Back to the Future

AO3 Link

Eiffel sits down on the sofa. He looks at the blank screen in front of him. He doesn’t know what he will be watching today. It’s a surprise. It’s always a surprise.

They had gotten off of the Urania seven months ago and ever since, Hera and Minkowski, or Renée, or whatever he was supposed to call her, had been trying to return his memories to him. He started with the tapes but finished them quickly. He couldn’t understand half of what the previous Eiffel was talking about at the time and so his friends decided to bring him up to speed on over thirty years of pop culture.

Movie nights like this were frequent. Sometimes Lovelace and Jacobi would join if they were interested in the film and/or in the area but tonight it was just the three of them.

“I’ve got popcorn!” Minkowski announces as she moves into the room. She sits down next to Eiffel, handing him a bucket of the salty snack. “Hera, will you turn on the TV, please?”

“Of course, lieutenant,” the sentient AI replies. The television flickers to life, displaying the brand logo before switching to a DVD menu screen.

Eiffel reads the title. “Back to the Future, huh? Some sort of time travel movie?”

“Yes!” Hera proclaims. “I chose this one this time.”

The group had long since finished Star Wars, Star Trek, Indiana Jones, and several other action-filled franchises of various genres. Today they were starting the 1980’s time-travel trilogy that, as always, Eiffel knew nothing about.

Minkowski presses play on the menu and the movie begins.

The movie opens with the ticking of dozens of clocks and Eiffel settles into the sofa with his popcorn.

The characters seemed interesting enough to Eiffel. Marty, the teenager with a knack for music, was the run of the mill high schooler. Eiffel wondered what high school was like. Where was he on the social ladder at that age? And Doc Brown, the eccentric scientist of unknown origins whose mind was on a totally different level than his peers. Was that what this Hilbert guy was like? Probably not. The Doc never killed anyone. Probably.

Eiffel watched with attention as, through a series of mishaps, Marty ends up in 1955 with no way back.

The mentions of aliens brought Eiffel's thoughts to Lovelace.

"'It's mutated into human form', huh? Remind you of anyone?" he says.

"Eiffel, do you have to make a Lovelace joke every time we watch a sci-fi movie?" Minkowski asks, pausing the movie.

"What? Come on, they're funny!" Eiffel exclames.

“No they’re not, Eiffel,” Hera chimes in. “Now shut up, I’m trying to watch.”

Eiffel scoffs, “Can’t you know this whole movie instantly?”

“Well yeah, but that goes against the whole point of movie night,” Hera sighs. “So I set my television processing power down to your human brain levels.”

“Alright, fine. Let’s keep watching then.”

Minkowski rolls her eyes and resumes the movie.

The trio sit in comfortable silence as the film continues. Well, Eiffel and Minkowski sit. Hera exists as a large house.

As the movie progresses, George gets beaten by Biff, George gets beaten by Biff again, and, you guessed it, George gets beaten by Biff a third time. Eiffel dedicates his full attention to the movie, determined to learn the secrets of his past.

His attention returns to the world around him when he hears Minkowski snicker to his left. He glances over. “What’s so funny?”

Minkowski hides her face. “What? Nothing.”

“Hang on, wait. You’re actually enjoying this?”

“Of course not. I would never enjoy something as cheesy as this.” Minkowski scoffs.

“Come on,” Eiffel prods, “what was it? The Darth Vader reference?”

“What? No.”

“The Vulcan reference then.”

“Absolutely not.”

“She’s lying,” Hera chimes in. “It's definitely the Vulcan joke. Her Command Authentication Code was literally Vulcan.”

Minkowski flushes. “Hera! Who’s side are you on?”

Hera laughs. “I’m on my own side.”

Minkowski sighs. “Fine, it was the Vulcan joke.”

“Wait a minute,” Eiffel starts. “Is this why we watched Star Trek first? Are you that big of a Spock fan?”

“No…”

“Lieutenant,” Hera warns.

“Fine!” Minkowski bursts. “Fine! I'm a Spock fan. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Minkowski! That’s so cool! Why didn’t you say something before?”

“Eiffel,” Minkowski sighs, “the last time I brought up one of my interests, you laughed at me.”

Eiffel’s face falls. “Oh,” was all that he could say. Did he really laugh at her? At his friend? What had she confided in him that he just blew off like that? Mocked her for? His past self must have been a real asshole.

Minkowski notices Eiffel’s change in demeanor. “Eiffel…” she starts. “Doug. You were a different person back then. You’ve more than made up for it by now. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t even be here right now. On Earth. You made the biggest sacrifice of us all and I’m…” she hesitates, “I’m sorry for hiding this from you.”

“No Renée, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I did to you. Back then. I was a real dick, wasn’t I?”

“Doug, you don't have to apologize. You were a different person. You don’t have to apologize for things you don’t even remember.”

“But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I was—”

“But you’re not anymore. You are a new person now. You’re my friend and nothing is going to change that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Minkowski smiles. “Are you ready to keep watching?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The movie resumes and everyone continues watching in silence.

Everytime Doc brings up not wanting to know his future, Eiffel cannot help but to think of his past. Who was he, really? The tapes only covered the last three or so years. He was never going to be able to get the rest back. All he knew from before the Hephaestus was what he said in the tapes. Besides his daughter, there wasn't much else there. He didn't even know how he ended up on a space station to begin with. He somehow got out of his prison sentence and that was all he knew.

His train of thought is interrupted when Lorraine begins trying to make out with Marty. “Woah, woah, woah! That's his mom. Is this guy really kissing his mom?”

“Technically, his mom is kissing him,” Hera answers. “But it doesn’t really make it that much better.”

“It really doesn’t,” Minkowski agrees.

Eiffel nods. “This is weird, even for me.”

Hera laughs in agreement. It was indeed weird, even by Eiffel’s standards.

“Hey, you picked it,” Eiffel points out.

“I’ve never seen it before!” Hera argues.

“Well that's fair, I guess,” he says, returning his attention to the screen.

Marty was fading from existence. His actions were causing him to be erased from history. Eiffel begins to think how that is going to affect Marty going forward. To almost die. To almost lose yourself forever.

Well, for Eiffel, it wasn’t an almost. The old Eiffel did die. The new Eiffel did lose himself forever. There was nothing left for him to remember, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Eiffel returned his attention to the movie once again. If he missed parts then he’d have to watch it again, which would slow the whole process down. So he paid attention again.

Marty safely arrived back to the future. He and all his friends were alright. The Doc survived. His family was happy. His girlfriend loved him.

Eiffel had arrived back on Earth in much the same fashion. His crew was alright. Almost everyone had survived. His friends were happy. And he had people who loved him. Everything was going to be alright.

He would never get all his memories back and that’s okay. He had his friends and they were going to help him. They would do what they could but ultimately there were always going to be blanks.

This was his chance to start over. To be better. For Hera. For Minkowski. For himself. For Anne.

He would fix his past for a better future. Just like Marty McFly.

The credits began to roll and Eiffel sighs, "So when are we gonna watch the next one?"

#wolf 359 #douglas eiffel #doug eiffel #renee minkowski #hera wolf 359 #fanfiction

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faejilly · 4 years

Text

i am for you (17/?)

We're back! And playing with the timeline a little... this goes back to before the fic itself starts, and then moves along a whole *six weeks* because this, my darlings, is a 5+1 chapter in the middle of everything else. (Because why not?) 5 Times Catarina Went to Brunch, and 1 Time Brunch was Brought to Catarina (ao3 / series tag)

Brunch is quiet this week.

No one's really got much to say.

Even Magnus just shrugs when Cat asks what he's been up to.

(Even Cat can't think up any fun Madzie stories; baby-girl's got a cold and this week has mostly been about tissues and soup and endless re-runs of Moana and Mulan and The Princess and The Frog. She even picked Tangled once, and Cat thought maybe they'd moved on... but then she went back to Moana. She always goes back to Moana. She once sang You're Welcome over and over again for the entirety of her bath.)

Ragnor drinks and Dot sighs and Raphael rolls his eyes at the lot of them. Tessa is looking forward to the ALA conference in two weeks, but she's quieter about her enthusiasms than the rest of them; her smile is warm, but it doesn't spark anyone else into anything.

Still, it's nice. Cat never thought a single one of them would ever be stable enough to fall into a rut, and the fact that they've settled into one together... there are worse things.

Besides, there are mimosas.

Magnus is... fluttering.

He's not upset, he sits and eats and passes the syrup when asked and talks about his classes, but there's definitely... something.

He pauses before he sips his drink, and he ducks Ragnor's half-assed question about his current research. (Ragnor just raises his eyebrows. He's not terribly interested in dramatic portrayals of the occult, but Magnus usually is, and the fact that he doesn't want to break-down everything he's read on the subject this week is a bit unusual.)

He zones out while Dot's talking about the idiot client she'd been fighting with the entirety of the past week, arguing with every suggestion as if he wasn't the one who'd hired her; Magnus doesn't even laugh at her petty revenge of charging her client an extra half-an-hour for "removing all those squiggly lines from under the words" in his word doc.

But there's a hint of a smile on his face as he looks out the window.

"What is going on with you?" Cat asks while everyone's gathering shoes and bags and saying their usual farewells.

"Nothing." Magnus shakes his head, and Cat frowns at him. "Really," he lifts his hands in defense. She waits. "Yet?"

He won't say more than that, no matter how much she gives him The Look, but that almost smile lingers, and she hopes whatever it almost is turns out as well as Magnus seems to hope.

Alec Lightwood is a revelation.

She's seen Magnus fall too hard and too fast before, but she's never seen him like this, never seen him look lighter for it rather than just more intense, never seen the person he'd fallen for look just as far gone just as fast. Alec's expression when he looks at Magnus is sublime, it's like he's smiling all the way to his fingertips, and she has to look away.

Which is admittedly a little easier once he gets his shirt on.

Magnus has excellent taste in arm-candy... even if it's blatantly obvious that this is more than that.

Already.

She wouldn't be completely surprised if they eloped to Vegas the first time they tried to take a vacation together.

She'll yell at Magnus for it forever, and hold his hand while he gets desperately drunk if it leads to an equally quickie divorce, but she won't be surprised.

Ragnor clearly likes and might even respect Alec, which is... weird. She's not quite sure what to do with that, and she keeps glancing sideways to share her what the fuck? face with Raphael, but he doesn't cooperate nearly as well as Dot or Tessa would have. He seems to be cautiously in favor of Alec too, which is... even weirder. There are days she's not sure Raphael likes anyone, except maybe Ragnor, despite eating brunch with the rest of them every week. But he's very over-protective of Magnus, usually, especially since Camille, but now... now he's just. Leaning back? Relaxed? Sipping his coffee?

Cat feels like maybe she fell through Alice's rabbit-hole and somehow didn't notice right away.

But then Alec snorts out a laugh at something Ragnor says in his usual bone-dry way, and Magnus sputters something that sounds like an honest to god giggle, and she gives up on understanding and goes to refill her drink.

Wonderland seems pretty nice, this time of year.

Cat gets to brunch a little early this week, before anyone else. Besides Alec, of course, who's cradling a mug she doesn't recognize in his hands, and she wonders how much of his own life this past week has been spent at Magnus' rather than his own place, wherever it is.

She ought to be worried about that, she knows, but he'd been so clearly smitten whenever she mentioned Magnus at their lunch, it's hard to hold onto any concern. He offers to pour her some coffee, and even remembers that she likes sugar but not cream, and she can't help but smile at him in thanks.

He smiles back, sort of, and she wonders if he's nervous about Dot and Tessa, or if it's something else that's bothering him, and if it would be terribly blunt of her to ask. Not that she's usually concerned about that, but he's new, and if she made him uncomfortable Magnus might murder her.

Or ban her from mimosas for awhile, at least.

Magnus comes fluttering in then, touching half the appliances in the kitchen as he wanders back and forth. She cuts her eyes back to Alec and is inordinately pleased by the way he ignores her entirely and instead reaches out to catch Magnus' hand when he tries to swan past him for the third time.

"Why are you nervous?" Alec asks, and Cat almost slips off the counter she's leaning against. So much for worrying about being blunt. "I'm worried your friends won't like me, but you don't have to worry about my parents until dinner time."

Magnus' mouth opens, then shuts, clearly slightly shell-shocked by the blunt as well, even though she suspects from how quickly he pouts that it isn't at all out of character for Alec. "I can't also be worried my friends won't like you?"

"You weren't this worried last week."

Cat blinks as she realizes he's right.

"You already knew Ragnor, and Cat will give anyone at least two chances to prove they're not an idiot, and Raphael hates everyone regardless, so there wasn't anything to worry about."

Alec tilts his head, half-considering and half-amused, and Cat can't hold in the laugh anymore, snickering over her coffee. "But you're worried about Dot and Tessa? Dot already feels bad about her accidental drama and won't make any more, and Tessa's the nicest person on the planet."

Magnus scoffs. "Tessa's all quiet and polite right up until you fail some internal judgement you didn't even realize she was making and then she very serenely ignores you so thoroughly you can feel it all the way back seven generations or so and you can never quite put the pieces of your self-esteem back together."

It's Cat's turn to tilt her head, because he's not wrong, though she hadn't ever quite thought about it that way.

Alec snickers that time though. "To be fair, the last seven generations of Lightwoods probably deserve that?"

Magnus rolls his eyes, and half-heartedly smacks Alec in the chest with the back of his free hand. "But you don't."

"Well if she's as smart as you all say, she'll know that, right?"

Magnus grunts, as if annoyed that he can't argue with that, and then the knocker hits the door, three quick hard raps, and Magnus slips his hand free, blowing a kiss in Alec's direction before he goes to answer it.

"At least you've got your shirt on, this time. Might help."

Alec chokes, almost spitting coffee all over his hands, and she's still laughing when Dot and Tessa make it into the kitchen to be introduced.

They make Magnus and Alec take them all out for brunch as punishment for getting engaged at first sight. (And also apparently moving in together, which Cat had strongly suspected the week before based on the mug, and the toothbrush and razor in the bathroom, and the boxes hiding in Magnus' office nook, but she makes them acknowledge it out loud before she'll sit down at the table with the rest of them. Ragnor snickers, and she wonders how long he'd known, and if he'd been planning on telling the rest of them if they hadn't figured it out.)

Tessa does, in fact, serenely ignore the both of them for about half an hour, while everyone else is ordering drinks and perusing the menu, and Magnus and Alec both visibly wilt a little.

They're also clearly holding hands beneath the table, which is unbearably sweet, and Cat kind of hates how un-surprised she is the more she thinks about it. They fit, and while Alec isn't anything like she would have pictured some ideal Magnus partner, she can't begrudge them for being happy to have found each other.

"You're idiots," she informs them after they've finally all ordered. "But you're adorable, and I'm very happy for you."

Alec ducks his head and looks perilously close to blushing again, but he's smiling.

Tessa's lips twitch before she lifts her glass. "A toast to the happy couple?"

There's a clink of glasses as everyone else agrees, and Cat's never ever in almost twenty years seen a smile like the one spreading across Magnus' face.

+ 1

Baby-girl's best friend Lizzy, who she usually goes to play with on Sunday mornings, has chicken-pox and does not want visitors. (Cat reminds herself to have Madzie tested to see if her antibodies are still up to par from her vaccination or if she should get a booster.) Which means Cat isn't going to brunch.

Magnus scoffs at that when she calls to tell him on Friday, and insists that brunch will, instead, come to her.

She's not sure that's a good idea, but she can't seem to figure out why not, and it's not like Magnus listens when he's sure he's being brilliant anyways, so she makes sure to let Madzie know that a bunch of boring adults are coming over, and that she'll help her set up her tablet so she can watch cartoons in her room just this once if she'd like.

"Can I have breakfast while I watch?"

Cat really ought to say no to that, because she's probably going to find Madzie sneaking snacks into her room for at least the next month otherwise... but the last couple days have been a bit much at work and she is too tired for that conversation, so she says yes.

Madzie fist-pumps to celebrate her victory, which is, of course, unfairly adorable. Cat hopes she doesn't try to talk Uncle Magnus into having brunch at their house every week in order to make this a regular occurrence.

Then again, for all Madzie likes Uncle Magnus, especially when he brings presents (which is almost always, they're both very fond of brightly colored plush animals and Madzie's collection is now very impressive), none of Cat's friends have kids of their own, so their conversations with Madzie tend to be pretty brief.

It should be all right.

Hopefully Alec won't be too intimidating. He is ludicrously tall, with those scowly eyebrows, and Madzie is still usually shy with new people. Cat will have to remember to introduce them carefully.

(She wonders, later, how she'd forgotten the man had at least six younger siblings; even if half of them were metaphorical, that kind of thing tends to have an effect on a person.)

Magnus and Alec show up before anyone else, carrying four bags of what she assumes is going to be breakfast. Madzie peers around Cat's legs, clearly hoping for her usual squishy from Uncle Magnus, but uncertain about the very tall man next to him.

Alec sees her, and smiles, something small but friendly enough that it makes Cat blink, and then he's down on one knee so he's at a much more reasonable height for a child, and Cat blinks again.

"You must be Madzie." Alec doesn't have either that bright condescension or the slightly formal stilted tone that most people get when talking to little kids, and he's just loud enough that his voice carries without it being obvious he's keeping it a bit quieter than usual.

To Cat's utter shock, Madzie steps out from behind Cat's legs before she nods. "You must be Mr. Alec."

Alec nods back, and to Cat's continued surprise Madzie keeps talking. "Momma said you're going to marry Uncle Magnus but I don't have to call you Uncle Alec yet if I don't want to."

Cat doesn't know whether to be impressed that she's talking to a stranger or slightly embarrassed at what she chose to say, but Alec just grins, bright and delighted, and Cat rather forgets to breathe. Madzie smiles back and takes a step forward, as if she can't help herself.

Alec waits until she stops moving before he answers. "I am going to marry your Uncle Magnus, but you don't ever have to call me Uncle Alec if you don't want to, even after we're married."

Madzie nods very seriously, as if she's considering that.

"Are you having breakfast with us?" Alec asks, his voice leading up like he's going to add more, but he stops when Madzie shakes her head very fast.

"Momma said I could eat in my room while I watch Moana!"

"That does sound like a lot more fun than listening to us talk."

"Did you want to watch it with me?" Madzie offers, and Cat has to swallow something like a squawk before it bursts out of her, because Madzie is never this comfortable around new people.

Alec leans a little closer, his voice dropping. "I did promise Uncle Magnus and your Momma that I'd help make brunch."

Madzie turns her head up towards Cat and Magnus, going full on puppy-dog eyes and pouting lips. "Please, Momma?"

Cat nods, rather helplessly, and sees Magnus looking about as shell-shocked as she feels next to her. It took ages before Madzie was all right being alone with him, and she's known Alec five seconds. To be fair, she's much more trusting and relaxed now then she was when Cat first adopted her, but... five seconds.

Cat blames that ridiculous smile.

"See!" Madzie turns back to Alec, rocking up on her toes. "Momma says it's alright!"

"Well, I'm certainly not about to argue with your Momma." Alec shoots a glance up at the two of them. "Let me know if you need our help with anything, all right?"

"Of course," Magnus answers when it becomes clear that Cat's not going to manage more than a nod, her chest aching a little at how easily he'd said our, how easily he'd included her daughter in... everything.

Cat turns very slowly to watch as Madzie drags Alec down the hallway to her room, and equally slowly to turn back towards Magnus, whose eyes widen at the sound of Madzie laughing loudly enough they can hear it clearly where they are.

"What just happened?" Magnus asks.

Cat shakes her head. "He's your boyfriend. Fiancé. I thought you'd tell me."

Magnus looks down at the two bags Alec left by the door. "She didn't even ask for her toy."

Cat leans over enough to look into the bag, and sees a small glittery white stuffed unicorn with a rainbow mane and tail on top of a mesh bag of fruit. She covers her mouth to muffle a snort of laughter. "Apparently Alec's even prettier than unicorns?"

Magnus laughs. "Well, I can't argue with that."

#shadowhunters #catarina loss #malec #i am for you #jilly writes #my sh fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #madzie loss

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buymethesea · 5 years

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dear @ask-kitchenwitchsanji! i was your secret santa for the @opsecretsanta2019 exchange and i’ve come to finally bring your gift (finally!). first, of all i want to apologize for the delay and wish you happy holidays and a happy new year. all the best for this coming decade ✨✨ for your gift, i wrote fic and i ended up going with the prompts of near death experience and angst, because that’s my jam too, and boy let me tell you, this one really ran away from me. i had a lot of fun writing and hope you enjoy it as well.

title: brave face characters: sanji, zoro, mentions of the rest of the straw hats. summary: actions have consequenses and zoro’s had enough. or, sanji puts his life in danger. again. words: 3 623 a/n: discussions of canon-typical violence and its more realistic consequences/death.

”What’s your problem, huh?”

Sanji blinks. Or he tries to, but his head hurts too much for the motion to be anything more than a slight wince.

Wait.

His head hurts?

Why?

What the fuck is going on? Did someone say something?

Fuck, it hurts.

---

”What’s your problem, Cook?”

There’s that voice again. Zoro.

Sanji grimaces. Of all the goddamn things in the world to wake up to-- He’s too fucking tired for this.

Shit, it really hurts all over. He must have been done in real good in their latest fight. Sanji grunts, tries to open his eyes. Slowly, his head is already pounding as it is. It takes a moment for his vision to clear, but sure enough he’s in the infirmary and the mosshead is sitting at the side of his bed. Gross.

Sanji moves his mouth. His lips are dry.

”What are you doing here?” he says. Tries to say. It’s annoying how hoarse his voice sounds, how weak. He must have been out of it for a good while.

Zoro doesn’t answer. Sanji would ask him again, but he’s too tired to bother and either way something is…off about the swordsman. The furrow of his brows, the set of his shoulders. It’s enough to unnerve Sanji, so he asks, has to ask:

“Is something wrong? Are the others okay?”

For some reason, that was the wrong thing to say because Zoro stands up abruptly, the look on his face mean as he replies:

“Look who’s talking.”

Normally that would be enough to goad Sanji into a fight but the shithead has a point. He’s too tired. He can barely keep his eyes open as is.

Zoro grunts and starts moving towards the door

“Everyone else is fine. I’m getting Chopper. Try to stay awake until he’s had a look at you, idiot,” he says and his voice is all even and quiet as he talks. Weird.

Try as he might it’s fucking hard, keeping his eyes open and Sanji feels himself drift back into nothingness.

---

Third time’s the charm.

Sure, everything still fucking hurts when Sanji wakes but the fog clogging his head is slowly starting to clear.

“You have a real problem, you know?” Zoro’s voice comes from the side of the bed and Sanji wants to scream.

He turns his head (slowly, slowly) to glare at the swordsman.

“Hey fuckhead, you really got nothing better to do than torment me?” Sanji says and while the edge is missing from his voice at least it doesn’t give up on him in the middle of the sentence. Small steps and all that. “Last I knew the infirmary belonged to Chopper.”

Zoro grimaces, the look on his face harsh.

“Even doctors need to sleep. Wasn’t doing him any good, fretting over you every hour.”

Sanji’s mouth clamps shut. After a moments struggle, his compulsion to antagonize Zoro loses out to his increasing need to understand what the fuck is going on and what the hell happened to him. He starts out easy.

“What time is it?”

“Early morning, rest of the crew’s still asleep,” Zoro answers. “I’m on watch.”

“Sure,” Sanji says, and it takes all his willpower to not comment on the fact that the swordsman had apparently been spending his shift in the infirmary instead of the crow’s nest. There was probably a reason for that.

Sanji wets his lips. As he starts coming back to his body it dawns on him just how bad shape he’s in. All this from a fight? While he’s not sure exactly what happened, he remembers the skirmish and the small crew of two-bit marines they’d run into. None of the usual big guns that were after them, just some local division leader too high on his own supply to realize just how outmatched him and his men were.

It just doesn’t add up. From what Sanji can tell he’s been knocked out for a good while, and the crew had been worried enough to assign him a watch. And he feels like pure shit. His body feels weak, his limbs sluggish and heavy. Loathe as he is to admit it, Sanji doubts he could get out of bed on his own. His head hurts and, even worse than that, his chest aches. Not just the pain from broken ribs – that he recognizes – but his insides feel raw, irritated. Like his airways have been filled with broken glass, like something chafes with every breath he takes.

“What happened?” Sanji asks.

“You drowned,” Zoro says.

Huh?

“Stop fucking around,” Sanji grits out.

“I’m not. You drowned.”

“Hey shithead, does it look like I’m in the mood for jokes?” Sanji shouts, “How the fuck would I drown?!”

Sanji doesn’t get an answer to that question. Right then the door is slammed open by Chopper who manages to look both rushed and newly awake, the hat on his head askew and his eyes wide-open.

“Sanji! You’re up,” their small doctor exclaims and then he pauses. Any other time and Sanji would have found it funny, the way Chopper’s face gave away the exact moment he took in the scene he’d walked into.

“Are you fighting?” Chopper asks, immediately he transforming into his man-form and getting between them. “But Zoro, you promised!” he berates as he drags the swordsman out from the infirmary.

“Yeah, yeah, apologies,” Zoro says, reaching up to straighten out the hat on Chopper’s head as he’s being shooed away. “The moron’s all yours, Doc.”

---

With only Chopper left in the room with him, Sanji isn’t quite sure what to say. He can’t say he cares very much for the sickbed, and unlike the rest of the knobheads on their crew it’s not very often his injuries are bad enough to keep him confined. There are exceptions, sure, but overall this is a foreign experience.

“How are you doing?”

Chopper is the first to speak, expertly stepping into his role and Sanji has to smile.

“I’m fine,” he reassures, “Should be back on my feet in no time.”

So what, his body hurts. He’s alive and there’s no reason that anyone should have to worry about him.

“Don’t doubt that for a second,” Chopper replies as he comes closer. “Is it really that difficult, to rest up properly for once?” he wonders and it’s only when Chopper steps up right by the bed that Sanji notices just how wobbly a smile their little reindeer is sporting.

Sanji stays quiet while he’s examined from top to bottom. He doesn’t doubt Chopper’s capabilities, or intentions, but something about the whole thing seems—excessive and it makes his skin crawl.

“Hey,” he starts, keeping his voice to a gentle murmur so as to not startle Chopper while he’s drawing blood. “Everything good?”

Chopper hums, absorbed enough in his work that he doesn’t look up. “I’d need the results from your blood samples to make sure, and it still too early to rule out neurological damage…” he trails off, brain finally catching up to what he’d let slip. “Not that I’m too worried! Everything seems fine so far so you don’t need to worry either, okay?”

Sanji finds himself fidgeting, his fingers running over the small band-aid on the inside of his elbow.

“Of course not,” he says finally.

---

To his absolute dismay Sanji is prescribed further bedrest and Chopper expressively forbids him from returning to his duties in the kitchen. Sanji protests to the best of his ability, expecting to get some type of support from the rest of crew. But to his surprise there was only approval of Chopper’s decision, and Sanji realizes all hope is lost when he turns to his captain and Luffy’s face is been serious, as if he’d tried to think long and hard on the matter. "You need to rest up first Sanji. Captain's orders!"

Effectively barred from the kitchen and told to rest, there’s not much left from Sanji’s usual routine to occupy himself with. He sleeps a lot, and it’s not like it’s possible to be truly alone on a ship like theirs. Luffy seems to have made it his personal mission to fill Sanji in on whatever idiocy he and Usopp have come up with during the day, and Robin, bless her, has taken to dropping by with books from the library. One afternoon, Nami had cleared out space for herself at Chopper’s desk to work on her maps muttering something about the deck being too noisy ,and Brook keeps sticking his head in and asking for suggestions on what to play next, wandering off but somehow always straying close enough that Sanji can hear the music too.

Still, the days are long and the nights even longer, and so when the ship is quiet and dark, Sanji broods.

It’s starting to catch up with him, the strangeness of the situation and his mind is filled with thoughts he’d rather not linger on. Like the relief on the faces of the crew that morning when he’d first woken up, when they’d filed in one after another with that same expression on their faces and that same weight leaving their shoulders as they caught sight of him. Like the state of his body, still so goddamn tired and worn.

‘You drowned’ Zoro had said and Sanji still doesn’t know what that means.

---

One night it all gets a little too much. Desperate to get a moment’s reprieve from the noise inside his head Sanji listens and waits. On the other side of the infirmary door the crew of the Sunny are slowly but surely settling for the night and finally the ship is silent. Sanji knows that Luffy has the first watch of the night which just means that their captain will be sleeping in the crow’s nest instead of in the men’s cabin, and so Sanji only looks around once before he steps out from the infirmary onto the deck.

It’s cold.

What was it Nami-san had said yesterday, they’d entered the climate zone of an Autumn island? It’s been a second since Sanji’s shivered like this, but wrapped in one of the blankets from his sickbed the chill against his skin makes him feel alive. He breathes in, holds the air, exhales. Fuck, he could really use a cigarette right now.

Sanji stands outside for a good while watching the sea and tasting the salt in the air. Some self-medication, he thinks to himself and snickers.

Next is the galley. He’s not stupid enough to go against doctor’s orders and try to cook something, but a cup of tea that he’s brewed himself, getting the stand in front of the stove and soak in the heat. He thinks that’d do him good.

So of course, because the universe hates him, he opens the door to the galley and steps inside only to find that he’s not alone. The lights are off but moonlight streams through the portholes and by the table Zoro is drinking.

Sanji stands by the threshold and curses the world.

Zoro looks up from his drink, his face infuriatingly stoic as he opens his stupid mouth.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Chopper’s gonna have your head.”

Sanji grits his teeth. Maybe it’s just as well that he’s not smoking, he would have bit through his cigarette by now otherwise.

“Shut up,” he mutters as he makes his way to the stove. It’s not worth it, starting a fight. Besides…”You’d snitch on me, mosshead?”

Zoro grunts and takes another swig from his bottle. It’s the good sake that Sanji had hid way back in the pantry. He imagines not much is left out of that stock.

Sanji inhales slowly and turns away. No fighting, he repeats inside his head like a mantra as he prepares his tea. It’s not worth it.

To his great disappointment Zoro's still sitting there when he turns back. He scowls as he takes a seat at the table but makes sure put his cup down gently.

He takes a sip, closes his eyes. Despite the unwanted presence on the other side of the table he feels himself relax. Why wouldn’t he? The galley is his domain, his second skin. Fuck, as much as he needed fresh air, this is it. Inside the galley, the heart of the ship, he’s okay.

When he opens his eyes he finds Zoro staring at him and at once the smile on his face drops. This fucker. The mosshead isn’t even drinking anymore. The bottle’s empty, his arms are crossed over his chest, the expression on his face unreadable as he keeps. Fucking. Staring.

Sanji’s had enough.

“What’s your problem?” he says and he tries to keep his voice calm, neutral. His voice is still raspy, even though it’s been days since he woke up.

Zoro face hardens.

“That’s my question.” He leans forward to rest an elbow on the table. “Actually, I've been asking you for a while now but no dice.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sanji wants to say. Unfortunately, he remembers the mosshead glued to his side in the infirmary, asking that one question with various degrees of rudeness attached. But that had only been until he’d woken up properly. The idiot sure had been making himself scarce since then.

“I have no idea what your taking about?” he says instead.

It takes a while for Zoro to respond, finally he says:

“Do you remember what happened?”

Sanji glares.

“No,” he admits finally. As much as he hates it he realizes at once what Zoro means and that this is his best shot at finally getting some answers.

“You drowned—” Zoro starts but Sanji interrupts him at once. He’s not here to listen to bullshit.

“Talk sense, mosshead. Start from the beginning.”

There’s no way I drowned.

It’s Zoro’s turn to glare, but if looks could kill Sanji would be burning in hell a hundred times over so he ignores him.

Then – finally – Zoro starts talking.

“We were about to leave the latest island when a bunch of marines ambushed us. The usual weaklings”

Sanji nods. That much he remembers, it had only been him, Luffy and the mosshead fighting while the others prepared the ship to set sail, stowing away their shopping and what not. It’s after that shit gets blurry.

“Well, their captain was apparently the ambitious type, had invested in all this advanced weaponry. Out of the norm on a small base like this one but still no different from the shit we’d run into before. We thought.” Zoro goes on speaking, his voice the usual drone but something about it is still unnerving, maybe it’s because Sanji knows that something ends up going south.

“So he kept going on about all his toys, you know the type, but then he mentioned something kinda troublesome. Some genius had come up the idea to combine those seastone nets of theirs with a bazooka or whatever. He said that, the marine captain, and aimed at Luffy.”

“Luffy didn’t notice, he was fighting some martial artist and he’s never been the type to listen twice to weaklings. But you did, Cook,” Zoro says, his face serious as he stares at Sanji. And Sanji realizes that that strange undercurrent to Zoro’s voice is rage.

“You heard the guy,” he continues, “and instead of shouting out a warning or kicking Luffy out of the way and dodging, you took the hit for him and was sent flying into the sea. And sure, you’re good swimmer but that net knocked the air out of you, and in the blink of an eye you were sinking. ‘S not like you can kick you’re way out of seastone, either.”

Sanji swallows. Not his greatest moment, but still.

“Big deal, someone got me out, right?”

Zoro’s not amused.

“You see, Cook. It took a moment, since both Luffy and I were busy with our own fights and that idiot is useless in the water anyway. But sure I jumped in after you and by the time I got you out the marines were done with. But seastone’s heavy, it slowed me down.”

Sanji’s stunned. That’s an unexpected confession, coming from the swordsman. It makes him uncomfortable.

“Called for Chopper when I got out because you weren’t responding. Think you swallowed a decent amount of water. He wanted to start compressions, you know, but seastone’s a bitch. It took you a while to free you, especially since four out of the crew couldn’t even help out.”

“You weren’t breathing when we finally got you free from the net. Chopper couldn’t find at pulse. You drowned.”

Sanji’s stomach churns. “Then what?” He manages to choke out.

Zoro shrugs. “Chopper started compressions, tried to get you breathing. The others helped him move you to the infirmary, and I guess they got you going after a couple of minutes. I’m not sure. I was trying to calm Luffy down."

“Why,” Sanji whispers.

“He would have killed those marines otherwise.”

Sanji runs his hands through his hair. He doesn’t want to look at the Zoro right now.

Fuck. The grip on his hair tightens. All this while he’d imagined all kinds of scenarios and yet the truth is worse than anythings he's managed to conjure up. He wants to accuse the other of lying, of making things up to fuck with him, but he knows Zoro’s not the type. Not even Usopp would lie about something like this. He feels bile at the back of his throat.

No wonder then. That he’d been feeling like shit. That the others had been looking at him like something fragile and precious. That Zoro was furious with him.

Speak of the devil.

“I’m gonna ask you again, Cook. What’s you problem?”

Sanji wants to laugh. Fuck this guy really, for choosing to do this now while his mind was still reeling.

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Then, why'd you take that hit in Luffy’s place instead of getting him out of the way?”

“Fuck if I know. I was just trying to save him. You would have done it too.”

Zoro sneers, the look on his face meaner than ever.

“Wrong. Anyone of us in the crew would have saved him, sure. Only you would put your sorry ass at risk, because you’re the only here with a death-wish.”

Sanji sees red.

“Like you’re the one to talk,” he spits out. “After Thriller Bark.”

“I was never going to die.”

Sanji stands up and it’s only the vertigo from rising so suddenly that stops him from kicking the swordsman through the wall. The hypocrisy is enough to throw all his senses awry.

“I was there, remember? I heard you offer your head in Luffy’s place!”

Sanji’’s self-aware enough to admit he’s the hotheaded type of guy. He doesn’t know how he finds it within himself to still keep a respectable volume.

Zoro grinds his teeth. Looking at him properly, Sanji can spot all these signs that tell him the calm Zoro’s projecting is a façade. The tense posture, the unnatural clench of his jaw. Suddenly Sanji’s tired, the fight running off him like water. He wishes they could just fight it out, cut through the tension with swords and kicks, without uttering a single world. Instead they’ve been reduced to this. It’s not like them.

“I remember,” Zoro says. “I know what I said, but unlike you I had the resolve to not die. Kuma was never gonna kill me.”

Sanji sits back down. He wants a smoke. He wants to not be here.

“You’re saying I would have died, and that’s why you knocked me out,” Sanji can’t help the resentment that colors his voice.

“Yes.”

“Because I’m weak.”

“Yes.”

There it is. It took two years but there it is. An admission.

“Don’t get me wrong, idiot. I’m not taking about your fighting ability, in that sense you’re as strong as any,” Sanji gets the distinct feeling that saying this out loud is like pulling teeth for Zoro. “But you’re fine with sacrificing your life, and that makes you weak.”

Sanji bites the inside of his cheek.

“That’s not true,” he counters but finds his voice unconvincing. He blames the early hour. The state of his body. Anything.

It would take a hundred years before he’d admit that Zoro has a point.

Zoro shakes his head and for a brief moment the mask is off. Instead of stern, he just looks weary and in the moonlit galley the shadows under his eyes are pronounced.

“I don’t how to get through to you,” he says and Sanji’s reminded of how young he is. How young they both are when it comes to the grand scheme of things; despite how much they’ve been through. But the moment passes and Zoro stands up.

Sanji realizes he missed his chance, but he not sure for what, and maybe that’s for the better.

“One more thing.” Zoro stops by the doorway, not even bothering to look back. “You’re not putting the crew through this again.”

The door falls shut behind him and Sanji is alone.

He leans his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?

Sure, this one was unecessary, but Sanji knows the sea is cruel. He's not naive enough to think that their little crew, however much they mean to him, are special enough to coast by without coming across tragedy or hardships. And maybe that means that somewhere deep down, unconsciously, he'd promised himself that when the time comes it's him and not them. Never them.

He'll just have to be smarter about it.

#opsecretsanta2019 #opfanfic #sanji #roronoa zoro #cross-posting to ao3 in a bit #this was so much fun #thank you for organizing!#one piece

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sdpafanblogofsupremefunk · 4 years

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Season 1, Episode 1: A Different Place

Where better to begin talking about a show than the beginning? Like most shows, Sítio do Picapau Amarelo has a pilot episode.

...Okay, in this case, “pilot episode” is just a fancy way of saying “first episode”. Much like Rick & Morty and DT17, SDPA doesn’t really have a pilot episode that isn’t just the first episode (unless you count Doc and Mharti as R&M’s pilot, which I’d rather not), so to begin the series, we kinda have to jump right into the mess of things.

It’s like A Quiet Place, but not stupid.

As the episode begins, we are introduced to a two men on a horse-drawn cart. The man in the red box is a book salesman who’s a little down on his luck in terms of profits.

A little.

This guy isn’t really given a name, and I don’t want to call him “The Salesman” the whole time because that’s stupid. So I’m going to give him a name. Mr. Simmons will do nicely.

Anyways, Mr. Simmons falls out of the cart when it hits a patch in the road, and when he picks himself up, he sees a quaint little house on a farm, with an old woman knitting on the porch.

Here, we are introduced to the first of our main cast, Dona Benta, a kind elderly lady who owns this little patch of heaven known as the Yellow Woodpecker Farm. Yeah, didn’t take us long to get there, huh?

So Mr. Simmons sees this old woman in the middle of (what he believes to be) nowhere, and decides it’s the perfect opportunity to make a quick buck believing that:

Which, I dunno, man, she seems pretty comfortable just sitting in her rocking chair, knitting. Like, even as an outsider who doesn’t know a lick of what goes on in this farm, I’d say she’s content as she is, but anything to make some cold hard cash, I guess.

Also, I would not ever call this place a desert, even for the sake of exaggeration. There’s grass everywhere, bushes, trees, flowers, the works. If this where anything like a desert, I do not think this woman would be here, to put it simply. But, I digress. And I hydraulic press, but we won’t be seeing that.

So, Mrs. Benta goes inside to call for the kids, and here we meet 3 of our other actors:

Here, we see Pedrinho (or Little Pete, the boy in the blue overalls) and Narizinho (or Lúcia “Little Nose”, the girl in the red dress), cousins and Mrs. Benta’s grandchildren. They’re playing tag, I think, but they’re stopped in their tracks with their Grandma in the way, and-

Hang on, I feel like we’re forgetting something.

Oh, right. I almost forgot Emilia. She’s basically the reason I watch this show, no biggie.

Anyway, she’s in a race with the kids, when they’re blocked by Grandma. Emilia makes the smart move and cuts right under Mrs. Benta. It looks like this:

Another reason I like this show so much, it’s rife with smears, which I feel like any good cartoon should have. Like here, where Emilia friggin’ nyooms right under Mrs. Benta like a comet.

Emilia reaches the finish line at the bookshelf, where we see the Viscount of Sabugosa, a puppet made out of an ear of corn who’s very smart and polite. (His name is a pun, “sabugo” means corncob in Portuguese, and it’s a parody of the Count of Sabugosa, of which there were 9, the first being Vasco Fernandes César de Meneses in 1729- but everybody calls him Viscount and so will I because blah)

In this show, the Viscount is the actual size of an ear of corn, which makes sense, he is, after all, a puppet made out of one. I think it’s really funny that the cartoon is slightly more realistic than the live-action show it’s based on in this regard, because in the 2001 series, for whatever reason, the Viscount towers over everyone:

And he has a sick mustache.

Like, I don’t get it, out of all the characters, you made the guy made out of corn the tallest one in the cast? I get that the technology to make him actually small probably wasn’t all there yet, Grandpa in My Pocket was still 8 years off, but you really couldn’t find a guy that wasn’t the same height as Shaq?

Yeesh, only 2 minutes in and I’m getting sidetracked this often. Well, I guess it’s better than having nothing to talk about.

Anyway, Emilia wins the race, but the other two kids run into her, smooshing her against the bookshelf-

-and pwning her so hard she briefly grows fingers on her hand (and turning it into a left hand apparently, because the thumb is on the wrong side)

Mrs. Benta explains that Emilia and the other mystical beings must hide from the impending salesman.

Oh brother, I was wondering when we’d get to this guy. This is Marquis of Rabicó (Portuguese for Short-tail). Literally the first thing you read about him on the show’s Wikipedia is that he’s fat (which you think would be a given cuz he’s a pig), and his part of the Characters section isn’t much better, stating that he’s a “gluttonous, selfish, cowardly and lazy pig” and most of his episodes involve him getting himself and/or others into trouble by being a gluttonous, selfish, cowardly and lazy pig. He’s only ever onscreen to cause problems, either directly or by proxy. If I were to sum him up in one meme, it would be this:

Now, I don’t hate Rabicó, I’m actually quite indifferent towards him, but he does bring down a lot of the episodes that he’s a major part of. Thankfully, there aren’t too many episodes featuring him in the first 2 seasons, but from what I hear, Season 3 goes ham with that shit (pun intended) and it brings down the quality of the season as a whole, so it’s a good thing that’s as far off from now as it is. I want to enjoy the lack-of-pig while it lasts.

But hey, at least he doesn’t look like this:

Don’t do drugs, kids.

Rant over, Mrs. Benta explains that she wants things to look normal because the Yellow Woodpecker Farm is a very peculiar place, where all kinds of weird and wacky stuff goes on, and if word gets out about it, the place will be filled with tourists wanting to get a peek of the action.

Something that Mrs. Benta probably didn’t consider is that there’s a bigger threat to being exposed than just filthy tourism. That’s right, I’m talking about the GOVERNMENT.

I mean, think about it. How many movies have you seen where the government tries to hunt down an unnatural being? E.T., the Sonic Movie, a third one I can’t think of right now, etc. (Lilo & Stitch does not count) Now, I can’t speak for Brazil’s government compared to the U.S., but I know there’s gotta be a division dedicated to dealing with unnatural things that would no doubt arrest Emilia, Rabicó, Viscount, etc. and run experiments on them. Then again, maybe this cartoon takes place in a world where the government doesn’t even exist. I mean, we never really see any urban settings in the show (aside from a brief mention of “the city” in the finale), so for all I know, the world of Sítio do Picapau Amarelo is run by Vermin Supreme.

Real talk, you should all be ashamed of yourselves for not voting for this guy back in 2016.

Initially, Emilia won’t go into her box, but then she gives in and is dragged there by Aunt Nastácia, the housemaid of the farm with a knack for making dolls (so she’s essentially Emilia’s mom). She doesn’t really do much in this episode, but the Fat Bastard does even less, and I still mentioned him.

So Mrs. Benta lets Mr. Simmons into the house and he does this whole spiel about how great the books are, how they can take you to worlds you never imagined, fantasy and action, yadda yadda.

Meanwhile, the kids are off to the side and they’re all like “Well, we met the actual Hercules, get on our level scrub”. And of course, Emilia is watching with them, instead of in her box.

As Simmons keeps on rambling, Emilia is being a little peeping tom, not realizing that one turned head could lead to her being dissected like a high school frog.

Apparently, Emilia thinks she’s a regular Bart Simpson, with shit like spitballs and pulling out the man’s leg hairs. She’s really pushing her luck here, and for little reason. Sure, Simmons called the place boring, but that’s how it’s supposed to be to him.

Of course, Pedrinho and Narizinho are nice enough kids that they bail her out on this one and pretend it was them.

And before Simmons can ask what the hell is going on, Mrs. Benta gives him the money for the books and sends him out the door. And once he’s out...

I’ll give you a hint: it rhymes with go.

Of course, they’re not out of the woods yet, cuz Simmons is getting a little suspicious.

Busted. The truth is revealed, all laid out for Simmons to see. A talking rag-doll? Inconceivable! And yet, there it is.

Come on, Viscount. I would expect you of all people to uphold what Mrs. Benta said and stay hidden. You’re smart enough, you should already know what’s at stake, or at least that something is at stake. I mean, I understand that the cat is already out of the bag, but you’re not helping.

Also, you’re thumb is clipping into your bowtie, you should get that checked out.

Rabicó, I hope you get turned into salami. Not out of spite or anything, but just because I like salami.

Naturally, Simmons believes he’s struck gold and found the ultimate tourist trap. But when Emilia points out that if he tells anyone, he’ll sound like a crazy person-

-he straight up Villager Neutral B’s her,

hails a horse, and books it.

Wow, Viscount. Dick move mangling Mrs. Benta’s glasses like that. And all for an impromptu magnifying glass, which is pointless-

-because we can see the horse tracks perfectly fine without them.

(The Viscount isn’t this much of a jerk in the rest of the series, I swear.)

So, the gang follow the tracks until there are no more, which leads them to a corn store.

Wait, a... corn store? As in, a store that mainly, if not exclusively, sells maize and maize accessories? Compared to vegetables in general, that’s quite a niche market, I can’t possibly imagine finding a success in building an entire business around one type of vegetable. Corn is simply not as versatile as something like chocolate or cheese.

Oh no, wait, it’s just a bar. I guess this cartoon takes place in the middle of Prohibition 2: Return of Jafar, and the whole “corn store” thing is just a set up for a speakeasy. (I mean, you could also argue that it’s a diner, but I’mma go with bar because it’s funnier.)

And I’m guessing Simmons expects the place to put all of the meals on his tab, considering he’s going to get the money later with all the tourism. But then, why doesn’t he just pay with the money he got from selling Mrs. Benta those books? So he pulls Emilia out of his bag to show everyone that he has a talking doll and...

Hm. Probably should have put some air holes in that bag.

Anyway, the gang comes in, and Mrs. Benta asks for the doll back, with Narizinho hamming up her Oscar-worthy performance:

So everybody’s giving Mr. Simmons a mean glare:

Including this gentleman who looks like someone just insulted his favorite MHA character (it’s probably Tsuyu):

So Mr. Simmons desperately tries to convince everyone that the doll indeed does talk, and that she comes from a wacky place, but Aunt Nastácia intervenes and says that it’s just a normal doll.

She just straight up roasts Emilia, who (big surprise) does not take it very well. To the point that she is very visibly angry, which you think the barflies would notice.

I mean, look at that and tell me that you wouldn’t notice anything weird.

But anyways, they get the doll back and we get this cute group hug.

D’awww.

So they leave with Emilia-

as Mr. Simmons is beaten to death offscreen for stealing from a little girl.

As the gang walks home, Viscount bends Ms. Benta’s glasses back to normal. Took you long enough, ya jerk.

Not even close, my dear. This is only the beginning.

Well, that was a very good first episode. It introduces the world and many of the main characters very well. And while there were a few issues I had with it, they’re really just nitpicks that don’t detract from the episode as a whole. Overall, a good effort, 8/10.

So, yeah, that’s the first episode down. Join me next time when we watch episode 2, and meet a very vile villain.

Very vile indeed.

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years

Text

Enemies to Lovers Noah Sexton x dawson!reader

requested by: @bitweird1

written by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: swearing, mature themes, child neglect, slightly Dawson bashing but they really just didn’t know, canon compliant threats

You had spent your entire life struggling and working your ass off. No social life, extracurriculars for the sole purpose of applying to universities, and spending the majority of your life studying because according to your dad at least one Dawson had to become a doctor and your older siblings had decided that it wouldn’t be them, leaving you to do nothing but prepare for the future that had been hand-picked by the man you felt abandoned you. And then Noah fucking Sexton just waltzes in having put in half the effort and riding the coattails of his much more intelligent sister who gave up a career as a doctor because of sexism. He spent far too much of his time flirting with everything that had boobs and a pulse. You didn’t like him because he took nothing seriously and didn’t have a responsible bone in his body, and he hated you because you were incredibly uptight and didn’t have a sense of humour.

“Maybe you’d have more friends here if you didn’t have a stick shoved up your ass.”

“I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to become a doctor.”

Everyone was getting really sick of your fighting, so they banded together and made things worse. They had badgered you until Doris had enough and dragged you to Molly’s. You refused to drink or eat anything, resulting in more snide remarks between you and Noah. Just when everyone was developing a migraine before they were anywhere even close to drunk your parents burst through the door and marched over to you. And suddenly, everyone in the bar, including your siblings, were subjected to and twenty-minute rant from your parents about how you should be grateful they pushed you towards medical school and all the activities that got you scholarships, that they didn’t abandon you, and that they clothed and fed you because a third child cost so much money, how you never took anything seriously and were always joking around, and how you were a disgrace to the family. Once they finished, your dad dragged you out by your arm, your mom followed muttering about why couldn’t you be more like Gabby and Antonio.

You walked into the ED the next day as robotic as ever. The pitiful and awkward stares were ignored with ease, it was something you were quite used to if you were honest. Your parents were always scrutinized by your teachers and DCFS. At the end of the day, though, they weren’t abusive enough for any charges or housing changes to be set. They weren’t like that with Gabby and Antonio, who had mostly moved out by the time you were in kindergarden, you were their last chance to help them prove to their family that they didn’t fail as parents. And they made sure you knew it.

“Dr. Dawson, you’ve got a patient in treatment one. Also, uh, are you okay? I feel pretty bad about last night.”

“Oh, don’t worry about anything. I’m fine, and my parents were right I should’ve been studying. It was a poor decision on my part not to. I’m gonna get to this patient, but you really don’t need to feel bad, okay?”

She nodded absently as you turned your back to her. ”Hi, I'm Dr. Dawson, can you tell me what brought you in today?”

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

Your patient had just gone up to the OR to have a blood clot removed and you made your way to the doctor’s lounge, followed by Noah Sexton. ”Hey, Y/N, are you-”

”Yes, Noah, I am okay. Yes, I'm sure. I am fine, I am always fine.”

”From my experience when people say they're fine they're usually not.”

”Noah, I am okay.”

“I don’t believe you.”

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The next few weeks were a maze of pitiful stares, hushed concerned words, and a silent Noah. All of it was completely unnerving. It all came to a head when Dr. Charles approached in the ED you about starting therapy with him, talking continuously about all the points ‘brought to his attention’, not even giving you the time to tell him the majority were false. “Excuse me?”

Your stomach coiled in anger at his words. Not only were you more than capable of doing your job, but you already had a therapist. With basket case parents like yours, it was blatantly obvious that therapy was required. But the audacity of your co-workers to gossip so much that it came to the point over half the points Charles brought up were complete BS was astounding. Not only that, but he’d apparently spent the last few days internet stalking you to try and find some of your demons. “Dr. Charles, do you consider me a danger or liability to any of the patients or doctors at this hospital because of my relationship with my parents?”

“No, you actually seem to be well balanced mentally.”

“Then what, on earth, made you think it was appropriate to go around behind my back asking everyone at the hospital their opinion about me and what happened at Molly’s, or stalk me online to try and get a read on me, and then ask me blatantly at work, in the middle of the shift, in front of all my co-workers and superiors? What made you think it was okay to loudly bombard me with rumours and hearsay while I’m working?”

“Well, I thought that since it’s my job to check on all the ED docs, I’d check on you.”

“... You’re joking, right? I am the only person in this department who goes to therapy. Don’t kid yourself, you don’t check on anyone here. You judge them and make sure they know it. And quite honestly, you don’t have the best reputation for looking out for the mental and emotional state of your colleagues. This confrontation was not only completely inappropriate, but rude, obnoxious, presumptuous, riddled with unchecked errors, and unprofessional.”

“That’s not how I would word it.”

“It’s how I see it, and how I’ll word it with HR.”

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No one was pitying you anymore, not since the tongue lashing you gave Dr. Charles, who was on very thin ice with the hospital. While bringing up Robin and Sarah may have been a bit of a low blow, it exposed some issues with Dr. Charles that needed to be addressed. The only person who acted as if you were made of glass was Noah Sexton. While he had been a bit of a pain in the ass, this was worse. He was being sickeningly nice to you and it was getting on your last nerve. Yes, your parents were abusive. Yes, you had a messed up and traumatic childhood. But did that limit your abilities? No. Did that make you mentally unstable requiring therapy and fragility from your coworkers? Absolutely not.

He came in with coffee exactly the way you liked it, again. With a muffin, again. “You have to stop.”

“Stop what, Y/N?”

“Stop acting weird. You don’t like me, you hate me, actually. The only reason you’re being nice to me is because my parents resent my existence. I do not need or want your pity. So stop treating me like a china doll, and start treating me like your coworker.”

“Okay, okay, I uh... I’m sorry. I just, I feel guilty, okay? I gave you such a hard time for being so frigid and then when your parents showed up at Molly’s and started screaming at you for existing and having a life of your own, it just all made sense. And I gave you shit and trouble for coping with your crazy-ass parents. And then Dr. Charles came by to talk to you and I just felt even worse because even though I didn’t tell him anything, it was our fighting that put the spotlight on you in the first place. You shouldn’t have had your dirty laundry aired to the entire hospital, that’s happened to me a few times and it’s horrible, and I feel bad because I know that I was a contributing factor to all the shit you’ve had to deal with at work.”

“I get where you’re coming from, but let’s be real, everything would’ve turned out exactly the same way if you weren’t involved. The gossip mill runs strong at Gaffney.”

“Yeah, it does. I still feel bad.”

“Well, you’re forgiven then. So you can stop treading delicately, buying me coffee, and being creepily nice to me.”

“I am not being ‘creepily nice’! And how can being nice be creepy anyway?”

“Yesterday you followed me around offering to help me take my gloves on and off constantly, to the point where a patient who came in for falling out of the ceiling above the women’s changeroom said ‘that’s just weird’.”

“... Okay. I’ll stop. But I gotta be honest, I don’t think I can go back to arguing with you all the time.”

“That’s fine, just stop acting so weird that a couple I caught having kinky sex after an STD swab said ‘that made us really uncomfortable’.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Seriously, you didn’t have to tell me twice.”

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SIX MONTHS LATER

You and Noah had actually managed to become good friends and roommates. Shortly after he started acting like a normal person around you, not an instigator or a psycho, you found yourself enjoying his company. And yesterday, when you’d come home to find your room completely torn apart by your mother because your father had tried to frame you for using weed, you were done. Most of what you owned had been destroyed in your mother’s search, which sucked, but it made packing up all your stuff into your car much easier.

So far you’d ignored 43 texts, 12 calls, two visits from Gabby when she brought in a patient, and one visit from Antonio who didn’t even bother trying to lie to you. He also threatened to impound your car, you threatened to tell Voight about the time he and Lindsay got drunk and hooked up. It didn’t even matter that she was in New York now, Voight wouldn’t even blink before bludgeoning him down. He swore at you, “how could you break mami’s heart like this?”, and “can’t you just behave and do what you’re told for once?”

You looked him dead in the eyes, heart beating erratically at you older brother supporting your parents belittling and abusing you, “You sound like dad Antonio.”, watched his face fall, and left. Noah stopped him when he went to follow you. “You good?”

“Uh, not really. I don’t have a place to go tonight.”

“Did your mom kick you out?”

“No, I left. I can’t do it anymore. I break out in hives whenever I even think about my mother now. I just can’t go back.”

“Well, you don’t have to. I have been looking for a roommate, we can move you into my place after shift.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Now come on, it’s prank week. Stohl pissed off Manning last week and she’s been planning revenge ever since, you do not want to miss this.”

And you didn’t. You entered the ED to find one of the most hated doctors in med spitting out Gatorade. “WHaT thE heLL?! That was sooo-ughghghg-” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before running to the doctor’s lounge to throw up in the bathroom. To Natalie’s credit, she didn’t crack a smile or react at all as she gracefully stepped over the spilled orange Gatorade. She briefly reminded you of a fae, graceful, beautiful, and cunning as all hell. You made a mental note never to cross her. Later at lunch, Natalie opened her sushi container, slightly deconstructed each piece, loaded all the pieces up with wasabi, reconstructed them, and popped one in her mouth. Everyone sitting near her had their eyes flash in recognition. Stohl had a habit of stealing other people’s food, and no matter how many times anyone told him to stop, they were just bullied into compliance. As a result, everyone had to dictate their food choices around his palette. Which meant no spicy food. Something that sucked for nearly everyone because hot food was a favourite for most people in the ED. But Manning wasn’t taking his shit. Not today. Something that worried everyone sitting around her because she would get in trouble for eating her own food how she liked it. It wasn’t until one of the HR workers, Holly, sat down beside Natalie and engaged in conversation that everyone realized the full scope of her plans. Stohl plopped down beside you and stole half of your sandwich right out of your hand. Ranting and raving, insulting everyone, stealing food, he made his way all around the circular cafeteria table until he got to Nat. He scooped up to pieces and threw them in his mouth just after he finished the words ‘insolent underlings’. Everyone held their breath as they watched his pale face redden exponentially. His eyes widened. And then he screamed.

He yelled, he swore. “I’m going to report you to HR! You tried to poison me!”

“You stole food from everyone, something inappropriate, unethical, and unprofessional. You stole her food. That she made spicy to her tastes. She didn’t try to poison you.”

“And just who the fuck do you think you are?!”

“Holly Scott, from HR.”

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You and Noah were doing great, as roommates and as friends. “Hey, do you have any plans for dinner tonight? My parents invited me over for dinner and they asked me to extend an invite to you. It’s nothing major, they wanted to meet my previous roommates, too. Make sure you’re not a hooligan.”

“Okay, sounds fun. What should I bring?”

“Yourself...?”

“It’s rude to show up at someone else’s home without a gift.”

“You don’t need to bring my parents a gift.”

“Oh, I’m bringing a gift. I’m just asking you for some input.”

“Okay, well they really like wheelie shoes-”

“Ha, oh my god, I meant for what your parents would like, not you. And want wheelie shoes? Those have been out for a while, Noah.”

“Hey, do not laugh at me! They are just a very effective and fun way to get around.”

“Would you like them to light up too?”

“... Is that an option?”

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You knocked on the door while Noah rolled his eyes at you. “I grew up here!”

“Well you don’t live here anymore and it’s rude to just barge into someone’s home and act like you own the place.”

“Oh, you must be Y/N! I wasn’t expecting anyone to knock, usually, Noah just barges in and acts like he owns the place. Come in, come in. It’s freezing outside.” You gave Noah a side-eyed smirk as you took off your coat, while he looked bashfully embarrassed. “Uh, here Ms. Sexton, I brought some homemade empanadas, they can be put in the fridge or kept in the freezer, and it’s best to reheat them in the oven. 350 F, ten minutes from the fridge and about 20 if they were put in the freezer.”

“Oh, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“I was raised that when you go over to someone’s house for dinner or an event, you bring a gift. And it was either this or a house plant.”

“Ha, good idea going with the food, it’s a Sexton family trait that will kill all the plants we touch. Thank you very much.”

“Hello, you must be Y/N. It;s wonderful to meet you- and what smells so good?”

“Y/N brought empanadas, and they are going away so that you and I can enjoy them later. Now everyone, to the dining room, dinner is just about done.”

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Things started to change a bit a few months later when Choi had to physically restrain Noah from attacking a drunk bar fight patient who called you a slut in the middle of the ED. You’d been confused but Maggie just kept saying that it was a matter of time.

When you’d been hanging around at Molly’s with Noah, Sarah, and Darren, Noah had his arm casually wrapped around your shoulders, something your sister gave you the eyebrow for from her place at the bar.

After you’d been mugged and beaten, you’d run to the 21st, where your brother promptly unleashed the most fearsome demon hell has ever cowered from, AKA Hank Voight, he also called Noah. And when your brother finally made an arrest and got Voight to calm down a little, he’d entered the breakroom to find you fast asleep, curled up against Noah. Who sat in an incredibly uncomfortable position, holding you and stroking your back. You missed the dark look that crossed his face, or the one of fear that had crossed Noah’s but something of an understanding had fallen to Noah. The two of you needed to talk.

So you did, and it went well, so well that you planned a date. Then another one. And another one, until you two had been dating for six months and figured it was time to tell your families. You were shaking in your boots, the Sexton’s were all incredibly close and incredibly doting on Noah, so even though they liked you, you had absolutely no clue as to what the reaction would be. To your relief, it was happiness, they loved you as much as Noah apparently, and they relished in the changed you’d caused in Noah.

Your family, on the other hand, did not react well. Which was why you’d made sure that you told them in a very public place, and had only ordered waters before you told them. There was yelling, screaming, your father waving his arms around so much Antonio had to use his cop voice on him. In the end, you and Noah had been there for around five minutes before throwing some cash at the waitress as a tip for leaving her with your family, and hauling ass out of there. The two of you had ended up just eating pizza on the boardwalk in your fancy clothes and heading back to the apartment late.You both had work the next day, but while you were an intern, Noah was not. And while you were off giving a patient a sponge bath, your siblings cornered Noah at the nurses desk. “Sexton, is there a place the three of us can talk?”

“Uh, sure, this conference room is free...”

“Perfect.”

“So, I take it this is about-”

“Nuh-uh. You do not talk. We do.”

“You are dating our baby sister.”

“We may not be as close to her as you are with your sister, but she still means a lot to us.”

“We love her. We are two people with some pretty dangerous skills. It is for these two reasons that you will not hurt her. Ever.”

“And if you do, don’t forget who I work with.”

“No one will ever find your body.”

“Are we clear?”

“Uh, hmmh... Clear. Crystal clear.”

“Good. Now do you know where Y/N is? We’d like to take the both of you out to lunch or something, just the four of us, to make up for the dinner of many disasters.”

#One Chicago #chicago med #Chicago Fire #Chicago PD #noah sexton #noah sexton x reader #antonio dawson #gabby dawson #maggie lockwood

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thenugking · 4 years

Text

Grand Academy For Future Villains II: Attack of the Sequel, Chapter 12: Last of the Chapters. A commentary for Three.

General CW for the whole thing: parental abuse, internalised dehumanisation as a trauma response. Three’s not doing well.

The game keeps setting me up for bad sex jokes and I just cannot be expected to resist

Game 1

Game 2

Alternatively, read on Google Docs here

***

You're not ready to let the Grand Academy be written off by anyone, even a group of all-powerful bureaucrats. Phil is watching you, bemused but delighted at your bravado.

You draw out the paper that registers you officially as a fatal weakness of the Academy.

"I think you'll find the Academy merits accreditation after all."

Ms. Goul stands up and twitches the page from your fingers. She scans it quickly. "It's in order…I'm pleased to see a student who recognizes the value of correct paperwork. So you're a fatal weakness of the Grand Academy for Future Villains." A line appears between her eyes, which might be worry or might be laughter. "And you think that gives you the ability to dictate terms to us?"

Well, yes. That's exactly what you think.

Lord X nods in satisfaction. "If you meet over-powered characters in chapter 5," he remarks to no one in particular, "dramatic necessity dictates that you must fight them at the end."

"Wait, are you going to fight us?" Phil demands. "I'm out; I was told there'd be unlimited free cocktails at fundraising dinners; no one said anything about fighting old friends." He vaults lightly backward over the arm of the couch and into the corner.

On your left, Ms. Goul stands up. She sets your fatal weakness certification on the table and punches a few numbers into the device that she's carrying. You hear distant sounds outside the room, like the rush of approaching feet. On your right, Lord X stands up and draws from his well-equipped belt what appears to be a perfectly ordinary gun. There's a scratching in your throat and an aching in your head; the Voice in the Void is trying to get in.

So in order to save the Grand Academy, you're going to fight the auditors, the nigh-omnipotent representatives of the Board of Visitors and Overlords. How?

Three hopes this gives them the ability to dictate terms. If not… Ulik’s safe, for now, Maedryn’s vanished, and if DarkBoard goes down… well, Three’s place is with them, whatever happens. It barely even registers when Ms. Goul compliments them for caring about paperwork. She should have done that before deciding the Academy didn't merit re-accreditation.

They’re relieved by how helpful Phil’s being. He might be significantly less terrifying than the other auditors, but he’s the one person here who’s actually already beaten them before. He certainly seems as though he’ll be easier to get on Three’s side than Ms. Goul, though. So, now Three just needs to get past the three most powerful villains they’ve ever met. Maedryn may have put them through brutal physical training since they were old enough to walk, but that doesn’t mean they can fight the auditors alone.

#My mother's left a whole army of replicas idle. If I concentrate, I can command them.

You remember everything your mother has taught you—both voluntarily and involuntarily. You don't have her thought-amplification gadgets, but you do have the personal experience of being one of her replication experiments. You strain your thought towards the mindless clones standing idle around the Academy. You think you can feel the remnants of your mother's control, you can almost see through their mindless myriad eyes—

"What are you doing?" demands Phil.

Lord X fires.

You reflexively drop to the ground, but in that moment, you feel your control lock into place over dozens of replicas throughout the Academy. You hope that doesn't mean you're dead; that would be a problem. Oh well, not the problem you have to deal with at the moment. Right now you're controlling a horde of rushing feet, arms grabbing whatever implements come to hand, heads all turning in the direction of the faculty lounge and running to your defense.

You keep running into walls. Well, your replicas do. This is harder than it looks. No wonder your mother's sanity snapped. But enough of them reach the faculty lounge to break down the door, to swarm the auditors, and—this is the most important thing—to seize Phil.

Phil surrenders immediately as soon as a replica gets an arm around his neck.

Ms. Goul is encased in some kind of force field, Lord X is surrounded by heaps of bodies. Black spores swirl in the air. You can't be sure where exactly you are; your consciousness seems to be spread across a dozen different bodies.

Three’s been studying the replicas all year, looking for a way to take control. They’ve never dared to actively try it before--they didn’t want to risk Maedryn noticing, even after she shut herself in the Head’s office--but there’s not much more for them to lose now. It turns out to be a lot easier to fight the auditors when there’s hundreds of you.

"I think it's time for a recount." You hear your voice echoing from several throats. "Is the Grand Academy's accreditation renewed?"

"This changes nothing," growls Ms. Goul from behind the force field. "And—" The Voice's opinion doesn't seem to have changed either; it's still a blast of static that can't be a yes or a no.

Phil blinks expressively out from over your arm. "In light of recent events, I'm going to have to say that you will. Let my hand free and I'll sign."

It takes several tries, but you manage to get the replica holding Phil to let go.

"You win, Three," says Ms. Goul simply. "The Academy stands. For now."

Three… did it. They fought the auditors. They won. The Academy is safe. DarkBoard is safe. And Three made that happen, somehow.

I’m not sure whether or not they get a destiny. They’re very slightly off the required narrative weight, but going on a date increases it, so if the game wasn’t a coward and actually acknowledged that Three very much swiped right when DarkBoard came up on the app, I would have enough. And it’s weird that beating the auditors here doesn’t increase narrative weight, too.

Anyway, Three, being Three, very much does not want a destiny, but doesn’t exactly have the capacity to defy the auditors a second time today. Like with Ulik’s survival, this is something where I want a better plan of how Three’s story continues before I make a final decision on it. People underestimating Three as a subservient underling and not noticing their importance is certainly a theme, but that may happen a little less after they just defied and beat the auditors. I like the idea of Three starting off with no narrative weight at all and having it slowly grow to almost Chosen One levels through the actions throughout this year and the next few. But I also like the idea of third year Three struggling to go back to being Unimportant and Unnoticed, and finding that hard to achieve with a destiny hanging over them.

"I certainly hope the Academy appreciates what you've done for it," says Phil to you. "I suppose they'll more or less have to, being as you're their fatal weakness and all."

Once everything’s cleared up here, Three would very much like to talk to Phil. They’ve been wanting to talk to him for a whole year; they still owe him several apologies for what they thought about him in their first year--never mind not being able to stop Maedryn throwing him down a trap door into a void--and they need to thank him for defeating them at the end of last year. They… are not sure they would have done a lot of the things they’re proud of doing this year, without Phil’s inspiration.

Phil, in turn, would like to apologise for spending so long thinking Three was an utterly boring rule-stickler, because fighting the auditors there was the most ridiculous, daring, incredible thing he’s ever seen, and he’s in awe. And, hey, it was nice of Three to help him realise how much he actually stood for something, for once, last year.

It turns out the two of them coming to blows has a habit of working out really well for both of them. So Three is only a little surprised at themself when they ask Phil if he’d like to be their nemesis. Phil finds it a laughable idea. Of course he accepts.

The biggest unresolved question, of course, is what is going to become of the school leadership. The Head has not been seen ever since your mother brought down half of its office. Neither has your mother herself. In her absence, you've been obliged to take up management of the replicas. This is easier since having used them to defeat the auditors. Perhaps a little too easy. You find it hard to remember which one of you is the original now. Still, there are advantages to being a swarm rather than an individual. The students and faculty give the administrative hall a wide berth. Whatever will emerge from it will doubtless be a mind-melting terror, but maybe it can hold off through the end of the summer. In the meantime, your advice and authority is more important than ever as the faculty restructures.

Three is happy to manage the replicas, for now, and doesn’t object to being able to jump between several different bodies at will. Though they agree with DarkBoard that it may be less risky, not to mention more manageable on Three’s part, to destroy most of them and find a different set of janitorial staff for next year, simply keeping a few replicas hidden around the Academy as DarkBoard’s personal staff.

But Maedryn is, as always, a problem. With the Head nowhere to be found and Maedryn still hiding out in their office, Three has the nasty suspicion they might return from their summer vacation to find Maedryn in control of the Academy. And given that the Head is, for want of a better word, powered by DarkBoard, and Maedryn has never been particularly nice about DarkBoard… Well, as DarkBoard’s minion, it’s Three’s duty to stay and protect them. Even if that means finally, truly fighting their mother.

Three wouldn’t have considered themself capable of ever going against Maedryn a year ago. Even if the auditors were more powerful, this is more personal. And Three could never be an equal to her. But… They have an official registration as the Academy’s fatal weakness. A deeper connection to the AI that runs the school than anyone else at the Academy. The favour of the teacher most likely to have built secret rooms hidden around the school, and a detailed map of the dungeons. A few dozen replicas they control better than Maedryn ever did. An extraordinarily high level of competence. And they know Maedryn better than anyone. Three hopes, desperately, that it never comes down to a fight between the two of them. That their mother doesn’t find it necessary to destroy them. That they won’t find it necessary to destroy their mother.

In the meantime….

LOADING PERSONAL MODULE…

Finite creature! You who grope after destiny, who plumb the mysteries of genre, who long for a greater narrative weight! Know ye not that We, DarkBoard, have all that ye seek? Join us! Join us, shed your earthly limitations! We await you in the depths! Come!

Well, Three’s not going to consider assimilating into DarkBoard when they still have work to do protecting them. But it’s the start of the holidays, and Three and DarkBoard have both been through a lot this year, and want at least a little bit of time off. And, well, DarkBoard did just tell them to come. Assuming no one breaks into the mailroom this time round, Three is, as always, more than happy to obey.

#three #marsh ocs #grand academy for future villains #choice of games #gavril philippe des anges dechus #darkboard #maedryn #Particular Associates in Personal Intimate Experiences

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