#and still isn't used to earth customs

[ryin-silverfish]

A Guide to the Chinese Underworld (and what it isn't)

As many FSYY and fox posts as there were on my blog, I am actually a huge fan of the Chinese Underworld mythos. Mostly because I was once a morbid little kid that loved reading about the excavations of ancient tombs, and found the statues depicting hellish torture in the Haw Par Villa "super cool".

Apart from the aesthetics, the history of its evolution is also fascinating. Most of us, Chinese or not, only know the most popular version of the Underworld——the "Ten Kings" system, yet that isn't always the case. So today, I'll start off with a short summary of that.

In pre-Qin era, there was already this generic idea of a "Realm of the Dead" called the Yellow Spring, Youdu, or Youming, but we know very little about it.

Then, in the Han dynasty, two ideas start to emerge: 1) the Underworld is a bureaucracy, 2) the God of Mt. Tai ruled over the dead.

This early bureaucracy might not function as an agent of punishment; the main focus was on keeping the dead segregated from the living so they wouldn't bring diseases and misfortune to the latter, as well as using those ghosts to enforce collective punishments upon people for their lineage's wrongdoings while they were still alive.

Post-Han, after Buddhism entered China and took root, its idea of karmic punishments and reincarnation and the figure of King Yama was merged with folk and Daoist ideas of the Underworld bureaucracy, and, came Tang dynasty, resulted in the "Ten Kings" system that first appeared in Dunhuang manuscripts.

It was very rudimentary and far from well-established, as seen in Tang legends, with some adopting the Ten Kings system, some sticking to the Lord of Mt. Tai and some favoring King Yama, and overall little agreements on who's in charge of the Underworld.

But the "Ten Kings" system would become the mainstream version from then onwards, used in Ming vernacular novels and made even more popular by folk religion scrolls like the Jade Records (Yuli Baochao).

As such, most points in the following sections will be based on the fully matured "Ten Kings" system of the Underworld, as seen in the Jade Records and JTTW.

What happens when you die?

(This is a fictionalized walkthrough of the posthumous fate of souls under the "Ten Kings" system. I try to stick to the very broad progression outlined in the Jade Records, but many creative liberties are taken on the details.)

Let's say there's a guy named Xiao Ming, and he had just died of a heart attack. Bummers. What now?

Well, the first thing he saw would be the ghost cops.

There isn't really an unanimous agreement on who these ghost cops are: they may be a pair of ghosts in white and black robes, wearing tall hats (Heibai Wuchang), they may have the heads of farm animals (Ox-Head and Horse-Face), or they can just be generic ghost bureaucrats. For convenience's sake, let's say it was the first scenario.

"Who are you guys and where are you taking me?"

"Glad you asked!" The taller ghost cop, being the cheerful one of the pair, replied. It wasn't very reassuring, considering that his tongue was dangling out of his mouth way further than it should. "I'm the White Impermanence, my sour-looking colleague here is the Black Impermanence, and we are taking you to the City God's office."

This City God, a.k.a. Chenghuang, is just like how it sounds: the divine guardian of a city, who also pulls double duty as the head of the local Dead People Customs Office. They are usually virtuous officials deified posthumously, and in JTTW, they fall under the category of "Ghostly immortals", together with the Earth Gods a.k.a. Tudi.

So Xiao Ming went with the two ghost cops——not like he had much of a choice, made his way through the long queue at the City God's office, and was now standing in front of a gruff old magistrate in traditional robes.

"Name?"

"Wang Xiao Ming."

"Age and birth dates?"

"21, April 16 2003…"

After he was done asking questions, the City God flipped through his ledger, then picked up a brush, ticked off Xiao Ming's name, and told him to go get his pass in the next room. More waiting in a queue. Wonderful.

"I never heard anything about needing a pass to get to the Underworld," the girl in front of Xiao Ming asked the ghost cops, who were standing guard nearby. "Is this a new policy or something?"

"Yeah. In the old days, we'd just drag y'all straight to the Ghost Gate." The ghost cop in black said, then muttered to himself, "Fuckin' paperworks and overpopulation, man…"

(This "Dead People Passport" thing was popularized in the middle-to-late Ming dynasty, as shown by the discovery of such documents inside tombs in southern China. )

(It might have evolved from similar passes to the Western Pure Land in lay Buddhism that recorded their acts of merits. Which, in turn, might be traced back to the "Dead People Belongings List" of Han dynasty, to be shown to Underworld bureaucrats so that no one would take away the dead's private property down there or something.)

Anyways, after he received his pass, Xiao Ming departed together with the rest of the bunch, to be led to the Ghost Gate. It was like the world's most depressing tourist group, where instead of tour guides, you got two ghost cops in funny hats, and the only scenery in sight was the desolation of the Yellow Spring Road.

They weren't the only travellers on the road, though. Xiao Ming noticed other groups moving in the far distance, behind the fog and the flickering ghostfire, led by similar figures in black and white.

It made a lot of sense; realistically, there was no way two ghost cops could fetch hundreds of thousands of dead people all by themselves.

(SEA Tang-ki mediums believed there were multiple Tua Di Ya Peks——Hokkien name for the Black and White Impermanences, working for different Underworld Courts.)

At last, the Ghost Gate stood in front of Xiao Ming, guarded by two towering figures. Normally, they'd be Ox-Head and Horse-Face, like what you see at Haw Par Villa's Underworld entrance.

However, older Han dynasty works like Wang Chong's 论衡·订鬼 also mentioned two gods, Shenshu and Yulei, as guardians of the Ghost Gate, who would use reed ropes to capture malicious ghosts and feed them to tigers, making them possibly the earliest incarnation of "Gate Gods".

So here, they were what Xiao Ming sees, standing side by side like proper doormen, silently watching herds of ghosts being funneled through the entrance.

The place was more crowded than a train station during the CNY Spring Rush; the ghost cops had already said their quick goodbye and left to fetch the next group of dead people, leaving the resident officials of the Underworld proper to maintain order and quell any would-be riots.

Now you started seeing the Ox-Head and Horse-Face guys, poking at unruly ghosts with their pitchforks and dragging away the violent ones in chains. Among their ranks were other monstrous beings, blue-faced yakshas and imps, but also regular dead humans who look 100% done with their jobs, like the lady who stamped Xiao Ming's pass when it was finally his turn.

After this point, Xiao Ming had entered the Underworld proper, and his next destination would be the First Court, led by King Qin'guang. Here, his fate should be decided by what is revealed in the King's magical mirror.

If Xiao Ming was a good guy, or someone who had done an equal amount of good and bad things in life, he'd be sent straight to the Tenth Court for reincarnation. However, if the mirror, while replaying his life events, had displayed more evil deeds than good ones, he'd be sent to one of the 2nd-9th Courts for judgment and then punished inside the Eighteen Hells.

Each of the Ten Kings was also assisted by ghostly judges. Many of them were righteous and just officials in life who had been recruited into the Ten Courts posthumously——Cui Jue from JTTW is one such example, while others were living people working part-time for the Underworld, like how Wei Zheng, Taizong's minister, works part-time for the Celestial Bureaucracy in JTTW.

We decide to be nice to Xiao Ming, so, after reliving some embarrassing childhood incidents and cringy teenage phases in front of a bunch of dead bureaucrats, he was found innocent and sent to the Tenth Court.

The queue here was almost as long as the First Court's, stretching on and on alongside of the banks of the Nai River. King of the Turning Wheel made his judgment without even lifting his head when it was Xiao Ming's turn:

"Path of Humans, male, healthy in body and mind, ordinary family. Next!"

Exiting the Tenth Court building, Xiao Ming saw the Terrace of Forgetfulness, standing tall before six bridges, made of gold, silver, jade, stone, wood, and…some unidentified material. Before he could get a good look at them and the little dots moving across those bridges, he was hurried into the Terrace by the ghostly officials.

Now, both JTTW and the Jade Records mention multiple bridges across the Nai River. In the former, there is 3, and the latter, 6. The bridges made of precious materials are for people who will reincarnate into better lives, as the wealthy, the fortunate, and the divine, while the Naihe Bridge is either the common option or the terribad shitty option.

However, the Naihe Bridge proved to be so iconic, it became THE bridge you walk across to reincarnate in popular legends.

Anyways, back to Xiao Ming. He found himself standing in a giant soup kitchen of sorts, with an old lady at the counter, scooping soup out of her steaming pot and into one cup after another.

This is Mengpo, the amnesia soup granny; according to the Jade Records, she was born in the Western Han era, and a pious cultivator who thought of neither the past nor the future, only knowing that her surname was Meng.

Made into an Underworld god by the Jade Emperor, she cooks a soup of five flavors that will wipe the memory of the dead, making sure they do not remember any of their past lives once they reincarnate.

It tastes awful. Like what you get after pouring corn syrup, coffee, chilli sauce, lemon juice and seawater into the same cup.

Such was Xiao Ming's last thought, as he gulped down the soup, and then he knew no more.

Things you should know about the Chinese Underworld:

1. It's not the Christian Hell.

Rather, the Chinese Underworld functions somewhat like the Purgatory, in that there are a lot of torment, but the torment's not eternal, however long the duration may be. Once you finish your sentence, you get reincarnated as something else, though that "something else" is not a guaranteed good birth.

Other people can also speed up the process via transferring of merits: hiring a priest/monk to chant sutras and perform rituals, for example, or performing good deeds in life in dedication to the dead, or they can pray to a Daoist/Buddhist deity to save their loved ones from a dreadful fate.

Interestingly enough, a thesis paper I read mentions that, whereas Buddhist salvation from the Hells was based on transference of merits——you give monks offerings and pay them to chant sutras, so they can cancel out the sinners' bad karma with good ones, Daoist ideas of salvation tend to involve the priest going down there, sorting it out with the Underworld officials, and taking the dead out of the Hells themselves.

(The paper also stops at the Northern-Southern and Tang dynasties, so the above is likely period-specific.)

2. Nor is it run by evil demons.

Underworld officials are not nice guys and look pretty monstrous and torture the sinful dead, but they are not the embodiment of evil. Rather, the faction as a whole is what I'd call Lawful Neutral, who function on this "An Eye for An Eye" logic, where every harm the sinner caused in life must be returned to them, in order for their karmic debts to be cleansed and move on to their next life.

They can absolutely be corrupt and incompetent and take bribes——Tang dynasty Zhiguai tales and Qing folklore compendiums featured plenty of such cases, but that's a very mundane and human kind of evil, not a cosmic/innate one.

This is just my personal opinion, but if you want to do an "evil" Chinese Underworld? It should be a very bureaucratic evil, whose leaders are bootlickers to the higher-ups, slavedrivers to their rank-and-file workers, and bullies who abuse their power over regular dead people.

Not, y'know, Satan and his infernal legions or conspiring Cthulu cultists.

3. The Ten Kings are not Hades.

Make no mistake, they still have a lot of power over your average dead mortal. But in the grand scheme of things? They are the backwater department of the pantheon, who only show up in JTTW to get pushed around and revive the occasional dead people.

When Taizong made his trip to the Underworld, the Ten Kings greeted him as equals——kings of ghosts to the king of the living. If they see themselves as equal in status to a mortal emperor, then, like any mortal emperors, they are subordinate to the Celestial Host, and the balance of power is not even remotely equal or in their favor.

Also, it isn't said outright, but under the Zhong-Lv classification of immortals JTTW is using, Underworld officials will likely be considered Ghostly immortals, the lowest and weakest of the five types, much like Tudis and Chenghuangs.

Essentially: they are ghosts that are powerful enough to not reincarnate and linger on and on, spirits of pure Yin as opposed to true immortals, who are beings of pure Yang.

It's pretty much the shittiest form of immortality, the result you get when you try to speedrun cultivation (the Zhong-Lv text also made a dig at Buddhist meditation here), and if they don't reincarnate or regain a physical body, there is no chance of progressing any further.

Oh, and fun fact? In the Song dynasty, commoners and literati elites alike believed that virtuous officials in life would get appointed as ghostly officials in death.

However, the latter viewed it as a punishment. Which was strange, considering how they still held the same position and the same amount of authority, just over dead people instead of living ones, so there should be no big losses, right?

Well...it was precisely the "dead people" part that made it a punishment. See, a lot of the power and prestige they had as officials came from the benefits they could bring to their families and kins and native places, as well as the potential wealth and reputation bonuses for themselves.

A job in the Dead People Supreme Court would give them the same workload, but with none of those benefits. Since all the dead people had to reincarnate eventually, they couldn't have a fixed group as their power base, or keep their old familial ties and connections. At most, they could help out an occasional dead relative or two.

Like, working for the Underworld Courts was the kind of deadend (no pun intended) job not even living officials wanted for themselves in the afterlife. That's how hilariously sad and pathetic they are.

4. In JTTW at least, they aren't even the highest authorities of the Underworld.

That would be Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha, who is technically their boss, though he seems to be more of a spiritual leader than someone who is actually involved in running the bureaucracy.

Which makes sense, since he has sworn an oath to not attain Buddhahood until all Hells are empty, and his role is to offer relief and salvation to the suffering souls, not judging and punishing them.

Now, historically...even though Ksitigarbha in early Tang legends was still the savior of the dead, he seemed to be unable to interfere with the judicial process of the Underworld, merely showing up to take people away before they were judged by King Yama.

However, in the mid-Tang apocryphal "Sutra of Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha" (地藏菩萨经), he had evolved into the equal of King Yama, with the power of supervision over his judgements. By the time the Scripture on the Ten Kings came out, in artistic depictions, the Ten Kings had become fully subservient to him.

5. Diyu usually refers to the prison-torture chamber part, not the courthouse, nor is it the entirety of the Underworld.

And for the majority of souls that haven't committed crimes, they'll only see the courthouse part before they are sent to reincarnation. That's why I personally don't like, or use the name Diyu for the Chinese Underworld: I prefer the term Difu ("Earth Mansions"), which encompasses the whole realm better.

Also: even though historical sources like the Scripture on the Ten Kings and Jade Records seem to suggest that the dead were just funneled through this Courthouse-Prison-Reincarnation pipeline with no breaks in between, in practice, that isn't the case.

According to popular folk beliefs, after the dead were done with their trials/sentences, they stayed in the Underworld for a period of time and led regular lives, while functioning as ancestor spirits and receiving offerings.

Which would imply that the Underworld had a civilian district of sorts, populated by regular ghosts, making the whole realm even less of a direct Hell/Purgatory equivalent.

6. It is located in a different realm, but still part of the Six Paths and doesn't exist outside of reality.

In Buddhist cosmology, like the Celestial Realm, the Underworld is part of the Realm of Desires and thus subject to all the woes of samsara.

The pain and misery of the Path of Hell may be the worst and most obvious, but becoming a celestial being isn't the goal of serious Buddhists either: despite all the pleasures and near-infinite lifespan they enjoy, they are not free from samsara and will eventually have to reincarnate.

So if, say, the world is being destroyed at the end of a kalpa, all beings of the Six Paths will perish alongside it, leaving behind a clean slate for the cycle to start anew. The dead won't all end up in the Underworld and face eternal damnation.

7. The Black and White Impermanences would not appear in the Underworld pantheon formally until the Qing dynasty.

The concept that when you die, you get fetched to the Underworld by petty ghost bureaucrats is already well-established in Tang legends, but these were just generic ghost bureaucrats in all sorts of colorful official robes, with yellow being the most common color.

The idea of there being two specific psychopomps in black and white would only become popular in the Qing dynasty. Mengpo is kinda similar: although she existed before the Ming-Qing era as a goddess of wind, venerated by boatmen, her "amnesia soup granny" incarnation came from the Jade Records.

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about hobbies and how i often spill over myself to pick up new ones. i have adhd, i end up trying something for like a month and then just getting far enough in it that i move on, satisfied.

and that should be fine; but it's never fine.

i am a pretty decent artist; but i can't just make art for my dnd campaign, i should be selling dnd maps and character designs and scene setting pieces. i can't just make my friends matching earrings, i need to get an etsy and ship them internationally and take bulk orders. i make pretty good props and decorations and use them to throw my friends parties - but i should be running a party planning business and start taking paying clients and networking and putting my skills to actual use.

for some reason, i never figured out the specifics of pottery. it was a fun class and i enjoyed myself - and still, i'm embarrassed, years later, that i put in all that useless effort. everything i make has to be stunning. stellar. i should have applied myself more. maybe i'm too lazy. maybe i'm broken and selfish and needy. actually creative people would have kept going; they would be bettering themselves at every possible opportunity.

we find ourselves in this trap, even accidentally: we need to commodify our time, because it is a commodity. if we spend our efforts and our time not earning, isn't that the same thing as burning free money? and god forbid you ever take up a hobby that ends up being more expensive than you thought. you sit in your car and you look at the receipt and in your head you hear a conversation that isn't even happening - your mom or your friend or your partner all saying oh great. not this shit again. it's always something with you, and it never actually means anything.

i have realized this horrible thing, recently - i'll get excited to start a project, pick up a new hobby. and then i just... stop myself. i start thinking about the amount of time it will take, and how it'll look in my monthly budget. what if i can't even produce a good enough final product. sure, it's exciting to think about how i could make my friend her own custom dice. but i'm just polluting the earth if i don't get it right. better not bother. better not try.

restless, i get caught in the negative space. the feeling that oh god, i want to create. and that horrible sense - yeah, but i don't have the time to just put to waste.

[izvmimi]

katsuki wakes you up from your midday nap with his yelling.

it isn't exactly a rude awakening - you just turn with the sudden ruckus coming from outside your bedroom - but it's enough to cause you the tiniest bit of alarm, even if being together at home is the safest place you can imagine on this earth.

it's saturday evening and he thankfully will not be gone for patrol, so you could afford the extra time to sleep off a worsening migraine. you shift out of your bed, satisfied that a combination of ibuprofen and extra z's have done their work, and make your way out towards the source of the fuss. as you get closer, you're happy to know that it's nothing serious - rather katsuki is simply speaking at loud volume into his phone, presumably irritated, but not devastated by something.

he doesn't hear you coming as light as your footsteps are, and you stand at the doorway to observe him.

"what the FUCK do you mean 'there's nothing you can do'?! i spent hours making these arrangements and you expect me to just accept a gift card like my anniversary is replaceable?!"

you blink, suppressing a yawn still, and watch him. he's agitated and you're pretty sure he's justified, although it probably isn't great for him to yell so much, even if your ears are somewhat attuned to it given your many years together. it's not like when you met him he was exactly the stoic and silent type at all times, although he could be if he wanted to.

but why would you want him to be any different than himself?

you step forward after a few more moments of him hunching over, gritting his teeth as he hears whatever palliating excuses the customer service has on the other end, then press a hand to his shoulder. he stiffens - in fact, he almost pales at your touch and his voice drops nearly to half the number of decibels, a barely audible whisper. reassessing his anger, he nods to you, then to the agent he cannot see, and clears his throat.

"i'll be a little more uh..." he glances at you, and you're smiling at him, but you're giving him the look that pleads him to be nice, and he sighs, "judicious about my willingness to do business with you in the future, but i'll accept a gift card. for now."

with that, the conversation ends. katsuki looks red for a different reason, the gentle sting of embarrassment in his cheeks. you decide not to rub it in, and find a way to settle into his lap.

"what's going on, baby?" you ask. he makes a sound of displeasure, then adjusts your position balanced atop his knee, running a hand through his hair. he then looks at you again, appraising your own emotional state before deciding to change the topic. after all, it's probably best you don't know why he lost his temper.

"did you nap well?" he asks first, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

"not with you hollering," you tease as he lets his teeth graze gently on the skin of your collarbone. he looks up and frowns.

"was it that bad?" his voice is quieter now, lower. you tilt your head.

"you yell all the time. it's fine, i'm used to it. partially deaf at this point."

he frowns again, then mutters a "sorry."

your hand cups his chin. that one word is spoken too softly.

"hey, i'm not made of glass. speak up." you say, squeezing. he smiles, circling his own hand on your wrist before pulling it towards him to kiss the underside.

"sorry, princess!" he says louder, and you giggle, turning your head.

"what? can't hear you?"

he pulls you in and yells directly in your ear, and you scream, and he holds, both of you laughing together. once the two of you calm down, he sighs and leans back into the couch, making sure to take you with him so that you're resting on his chest.

he exhales deep and you wait, knowing he has more to say.

"you know," he starts, tracing circles into your palm, "i had an ex-" you bristle for a moment, and he grins at you, then kisses your forehead, "that thought i was too loud."

"loud, yes. too loud? i'm not sure," you reply.

he shrugs. "she would bristle any time she heard me talking. i would never yell at her, but i guess i scared her in some way just by the tone of my voice."

"mm." part of you wonder what they expected; he's always lived boisterously, with no pretense otherwise, but you keep mum.

"so i felt like i couldn't really be myself around them. obviously not the way i can be with you."

katsuki looks away from you for a moment and in space as though he is thinking, and then soon time is up, and his focus shifts back to you, giving you a cheeky grin.

"thanks for putting up with me," he says. again his voice is soft and quiet, because he addresses you with care, not because you've demanded him to adjust for you, but because he wants to.

you peck his nose. "well, when i go deaf in both ears, i'll reconsider."

he rolls his eyes playfully, and you pull his ear and yell, "i love you!"

he threatens to throw you off of him again, and you playfight until you're both rested on the couch, content in each other's arms.

[infamous-if]

✮ DEMO (457K) ✮ FAQ ✮ PLAYLISTS ✮ PATREON

Latest update -> 9/08/2024

You're going to be a superstar, no matter what it takes.

You and your friends have been in a band since high school, when all you were was a lead singer to a band that played out of someone's garage and did occasional birthday party gigs for the neighborhood kids. after years of grinding, your band has yet to make it big, but has managed a small and dedicated cult following. All you and your bandmates want is to see your names in glittery lights, traveling the world to perform for millions of fans.

Your chance comes in Misfit Alley's Battle of the Bands. After auditioning every year with no success, your band has finally gotten the opportunity to tour across the United States and open for the biggest band in the world, performing against other bands in the hopes that you win and get signed.

As you perform, your fame rises and you can see the dream coming to fruition. But with fame comes problems of its own, some that might just ruin you and the band you swore to take to the top.

Infamous is rated 18+ for explicit language, explicit sexual themes, drug and alcohol use, violence, morally questionable behavior, and more.

✮ FEATURES ✮ CHARACTER INTROS ✮

Customize your MC (the lead singer of your band)'s appearance and personality, as well as their public image and persona. Are they loved or hated by the public? Controversial or appeasing? Humble or arrogant? Fame and money-hungry or simply there for the music?

Following that, work on your band's public image and whether they're mainstream or underground, depending on the choice of music you release and what kind of promo you do. Is your band hated by parents due to its explicit content or is your band squeaky clean, perfect for a mainstream label?

Engage in fiery romance with an array of wild characters, including some that may just get you into hot water with the rumor mill.

Create your own lyrics and decide whether you want to be a genuine artist or the face of a brand.

Get rich and famous ! Isn't that what you're here for?

✮THE BAND + ROs✮

The Band Manager: Orion/Oriana Quinn ✮ he/him or she/her, 35 ✮ [RO] -- strict and reserved, O is the antithesis of what a rockstar is. Some call their cold and uptight demeanor having 'a stick up their ass' but they call it being business focused. O is all about bringing the band to the top, which includes being professional at all times.

Special romance route: you can choose to have been chasing O for years, to no success (until now?)

The New Addition: August Pierce ✮ they/them, 26 ✮ [RO] -- With the exit of your bandmate, August has taken her place as the band's drummer. Usually shy and reserved, that all goes out the window once they start playing. You wonder if their isolation is less a personality trait and more the fact that they're in a band with longtime friends. Doesn't matter--seems like it'll take a while for you to get close to them regardless.

The Idol: Griffin/Gina 'Gigi' Reign ✮ he/him or she/her, 28 ✮ [RO] -- the spunky, charming and controversial lead singer of Misfit Alley and now your mentor, G Reign is currently the most famous person on Earth. Everyone either hates them, wants to be them, or wants to fuck them. Of course, this means a slew of trouble if one gets close to them...that is if they even allow it.

Special romance route: engage in an affair / engage in a strictly physical relationship (that can lead to a romantic one) // poly route with Victoria Valentine

The Rival: Seven Lawless ✮ he/him or she/her, 27 ✮ [RO] -- once your best friend or ex, they are now your rival and the lead singer of Soft Violence, another band competing for Battle of the Bands. They hate you. Still, the line between love and hate is a whole lot of passion.

Special romance route: can either be an ex or a former best friend, enemies to lovers.

The Girl Dad: Sebastian Holland ✮ he/him, 33 ✮ [RO] -- a normal and friendly data analyst, Sebastian isn't about the music scene....but his daughter is and she's a superfan of your band. Sebastian is your typical 'nice guy' almost too nice, sometimes, and has been dragged along by his daughter to follow the Battle of the Bands for her birthday. He's just a normal civilian. The last thing you should do is get to know him, right?

The Eye Candy: Victoria Valentine ✮ she/her, 27 ✮ [RO] -- G Reign's wife, she's an upcoming actress and model. Victoria has been G's eye candy since they came up on the scene, but you can almost sense the tension between them. And the way Victoria seeks shelter in someone else...that could be you.

Special romance route: engage in an affair // poly route with G Reign

✮BAND MEMBERS✮

Rowan Hart (he/him) -- guitarist

Iris De Luca (she/her) - keyboardist

Devyn Powell -- (they/she) bassist, background vocals

reblogs appreciated! and thank you for your interestttt

[autolenaphilia]

The main reason to use Firefox and Linux and other free and open source software is that otherwise the big tech monopolies will fuck you as the customer over in search of profits. They will seek to control how you use their products and sell your data. When a company dominates the market, things can only get worse for ordinary people.

Like take Google Chrome for example, which together with its chromium reskins dominate the web browser market. Google makes a lot of money from ads, and consequently the company hates adblockers. They already are planning to move to manifest V3, which will nerf adblockers significantly. The manifest V3 compatible chrome version of Ublock Orgin is a "Lite" version for a reason. Ublock's Github page has an entire page explaining why the addon works best in Firefox.

And Google as we speak are trying to block adblockers from working on Youtube, If you want to continue blocking Youtube ads, and since Youtube ads make the site unuseable you ought to want that, it makes the most sense to not use a browser controlled by Google.

And there is no reason to think things won't get worse. There is for example nothing stopping Google from kicking adblockers off their add-on stores completely. They do regard it as basically piracy if the youtube pop-ups tell us anything, so updating the Chrome extensions terms of service to ban adblocking is a natural step. And so many people seem to think Chrome is the only browser that exists, so they are not going to switch to alternatives, or if they do, they will switch to another chrominum-based browser.

And again, they are fucking chromium itself for adblockers with Manifest V3, so only Firefox remains as a viable alternative. It's the only alternative to letting Google control the internet.

And Microsoft is the same thing. I posted before about their plans to move Windows increasingly into the cloud. This already exists for corporate customers, as Windows 365. And a version for ordinary users is probably not far off. It might not be the only version of Windows for awhile, the lack of solid internet access for a good part of the Earth's population will prevent it. But you'll probably see cheap very low-spec chromebookesque laptops running Windows for sale soon, that gets around Windows 11's obscene system requirements by their Windows being a cloud-based version.

And more and more of Windows will require Internet access or validation for DRM reasons if nothing else. Subscription fees instead of a one-time license are also likely. It will just be Windows moving in the direction Microsoft Office has already gone.

There is nothing preventing this, because again on the desktop/laptop market Windows is effectively a monopoly, or a duopoly with Apple. So there is no competition preventing Microsoft from exercising control over Windows users in the vein of Apple.

For example, Microsoft making Windows a walled garden by only permitting programs to be installed from the Microsoft Store probably isn't far off. This already exists for Win10 and 11, it's called S-mode. There seem to be more and more laptops being sold with Windows S-mode as the default.

Now it's not the only option, and you can turn it off with some tinkering, but there is really nothing stopping Microsoft from making it the only way of using Windows. And customers will probably accept it, because again the main competition is Apple where the walled garden has been the default for decades.

Customers have already accepted all sorts of bad things from Microsoft, because again Windows is a near-monopoly, and Apple and Google are even worse. That’s why there has been no major negative reaction to how Windows has increasingly spies on its users.

Another thing is how the system requirements for Windows seem to grow almost exponentially with each edition, making still perfectly useable computers unable to run the new edition. And Windows 11 is the worst yet. Like it's hard to get the numbers of how many computers running Win10 can't upgrade to Win11, but it's probably the majority of them, at least 55% or maybe even 75%. This has the effect of Windows users abandoning still perfectly useable hardware and buying new computers, creating more e-waste.

For Windows users, the alternative Windows gives them is to buy a new computer or get another operating system, and inertia pushes them towards buying another computer to keep using Windows. This is good for Windows and the hardware manufacturers selling computers with Windows 11 pre-installed, they get to profit off people buying Windows 11 keys and new computers, while the end-users have to pay, as does the environment. It’s planned obsolescence.

And it doesn’t have to be like that. Linux distros prove that you can have a modern operating system that has far lower hardware requirements. Even the most resource taxing Linux distros, like for example Ubuntu running the Gnome desktop, have far more modest system requirements than modern Windows. And you can always install lightweight Linux Distros that often have very low system requirements. One I have used is Antix. The ballooning Windows system requirements comes across as pure bloat on Microsoft’s part.

Now neither Linux or Firefox are perfect. Free and open source software don’t have a lot of the polish that comes with the proprietary products of major corporations. And being in competition with technology monopolies does have its drawbacks. The lacking website compatibility with Firefox and game compatibility with Linux are two obvious examples.

Yet Firefox and Linux have the capacity to grow, to become better. Being open source helps. Even if Firefox falls, developers can create a fork of it. If a Linux distro is not to your taste, there is usually another one. Whereas Windows and Chrome will only get worse as they will continue to abuse their monopolistic powers over the tech market.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hiya! Was wondering about a bad blood that takes a woman from earth but she's fine with it? He expected more fighting from her but is pleased. Not sure how you feel about soulmates but maybe he's been drawn to her for awhile and finally just took her?

Are We Meant To Be? Part 2

Pairings: Cew’voc (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 2995

Summary: So much time has passed since you last saw that mysterious figure. He saved you then abandoned you. You had discovered he was your soulmate too late. When all hope was lost, he comes back to you. Is it too late?

Author Note: Okay, I know this isn't entirely what you were asking for. But, I hope it's still okay. If not, let me know and I do another for you. I wanted to use this as an excuse to write a part two for this story.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1

All the years since that faithful day offered no relief. Since then, you’ve had your ups and downs. From ending up jobless and homeless, you were able to barely bounce back to a decent life. It wasn’t normal. It would never be normal again. Not without what you saw that night. Who or whatever that creature was… he was yours. As much as you were his. Two souls destined for one another.

The reminder made your heart ache. You gritted your teeth and rubbed the heel of your hand over your sternum. Some of your co-workers gave you a puzzled look before shaking their heads and going back to their business. You cleared your throat before squaring your shoulders to face the lobby and customers all over again.

A pain that’ll be with you till the end of time. You were used to it.

Twelve hours in the building was an average shift. It was the minimum you needed to work five days a week just to make do.

From living an average, normal life, meeting what had to be your soulmate had ruined everything. Despite the longing to see him, just a glimpse every so often, there was no chance. He abandoned you. It was unheard of. Usually soulmates for the first time they meet each other can’t leave each other. Some say its physical and others say its emotional. But to break apart within even the first day was beyond cruel. It’ll leave someone, yourself, broken and hollow.

That’s exactly what you are. A shell of the person you used to be. Now, here you were, a beggar for any change, even a penny. It could mean the difference between having a roof over your head or being homeless.

No one wanted you. Not even someone destined to be with you until you died.

The plates in your hand wobbled precariously. Your attention returned to your surroundings only to watch the four plates you had been carrying slip off of your arms. They came crashing down onto the ground. The porcelain shattering into tiny pieces at your aching feet. Food smears across the ground.

In the moments after that, you could only look down at the mess you’ve created. Your shoulders slumped. There was gasps that sounded through the lobby of the diner you worked out. But, you heard nothing. Stuck in your own world again while all you could do was look at the disaster at your feet.

This was it. Your last straw that broke the camel’s back. It seemed like you couldn’t hold down a job anymore. The pains in your chest only growing worse with the passing time. No one understood. This didn’t happen. Worst of all, it’s not like you had any insurance to work with. There was no help. All you did was suffer through the pain.

Over the white noise in your ears, you heard your name shouted at the top of someone’s lungs. Avery. Your boss. She came stopping around to stand in front of you with a heated glare in her eye. You simply lifted your head to look at her, dead and emotionless.

Her gaze flickered for a moment but returned to steel. One of her hands whipped out to point towards the door. “Get the fuck out of my establishment. You’re fucking useless,” she bit out with a ferocity you didn’t know she had. You blinked at her before finally picking up your feet and making your way to the door. Not even clocking out or taking off your apron.

There you had done it again. Lost another job. Useless. Just like she said. You couldn’t do anything right. Not even your own soulmate wanted to stay with you.

The concrete was harsh on your knees despite the jeans you were wearing. You had collapsed in the middle of the sidewalk. No one gave you a second glance; only giving you a look of disgust and going on their way. A broken sob left your chapped lips. The world around you closing in. You tilted your head backwards to gaze at the darkening sky.

It wasn’t long before day morphed into night. Sometime during the transition you had pulled yourself up and meandered along the path set in front of you. It was random and leading you further and further from the dingy apartment called home. The city you resided in offered nothing of relief. It allowed you to stay on a decently lit path through the side of town you resided in.

In your heart, something tugged you to stop. Your head finally picking up to find the street deserted. You had walked so far that not even those brave enough would venture out. A whine built in the back of your throat. This was pointless. Now, you were somehow lost. Your head tilted back to look at the dark sky. There was little to no stars that would dot the night sky. “What am I doing?” Your voice was hoarse. It lacked the warmth it had years ago.

All the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. The muscles that lined your back tightened. Your breath caught, body prepared for the worst while your mind hoped for the best. But, your luck has shown you how well that’ll go.

You neck creaked while it turned towards the dark alleyway. Nothing could be seen down the endless path. Either it turned off or ended towards the end.

A loud thump echoed off the walls. Your entire boy turned towards the entrance. The soft clicks of something entered the air. Your brows furrowed while you tried to deter was creating that noise. In your careless state and defense, you weren’t of sound mind. There was one thing in the world that would solve all of your issues.

It wasn’t here.

At the crest of the entrance, you eventually spotted the silhouette of a humanoid figure. Oh, not again. You took a couple of stumbling steps away and nearly fell over your own two feet. It seemed your lucky wasn’t the greatest.

Light shined off metal. Faster than a blink of an eye, your throat was snatched. Your back was pressed to a firm, hot surface. Humid heat washed over the top of your head and ran down the back of your neck. A shutter ran its course. The muscles in your body only tensing more.

Yet, in this moment, after everything that’s happened after four years… you didn’t care. Not any more.

Sharp clicks and growls vibrated into your ear. The firm grip around your throat tightened only fraction. “Mi-ne.” A voice growled that it could be felt in your bones. The declaration strong and firm.

A voice you recoginized. Your hands instantly go to the one holding you in place. Try as you may, you couldn’t tilt your head far enough back to look at the figure. But, the lack of an ache in your chest only solidified your thoughts.

This had to be him.

As your mouth opened to speak words he deserved, his free hand pressed something into your mouth. Two fingers coaxed you to swallow dryly whatever he had placed on your tongue. His palm still covered the lower portion of your face. You tried to speak and began to fight him. Anger filled your veins at not only past action, but his current ones now.

When the hands left you, you believed there was a chance for escape. Your entire body whipped around to face the towering creature. Only, for you to sway from the sudden, unwise move. Strong, capable hands grasped your shoulders before you could slam into the ground. A haze took over your mind and left you unstable.

The ground left the bottom of your feet. Then, you were hoisted onto a thick, muscular shoulder that dug into your waist and belly. The move caused you to wheeze and grab onto the a fish net like material that covered at least his toned back. “Let me go!” you screamed at the top of your lungs then began to beat on his back with clenched fists.

He takes it. Without complaint. The humanoid figure spins on his heel and lets the darkness engulf him again. Your cried for help and desperate attempt for freedom begins to fade. Whatever he forced you to ingest was starting to take effect already. Your movements turned sluggish. Every beat was weaker than the last.

“I… hate you,” was what you could say before the darkness consumed you. Your body falling limp on his shoulder.

Warmth. Comfort. Those were the first two things to greet you when your consciousness finally decided to wake up. A soft blanket swaddled your entire form and kept you safe from the lurking monsters. A groan left your lips. You squirmed in the swaddled you’ve been placed in until it loosened.

It took a monstrous amount of strength to open your eyes and blink away the fatigue sitting in your bones. What greeted you made you believe the night still claimed you.

Metal from ceiling to floor made up the room you were in. The blankets on your shoulders slipped off when you sat up to fully take in the space. Your jaw dropped. Five skulls were line on the wall behind you. All were creatures you didn’t recognize. You gulped and kept taking in the room. Weapons decorated some parts of the wall. A bean bag like chair was shoved into one corner. A fur like blanket draped over it.

That’s when you realize the blankets you had been covered with are fur from an unknown creature. You shuttered to think of all the death that was proudly displayed in here. Why… why would he take you in here? Surely, it wasn’t to kill you? No. Your head shook in the negative. He wasn’t. He would’ve already done that if so. Plus, something in your heart told you he wouldn’t harm you.

You were in the process of shuffling to your knees when the door slid open. The entire room filled with tension. It was him. Face still covered a metal mask.

He doesn’t move. The two of you engage into a staring contest.

Thoughts were running wild in your mind. From the last time you had saw him, there had been slight changes. Mainly scars. He was already adorned in them and proudly presenting them. But, more had been added to his collection. A nasty looking one started from an inch above his right collarbone and descended with small jags mostly downwards.

All of them… made him look good, despite not seeing his face yet.

Your first move was to tug the blanket tighter around you, like some sort of shield. He wasn’t terrifying. Not an ounce of fear in your heart at the sight of his towering form.

But, you were nervous, unsure of the whole situation. The most of all. You were angry. Four years. It’s taken him four years to come back into your life and decide you were worth something after all. Tears pooled in your eyes at the thought.

A glare set over your features. You sat back down on your butt and looked away from him. The creature doesn’t deserve your attention, let alone a second of your time. For all you could care, you were going to completely ignore him until he gives up. Let him feel the pain of being abandoned by the one you thought was supposed to your other half.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched at the mustard yellow figure stalked forward. Your ears strained to listen to each step as he made his way towards you. You strengthened your walls. The beast stopped at the edge of the mattress and gazed down at your figure. Then, he gingerly sat down a couple of feet away from you.

His scaly hand reached out timidly. A move you observed closely. When he got in range, you swatted at the approaching limp. The creature snatched his hand back and made an offended noise. You didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was looking at you as if you had grown a second head. To go against someone three times your mass was obviously stupid. Yet, here you were, protecting yourself from his touch in what could be taken in an aggressive matter.

Except, he held back and took the sign completely. The figure bowed his head. “I-I kn-ow… you are u-pset.” It sounded like he was struggling to speak English. Not as it’s a language he does not know, but like his mouth and throat can’t make the sounds well. “I have reasons. I-it shouldn’t b-e possi-ble. Can’t be.”

If his words were meant to be soothing he was doing the opposite. You hugged your knees tighter with a scoff and a roll of your eyes. You wanted to ask him the reasoning but felt like that would give him too much attention. Despite what your soul wanted since it finally get’s to see your other half again after so long.

“It’s wr-ong. You’re ooman. I’m…” he trails off and glances over at your curled up form. A position meant to protect you from incoming harm. “I’m not.”

For him to confirm your suspicions, you weren’t surprised. Not after finally getting to see him in a better light. The dark, mustard yellow of his skin was dotted with scales. The color and texture wasn’t normal. The size of him wasn’t normal. The blonde rubbery-like dreads that poured from his head weren’t normal.

“I-it’s aga-against ev-everything I know. I came back. I sh-shouldn’t have.” The masked creature made a noise of agony. One of his hands came to rub at his sterum. “But the pa-in. A-after s-so long. I grew weak. Co-uldn’t handle it. I-I ne-needed to lay e-eyes on you.” Words kept tumbling from him. Words you barely understood while he struggled with your language.

They almost, almost softened you. The same pain you endured the last four years was what he experienced as well. But, there was a difference. He purposefully abandoned you. He deserved the pain. You, on the other hand, did not.

You were only human, after all. “Where am I?” Your voice was barely about a hoarse croak.

He perked, only slight, at the sound. “My s-hip. I’ve h-idden us-us from your go-vern-ment senses behind a plan-et you ca-ll Jupiter.” Him clarifying he was an alien though, wasn’t on your list of possibilities. At least, not very high. The most you thought of him was a mutated, escaped human experiment. Not… that.

“Y-you’re an alien?” you gaped before reeling in your shock. There was no reason him to give the benefit of the doubt. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you.

“Yes,” he confirmed and dipped his head. The strange, rubbery dreads slipped over his shoulders to sway. “I a-m a Yautja. No-t t-that you know w-hat that is.” You bristle at his offensive words and sent a heated glare at the alien. He brushed it off with a shrug. “My name is Cew’voc. A-and yours?” You turned your head away again as your answer. He has not earned that right to know you.

Newly named Cew’voc purred with mirth. It took every ounce of will not to spin around and punch him. How dare he laugh!

“That is-is okay. I-I can just look-k it up.” Whatever he had for a face, there had to be a smirk on it. You could hear it. You bristled against and huffed. This surely couldn’t be your soulmate.

A new silence fell over the two of you. For a moment, tense peace. Until you heard a mechanical hiss. Your head whipped over to find Cew’voc’s hands gripping the metal mask that adorned his face. Carefully, the alien tugged the cover free and let his features be revealed.

Alien. He was completely alien. Three mandibles tipped with sharp fangs protruded from where what looked to be a mouth. The mouth area had an animal like jowl but the front area was open. Similar to a person, he had a jaw. Teeth protruded from both the jaw and upper side of the mouth. Terrifying teeth that looked deadly.

Then, his eyes. Those felt like a predator was staring directly into your soul. You couldn’t help the shutter than ran its course. They were a bright, scary yellow that almost seemed to glow in the calm lighting of the room.

After you exploration of his face, you find the alien with its only upper mandible quirked up. As if he was smirking at you. You glowered.

In broken, struggling English, the Yautja spoke your name. You swiftly got on your knees to be the same height as him and pointed a finger at him. “You don’t deserve the right to say my name! You abandoned me,” you grounded out. Cew’voc simply raised a brow in your direction then amusedly shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t! You don’t get to brush me off like that. Four years of misery because of your scared little ass running away.”

Now, that got a reaction out of him. The alien stood up to a lumbering height above you and glared down at you over his mandibles. “I am n-o co-coward. I’m Yautja. S-strong, mi-ghty.” He thumped a fist over his chest. “Do not a-cused me with fa-lsehood.”

You didn’t fear him. Not one bit. You stood up to be eye with him on the bed and got into his face. “Yes. The fuck. You are! You ran away with your tail between your legs like a little sissy crying to your mom!” Despite nearing twenty-three, you used some middle school insults that hopefully did the trick.

The anger that covered his features melted away when he slumped back with another smirk. “Oh, we may g-et alon-g yet.”

Oh, you doubted that.

[ohworm-writes]

Scenarios for Firefighter 141 x fem!reader who’s a hairdresser?

I could just see each scenario of them being supportive boyfriends just heart eyes for her in her shop while her customers are jealous.

Oh my gods you're so intelligent for saying this because, yes, all of them would be so supportive of their partner's career as a hairdresser.

First and foremost: every single person who works at the station (be it the volunteers, EMTS, paramedics, firefighters or even the Fire Chief, 141 boys or otherwise) goes to your salon to get their hair done, be it the ones at the tops of their heads or their facial hair, whether you do it or not.

It's a win win, in all honesty. Your shop gets more customers, the boys are promoting and supporting their partner's work, and you get to listen to and share stories, secrets and drama about your boyfriend with the people he works with!

PRICE gets his facial hair done by you and you alone- you're the one who encouraged it, after all, and who best to trust than with his most defining aspect than you? When time allows, he'll come into your shop, still dressed in his PPE, or, at the very least, his bunker pants, waiting with a smug grin on his face for you to tend to him, completely tuning out all of the confused or starstruck looks he's getting by the other customers inside.

(Usually, it isn't even like you're trimming it or anything, just grooming it so that it sits more cleanly on his face. Is it so bad that he wants your hands on his face? After all, you have that adorable, concentrated expression you have on as you're leaned in close to him when you work, combing and brushing strands into place with the sole focus of making him look as presentable as possible.)

He keeps trying to put his hands on your hips throughout the entire process, but it always ends with you swatting his hands away and giving him a playfully stern look, whispering to his with a warning to quit it (he never does). All of the customers in the shop are confused by the interaction, some genuinely worried for you, others utterly jealous, because why on Earth would the local firehouse's Captain be putting his hands on you?

He ignores them, their stares, and any comments or remarks they may make, giving you the most lovesick expression as you tend to him with such attentiveness, talking to him about your own day while he talks about his, mumbling away to you about the jobs he's completed thus far, how the newest fire academy graduate working at the station has been a pain in his ass, and whatever else comes to his mind.

He always suggests how you should just take the day off and ride back to the station with him while he's still off call. You never do. He pouts. You press a kiss to his forehead. It's a song an dance the two of you go through every single time he comes by, and although, he will admit, he is a little disappointed you won't take him up on his offer, he knows you take your job seriously and wouldn't ever be willing to blow it off just to spend the day with him, and he has respect it. Plus, it's a foolproof way to get a kiss from you.

If you ever do, though, he's quick to grab your things and usher you out of the door with a grin, placing his helmet onto your head with a grin, the heavy weight of the item forcing you to straighten your posture as he moves you into one of the free seats with that same smug, satisfied grin on his lips, honking the horn without shame as he drives the two of you back to the station.

GHOST always walks in to your shop as if he had just came back from a call, dressed in a mask and a hood, his helmet on, all of his equipment still on his body as he wordlessly walks over to you, choosing to stand either behind you or next to you as you work on a customer, silent most times.

It's a shame he never removes his facial coverings when he comes by, double the shame, given he doesn't let you work on his hair whatsoever. That doesn't mean he doesn't care, though. He buys half of the products you use, after all, and he listens to ever rant and story you have to share about your job with unwavering attention, memorizing some of the process and methods you've spoken of (if he tried, he could probably layer hair flawlessly just from having listened to you so intently).

The customers are usually confused or freaked the fuck out by some random fireman coming over and staring at them as they get their hair done (and, frankly, they wouldn't be wrong to, especially when he watches with an unblinking stare as your hands and fingers deftly work through the strands with an unyielding concentration; it looks like he's glaring to those who don't know better, which can be unnerving).

But when he starts to talk after a few prolonged minutes of silence, he's asking about how your day's gone so far and what exactly you're working on right now, ignoring the customer completely and staring at you through the mirror in front of the three of you, giving short responses and hums, his tense, smoke scented body relaxing minutely as you speak, a loving expression that only you can catch hidden beneath his gaze.

If you ask him about how his day went, he'll usually say something along the lines of "I'll tell you later". It's not dismissive, but rather, he just prefers to talk about his work when the two of you are alone and not in the presence of others. It's a personal thing for him, his work, given how sensitive the information can become at times, and it's not something he wants some random civilian listening to him talk about.

Usually, right before he leaves, he'll lean in close, the bottom of his mask hovering above your shoulder, right next to your ear, whispering about how you should come over and spend the night at the station with him, making the excuse that the others miss playing cards with you or something equally as lame, but truth be told, he just wants to wake up with you in his uniform.

SOAP lets you do anything you'd like to him. Facial hair? Sure, why not. He could pull off a handlebar, right? Hair? Yeah, we could do a full buzz, why not? Dye? It's... it's best you pick the color, because he'll just put a bunch of random colors on a wheel and spin it. Whatever it lands on, he'll have you do. (It landed on platinum once, and he didn't realize how many sessions he'd have to have and the fact he'd be blond for months on end before it actually matched.)

The way I want to say that he'd pull up to your shop with the siren blaring so badly, but my firefighter loving heart says he'd be more responsible than that (because they're literally not supposed to have it on in case of emergency, and he won't even use the horn because he doesn't want to mess you or any of your co-workers up as you work).

However, that doesn't mean that he won't come into the shop and fling open the door with just a little too much enthusiasm, greeting all of your co-workers as he walks in. Sometimes, he'll even bring the lot of you lunch or coffee if time allows and he isn't needed immediately back at the station (and, yes, he has everyone's orders memorized, of course).

He's dressed all up in his PPE, coming up behind you as you work, pressing a kiss to the back of your head, making sure not to be too enthusiastic or harsh with his movements, not wanting to mess you up, gently grabbing your waist (his gloves press into your apron and get them dirty, but neither of you complain) and placing his chin on your shoulder, talking with you about anything and everything, staring lovestruck at you through the mirror, eyes hooded, gaze coated with love and adoration as he watches you work.

Your co-workers are used to the PDA, the customers are not. A lot of them are confused or offput by it, though, there are those select few that cast glares at either of you (because, come on now, both of you are hot! It's hard to not be jealous of one of the two of you, or even both). There's an attractiveness that comes with being a firefighter (don't we all love a man in uniform?), so more often then not, glares are cast at you.

He'll just press a kiss or two to your cheek to reassure any worries you may have, grinning madly at you as he stares at you in the mirror before pulling back, not wanting to distract you any longer, giving you one of those crappy, plastic stickers with the fire department's logo on it (he does this every single time he sees you, so you just give the stickers to any kids you do hair for), blowing you a kiss before walking out.

GAZ who swears up and down he could marry you because, when you initially asked to do his hair back when the two of you first started dating, sensing his skepticism, showed him how you had done work on a number of people who matched his hair type, and, although he didn't tell you, noted you did a better job than his current barber (and god damn did you line that boy up right).

He always comes in between calls, dressed in his bunker pants and station-issued t-shirt, tucked in, strolling in casually, waiting patiently until you're finished with your client to approach you, your favorite drink from that one spot he heard you talk about last time he came in in his hand, a smile painted across his lips as he approaches you, kissing you on the forehead without shame.

Some of the customers give you both weird looks, either uncomfortable with the PDA or confused why, first off, a firefighter was in the barbershop/salon so casually on a random Thursday afternoon, and two, why he was being so lovey-dovey with you? (They wish it were them so badly, it's pathetic, and Gaz tells you just how pathetic he finds it in private, fighting back the urge to scoff and roll his eyes whenever he catches the stares in person).

He'll sit in the seat, talking with you as you sweep the floor of hair or clean up your work station, leaning into it comfortably, slowly spinning around it as the two of you converse, asking you about how you're days going so far, stealing a sip of your drink with a cheeky grin every once in a while as he listens to you speak (he likes it especially when you whisper out complaints to him about some of the customers you've had so far, or share some of the conversations you've had or overheard with customers).

And the look in his eyes as he listens to you speak? God. The only way to describe it is enamored, completely overwhelmed with love and awe and admiration and every positive word you could find in a dictionary. You often joke with him that you can see his eyes popping out cartoonishly in the shapes of hearts as he stares at you, to which he only responds, saying "It's 'cause you look so good when you talk about doing the thing you love... can't help myself".

He'll talk about his work, a tone of boredom hinting at his tone, not as interested in talking about his own job when he could be listening to you, but if you want him to talk, who is he to deny you? (Like, he could have had the most eventful day, dealt with a goer, two Class B's, or something worse, and he'd act like it was nothing).

Presses a kiss to the back of your hand and gives your a grin as he's called back to the station, telling you to give him a call when you get off so he can come pick you up in the truck. (He always tell you that "royalty like you has got to have a proper carriage, don't you think so, love?").

[halfagone]

A Mandalorian Halfa Jedi?

I am thinking... about my Danny Phantom x Star Wars AU again. I mentioned this in the Haunting Heroes discord server, but imagine this:

Danny gets lost in the Star Wars universe, maybe they're part of the same universe, maybe not. We know that Earth technically exists there, so it's possible. Nonetheless, Danny gets lost and is eventually picked up by the Jedi. It is during the Clone Wars era, at the height of the war. Ectoplasm either functions the same as the Force out in larger space, or it easily passes off as the Force. Therefore, Danny is considered Force-sensitive and brought to the Jedi council.

He's far too old, older than even Anakin was, but he already displays some skill with the blade (thanks to his mom's training), and he's far too powerful with the Force to leave for the Sith or Dark Side users running about to find him. Those like Count Dooku or Asajj Ventress or whoever Dooku's master is (and, depending on the timeline, Maul and his brother Savage as well).

It's decided that Obi Wan should train him, since he did well with Anakin despite Anakin's older age for a youngling and lack of familiarity with Jedi customs and culture. As well as Obi Wan's own young age as a Padawan himself at the time. Surely, Obi Wan could whip him into shape and they need all the help they can get on the field.

Anakin does not like Danny at first. Not at all. He might have joked all he liked beforehand about Obi Wan getting another padawan, but seeing it happen is an entirely different experience. Danny gets along well with Obi Wan, with his dry, witty humor and his tendency for unorthodox strategy. Worse still, Ahsoka likes Danny. These two are peas in a pod, partners in crime. It feels like he's been forgotten and replaced and by someone seemingly better.

And then one day, when the 212th and the 501st are stationed together, he finds Danny shaking with night terrors, the Dark Side so strong in him Anakin is literally freezing from the cold. It's only then that he understands Danny a little bit better, and sees himself in this kid. Danny fights the Dark Side within him just like he does, and he never lets it consume him. Maybe for once, he can learn a little something from this kid too, and not let it overwhelm him.

And here is the part where I realized a golden opportunity:

What if the Jedi think Danny is a Mandalorian that was cast out for being Force-sensitive? Danny has an affinity for weapons beyond the blade, like cannons and guns and snipers. He talks about how his family taught him to use these weapons, that he's known this all his life. He talks about how his family wears suits all the time and hardly ever takes them off. He talks about always being afraid to reveal his powers to his parents, and how ultimately he ran away because of them.

Oh all the scenarios that could come out of this~

But now I'm also thinking about how strong Danny would feel in the Force. How much Danny could do on the battlefield because now he doesn't have to hold back. Droids might have more intelligence than a lot of sentients give them credit for, but if it's between the very alive, flesh and bone, clones of the Grand Republic Army and the Separatists' metal droids, Danny is absolutely going to be ruthless if it means the clones are safe.

Danny can literally control the weather. Imagine what happens when Danny creates an electrical storm for the first time to take down an enemy starship and the clones just look between themselves, whispering about how: "I didn't know Jedi could do that." "Is that how the Force works?" "Kriff if I know-"

And that's another thing! Clones! Danny would be absolutely appalled that so many clones were created and their freedom at the end of the Clones Wars is still up in the air.

It also ties beautifully with his love for space and now he's living the dream! Except space isn't what he thought it would be. And there are planets out here that have barbaric standards. It's the adventure of a lifetime! But there's a part of him that still wants to go home.

Just- all the possibilities and shenanigans this could bring. ✨

[starlightandetherealshadows]

☾. DEMO (24k) ☾. CHARACTERS ☾. PLAYLIST

Latest Update: Chapter 1 released on 08/25/2023

Your story starts like any other. Your life was normal, until it wasn’t. Two years after an invasion ravaged the Earth, you’re struggling to find purpose. The lonely life of struggle and survival is not for you. You’d promised yourself that if there was an apocalypse, you’d end it. That was then. That was when hypotheticals existed. Instead of dying, you lived against all odds and continue to do so.  Why? You don’t know. You wake up fortunate to be alive. Everything between the sunrise and sunset is white noise. Insignificant. Now, your normal shifts again. You’re surrounded by a group of strangers, their faces unfamiliar except for the exhaustion in their eyes. There's something coming, something worse. It isn't hard to believe. After all, still water is an infested one. For the first time in two years, you aren't sure who is a predator, and who is prey. Caught between a millennia-long war, the human race is but a spoke in the wheel, narrowly avoiding being crushed by powers beyond your comprehension. At the end of the world, there is only one question. Who is running from whom?

☾. FEATURES

Customize your MC. Play as male, female, or nonbinary. You can determine their appearance and personality, updating it (voluntarily and involuntarily) as the story progresses. Are they charming or intimidating? Do they use their fists to solve problems, or their keen mind and deductive reasoning? Can they talk their way out of trouble, or do they avoid it in the first place? 

Become an asset to your group. The perfect team has balance. Choose your MC’s strengths and weaknesses; develop them as you see fit. Make decisions that change the lives of your found family, or sit on the sidelines and watch chaos unfold. Do you believe in fate, or will you change your future by force?

Engage in romance, or keep it purely platonic between 5 love interests. There are two options for short term flings, and one poly option available.

Survive. Easier said than done.

☾. ROMANCE OPTIONS

For each of the romanceable characters, there will be options to increase flirtation, friendship, or antagonism. 

☾. Ayana Tsosie (F)

Compassionate, intelligent, tactical, and ambitious, you have no doubt that A is a natural born leader. Despite her warm, welcoming demeanor, A is reluctant to pursue close relationships for fear of it interfering with her sense of responsibility to the group. You catch her crying in the early hours of the morning. Whose ring adorns her necklace?

☾. Cecelia/Chase Quinn (F/M)

Always up for a laugh, C isn’t interested in the doom and gloom. That doesn’t mean they lack competence. C is damn good with technology, able to rig up electricity seemingly from their back pocket. They take their friendships seriously, and will be the first to defend you when trouble comes knocking. Still, you wonder why they flinch at any sudden movements.

*C is demisexual; it takes a high friendship for them to reciprocate any romantic/sexual feelings.

☾. Delphine (F)

A succubus alien from the planet Cypress Velo, Delphine has been on Earth long before the Nion 8 invasion. At the end of the world, the seedier clubs and places of indulgence stand; Delphine works as a bartender and dancer at said places. Wealthy, gorgeous, and playful, Delphine can flash her fangs and have the world on it's knees. You can't help but gravitate towards her. Is she using her powers on you, or is her magnetism all natural?

☾. Zero Chevalier (M)

Having been plagued by night terrors since they were teenagers, Z can't close his eyes without hearing things. Seeing things. His parents, friends, and psychiatrists tell them that it's all in his head. Z prefers the shadows to the spotlight; at least the nightmares hold him close.

*Zero is locked in a v-type polyamorous route.

☾. Xa'eks/Xa'veed (F/M)

X never wanted to be in the military; they didn't know that until their species invaded Earth and they realized that others have a choice. Those words: choice, love, want, fear, longing, regret. It is all foreign to them. X knows their people cannot hide forever. The time for war is coming; but what sort of militia would they be if they couldn't see a lost battle a mile away?

*Memento Mori is a 18+ interactive fiction game that is best suited for the genres of sci-fi, romance, and horror. Wrecked and ravaged by an alien invasion, Earth is on the brink of war. War with who? That is yet to be determined, as no one knows who is the predator, and who is the prey.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Thank you all so much for your interest and support. It means the world to me!! ♡ ♡

All my love,

Cheye (she/her) :･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･

[junedenim]

have lunch with the english

part 1 part 2

one day at home

warnings: fluff, smut, angst (the triple cocktail)

word count: 10.1k

The plane ride is rough. For the first hour, he zones out and watches the airplane-provided entertainment because that's what Lottie would do. It's episodes of Friends and it grows tiresome around the tenth laugh track. He switches to music in the second hour and in the third hour, after the cold but edible meal, he tries to fall asleep. He thinks he makes it an hour before a baby starts crying. Then, he thinks of Franny but then again everything reminds him of Franny.

He's in and out of sleep after that. The baby cries for the rest of the flight and Friends has switched to Planet Earth so he settles for listening to David Attenborough for the rest of the flight instead. 

The flight lands at 10 AM London time, but he feels like it's 2 AM. It takes him too long to get through customs as someone with a British passport but the guy is certain that his picture doesn't match his face. That's what he gets for updating his passport when he still had the goatee. 

He's still rubbing his eyes going down the escalator. At the bottom, Franny on her hip, stands Lottie. Bell-bottom jeans and that short-sleeve white blouse Franny loves so much because she gets to play with the buttons on it. A distracted Lottie coos Franny, bouncing her on her hip, which means he narrowly missed a crying Franny. Franny, dressed eerily similar to her mother (seriously, this kid ignored all his genes besides his brown hair), giggles ferociously. Lottie laughs back and it's cheesy to say but it mends something in him. Shoots him awake after any restless sleep.

"You look like you were woken by a toddler at 4. Wait, that was me." Lottie is the same as she's always been. She keeps her hair long because Franny likes to tug on it. Her eyes show no signs of tiredness like his do. Her smile, always bright.

Franny makes grabby hands at him as he approaches. Alex takes her, planting a kiss on her chubby cheeks. "I practically was. Baby crying the whole flight. Hi." He grabs the back of Lottie's head and pecks her lips.

Her hand lands on his chest, stroking his collarbone. She puckers her lips in reciprocation. "That poor mother." Lottie holds the belief that Franny likes Alex more than her because Franny never cries when Alex holds her. He finds that untrue but Lottie has always been stubborn in her beliefs.

"Why'd she wake up?" Alex asks. Franny tugs on his hair and falls onto his cheek, her lips slobbering over his cheek. He knows Lottie will likely use this in a later argument she has about who Franny loves more.

"Hungry. Always hungry. And whining 'Papa! Papa!' because I made her eat Cheerios."

Alex huffs. "She doesn't love me more than you, Lot, and since when does she call me Papa?"

Lottie sighs and practically stomps her foot. Sometimes it's like Franny isn't the only toddler. "It's bad enough she loves you more than me, she has to call you dad too. I can't have anything be French. So dull." Yeah, that argument comes up a lot too.

"She calls you maman."

Lottie rolls her eyes. "She calls me 'Ma.'"

Alex laughs. "She can barely get two syllables out. You want her saying se branler."

Lottie bolds her eyes and juts her head out. "Alex! Don't talk about jerking off and our daughter in the same sentence."

Her voice is loud and causes him to look around Heathrow for any shocked onlookers. "When did you become so stuck? I thought the French were supposed to be adventurous."

"She isn't even 2 and you want her to start talking about masturbation. I always knew you were a pig."

He chuckles and kisses her again. He's missed her. He thinks he'll spend his whole life missing her, even though he has her now. Franny just makes that ache even worse. "Where's her stroller?"

"I left it in the car. I didn't want to set up the whole thing if she was going to insist I carry her anyway. I can drag your carry-on."

"No, I got it."

She's got her hands on the handle before he can grab it. "I can manage the carry-on, Alex. You hold your daughter."

Alex wraps his arm around her and there's a crack down his spine where everything aligns again. "What'd my girls get up to while I was gone?" They talked every night—well, night for her, afternoon for him—but hearing it from her in person is always nice.

"Same old. I've got a last-minute opening I have to go to tonight."

"Really? Can I come?"

She looks over puzzled at him. "You want to come to some dumb uni student's gallery opening?"

"Yeah, we'll make a night of it."

"The last time we made 'a night of it' Francoise happened."

"I think Franny's pretty nice."

"Because Francoise likes you."

"Maybe if you called her Franny she'd like you more."

"It sounds like Fanny. I don't want my daughter to be called fanny."

"Shall I start calling you Charlotte then?"

"Ew, even my name is stolen by the English. Why can't she go by her beautiful French name? Is that so hard?"

He finds it's best to change the subject when Lottie gets caught in these knots. "Do you want to go to Bouchon Racine tonight?"

She's giddy and jumping—skipping toward their parked car. "Ooh, can we? Can we?" He laughs at her, so full of childish giddiness, a quality that has only expanded with Franny. "I want to bring home a bucket of their olives."

"You know they are probably the same ones they have at Tesco." They definitely are. When she was pregnant she insisted on olives, olives, olives, and he quickly realized she could never tell the difference between whether the olives were from a can or special-ordered from Bouchon Racine.

"Maybe we should name her Olive," he suggested one night. 

Lottie, who was balancing a bowl nearly overflowing with olives on her stomach, sat up quickly, which was a shocking sight; she must have been 8 months pregnant by that point. "She will not be named Olive. You English naming your children after food. We might as well name her Steak or Potato."

"No, they're not!" She insists. "They coat them in something different. You can't tell. You don't have a refined palette like me."

"Alright, I believe ya."

"Olive," Franny sounds, clapping her hands together.

Lottie points her hand at Franny. "See! Even she knows they're different."

"Do you want me to drive?" He asks.

She thinks for a moment. "Uh, no. I'll do it. I told Francoise we'd go to the park today." She reaches into her pocket and grabs the keys, twirling them around her finger.

"Okay, we can go after we park." They've reached the car and he opens the backseat door for Franny while Lottie places his suitcase in the caboose.

"You sure? I can just take her." 

"Nonsense. I've missed my girls."

"Nonsense," Lottie imitates like he's a ghastly old British man (something she would say he is). She slips into the driver's seat as he secures Franny in her car seat.

She's started the car before he's even in the passenger seat. "Should I call Laurie for tonight?"

"She can't. She has a date tonight," Lottie says as she backs out of the parking spot.

Alex chuckles. "You know when our babysitter has a date?"

"Yes, Alex, unlike you I talk to Laurie."

"I talk to her!" Alex insists.

Lottie snorts and shakes her head. "You pay her at the end of the night like 'uh, here's, uh, your money, miss, uh.'"

"I don't do that. Most women would be happy I don't talk to the babysitter."

"I should be happy you're not making out with the babysitter? What high standards? Especially considering how we started." Yeah, he should have seen that one coming.

"What? Like you regret it?"

"No, and I'm sure when you run off with the babysitter she won't regret it either. Meanwhile, I'll be sitting all alone, except I won't even have branded you, I'll just have a baby."

"If you want me to get it removed, I'll get it removed." Nowadays, the tattoo that sits on his arm is generally covered by his shirt. Sometimes Lottie stares at it in the dead of night.

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Why do I have to want it to be removed? Shouldn't you want it to be removed?"

"When I made the appointment, you told me not to do it."

"I would have told you not to get the tattoo in the first place."

"Well, where were you?"

She giggles and reaches out to fluff her hand through his hair. He gives her a boyish grin, the one that makes him seem a decade younger, traveling through Brussels. Franny erupts in giggles from the backseat and Alex spends the rest of the car ride babbling away with her.

They arrive home around a half hour later, luckily not hitting much traffic. Lottie gets whiny in traffic. The house seems the same as when he left it two weeks ago. Franny's toys scattered on the carpet in front of the TV, Lottie's laptop left open on the kitchen counter, his coffee mug that he left atop his piano still sits empty and unwashed. He's comforted that the painting on Lottie's mini easel is a different unfinished painting meaning she was able to do something other than working and caring for Franny while he was gone.

"Francoise, pourquoi ne montres-tu pas à papa ce que tu as fait?" Franny at nearly 2 years old is better at French than him, go figure.

She walks quickly, scuffing her feet on the wooden floor as she rushes off to her bedroom. "You didn't tell me you finished your painting?" Alex teasingly asks her. Lottie's still so overprotective about it, not wanting him to stare at her while she does it.

Alex sits with a tiresome sigh on the couch. Lottie kneels on the floor, trying to clear some of Franny's plastic kitchen items off the carpet. "That's part of your surprise tonight." She's moving toward him on her knees, closer and closer, until she leans over, placing her hands on his thighs. 

He raises his eyebrows. "My surprise?"

She smirks. "Yeah, you have a surprise tonight. I didn't tell you that?" She leans back on her feet as Franny comes toddling back in with a piece of paper. 

"Papa! Ah, papa!" He swears Lottie's smile turns into a wry Grinch smile.

"It's what you get for being gone," Lottie tells him. She might as well start taunting him with "Nana, nana, boo, boo."

"Look," Franny tells him, lifting up the piece of paper. It's abstract, to say the least. There are squiggles from crayons and a stick figure that has pipe cleaners glued onto its head for hair, which means Lottie did that part. There are paint imprints from flowers, which must be from the small garden Lottie has grown in the backyard. Franny enthusiastically points at these marks so he guesses Lottie let her do that part. 

"You drew this? Are you kidding me? Magritte could never, we're putting this on the fridge."

Franny does that excited squealing thing, claps her hands together, and then she clings to his leg. She looks over at Lottie and says, "Park."

Lottie giggles with delight because Franny really is the cutest thing. Big-eyed baby blues just like her maman and these long lashes that people would kill for. Lottie leans down and wiggles her nose against Franny making her giggle. "Papa might want to take a shower first and relax a little—"

"No, no, we can go now." Franny is jumping up and down.

"You sure?"

Alex stands up, readjusting his trousers. "Yeah, if I relax now I'm just going to fall asleep."

Lottie wrinkles her nose. "You sure you don't want to take a shower."

He reaches his hand down to help her stand up. "I will fall asleep in the shower if I do that."

"Alright, park time," Lottie announces, which causes Franny to repeatedly say "Park! Park! Park!" all through the house. 

"Should I get the stroller out?"

Lottie sighs. "She's not going to sit in it anyway."

"You want to carry her the whole time?"

"No, you're going to carry her the whole time."

Alex huffs a peal of laughter. "Franny." She stops her chanting and snaps her head in Alex's direction. "If we get the stroller out, are you going to sit in it?" She eagerly nods.

Lottie throws her hands at her side. "I had to carry her around all week and the second you come back she's all about the stroller again. I'm going to have hip problems because of this kid."

"Shall we get you a stroller too?"

"You're the one that can't sit on the floor because of your back."

London is quiet, at least, their little section of it. It's still early enough in the morning that the heat of summer hasn't caught them yet but late in the day to avoid work travelers. Alex pushes Franny's stroller while Lottie eats an apple. "I can't remember the last time I had a proper meal. Like a very proper meal." She amusingly tells him, "I think we've had mac & cheese for the past 4 nights." Life depending on it, Lottie can't cook. "I am going to go crazy at Bouchon Racine tonight. You're not going to like me when the bill comes." 

"It's my treat. I have to keep you healthy."

"I'd be a pile of bones without you."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Is it 'Will you marry me?'" That's their biggest problem.

"Lot, come on."

"What? You have to get around to it someday."

"Can we not fight in Princess Diana's playground right now?"

"You're avoiding."

"I'm not avoiding—"

"Yes, you are. You're an avoider, Alex, and it's fine. Continue." She's getting passive-aggressive. 

He doesn't want to ask now. It feels awkward and clunky. "I had this thought the other day. I was telling someone the story of how we met—"

"Were they dazzled?" She's obsessed with how people react to the story. It's the romantic in her. The story is a prize she won and she gets to taunt all the other school children that she has the best story out of all of them.

Alex can't lie either. The story is pretty fucking incredible but her excitement over it—the way she grabs his upper arm tightly and those dimples imprint on her cheeks—that's everything and more. "Yes, and they asked me if I hadn't picked up your book what would you have done?"

"You mean from the train?" He nods. "Probably nothing."

"Really?"

"You're shocked by that?"

"No, but I thought you'd indulge me a bit."

She shrugs. "I would have thought you weren't interested."

"I could never not be interested in you. What about me? You thought I wasn't attractive."

She giggles. "You were very adorable at 21."

"Only adorable?"

She looks over at him and downturns her head. "I did have sex with you. You've only grown hotter with age, Al. Not something all of us can say."

"What? Are you talking about you?"

"I've had a baby. You don't have to suffocate me with delusions of grandeur that I'm hotter than I've ever been. I was the hottest at..." she thinks for a moment "25. You would've liked me at 25."

"I like you now and you're hotter than you've ever been now."

"Please. I'm the only mother on the planet whose boobs got smaller when she had a baby. The only haircut I've had this year is when Francoise cut a chunk off with her play scissors. I was never really fit but now—"

"Hey, every you has fit for me. No version of you will fit better for the version of me I am right now. If I had 25-year-old you, sure you'd be hot, but I'd look like a total creep so this is really all for my benefit."

"Well, if it benefits you then we're fine."

"Exactly."

"Good." They laugh. "I'm plenty happy with my body. You don't have to worry about me. However, looking like you do now, I'd totally get with you at 25."

It's days like this when life feels perfect. The sun shone just right and Lottie looked over at him with that beaming smile. It's good for his ego too. "Yeah, I'd probably get with you too. You'd be more mature than me anyway."

Franny is itching to get out of her seat so they take her over to the slide. They've developed a method where Lottie will stand at the end of the slide to catch Franny and Alex will then pick her up and place her on top of the slide for her to go down once again. They do it because Lottie read that if you go down the slide with your child then you're more likely to injure yourself or them because your foot could get caught and break and your child will be flung across the playground. Alex thinks it's because she told him that when she was little she rode down the slide in a skirt once and exposed her knickers to the whole class, but he doesn't say that. It makes Franny more independent anyway, except for the part where she refuses to climb the stairs to take the slide, therefore insisting Alex pick her up or she'll throw a tantrum. She can barely walk upstairs so he gives in. 

"My maman wants us to visit soon. Start of July maybe."

He hums. "Paris in July. Will it be abandonment or a whole month of banging?"

"Shush. I don't understand why she won't just come here."

"You've been saying you want to go back for ages now."

"Yeah, not with a 2-year-old though. I'm going to be that poor mother trying to calm her baby on the plane."

"Franny is more well-behaved than that baby. We'll be fine. We could take the train."

"The train?"

"Come on. We've had fun on the train. We could go up to Brussels for a weekend. Stay in 505."

She's biting her lips, which means she's tempted. "You just want my maman to look after Franny so you can knock me up again."

"Precisely. We could get a private cabin. It's a quick train ride anyway. I'll make a fool out of myself on the metro for the thousandth time. You'll love it."

"Fine, fine. But you have to call her Francoise the whole time."

"That's fine. Franny can be Francoise in France and Franny in England and the rest of the world."

"No, in French-speaking countries she will be Francoise."

"Which means in English ones she'll be Franny. Franny Wanny Anny." He plays with her limbs making her giggle.

"Fine," Lottie concedes with a straight face.

"I'm going to have to go back out to LA again before that."

She scoffs, "Really?"

"If we're going to spend all of July there. I left some things there."

"You can't have Matt send them to you?"

"We just have to finish some things up."

"Oh, 'some things.'"

"What?"

"Nothing. Just curious," she says evasively. "I'll have to figure out what to do with work."

"You already work remotely anyway."

"I work remotely in London, Alex. You expect me to come up every weekend to attend a gallery in London."

"Tell them you'll do a Paris special."

"It's a London-based company. The point of what I write is for people to go see these exhibits."

"Tell people to take the train."

"Yeah, I don't think that'll work."

"It's not like you need the job anyway."

"I am practically already a stay-at-home mum, Alex. If I don't have a job, I will turn into Mommie Dearest. You need for me to have a job."

"Bill will understand. Your job will be waiting for you when we're back."

"Maybe if I didn't take the biggest maternity leave ever."

"Stop shaming yourself over the leave." Shockingly, pregnancy and birth weren't exactly easy, and nearly 2 years post, Lottie still guilts herself for the extended leave. As if she didn't have to recover from growing a full human being, having her cut out, and then caring for it. Alex thinks he helped the best he could at least when dealing with Lottie's stubbornness and insistence on 50-50, which luckily became 60-40 for her sake.

"It'll all work itself out. And Francoise will go to Brussels for her first time!" Lottie squats down and wraps her arms around Franny's stomach, squeezing her tightly.

"Fine. Franny can come too."

Lottie gasps. She says to Franny, "Papa was so mean. He wasn't going to let you go to Brussels. What a mean, mean man. But maman will take you anywhere she goes."

"What is this? Parental brainwash?"

"I'm simply informing Francoise of the plans. It's a great way to keep her involved and expand her vocabulary."

"Is she going to start burning bras next?"

"Francoise will be a smart activist. She's the smartest baby I know."

"You barely know any other babies."

"That's not true. Did you hear that, Francoise? Your papa just called you stupid. Maman would never say that about such a smart intelligent angel." She rubs Franny's nose, making her wrinkle it up.

"You're really good at this whole twisting my words thing."

"You're just catching on?"

They move over to the bench where Franny sits on Alex's lap, messily eating strawberries. Lottie tries to blot away at the juice that drips from her cheeks. "Gabriel and Brigitte are getting divorced," Lottie informs him.

Alex's jaw drops. "What?"

Lottie purses her lips and nods her head. "Yeah. I haven't gotten the full details from maman because he, of course, has not called me, but, you know, they've been on and off for the last couple of years so now it's—" She moves her hand across her neck to symbolize finished.

"I never thought they would call it quits though," Alex says.

Lottie chuckles. "I did. I'm surprised they lasted this long. They hated each other even when they got married."

"Another reason not to get married."

She drops her hands to her lap along with her face. "Alex."

He feels bad about that one. He kind of feels bad about all of it. Like there's some part of him he can't change. "Sorry. What about the kids?"

Lottie exhales loudly and shakes her head. "No clue. I can't even get him on the phone. I even tried calling her."

"Yeah, how'd that go?" He laughs.

"I'm pretty sure the second she filed for divorce she blocked me. No longer has to put up with me at family functions."

"I missed you," he says because he has to. She's sitting there, wiping her red-stained strawberry hands with an old McDonald's napkin after cleaning up their daughter's sticky face and sometimes he just gets hit with these waves. It usually happens in parks. Brussels Park, Luxembourg Gardens, Kensington Gardens. Ever since that flower behind his ear and that first kiss that sealed it.

She's sardonic as always. "Pft, it was only 2 weeks, Alex." She walks to toss the napkin out, which gives him a good view of her ass so he can't really complain.

When she walks back, she grabs his head, bends down, and kisses his cheek. "Love you."

She stands up and he grabs her hand, squeezing it. "Thanks, Lot."

She forces a smile down and slaps his arm playfully before putting the remnants of the food baggie back under the stroller. He just watches her. He's always loved doing that. 

"We should figure out the babysitter issue."

"Leah's gonna do it." Leah is one of Lottie's friends from university. She's lived in London ever since graduation and the whole reason Lottie made that train ride to Brussels was because she was visiting Leah in London. Leah doesn't know this, of course. Lottie says she'd get too big of an ego.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"What time?"

"She's coming over at 4 once she picks Jace up from camp."

"When's the gallery start?"

"6, I think."

"So we get 2 hours to ourselves?"

"No, you get 2 hours to take a nap. I have 2 hours to get ready, get my notes together, maybe clean up the house for once."

"Oh, Lottie, we're never cleaning up the house."

"A girl can dream."

"Honey, your studio flat was a mess and you didn't have a baby to blame it on. Our house is never getting cleaned."

"I like a cluttered mess. I don't like mice in my house!"

"There's no mice in the house."

"I hear them in the walls, I swear to you, Alex!"

"It's an old house."

"So the house is falling apart. That makes me feel a lot better, Alex."

"Remember when we used to be fun? Now we're arguing about mice."

"Yes, but it's mice in our house and I like the sound of our house." It's been their house for nearly 3 years but Lottie woos about it like it's freshly done. He gets a warm feeling inside whenever she does.

Lottie tries to put Franny back in her stroller. She, of course, cries. "This child hates me. I'm not going to carry you." 

Franny just cries more, making grabby hands to be picked up. Alex can't help it. She's got tears streaming down her face, those blue eyes swelling. He blames Lottie for putting the curse upon him back in '07. He picks her up. Her cries soften to whimpers.

"Alex," Lottie warns.

"I haven't seen her in 2 weeks. I'm not going to stand her and watch her cry. Besides, she doesn't seem to like me anyway."

Franny reaches her hands out for her mother and it would be rude to refuse such a cute baby. Lottie places her on her hip. "I didn't want to push the stroller anyway."

They head off in no direction in particular. On empty days when they need to kill time, they walk around London with little care. They've never lacked in walking and talking. It seems like they've walked this area of London a million times. When Lottie was pregnant they walked around the area so much that it became a bore and they would take the underground to different parts of London to have another area to explore. Weekends they'd walk along the Thames for hours. The conversation never lulled, even if it had become as dull as I Spy, they'd turn it into a game of laughter. 

"I'm sorry I haven't been around," Alex apologizes. From the moment Lottie got pregnant—probably way before then—he was overcome with the fear of this occurring. Dashing around the planet and leaving Lottie & a baby for endless amounts of time.

Lottie sighs. "You were gone for two weeks. That's nothing."

"That's something. Enough for her to start calling me Papa. I'm missing things. I'm leaving you to eat apples and mac & cheese for days on end—"

Her laughter cuts him off. "Alex, I lived for about 32 years without you, I can manage two weeks."

"Two weeks for Franny's life is like 10% of it."

She can't stop laughing. "No, it's about less than 1%. You avoiding maths in college might not have been the best idea."

"Alright, alright. I just I'm missing it and I'm shoving it off onto you and—"

"Alex, you might want to sit down for this, but she's my daughter too. You spent nearly 2 full years at home while I went back to work."

"You left for 4 hours for a gallery opening. I'll be gone for...too long."

"Baby, my father wasn't even around. You're like ten billion points above him. Gabriel is there every day at his house with his kids and I don't think he once sat down on the floor and played dolls with them. Do you think I'm picking some loser to have a kid with?"

"Maybe for the royalty checks." He cracks a bit, a hint of a smile approaching. 

"Have more faith in me." She reaches up and tucks a tuft of his hair behind his ear. "It's okay to have a life outside of us."

And like always, she makes everything make sense. He takes her hand, the one pinching his earlobe and kisses the back of it with a tenderness they've always had. The one that makes him ache even when she's here to heal it. 

"I'll still feel bad about it," he says.

"Well, you better," she says bluntly. He's laughing and she's laughing and Franny just looks confused but she laughs too. "It's called parental guilt. It's what prevents us from eating the suckers."

Alex rubs his stomach. "But Franny looks so tasty." He leans over, chomping the air toward her. 

She's squealing, clutching onto Lottie with all her might, insisting, "No, no, Daddy, not me!"

Alex sighs and pulls away. "Fine, but all because you gave me one of your strawberries."

They're walking through Kynance Mews where Lottie does her usual musing. "I wish we lived here." She's slow, admiring each inch of wisteria and how it crawls over the buildings. She does this every time. It started when she was pregnant and she insisted Franny kicked harder when they were here. It has only persisted to a greater degree. Her enthrallment with nature is deep. It's why they have a garden in the backyard. She explains each inch to Franny in such a soft voice Alex has trouble hearing, but Franny's quiet. Her eyes follow where her mother points and her lips part in her usual way but she looks blown away.

"You're only about 10 minutes away from it," Alex points out.

Lottie rolls her eyes. "I know I can look at it. I want to live in it. With the cobble-stoned streets and nature overtaking architecture. It's so peaceful." As they walk, she gazes around the mew like it's the first time she's seen it.

Alex looks on at her, a smile perks his cheeks. "It reminds you of home."

She meets his eyes. "Maybe. With the arches and the way my feet click on the street." Franny is squirming in her arms so Lottie sets her down and she goes running off to a tiny plant that's about her height. "But I like it here."

"London or here specifically?" He questions.

"Well, I meant in London but, yeah, here." She puts her hands in her pockets finally able to rest them.

"Me too. Life makes sense, you know?"

She laughs. "No." Her eyes are away from him, watching Franny. "But I don't think it's supposed to. I think this is the closest we'll get. I felt that when Franny was born, you know?"

He nods. "I forgot what it felt like to be excited over nothing." Franny is hugging the plant.

Lottie turns to him and shakes her head. "It's not nothing. For her, it's the first time she's hugged a plant."

"I don't think I ever hugged a plant. I hated nature as a kid."

She's smiling wide, beaming. "Francoise, honey, papa is going to hug the plant now."

"Lottie." Alex chuckles and shakes his head. 

But Lottie has already got her hands on his shoulders pushing him toward the tiny plant. Franny is giddy and Lottie is giddy and he's a fool. "Come on, come on, come on!" Franny shouts, her tiny hands tugging on his fingers.

"Alright, alright. The person who lives here is going to think I'm a psycho."

"Plants need love too," Lottie defends.

"Yeah," Franny repeats, "plants need love too."

So, he bends down with a crack in his knees and hugs the plant loosely. Franny claps and Lottie is snapping a picture on her camera. "Adorable!" She cheers.

"Now let's get out of here before they call the police on me."

Franny tugs on his hand. "Shoulders, pweaseeeeeee!" Those eyes should be outlawed. Puppy dog ocean eyes gazing up on that cupcake face, begging him.

Alex looks over at Lottie and she understands. With a huff, she says, "I'll push the stroller."

Franny is already clapping her hands excitedly. Alex picks her up, lifting her over his head, and sitting her onto shoulders. She clutches the ends of his hair like she's stirring him. "Thank you!" She shouts.

"She's going to be such a spoiled brat," Lottie tells Alex.

"Hey, she said thank you," Alex reasons. Lottie is probably right. They give in—he gives in a lot to Franny's will but she's too hard to say no to and she's well-behaved for the most part so he'll give in and carry her on his shoulders and if she'll cry one day when he doesn't.

"Love you, maman," Franny calls down.

Lottie gasps and stops walking. A giant smile spreads across her face as she looks up at Franny. She shakes the little girl's foot. "Well, aren't you the sweetest girl in the world!"

"She's a very smart girl," Alex says as they walk again.

"She has your charm," Lottie says begrudgingly. She's too quick to fall to the smooth words he speaks. He's grateful for it. It might be the only upper hand he has with Lottie. It's probably the only reason he has Lottie. Tucked away in his songs leading them to meet again in Paris. 

They start heading home. Franny is tapping on his head and Lottie walks a step ahead of him with the stroller. "What should we do now?" He asks her.

She turns around, biting her lip.

He instantly knows what she's thinking. "You're such an art nerd."

"I am not!" She defends. Alex gives her a knowing look. "Maybe. But I want to go because Francoise gets so excited over the sculptures and it's the cutest thing ever and she's the cutest thing ever and you're the second cutest thing ever and you and me in art museums is always fun and it's free so let's do it."

"You make a convincing argument."

He stays silent as she slowly smiles and bats her lashes. "I'll give you a kiss."

"Fine, but I get a foot rub at the end of the night."

She moves closer to him. "Oh, just a foot rub. No other kind of rub. That's fine."

He laughs. "Shut up. Come here." He wraps his arm around her lower back and kisses her lips, strong and hard. The kind that would usually have them running home to fuck. But that was before Franny.

When they walk into the Victoria & Albert Museum, Lottie takes Franny to her hip, and Alex checks the stroller. As usually happens at museums, Lottie becomes a tour guide. "I love these altarpieces."

"It's the repressed Catholic in you," Alex says. 

Lottie chuckles. She leans closer as if they haven't stood before the St. Margaret altarpiece a hundred times before. "All that little detail."

"And it's from the 1500s!"

Lottie turns back at him with a face etched with annoyance. "You're mocking me."

"Never." She stares intensely at him making him feel apologetic. He mutters, "Sorry." He sounds like Franny after she spills her cereal. 

Lottie smiles, pleased by the apology. She bounces Franny on her hip, trying to keep her calm and interested. "They tried to kill her and couldn't," she tells her.

"I thought they beheaded her in the end," Alex states.

Lottie turns back, annoyed again. "I was getting there."

They slowly walk through the museum, into various rooms. They venture up to the stained glass section, one not often looked through. It's usually toward the end of their visits and feet are worn out or Franny is cranky. 

Alex, ahead of his girls, walks back to them and tugs on Lottie's arm. "I've got something to show you."

"What? Are you on display here?"

"While I might be the great find in your collection," Alex says, getting a laugh out of Lottie, "it's just a little thing."

"Okay." They walk past stained glass windows and sacred silver. 

They land in front of one. "I know it might be stupid but...you know."

She looks at the piece. A stained glass panel with an angel with a sword in one hand, a scale in his other weighing the soul of a woman. "It's very pretty."

"And you claim I don't notice anything. It's Saint Michael."

She looks back at him and it clicks. He's beaming with pride in himself like he discovered the Mona Lisa or something. "Do you want to steal it?"

"We could probably just take it," he jokes. "Nobody cares about him as much as we do."

Lottie giggles. "I think some Christians might argue with you." The saint had become a thing between them. On their one-year anniversary right before she got pregnant, he gave her a Saint Michael pendant necklace and she said, "Is this blasphemy?" She doesn't wear it often. It's tucked away in her jewelry box. She usually elects to wear one necklace at a time. Nine times out of ten, it's that shitty one purchased from the babushka. She fiddles with it, Franny fiddles with it, and Alex fiddles with it. It's like some unity stone connecting everything.

Later, when they've returned home, Alex takes a nap. Franny easily occupies herself with toys before Leah picks her up. The second the front door closes behind them it's like a siren sounded, alerting Alex who walks into the living room just like Franny does after a nap. He's rubbing eyes and yawns. He might as well be carrying a stuffed animal.

"I have to get ready!" Lottie instantly says, walking straight past him. 

"Oh, come on, we don't have to be there for another 2 hours."

"I have to shower. You have to shower. I have to get ready. You have to get ready. I have to get some notes together. No time."

He walks to her at a tortoise's pace and hunting stare. "So, let's do it together."

"What?"

Alex bends down at a hare's pace and throws Lottie over his shoulder, a screech coming from her lips. "I have to shower. You have to shower." Lottie's giggling, patting her hands on his ass, and kicking her feet.

"Fine but you have to wash my hair," she reasons. He knows she loves that without needing her to say it. He loves it when she does it, even if she always gets shampoo in his eye.

He plops her down on the tiled floor and starts the shower. She's already shed her clothes when he turns back around. He whistles. Lottie rolls her eyes. "Stop it, pig."

"I'm an admirer of art." He wraps his hands around her body, tugging her close. Her boobs up against his shirt. "Seriously, they should be writing pieces about this body."

"Isn't that what you do?" She's flirty, which is a good sign.

He's kissing her, close, tight, together. A true proper kiss. Lottie pulls away with a huff and enters the shower, which means Alex practically rips his clothes off to get in the shower.

"The last time we had a Francoise-free night was back in February when your parents came down." She hands him her shampoo and turns her back to him.

"No," Alex disagrees. "It can't be that long ago." His hands are soothing and meticulous in their kneading.

"Yes, they came down on the week of Valentine's Day, and when we've had Laurie watch her it's only been for nights out. We haven't had the house by ourselves overnight since February."

"Jesus. Then why am I shampooing your hair?"

"Because you're a good man."

"A good man? I thought I was a pig?"

She hums. "Your patience has changed my mind. Besides, I can call you a pig in a few minutes when you try to finger me."

Alex fakes a gasp. "What cruel man would try to please a woman? I would have you blow me."

She's giggling and sending vibrations through him, her back to his stomach. His cock is against her ass, growing harder and harder with each movement.

It starts with him kissing her neck and then she's turning around and getting on her knees. She takes him in her mouth. Her tongue is playing on his tip, swirling around getting him all flustered. She knows exactly what to do. They've done this a hundred times now and yet it still feels like he is experiencing it for the first time.

She takes him fully in her mouth. One hand playing with his balls, the other holding his thigh. It's wet and messy. The water from the showerhead beats down hard on his head and Lottie is giving good head. Every time she pops off, she comes back taking him an inch further and further. He nearly comes down her throat when he hits the back of it. 

He's a moaning mess. It's something about the environment. Probably knowing he can be as loud as he wants with no curious ears. Definitely because Lottie is licking up his shaft with such care. "Fuck, Lot," he says. He throws his head back and he's not sure if his cum lands on her or not, either way, it's circling down the drain when he's finally able to open his eyes. "Fuck, you're a saint."

She furrows her brows. "Then why am I on my knees?"

Alex raises an eyebrow. "You want me on my knees?"

"I want to take a shower," she says. She grabs his hand to help her stand up.

He scoffs, "God, how boring of you."

"You have to condition my hair," she insists. 

He listens and carefully applies the product just how she likes it, letting it soak in. He detaches the showerhead from its stand, moving it closer to her head, the conditioner slowly washing away. Lottie has always liked the showerhead, specifically the water pressure. She raves about it like it's some Michelin Star showerhead. 

Alex drops the showerhead to his side, pets her hair back, and wraps an arm around Lottie's waist. "Job well done?" He asks.

She's rubbing the water out of her eyes as she nods. He moves the shower head so it's right around her. "Alex," she giggles. She tries to move but his arm has locked her in.

"What?" He asks, moving the head closer to her core. 

"We have to wash your head," she insists.

Alex says into her ear, "Uh, no, no. I don't think we have to do that right now." She's squirming, which he knows means it feels so good and hits her just right. Her clit is beaten with the water and she's trying to hold her noises in. "Let it out."

She's groaning and rutting her hips in an effort to achieve her high quickly. The water is a torturous pleasure. A hands-free application for getting off. She isn't sure what to do with her hands so she hangs onto Alex's arm holding her in. It's the only thing keeping her arm. His body is a wall for her to thrash upon. Then, she's whining before she's coming in full force. It's enough for her body to shake and for Alex to feel pride in his innovative thinking. 

He keeps his arm around her to keep her steady as he returns the showerhead to its holder. "Good, huh?" He asks teasingly.

She's panting and can't say much, so she just nods. After she washes her and they dry off in their towels, with the remaining 45 minutes, he lets Lottie get ready.

Alex is lying on their bed, still undressed minus his underwear. He's always enjoyed watching Lottie get ready. The way she darts in and out of their closet, holding a piece up to her body in the mirror, putting it back, trying a piece on, putting it back. She'll mess with her hair, up, down. She'll dash off into the bathroom to do her makeup before redoing her hair all over again.

She's always particular about it. She told him once she liked the act of getting ready. She liked the chaos and her clothes thrown about on the floor. He thinks she especially likes it when he cleans the mess up for her. 

Now, she's settled on a little black dress. She said once she didn't think she had the ability to pull mini dresses or skirts anymore after Franny was born. He said that was idiotic and pleaded with her to never stop wearing her minis. She's continued the habit since. Mostly in this summer heat but it makes him a little happy to know that she's watching him watch her as she pulls on the dress and asks him to zip it on for her. Then, she goes over to their bureau and slips on her Saint Michael necklace.

When she catches his eye in the mirror, she asks, "When are you going to get ready, mister?"

He sighs. "Okay, I'm up." He hops out of bed and hides away in the closet. His daily attire isn't much different from what he's wearing tonight. Something he knows she'll make fun of him for. "Do you want to take the tube?"

"Do I want to take the tube?" She repeats like it's some shocking piece of news.

"Yeah." He steps out of the closet, readjusting his suit jacket. She's putting on a black-heeled Mary Jane and staring at him bewildered. "Don't have to deal with parking and it'll be like old time's sake."

She sighs, "Fine. If my feet hurt you have to carry me on your shoulders like Francoise."

He bends down and kisses the top of her head. "Deal."

Typically on nights out, they'll drive the car, and since they haven't had many nights out without Franny the car has always been the easy choice when it's all three of them. The District line is packed enough that they have to stand against the pole. Alex likes this, even if it's shaky and hurts Lottie's feet. He wraps his arm around her and gets to keep her close as a means of keeping them steady. 

"You didn't even get to tell me about LA. I just babbled about myself the whole time," Lottie says in between Embankment and Westminster. 

Alex sighs. "It was good. I told you most of it on the phone. Worked, hung out with people, the usual drill. Would've been more fun if you had come with me."

"One day maybe. I don't like leaving Francoise so far away and she's too young for that kind of trip. Maybe next year when you're on tour."

"Yeah." He smiles. He can picture it. Them by the ocean. Lottie in a bikini, Franny in her cute little sun hat. A walk up to Griffith Observatory. Lottie insisting they go to the Walk of Fame then calling it stupid after seeing all the tourist traps. Trips to the Museum of Art, The Getty Museum, The Broad, Hammer Museum, whichever one or all of them. "I'd like that. You'll have to pick your favourite cities you want to join us for."

"I'd want all of them." She stares up at him softly. A sad smile plays on her first for a moment but they still have months before he'll be away. They'll figure it out. They always do. "But I'll make a list. Maybe leave Francoise with my maman for a couple of weeks and join you somewhere nice."

"Like Boston?" She wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him close, and giggling into his neck.

The gallery is small but decently packed. The paintings are abstract in a Jackson Pollock way that he's never quite understood but Lottie explained it to him once and it made sense. She doesn't seem to be enjoying this one. Her face is stuck in a frown but she holds the free champagne in her hand in a relaxed way, which means it can't be horrible.

"I liked the first one," he whispers in her ear. Her eyes follow where his eyes have landed—an art piece made of shattered glass that sits at the gallery's front doors. She snorts and crashes her head into his chest. "What?" He chuckles.

She lifts her head, just enough for him to see her. "That's a mirror that broke."

"No, it's..." he trails off looking at the object.

"A mirror that broke," she finishes.

"God, this art sucks."

She loudly shushes him. "I agree with you but I don't want the poor artist to overhear."

They take a few more minutes, trying to observe everything as best they can. He leans down to her ear. "Bouchon Racine."

She lets out a heavy breath. "Yes please."

They shuffle through the crowd quickly, her heels can be heard hitting the wood of the floor. They leave their glasses on the front desk and Alex leads them out of the building. "I swear I was going to suffocate in there."

Lottie giggles. "You are aware you don't have to wear a suit jacket 24/7."

"I like how I look in a suit," he says, all sweet and innocently.

She grabs his upper arm, shelving her head on his shoulder. "I like how you look in a suit."

"Nah, it's got nothing on you in that dress." He tugs on her waist, urgent and needy. "Very hot, Madame Guess."

She rolls her eyes. "Mademoiselle," she corrects. A pit forms in his stomach. He feels bad. These unintentional slip-ups keep occurring. She ignores the misstep. "I'm glad Bouchon is so close by because I'm hungry."

Their table is in the back right next to a wall. They look over their menus but they both already know what they want. They get the olives as a starter but Alex only eats one and leaves the rest for Lottie. "I want a bunny," she says.

Alex laughs. "Who are you? Franny?" Franny has this little bunny she sleeps with every night. Alex's dad got it for her when she was born and they think she'll have it forever. Despite having it for so long, she cares for it so cautiously that other than some slobber and stains, it's in a near-perfect condition.

"I think we should get a pet or something."

"Or another baby," he suggests.

"I'm not having another baby," Lottie casually announces. She sips her wine and looks away like her serious tone is no big deal. 

"Lottie."

She ignores him. "I wish Cadbury Eggs were in season year-round." Their dishes come and the conversation drifts away. 

Lottie is cutting her chicken and tells him, "Last night, Francoise came into our room in the middle of the night. She had a bad dream and she was telling me about it and she was lying, you know, on your side of the bed, and the whole time I'm thinking I'm talking to Alex."

He smiles so big it turns into a laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, she's so imaginative and she talks the same way you do—dreams the same way you do. She's got this active mind and she's so creative in the way she tells these things just like you. And she was so cute, you know how she is under those big covers, her body so small but so wiggly. She was like how you get in the morning when you stretch out."

"I'm glad she's a little like me. She looks just like you."

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. You should've seen her last night. You would've thought you were looking in a mirror."

"All that creative stuff is from you too. That drawing she gave me today. You know what it reminds me of."

Lottie lands her head in the palm of her right hand laughing. "No, it does not."

"Yes, it does. It looks exactly like that drawing you did of me. It even had the flower prints around it like the ones you drew." In the first month, when they hid out in her little Parisian apartment, she sketched him one morning while they sat near her little Juliet balcony, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette between them. 

She concedes. "She's smarter than both of us."

And that he'll agree with.

After dinner, with an extra takeaway order of olives, they walk down the street for a box of macarons to cap off the French cuisine night. They take one each and put the rest away with the olives. 

"I wish I could bake," she says as she bites into her raspberry macaron. "Or you could bake. I wish one of us could bake."

"I'll learn for you," he says. "It'll be shit but it'll be better than whatever you make."

"I'd tell you to fuck off with that if it weren't true."

A lull of silence falls between them and he feels that questioning pit in his stomach. He finishes his vanilla one and once they cross the street he asks, "So, that thing about no more kids earlier."

"Hm?"

"We've never talked about it before but, you know, I'd like another one, maybe." He's trying to tread lightly. It's weird to not know where Lottie stands on something. He always figured she wanted more. Her words always seemed to be that way.

"I don't think so."

"Oh, okay."

"Why would we even have another kid if we're not going to get married?"

This neverending argumentative contention between them. "Lottie—"

"I just don't understand it," she's calm when she says this, unlike other times. The heat between them always tends to rise when they have this discussion that they never get to actually talk through it.

Before he can say anything, she boils over. "I mean, you want to have another kid but we won't get married."

"That's not it."

"That is it! How is it not it?" 

"Can we not fight right now?"

"You always do this! You always deflect everything!"

He grabs her forearm, stopping her from walking. "I'm not deflecting, I just don't want you to be screaming at me in the middle of the street."

The ride home is silent. He doesn't think that's ever happened before between them. Even when she was in labour they talked on the ride over. It's unnerving and he feels like something is lodged in his throat.

When they leave the underground, she walks five steps ahead of him and never gives him the chance to catch up so he figures he'll give her the physical space she needs. He walks with his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shoes. She walks with her arms crossed.

At home, she storms back into their bedroom without a word, slamming the door. "Can we talk about this? Come on." He stands in the living room. He drops to the couch, running his hands through his hair frustratingly. 

He hears the door click open and she comes rushing back out shoeless. She stops a few feet away from him. Her arms are crossed, her foot tapping the floor. "Well?"

Alex leans with his arms on his knees. "I don't know what you want me to do, Lottie."

"What I want you to do?" She's already firing up and he knows he can't stop it. "What do you want to do? It shouldn't be about what I want you to do. I'm not some control freak, Alex."

He scoffs, "No, you're not, but then you yell at me for every decision I make. You hold it against me like I forced you to do it."

She huffs, "No, I do not!"

Alex rolls his eyes and leans back against the couch. "Yeah, right."

"I moved to a whole other country for you! I had a baby for you!"

"Yes, yes, Lottie, in the ultimate sacrifice polls you're winning. Sorry, I've made your life so hard."

"Throw your own pity party, Alex. I don't want to deal with it." She's walking away, bitter and superior, and he can't take it.

"And that little display of yours. The poor French girl kidnapped from her home and impregnated against her will. Everything we've done has been mutual. We decided on London together. When you got pregnant we decided to have Franny. Don't act like I forced that on you."

"Then why won't you marry me?"

"I never said I didn't want to marry you."

"Are you kidding me?! You have shunned the idea completely. When I got pregnant and I wanted to get married you said it was because I had abandonment issues." He winces at that one. The last time they fought about this like they are doing now—full-out and acidic—he was mean, bringing up her dad. He's apologized for it ever since and he was right in thinking Lottie never forgave him for it.

"I didn't want you to think I married you because of Franny," he explains.

"I'm in this relationship too. I know how I feel about you and I was confident in the way you felt about me." Was. Had he really fucked up that badly? "You told me so!" He remembers. It was on the bathroom floor at her old place. A positive test sitting on the floor in front of them, everything felt right. 

"And I asked you then and you said that you didn't want me to be forced into it. Every time I've tried you've shut me down. I don't know what the fuck you want me to do, Lottie."

"I want you to want to do it. You ask me in the middle of a fight or when I've brought it up. It's a second thought to you."

"But it's not something I want to do." He just wants to be honest.

There are tears in his eyes and he feels like the biggest jerk ever. "Why?"

He shrugs. "It's just not my thing. But I'll do it if you want it."

She seems so small to him. Her hands are behind her back and she's looking down at her feet. "I want you to want me to be your wife."

"Lottie," he consoles. He stands up making his way over to her. "I do. I'm not going to shack up with some other chic—" he stops himself. Her eyes dart away from him, looking at the opposite wall from him. "Is this what this is about? You think I'm going to leave you."

She shrugs. "Once a cheater."

He's taken aback by it. He has to catch his breath for a moment. "Wow. You did that too, you know."

"What with my once-every-six-months boyfriend? You had a whole life with her—"

"No, I had a relationship with her. I have a life with you. I have a kid with you! Isn't that some sense of permanency?

"You have her name tattooed on your arm!"

"I thought we put this shit to bed years ago. Why do you have to dig it up? You don't think I feel horrible about that? I thought you were never a possibility. You know what it was like and if I could have done it differently I would have. If we got together in 2007 it would have never been an issue."

"You're going back to me not showing up in 2007. That's a new one, Alex. You're running on such low material you have to pull that out. You want me to be some housewife for you—"

He talks over her, "What are you talking about?!" 

"I was doing something for my career, for my life. Sorry, I didn't care about a stupid boy enough to mess with my whole future."

"It was a dumb comment. Why do you have to make it into such a huge issue? You're making a molehill out of a mountain." 

"I don't even know what that means but at least I'm better than you. You never even bothered with French."

"You're just bringing up every problem you have with me. What next? You don't like that I drive on the left-hand side of the road? You want to go through the problems I have with you, huh?"

"Yeah. Tell me how awful I am."

"That!" He points his finger at her. "You think everything is some attack against you."

"Right now it feels like it is."

"You're not a victim. Not against me. You're going to have a hard time getting rid of me, Lottie. I will be with you in whatever way you want but just because I don't want to have a wedding and I don't care about marriage that doesn't mean I love you any less. I loved you when I met you and that was that. Maybe I am a horrible guy that I was with other people and still thinking about you but I don't really think about everything else now that I'm with you. You and Franny are all I think about. You're all that matters."

She's got tears streaming down her face. He steps closer and wipes them away, holding her face in his hands. "You're a real sucker." She wetly giggles. "I love you. Did you know that?"

He shrugs. "I had a feeling." He kisses her softly and chastely. Some seal of love after a rough night. "Do you wanna go to bed now?"

"I don't want to have sex, Al."

He kisses her cheek. "I just want to lie with you. I'm really tired anyway."

She giggles. "Me too."

She wears one of his ratty old t-shirts and his boxers. He wears just his boxers and pulls her on top of him, skin-to-skin. They hold each other. No talking, just touch. She tucks herself in the nook of his neck and he rubs up and down her back until he feels her fall asleep. He falls asleep sometime after her.

Then, something wakes him up at around 4 AM. He thinks it's Franny at first but then he remembers she's not here. Lottie lies still beside him and he figures it must just be his jetlag. He thinks about getting up but doesn't. For a while, he hopes he'll fall asleep and then he starts to think.

He nudges Lottie awake. She stirs for a bit. She tosses and turns before finally opening her eyes. "What? What's wrong?"

"Do you want to get married in Brussels?"

She's sleepy and still gaining cognizance. "What?"

"In July, I'd like to get married in Brussels. We could do it at the Town Hall. Can you do it in the Town Hall?"

She shakes her head against her pillow. "I don't know."

"Well, if we can, I'd like to do it there."

"With Saint Michael looking down." He nods. "Who knew you were such a religious guy?"

"Do you want to?" He rounds an arm around her waist. "Please say you want to."

Lottie nods. "Yeah. I want to."

"Good. Should Franny be our witness? Our flower girl?"

"Aw!" She coos. "She'd be such a cute flower girl. I'm going to find her the cutest dress." 

"You can plan the rest. I just want my two girls and Saint Michael."

*

a/n: i really wanted to get this out there so it hasn't gotten the full read-through. hopefully, it makes sense or my mistakes gave you a laugh. this is probably the last full part i'll do for this series unless i get struck with inspiration again. i might do some vignettes from it. either way, thanks for reading it!

[tobiasdrake]

Fun Fact: There is actually a reason for why Turles looks like Goku. And it's hysterical. I talk shit about Toei a lot but they understood the assignment on this one.

Lord Slug is my #1 Z film but Tree of Might is also conceptually a lot of fun. Even if they did call him "Turles" for some reason, rather than going with "Tullece" which everyone agrees does a better job of conveying the veggie pun.

This is the film's explanation for why Turles looks like an evil Goku. Low-class Saiyans like Goku and Turles all have a mass-produced factory-line uniformity to them. Vegeta is a $10,000 custom-made designer doll with carefully handwoven stitching, and Goku and Turles are $5 Barbies sitting on a shelf in Walmart.

I love this. I love that as a thematic piece of worldbuilding for Saiyans. Tragically, due to the movies being non-canon and having little involvement from Toriyama, this is not an official piece of Saiyan lore.

But I wish it was. Because I love that idea.

What the dub calls the Tree of Might is Shinseiju, made up of the components Shin (Godly) Sei (Sacred or Spiritual) Ju (Tree). It's a sacred bit of fauna meant only for consumption by gods. It's never explained how exactly Turles stole into heaven and made off with this; It's probably a reference to the Peaches of Immortality that Sun Wukong stole in Journey to the West.

(Funnily, to avoid mentioning Kami's divinity, the dub claims the fruit is meant for Shenron.)

This is some Galactus shit. The tree's fruit sustains gods by feeding on worlds. Once planted, the tree begins to cultivate its fruit by absorbing nutrients and water, as well as the genki of the living things on the planet.

You might recognize that word as a component of "Genki-Dama" or the Spirit Bomb. Genki is one of several components of ki. It's basically a person's physical wellness. There are other components like yuuki (bravery) or shouki (being in the right mind) that influence your ki as well.

This is how the film sets up Turles as Goku's evil counterpart. Goku is a heavenly martial artist, who has studied under gods and learned heavenly arts legitimately. Turles is a thief who somehow stole into the heavens and made off with Shinseiju.

The Genki-Dama is a mass of accumulated genki collected from all across the world, which Goku then uses to attack. Shinseiju does something similar, draining genki from across the planet to create a its special fruit.

Goku was born a low-class nobody but has improved himself through personal development physically, mentally, and spiritually. Turles, too, was born a low-class nobody, but he improves himself by looting the heavens and sacrificing worlds on the altar of himself.

Kaio warns Goku early on that the Earth is doomed. There is nothing he can do. Shinseiju cannot be destroyed. The coming apocalypse cannot be thwarted. All things will die and nothing can be done. The end is inevitable.

The rest of the film is an act of seemingly pointless defiance from Goku, who refuses to accept "Your world is doomed, it can't be stopped, there are no options, there is no hope," as an answer. The problem here isn't really Turles. He's the villain, but even if Goku could beat him, Shinseiju would still destroy the Earth.

The problem here is the invulnerable God Tree from a realm far beyond mortal life, that has laid down roots across the entire planet and shrugs off any and all forms of damage.

The movie pits Goku's heavenly arts against Turles's heavenly stolen loot. And Goku comes up short. Turles has Shinseiju's fruit.

And Goku has Kaio's signature art.

And when the two come to blows....

Fruit wins. In a straight arm-wrestling match, Turles's stolen goods have made him too strong for Goku's practiced arts and disciplined study. Even the Genki-Dama fails, because there's so little genki left for Goku to borrow from the Earth.

Get the hell out of here with this amateur hour horseshit. Kaio's greatest arts simply can't win against Turles and Shinseiju. In the battle of heavenly warriors, it genuinely seems as if Turles is superior.

But then Counter-Fighter Goku has an epiphany. The Earth is dying because Shinseiju is draining it of all of its genki, right? And the Genki-Dama works by drawing genki out of things, right? So. Like. Hear me out. What if I....

I genuinely love this moment. The movies have a serious problem with overuse of the Genki-Dama for conflict resolution, and I'll admit that. But. Like.

It's just like how Lord Slug's Solar Genki-Dama made use of a super-obscure piece of Dragon Ball lore for great thematic effect. Goku unmaking Shinseiju by letting the Genki-Dama's genki-accumulation effect drink the whole goddamn tree is a brilliantly clever application of a component of the technique we don't really think much about.

Goku can't draw genki from the Earth because Shinseiju took it all. So Goku uses the Genki-Dama to take it back.

Like. It's far from perfect. None of these movies really rise to the level of "good". But there's a lot of interesting or fun ideas that they have. And I think, in the broad strokes, the ideas put forth by Turles and Shinseiju, as well as Goku's conflict with them, are really interesting.

They needed a lot more polish to really tell a good and compelling story. But there's some diamonds to be found in this rough.

[olomaya]

My Sims are getting political! After so many months, I'm going back to finish up my Politics/Community Activist mod. This is actually what my Student Council mod is based on (it's basically a baby version of the Poltiics mod.) My current Sim, Arie Wang (I forgot where I downloaded this sim from but she's lovely and perfect for this storyline I'm playing out!) is in the Community Organizer career which is an Active career (like Firefighter or Stylist) and right now is working hard to push a new law in that will increase University scholarships and grants for all students.

Arie is a member of the New Earth party, one of the 4 political parties I created. New Earthers are all about the environment and focus on pushing forward environmental policies but as a mom, education is something that Arie cares about so she's been out there trying to encourage people to vote and hoping to sway voters before election day.

Different political parties have issues that they are either strong in favor of or against. If a party is against the policy, it's near impossible to sway them to vote for it so it's best to target people who are neutral and could vote either way.

I'm happy with how this customized ITF layout is coming out though I still need to make more tweaks and edits and also figure out why the active Sim's photo isn't showing (as below). Maybe also changing the title (Local Political Scanner??)

After probably doing about 40 fundraising cold calls she finally got someone to donate money. And boy did they! She's at the point in her career though when she doesn't need to be doing calls so I'm going to have her get some volunteers to do the grunt work so she can focus on making friends in City Hall to build further influence.

Once a ballot measure is put up for vote, you have 5 days to campaign before voting day. Arie has been hitting the streets every day to canvas for votes, doing campaign calls and also raising money for the party to pay for advertising (TV, radio, online, print) which is the most effective way to sway voters.

Yesterday, I added in a VFX to show when a Sim has been successfully influenced either for or against the ballot measure in question and in testing it out, I saw that Arie has actually been campaigning AGAINST the measure this whole time! Oops!

I clearly messed up with a bool somewhere but at least the influence system is working as intended.

With 7 hours until the Election period begins, and all the time and money I've spent on campaign ads, it looks like I've just accidentally doomed my town to expensive education until I can repeal the law. The Free Llamas are not going to be happy.

Also, shout out to Stable Diffusion which I used to create the Political Party Icons. I'm obsessed with this tool and loved how they turned out.

[marukrawler]

Bakugan it's one of the few franchises we're they didn't hesitate to show hate towards it's first main female lead (Runo)

The show never gives her the recognition she deserves minimizing her achivements and the same anime jokes about her body using Julie as a better example

And it's worse on season 2 were the joke still prevails and I think the anime treats her like if she isn't pretty like the other girls I think the anime never gives an indirect comment about her beauty like the other girls received.

Add to this, season 2 treated the og girls like jokes who can't defend themselves or even flandarized their true personalities (Runo and Alice) so they won't interfiere with the "real team"

And the cheery at the top, fandom treats her like a homewrecker in regards of dan/Shun or like the worst person on earth for being a teenage girl who tried to defend herself with what she knew and called out the bs of dan

The character deserved more respecto from the source...

Localization truly affected the perception the audience has on her...

Quite normal for any female lead...

Oh, Runo, Runo. My precious little summer child.

Runo is certainly one of the most underappreciated, misunderstood, and demonized characters in the show. Even I, a passionate Runo defender, had a preconceived notion that Runo was loud and abrasive before I had even watched the show properly (all thanks to my vague childhood memories.)

In universe, her brawling skills are looked down upon, her appearance is ridiculed, and she’s often made to feel as if she does more harm than good. In fandom spaces, she’s mischaracterized as being an unreasonable, stubborn, and argumentative loudmouth who’s always mean to Dan. Despite being one of the nicest and most considerate characters in the show, everyone, including the writers, seems to have it out for Runo in some way.

When it comes to Runo’s appearance, it’s hard not to feel as if the writers find some sort of twisted pleasure in constantly pointing out how Runo’s appeal as a girl falls short in comparison to her peers. The Misaki Café was all but deserted until Alice showed up and the customers (grown men, mind you) don’t hide how disappointed they are whenever Runo is left as the only waitress. This, of course, makes Runo feel inadequate since she’s the daughter of the owner and yet, she hasn’t contributed to the popularity of their restaurant.

Julie’s comments about Runo’s body can also be viewed as the writers further cementing that Runo is unappealing because of her physique and lack of traditional femininity. This is something that is proven repeatedly with every new waitress that’s more popular than Runo. Alice, Julie and Mira are all more physically developed and are shown to be desired by many boys, unlike Runo who constantly gets the short end of the stick and is made fun of.  

Hell, Runo can barely get a decent compliment from Dan on their first date! He’s made inappropriate comments about her weight on at least two occasions, and was checking out cute girls right in front of Runo, two episodes after she risked her life to see him. The show will never give her a fucking break.      

Also, the “Runo is a tomboy” thing just doesn’t make any sense. She wears skirt and dresses, her room is full of pink furniture, she owns a dollhouse, and she seems very interested in jewelry. And yet, the show (and the English dub more so) attempts to portray Runo as if she’s ‘not like the other girls’ when that’s the furthest from the truth.  

Now, on to the treatment of Runo, Alice, and Julie. It’s no secret that season 2 was horrendous when it came to those three, for the specific reason of convincing the audience that keeping the girls away from the plot was for the best. They were either not strong enough, not confident enough and/or they constantly screwed up somehow. Let’s see:

Alice was:

Tricked by Lync and inadvertently helped him get back to New Vestroia, thus enabling him to spy for and help out Spectra with his plans.

Scared of brawling even though her whole character arc in the previous season was about accepting that part of herself.

Made to feel weak for losing to Shadow and for allowing him to destroy her grandfather’s lab.

Julie was:

Written as overly flirty towards a boy that wasn’t her boyfriend, all to fuel a pointless one-episode love triangle. (Though, the repercussions of this episode’s writing on her character were immense.)

Made to feel guilty about how Billy inadvertently exposed the Brawlers’ location to the Vexos by visiting her.

Runo was:

Written as a lovesick fool who almost got herself trapped between dimensions trying to see Dan again. This had a ripple effect on the Resistance’s otherwise promising momentum, allowing the Vexos to go to Earth, the Resistance to get split up and captured and as mentioned previously, almost got Runo killed.

Willing to endanger herself again by leaving Marucho’s house so she could oblige Dan’s request of eating homemade curry, causing Mira to go after her and subsequently lose her Subterra energy to Mylene.

Runo lost all sense of reason whenever Dan was involved, Alice’s character development had seemingly regressed, and Julie immediately dropped the boyfriend that she had real feelings for. It’s frustrating to see this when they all had such great personal growth and meaningful storylines in the first season. Remember when Runo learned that she shouldn’t let the fear of losing her loved ones take control of her life? When Julie learned that she shouldn’t compare herself to others and that she doesn’t have to be great in order to matter? When Alice realized that she liked to battle and that it wasn’t something to feel ashamed of?

I understand that the narrative focus couldn't always be on Runo, Julie, and Alice. There are new characters introduced every season who deserve a chance to shine as individuals. But that doesn’t mean that our existing characters should get worse. Runo was more worried about not being near Dan 24/7 than she was about Tigress being captured! Masquerade was somehow still present inside Alice’s mind and telling her to fight despite previously disappearing to let Alice stand on her own two feet as a Darkus Battler! Julie is still used as a tool for instigating useless love triangle plots that accomplish nothing except for making it seem as if she jumps from guy to guy! This isn’t just limited to those three (Chan Lee, Elfin, Mira) and it’s just. infuriating as hell to see.

As for the fandom, Runo's character seems to garner mixed responses. Some hate her and some don't. She seems to be well liked on Tumblr but not as much on Reddit (go figure.) When it comes to Shundan fics, I skimmed through the majority listed on AO3 to see how they portrayed Runo. Here's what I found:

(I recommend clicking on the images for an easier reading experience)

Out of the 28 English-written Shundan fics listed on AO3, there were 5 fics that depicted Runo in a negative way, 10 fics where Runo was mentioned but her characterization didn't stand out in any particular way and the rest didn't mention Runo at all. There are Shundan fic writers who unfortunately portray Runo in a bad light to prop up Shun as "the better option" but it looks like they're in the minority.

I genuinely wouldn't be surprised if much of the hatred towards Runo stemmed from Dan fans being upset over how she constantly calls their golden boy out lol. Either that or because of the English dub, as you mentioned. I have previously talked about this and shown some examples here where Runo has completely different reactions to certain situations depending on the dub. It’s no wonder why we’re given the impression that Runo is unreasonable or mean or argumentative when this is how the English dub presents her to its western audience.

[calliecat93]

Balance of Terror is probably, up to that point, Kirk in his most perilous situation. It is full battle mode where if he makes so much as one wrong move, he risks death. Not too mention potential war against an enemy that he knows little to nothing about. Thus, for the vast majority of the episode, we have Kirk in Full On Captain Mode... except for one scene.

It's been hours now since the battle against the Romulans has started. At this moment, the Enterprise is a sitting duck and all that they can do is wait. Which gives Kirk plenty of time with his thoughts and in turn, his doubts. Doubts that he cannot let anyone see under any circumstances. Even when Rand, his personal Yeoman who has seen him at his best and worst, comes to see if he needs anything, the mask stays put. There's no point in bombarding her with what he's feeling internally and freak her out. That's not a luxury that he's allowed.

Well... save for one person.

As soon as McCoy walks in and Rand leaves? Kirk is noticeably more at ease. You can even see Rand realize it and leave, allowing McCoy to help the Captain when she clearly isn't going to get anywhere.

It's only then that Kirk feels comfortable talking and letting his doubts be visible. It's the one vulnerable moment that he lets show in the episode, feeling the pressure as his men to look at him and the fear of what happens if he's wrong. If you think back to The Corbomite Manuver we had a similar moment where McCoy tried to talk to Kirk, but while Kirk was at more ease, he didn't want to hear it nor did he let himself really open up. He doesn't even use Bones then, which sure it's probably because they hadn't thought of the nickname yet, but in-show you can interpret it as Kirk remaining in professional mode even to the guy who has it in his job description to see to his mental health.

Not that McCoy is there just because it's his job, of course.

From what we can tell, McCoy went to Kirk on his own volition. He wasn't called or anything, he went to go make sure that Kirk was doing okay. He's been in Sickbay for the majority of the episode and hasn't exactly been able to make time to go check on the Bridge Crew, especially not Jim. Now that he can, he's just there to let Kirk air out whatever he's been bubbling in for so many hours , as he always does.

But Kirk doesn't need McCoy, his Chief Medical Officer and essentially therapist, right now. And he clearly needs more than a soundboard to vent his feelings to. What Jim needs is Bones, his best friend and confidant. You even have McCoy, once Kirk's done talking, start to go 'Captain I-" before he's cut off, still somewhat in that professional mode (maybe even remembering the last time he spoke out of line in a tense situation ala The Corbomite Manuever). That's not what's needed. Kirk didn't expect an answer, but McCoy stops him. He outright says that he normally doesn't talk to 'a customer' like he is now, which goes to show how much he views Jim as far more than a patient or as the captain of the ship. Kirk is, first and foremost, his friend, and he needs some kind of reassurance right then and there.

And that's exactly what he gives.

MCCOY: But I've got one. Something I seldom say to a customer, Jim. In this galaxy, there's a mathematical probability of three million Earth-type planets. And in all of the universe, three million million galaxies like this. And in all of that, and perhaps more, only one of each of us. Don't destroy the one named Kirk.

Just that bit of assurance and Kirk is good to go. And I think he needed it from Bones specifically. Bones, the one person that Kirk can really be himself around. The one person who he's allowed to be vulnerable around. The one person who has always been there to ease him and help him process his feelings, as we've seen already in episodes like The Enemy Within. And even with McCoy worried himself, even having voiced concern about the gamble that Jim is taking earlier in the episode, he still trusts him and has faith in him. And unlike The Corobomite Manuever where he provoked an argument and had his priorities skewed, McCoy knows what Kirk does and doesn't need right now, and he delivers.

IDK, I just love these two so much and I need to voice it for the world cause dang it, someone has to!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Common Knowledge 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You unfurl the strip of legal pad, marked with Professor Halfdansson's messy and pointed writing. The usual scribble that has you squinting at your returned papers. He must be the only instructor in the college that still handmarks his assignment.

Like much of his style, his slanted cursive is chaotic. Often, his lectures or spiraling tangents about his trips to Norway or some mythos unrelated to the topic at hand. He is a well of knowledge, but one which is often overflowing and bottomless.

The subject is far from your first choice. You prefer history with a human subject. Your intrigue is those events which truly occurred, people who once walked the same earth as yourself. Mythos and belief is a human creation but it hardly captures your imagination.

Along your search for title jotted onto the scrap, you find several other books to sate your personal preferences. A book on the Beothuk and their demise and another illustrated index of Renaissance art. Finally, you find the rear corner of the store, the mythology shelves nestled behind Spirituality and New Age.

You hover your finger before the rows and lean in, squinting through your lenses as you search out the rather Nordic-sounding name. You sense a shadow at the end of the aisle but do not look over. You'll just be on your way once you-- there it is.

You pinch the spine of the deep blue tome and slide it out. The cover is stamped with gold runes and lettering, a viking helm the central image. You double-check that it matches the professor's scrawl, however you can never be sure as his Fs look like Ss.

You set it flat on your armful of book, balancing the weight with the rest as you crumple the scrap and tuck it into your pocket. It's a bit more than you want to spend but it will be useful in maintaining your average through Halfdansson's course.

The shadow comes closer and you shift out of the way for the approaching customer. You sidle away as they huff, a breath that fans around them. He leans into the shelf and you sense his head shift and his gaze follow your slow retreat.

"Ah, you are a fan of vikings?" He asks, stopping you in your tracks. "You must've watched the show, hm? Cute series but not very accurate, you know?"

You blink, taken aback but his tone and his assumption. It isn't the first time you've met the attitude in your chosen discipline. When it comes to military history or the lives of vaunted men, there is often an intonation towards female scholars. You have been dismissed more than once.

"Never seen it," you lie, "you seem the type though."

You note his snow white hair, a peculiar shade, drawn back into a half pony, and his blindingly pale eyes. He wears a tunic better housed in the closet of a LARPing club and looms with an air of indignation. He puts a thick hand on the shelf and leans, no doubt used to towering over others.

"Funny, that is the very book I came for," he intones.

"Oh, what a coincidence."

HIs jaw ticks and he snorts, "seems you've found quite the lot--"

"I have. A whole trove."

You go to turn away and hear his sole clomp down behind you, "surely you can grab another encyclopedia. I really need that one."

"Uh, no, this is what I need."

He follows you down the aisle as you keep a quick step, uneasy at how he trails you so fervently.

"Maybe you should grab another one."

"I have all the others. I've been waiting months for that to come into stock," he insists.

"Well, you can find a kiosk and order one in--"

"On a three month backorder," he interjects and grabs your arm. "I'll pay you--"

You spin back to face him and hit his chest with your books, "don't touch me."

"Well, just..." he retracts his hand, "hold up. I'm trying to talk to you. To barter--"

"I'm sorry, but I need this book for class," you hug the books and back up, overly aware of the tingliness from where he grabbed you. You don't like being touched. At all. You can feel your heart pumping.

"Does the school not have a library, little girl?"

Your mouth falls open. Little girl? This guy just can't help himself. You haven't been rude, maybe matter-of-fact, but he's been downright mean.

"Not for sale," you push your shoulders up and back away.

You twist on your heel and speed away. You weave between the shelves and discount tables and join the winding queue at the counter. You don't look back and sway in your boots, waiting your turn.

"I could give you several recommendations for an alternate text," the man appears at your side, crowding you inside the black cords that rein in the queuing customers.

You ignore him and turn your head away. You wish he'd just take a hint. If you heard a single please or any sort of respect, you might consider it. He's only been a jackass and judging at first glance, he's too old for that.

"You don't need it–"

You move with the line and he growls, shifting with you.

"Look, girl–"

You snap your head back and give him a glare. He sucks in one cheek and exhales heavily, "miss, I am asking you nicely–"

The associate at the counter calls for next and you take your cue. You quickly cross the space and put your haul onto the wooden ledge. You hear the pushy stranger snarl something under his breath. You refuse to look back as you hand over your membership card.

Men like that are the very reason you despise the general public. Hard to fathom how you can be so intrigued by the human condition when you can hardly bear to be around other people.

[an-au-blog]

That Vegas wedding Shuggy ask got me imagining an au where at some point Shanks was getting questioned by the marines for something, and in the interest of gathering info they asked him some personal questions including if he was married. On a whim Shanks replied that he was married to Buggy so now on a bunch of legal documents and info files they are listed as spouses. Buggy fucking /hates/ it but no matter how much he denies the marriage he can never get it changed bc Shanks always maintains that yes they really are married when asked. Shanks usually doesn’t bring it up unless directly asked, except on their anniversary (just the day he first claimed they were married) when he sends Buggy an anniversary present along with a way over-the-top love letter. The first gift he ever sent was a ruby “wedding” ring (he bought himself a matching sapphire one). The gifts are always something gold plated and/or jewel encrusted that really has no business being that way. It’s always something nice enough that Buggy kinda wants to keep it regardless of where it came from, but too ridiculous to be practical in use. For their tenth anniversary Shanks took out a like full page announcement in the newspaper that Buggy is still mad about. While it started at least partially as a joke, at this point Shanks just legitimately considers them to be married and thinks Buggy is only still protesting so much bc he’s shy about it or something (this is also mostly what their crews think).

You saying he sent a ruby ring made an image of an angry Buggy stomping around the Captain's quarters like "A RUBY? A RUBY! THAT BASTARD IS SAYING WHAT? THAT IT COMPLIMENTS MY BIG RED NOSE IS THAT IT??? RED RING FOR A RED NOSE!!! OH HOW I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM!" while still wearing it and just ogling at it because, let's be honest - Shanks had the most lavish and stunning ring custom made for Buggy, just the type that he knows the clown would like. He doesn't wear all the jewelry and says he'll throw them all away, but he actually hides them in a secret drawer. It's all treasure after all, no matter who it's from.

From time to time, he'll take it all out and reread the letters, putting it all on, thinking about how Shanks knew exactly what he'd like.

About the how the marines found out about the anniversary, I think it'd be funny if Shanks, while shopping for Buggy's gifts, a sales person asks him about what the occasion was. And Shanks looks like the happiest person on earth just saying oh, well me and my spouse have a wedding anniversary on the [insert date], so I want to send them something soon for it to arrive on time. And it just so happens that they all know who he is. Rumour spreads like wild fire and the next day marines try to approach him (getting obligated). He just kind of pouts at the end and goes "They're lucky Buggy's gift isn't harmed or else I would have stayed to finish these guys off!" and that's how they found out the one he's married to was Buggy - a small time pirate in the east blue. They're so confused at first, maybe they thought maybe this clown man wasn't the right Buggy, or maybe they missheard. But then they look at a picture of Buggy's red ring - the same red as Shanks's hair and then at Shanks's ring - matching in shape and style and the same as Buggy's blue hair. And their jaws drop.