#and we got a decade and a half of misery

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Six

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings - tags: 18+ MDNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Nurse reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Reference to past domestic violence. Angst. Alcohol. Crying, anxiety, panic. Johnny in distress. Johnny is still a menace. Soft dads. POV switches. Note: Safe sleep for infants always. I do not endorse sleeping with your baby in your bed. This is a fic not real life. Simon does some digging.

“Shhh now, ye’re alright.”

Johnny coos, Penny cradled up to his chest. He’s not wearing a shirt, eyes still half sealed shut with sleep, and she squalls in his arms, screaming as loud as her little lungs will allow. “What is it, mah wee lamb? Are ye hungry? Do ye need a change?” He checks her nappy, efficiently looking for a mess or something to clean up and is nearly disappointed when he finds her still dry. If it’s not her nappy, then maybe her stomach? Could she be hungry again? He thumbs through the notes on his phone to find Simon’s last entry: 23:20 – 50 ML. 

That was only an hour ago. 

He frowns, walking in a circle, bouncing her gently, trying to settle her back to sleep. She’s so tiny, and still has grown so much in just the short time since they brought her home. It amazes him. It terrifies him. 

“What is it, sweet bairn? What’s got ye all upset?” He touches his lips to softest skin he’s ever felt, his thumb trying to swipe away the tracks of tears on her cheeks. “Please dinnae cry. I-“ 

“You okay?” Simon clears his throat behind him, and Johnny tenses. 

“We’re fine. Ye’re supposed to be sleepin’.” 

“Heard the two of you in here fussing. Thought I could help.” Simon’s trying to be supportive, trying to be a good partner, Johnny knows, but all he can feel is irritation, a defensive reaction making his hackles rise. 

It’s not fair. He’s so good at it. He’s a natural. And Johnny… Johnny feels like he’s failing his own kid, when she’s not even a month old yet. 

“I dinnae need-“ 

“Hey.” Simon touches his elbow, and then his chin, tilting his face upwards. “I know you don’t, love. You’re doing a great job. It’s not your fault she’s having a rough go.” He soothes him, fingers kneading into the top of his spine, squeezing the nape of his neck and pulling him into his arms. Penny is still crying, but softer now, a low-pitched tone of misery that makes his heart ache, and he feels so overwhelmed, so helpless, staring down at her as she tries desperately to tell him what's wrong, the only way she knows how. He rests his cheek against Simon’s chest, melting into his hold, letting him wrap his arms all way around his waist. 

“She hates me.” Johnny grumbles, and Simon presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple in short, succinct kisses. 

“She doesn’t. She’s brand new. She can’t hate anything, yet, and certainly not her Da.” He strokes her cheek. “Let’s bring her to bed, see if we can get her down and then one of us can put her back in the crib, alright?” Johnny sighs. 

“Alright.” 

“What’re you doing after this?”

“Going to bed?” What else would you be doing?

“I’m thinking about going to Jackie’s for a drink… wanna come?” Nia untucks her scrubs, pulling the top up over her head.

“Jackie’s, huh?” You chew on your lip. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But… Jackie’s is a dive. It’s dark, and dingy, with black walls, black floors, no window in sight. And... it’s a hospital haunt. 

“It’s my birthday.” She whispers, casting a glance around the rest of the room. “I’m not… it’s not a thing, I just want to go, have a few to celebrate.” You take a deep breath. “Please?” She tacks on at the end, and your shoulders dip down in defeat.

“Okay. One. And then I gotta go.”

“Yes!” She cheers, excitement smashing her palms together.

Nothing like a seven am beer. 

Jackie’s is a distinct place. It’s one of the only twenty-four-hour liquor licenses left in the city, or so you’ve been told, and has been frequented by hospital staff for decades. It’s dart boards and dark wood floors, cheap beer and rail vodka, a worn to hell pool table, and an old, disabled juke box that someone broke intentionally, years ago. It’s an institution, and reminds you of some old places you used to frequent, when you weren’t… who you are now. Years ago, before, you used to love a good dive bar. Didn’t mind the way the floor stuck to your feet, and you considered yourself nearly tactical at darts. It was a source of pride, the accuracy, the rate at which you could make a bullseye, even when you were a few sheets to the wind.

“Coulda been a surgeon.” You’d tease, a smirk growing across your boyfriend’s face.

“If you were a surgeon, sugar, who’d be at home waitin’ for me after work?” He’d push back, coating the warning in an adoration, giving whoever was undoubtedly watching a slick smile before snaking an arm around your waist and tugging you close. “You don’t need to be surgeon. You don’t even need to work. You have me.” 

You thought you knew, then. Knew how to handle it, how to navigate the ever-present, ever-growing threat… but you were wrong.

You were so, so wrong.

“So, heard there’s a spot opening up on days.” Nia chucks her purse at the bar top, climbing onto the stool next to you. “You’ve got the seniority… you givin’ it any thought?” The bartender walks by with a hello, and you nod at him.

“Old Speck please. And no, I like nights.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know Americans liked Old Speck.”

“We have it in the states. I didn’t live under a rock.” You quip, and she laughs before ordering her own poison, a choice that makes your own eyebrows shoot up in question. “Vodka on the rocks?”

“I’m a straight to the point kind of girl.” She explains. “So, no days?”

“No days. You?”

“I might. Night shift is kicking my ass.” She complains. “Don’t even know what day it is half the time. My rhythm is off.”

“You need like, at least six months to fully adjust.” You put a note down in exchange for your beer, and then the bartender scuttles away, distracted by some insistent woman at the other end of the bar.

“Six months?!” You’re about to launch into your spiel about how it’s not that bad when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

>Make it home from work alright? 

>It’s Johnny, by the way :) 

The two texts are the start of a new group chat with your number, Johnny’s number and the number you put in your contacts just yesterday… Simon’s. Your head jerks back on instinct, confused.

“You okay?” Nia asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, fine just…uh-“ She peeks over your arm, and giggles.

“Is that your patient? Two sixty-eight?”

“What?”

“Your patient. The military hottie. The one that’s always lookin’ at your bum.” Your face burns, and she tsks. “Ah, don’t be embarrassed. He’s smokin’. Wish he looked at me the way he looks at you.” You’re surprised at the flare of irritation that starts up in your stomach at her, a hot streak of jealously simmering there, burning away indignantly. “Aren’t they… I mean… isn’t the scary mask guy his partner?” He’s not scary, you scowl inwardly. He’s just… protective. The butterflies in your stomach startle, and you drift back to last night, in the stairwell, in the car.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” 

“If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.” 

Nia says your name, dragging you back to earth, and you shrug. “Yes… they… they’re together. It’s just been hard on them, so I think there’s a bit of an attachment growing there. You know, it’s not unusual.” She bites her lip, mouth pushing up into a smile.

“They’re quite fit. Wouldn’t mind if they formed an attachment to me.” She pauses, delicately sucking her gasoline on ice up through a straw. “Gonna text him back?”

“Nia.” You hiss, and she barks out a laugh.

“Oh, come on, just a bit of fun. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s not appropriate.” You remind her, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re such a stick in the mud sometimes. Remember when Marshall was fucking his brain cancer girl? Now that, was not appropriate.” You do remember- Marshall’s sudden absence, the whispering, the HR investigation that spanned weeks, interviews with everyone on the floor.

Your beer goes sour in your stomach.

“I gotta get home.” You wrap an arm around her shoulder with a squeeze and a whisper. “Happy Birthday.” You feel bad for abandoning her, and maybe in another life you might even consider her a friend, but you’re already too exposed here as it is, and staying any longer would be too indulgent- not to mention, incredibly stupid.

You pass another nurse on the way out and him know that Nia’s at the bar, alleviating your guilt just a tad before you hike up your hood and make a beeline for the train.

By the time you get back to your hotel room, get showered, and collapse on top of the far too big bed, it’s nearly been an hour. You plug your phone in, unlocking the screen to flick on do not disturb, and realize the group message is still open, cursor blinking, waiting for your response.

It’s fine. You can tell you got home okay, that’s not crossing any lines. 

>Yeah, just got settled for bed. See you later!

A text from Simon chimes back within a minute, and you squint at it, one eye open.

>Get some rest.  

The floor is dead silent at the beginning of your shift.

Nothing beeps or whines or cries, no noise echoes around the corner to where you’re scrolling through Johnny’s chart, getting caught up on his day, triple checking that his levels and vitals are all within normal range. He passed his follow up for the liver procedure with flying colors, and the relief you feel is not unexpected, the weight of worry lifting free from your shoulders without another thought.

He’s fine, he’s better than fine, he’s… too healthy for the ICU.

Reality hits you like a truck, and you stop short, sneakers squeaking along the floor.

He won’t be your patient anymore. 

He won’t… be your patient anymore. 

The thought twists you into a mess of complicated emotions. A snarled, tangled viper's nest of unknowns, uncertainties, things you're desperately trying to tuck back behind your heart, hide them away so no one, not even yourself, can see them.

This is a good thing. This is what you want. Stable patients, on their way to recovery. 

So, you’ll miss them, that’s okay. There’s a little bit attachment, that’s alright. 

This is the best case scenario. You’re making a mess of things. You’re getting too involved with your patient and his family. You let Simon drive you home, for fucks sake. 

They’re getting confused, because you’re the caretaker. It happens all the time. As soon as Johnny steps down, they’ll forget all about you. 

You’re risking too much. You’re risking their safety, their child’s safety, your own. 

It’s for the best. 

You put your best work smile on when you approach his room, pulling as much air into your lungs as you can manage.

Focus on your job. Your patient. You’re a professional. 

Johnny is alone. No Simon, no visitors, nobody keeping him company. It’s a strange sight, and he looks almost uncomfortable, creased brow lowered down over his eyes. That’s… odd. Worse, there’s a heaviness in his gaze, sadness pulling his mouth downwards, usual playful demeanor nowhere in sight. Even sad, he’s a marvel, and every day, he gets stronger, he gets healthier, he gets closer to leaving this room, amazing you with his tenacity, his will. 

“Hey, you on your own tonight?” You casually knock on the door frame, and then pull it shut behind you, cocking your head.

“Aye.” He’s sullen, his despair tugging you closer to the bed, an urge to try to comfort him too strong to deny. 

“How are you feeling?” You try the subtle question, hoping he'll be forthcoming, and you keep yourself composed as you wait for his answer. 

“’m alright.” You tab through his chart, glancing it over once more, if only to assuage your own anxieties, and then tap into his vitals. Everything looks good, last labs look great… so what’s going on? 

“Just alright?” His fingers flex in the blanket, tanned skin against white linen, picking at fibers and threads, unable to hold himself still. He looks like he’s going to burst open at the seams, explode inside this room, a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the end of the countdown.

A tear tracks down his cheek. “Johnny?” You step closer, close enough so your fingers graze his, trying to delicately let him know, you’re here. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s going on?” The monitor beeps steadily in the silence, his chest depresses with a gust of air.

“It’s… it’s nothin’ bun. I’m jus’… I’m havin’ a bad day.”

“Want to talk about it? I hear I’m a pretty good listener.” You encourage, and his face twists.

“No, I- Ach. Aye, alright.” He shifts in the bed, and you hover in case he needs help, but he waves you away. “It’s… bein’ in here. I want to be wi’ my family. Penny turned one, before I left for this assignment. Was only supposed to be two weeks tops, but then it turned into a month, then two. And now, I’m home… but ’m not really home, and I-“ His voice cracks, raw thread of agonized emotion separating his words, and he swallows it, forcing it back. “I’m blown to bits and cannae even see my own daughter. I’m missin’ out on everything.” Oh, Johnny. Your heart is heavy, and it hurts for him, bleeds as he wipes his face. 

“You’re not blown to bits, just a little banged up.” You give him a soft smile, and when he shakes his head, your fingers find his on instinct. You don’t even stop to second guess yourself, fully sinking into the contact with a gentle squeeze. “Hey, look at me.” His lashes are wet, sticky with tears, and he sniffles. “You’re making great progress, Johnny, going to be out of here in no time. You won’t even be in the ICU much longer, and then once you’re downstairs, Penny will be able to come visit all the time. After that, it won’t be too much longer until you’re back home with them.” He nods, and you stroke your thumb across his knuckles.

“Ye think so?”

“You’re the toughest patient I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a fair amount, you know. Traumatic injury recovery takes time, it takes patience, but you’re doing a great job of it so far. You just have to take it one day at a time. Before you know it, you’ll be at home on your own couch, bossin’ Simon around all day instead of me.” He laughs at that, a throaty chuckle capable of spreading heady warmth through your veins, and then gives you one of those stupidly stunning smiles.

“Shouldnae be cryin’ in front of ye.”

“You can cry in front of me any time you want. That’s what I’m here for. Besides, it’s not the first time.” You tease and he rolls his eyes.

“Doesnae count. I was high.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” The untouched dinner tray on his side table catches your eye, and chilling worry reappears in the back of your mind. “You didn’t eat?”

“Didnae have an appetite until ye showed up, pretty girl.” Okay. You can remedy this easily, if he's interested in eating. Lack of appetite is alarming, but if you can get him to eat now... 

“You hungry? I haven’t eaten yet. Want me to grab you something?” He brightens, indulging in a spectacular smile, and you take it as a yes with a small laugh. “Alright. Let me run down to the café, yeah?”

“What’s that saying, about how I hate to see ye go, but love to watch ye leav-“

“Okay!” you practically shout, cutting him off, fire racing across your skin, and he snickers, palm pressing against his heart like he’s wounded. “I’ll be right back.” You give him a serious look, and and he rubs his palm through his hair, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Holy hell. How is he so attractive? And how is it still so blinding, every time?  

You get two of the only option left this late in the evening, chicken soup and some sourdough, balancing the bowls carefully on their trays until you’re placing them down in the room, swinging the little table over Johnny’s lap and settling in beside him, perched on Simon’s recliner. The soup is warm, spiced with herbs and thick with noodles, and you're pleased that it's better than you were expecting, happy that Johnny seems to like it as well. 

"Wanted to take ye out properly for our first date, but this will have ta’ do. Simon’s gon’ be so bloody jealous.” He masterfully hums between your bites, and your eyes go wide, trying and failing to swallow your soup instead of choking on it.

“Johnny, we… this… I- this isn’t a date!” you squeak.

“Why not?” He asks, inflection innocent, and your brain rattles around inside your skull, splitting down the middle, falling apart in bewilderment. Why not? What does he mean?

“You… you have a partner. Simon? You know, your family that we were literally just talking about?” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with this look on his face, one you can’t interpret. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What did Simon tell ye, the other night. When he took ye home?”

“What? He… I don’t remember.” Does he know that Simon gave you his phone number? 

Of course, he knows, he started that group text. 

Does Simon know what Johnny said, about you coming into their lives? About-

“Didnae he tell ye, we’re here for ye?”

“Y-yeah.”

“We, bunny? We.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” He sighs. What is he trying to say? What is going on?

“We like ye. Like I said, we think ye’re really special. Simon, and I. Together, bun.”

“Wh-what?” Puzzle pieces snap together and then break apart, like a landscape jigsaw that you spent days completing once before it was promptly ruined. Does he... does he mean... Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. You have to squash this. Now. Just explain it, he’ll get it. He’s smart. “No… no, Johnny it’s just… it’s this thing, that happens. Patients get attached to their nurses or doctors sometimes, it’s normal. You d-don’t like me, I promise. There’s nothing even to like.” He blinks, jaw grinding under stubble. If Simon’s stare feels like he’s reading your mind, then Johnny’s is like being pinned down in one place, unable to move. You’re paralyzed, and powerless, lost in the icy blue sea of his eyes, drowning with a hand sticking out above the crest of the surf, reaching for him.

“Why would ye say that? That there’s nothin’ about ye to like? Nothin’ could be farther from the truth.”

“I don’t… there’s not. It’s… I’m your nurse, Johnny. That’s all.” Sweat glosses the small of your back, slicking upwards to cover your spine, and your heart hammers, it beats, beats, beats- so loudly you’re sure the pulse point in your wrist is visible. “Johnny.” His name shakes from your lips, and he relaxes, gentle concern replacing the relentless intensity in his gaze.

“Shhh, hey. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didnae mean to upset ye.” You're still frozen, a statue, and he reaches for you, trying to grab onto your hand. The heat of his skin breaks you from the spell, and you force a robotic, bedside smile onto your face, scooping up your half empty bowl.

"It's okay." You need to get out of this room. Now. The walls feel too close, Johnny feels too close, everything is compounding on top of you, threatening to derail your entire life, ruin your plan. They cannot like you. They cannot care about you. They cannot show interest in you. You can’t let this happen. “I’ve gotta check on some other patients, okay? I’ll swing back your way in a bit.” You promise him, guilt eating you alive about running away, and when he gives you a sad smile, you almost lose your resolve.

“Alright, pretty girl. I’ll see ye later, then.” He murmurs, and you try not to trip over feet during your hasty exit.

Fuck. You’re so fucked. 

Simon and Johnny’s house is finally silent.  

Penny is down, safely tucked into dream world, her grainy grey-scale image flickering on the video monitor at Simon as he pours two fingers worth of bourbon into a glass.

Poor baby girl. His stomach twists. She put up such a fight tonight, hollering at the top of her lungs, standing up in her crib, working herself into an absolute state. He hates leaving her alone to cry, and on nights like this one, the only way she’ll close her eyes is if she’s being held, snuggled in Johnny's arms, or against Simon's chest. 

He’s a sucker, he knows. Doomed from the day she was born, but he can’t help it. Neither of them can. She’s their baby.

So, he doesn’t blame her for being so out of sorts. She always sleeps better when her Da is home. They both do.

His phone vibrates with a text, a short message from Johnny, and he scrolls through it, settling on the couch with his laptop, unopened email from Laswell blinking impatiently.

>She’s jumpy. Tired. Looks like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. Simon frowns.

> She manage to find a pair of panties for work today?

>Unfortunately. He can practically see the pout on Johnny’s lips, can hear the way he probably huffed and puffed when you first came into the room this evening, your hips swishing side to side, pretty smile on your face for him.

>I think I made her upset. Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. Johnny, love. Why can’t you listen? He takes a deep breath, trying to relax the worry that’s creeping up the back of his neck. 

Disagreements aren’t for text messages. They’ve learned that the hard way. 

>Take it easy for the rest of the night, then. She’s skittish. He shoots off the recommendation, and then pulls his laptop across his knee, clicking open the email from Kate.

Simon,  Your girl is a ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse?  I’ve attached everything I could find, but it’s pretty scarce. The name you provided pulled a copy of her NHS nursing license, her taxes, an award she won at work last year, and a COVID vaccination record. No birth certificate, state identification, or public records of any kind, even after a global hand search. Nothing that even proves she exists or is an American except a sealed record from years ago in the states. It’s not accessible, even for me, which means it could be WITSEC, or a court ordered name change in relation to a domestic violence case. There are 18 states that seal those records to protect the victim, so she could be from anywhere. My gut says it’s probably the latter, which is why she doesn’t exist prior to.  You’ll notice on the vaccine record, she marked ‘unhoused’, and I couldn’t find any lease/rental agreements, sale records, or mortgages in her name.  I wish I had more for you, but she really is a bit of a puzzle. I’ll keep digging.  -K.L. 

There’s an unsettling rattle going off in the front of Simon’s skull. It’s a siren, a smattering of warning bells, and he swallows the rest of the bourbon in one go, embracing the burn that slides down the back of his throat.

Who are you, little bunny? And who are you running from? 

[spacebarbarianweird]

OK OK you just gotta hear me on this one,, Astarion and gn reader where reader is little spoon and Astarion can *sense* just how relaxed reader gets. Instead of their pulse racing from his touches they slow down. Muscles relaxed. Happy little sighs.

^^ he can’t handle this btw he’s absolutely fucking bewildered

A Person to Hold

Synopsis: Fluffy post-game epilogue

Tags: fluff

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

He looks at you, unable to stop smiling.

"They deserve happiness. We all do. And I will forever be grateful to have found it with you," Astarion says.

You make a step forward with open arms. Astarion hugs you, closing his eyes like a content cat. 

A mere half year ago these hugs scared him. It was weird. It was scary. What did you want? Did you want to hurt him? Did you want his body?

No.

None of that.

You taught him not to be afraid. You hug him daily and if he occasionally flinches you don’t let him go. You hold him in your arms when he has nightmares and kiss away his tears when it's just too much.

"I feel bad keeping you all to myself! After all, I get to see you every night."

"Are you sure? You won't be bored?"

You kiss his cheek and leave. In a few seconds, you look back, trying to see if he hasn’t changed his mind. 

"Darling, I can spend some time with myself. Go on, go and mingle. And I will be there, when you’re ready. I will always be here, my love."

He hasn’t. Astarion sits down beside a campfire sensing its warmth.

He doesn't feel like talking. He didn't manage to make friends with the others and now can sense hostility from them. He is a vampire. His strength isn’t suppressed by the tadpole and apparently once the vampire's master is dead, spawns become lesser vampires. Astarion doesn't feel the difference, to be honest, but he knows people feel something is off with him.

Well, it doesn't matter. What matters is that he feels good. He has never thought his head might be so clear. He can make a working ambush plan in a blink of an eye and it won't lead to a disaster because he actually can think everything through. He can walk on ceilings and walls again, he regenerates before you manage to notice he is wounded. 

He has the world to explore, places to see, things to do. He is going to make up for all these decades of misery, to bury them under the pile of happy memories.

And he has you.

Probably the weirdest thing that could happen to him.

You, who forgave his lies and manipulations, who gave him the second chance when it was the stupidest thing to do. Who made him believe the world isn’t an evil place. 

You are the first person he sees when returns from his reverie. Your breathing soothes him, so does your heartbeat.

Astarion never had anything. Everything he had a right to was stripped away from him including his own life.

But now he has you.

To hold, to kiss, to talk. 

To travel together, to hunt monsters, to be independent adventurers. You are there to save him from nightmares. And he is there to save you from death.

How could he become so happy?

“I am going to sleep, are you with me or do you want to hunt?” he feels a soft “pat” on his shoulder.

How come he has you?

You are a bit drunk and very sleepy.

“Let’s go to the tent.”

“Good, I got used to sleeping with you by my side.”

Astarion looks around as if ashamed of what he is going to do and, having made sure no one sees you, takes you in his hands bridal-style.

You are weightless to him thanks to the vampiric strength. He could walk many miles carrying you and not getting tired.

In the tent, you get to your bedroll and immediately cover yourself with a thick blanket. Then, you open it a little, inviting Astarion to join.

He takes his clothes off and crawls to your side. The night is warm, so are you. But since you have to share your body heat with him, you sleep under the thickest fur blanket. 

You are his and he is yours. If a year ago someone told him that would be his future he would bitterly laugh.

Astarion presses your back to his chest, placing the chin on your shoulder.

Your muscles relax, the pulse slows down. You are falling asleep in his arms.

"My love, thank you" he whispers in you ear, tugging you closer

“Hm?”

“Thank you for finding me."

You squeeze his hand. “You were worth it.”

He doesn’t want to meditate. He wants to hold you like that until you wake up. Astarion concentrates on your breathing and heartbeat. You are already sound asleep.

“Sleep well, darling,” he kisses your cheek. “We still have plenty of things to do together.” 

--

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[rosaspicypaper]

I wasn't even ten when my mother taught me to shave. It was exciting. I felt grown up. She explained to me, gently, that I would have a lot to get rid of for the rest of my life. We just had a lot of body hair, more than average. So, there I remember being a little girl, taking a blade to my skin every time I had to shower. A family hardly able to afford food for the week, but we still prioritized a razor for a child in the fifth grade. It grew everywhere, even thick and dark on my thighs. I took it all away, sometimes spending 15 minutes double checking myself to make sure I got every last one. And then, if I found I didn't once had I dried off, I'd get back in and finish the job, or do it dry to ensure I got it all, razor burn preferable to hair. It didn't stop there. I wasn't stupid. I knew the legs weren't the only place you didn't want to have body hair. Once I felt I had the hang of it, I started to shave my armpits. My belly. My chest. My pubic area. My arms. And, as a courtesy of the bones in my wrist, I eventually took out a chunk of flesh so deep and wide you can still see the scar over a decade later. My mom understood. She bandaged me up, and I maintained my routine. Middle school was harder. I kept it up, but kids saw through it. They called me a dog. I had to get rid of even more, I determined. Shaving my chest and my belly turned into waxing. I became self conscious of the dark hair on my cheeks and my jaw, my upper lip and what lay outside of an ideal brow shape. I ripped it all away, checking twice daily for hair I missed, and if I found any I had a pair of tweezers to help finish the job. I was, of course, introduced to the idea floating around online that women didn't have to remove their body hair. I agreed, I thought, that women could do whatever they wanted with their body hair! And if that was the case, I'd choose to keep getting rid of mine. We've all heard the same excuse parrotted around: "I just like the way it feels." And I did. Of course I did. I was used to the smooth skin and that baby soft feel, the validation and admiration that came with having a perfect, hairless...everything. I was okay with other women making the choice to have it because their choice wasn't going to make me feel otherly. I never genuinely understood how miserable it was to maintain the routine until my sophomore year of high school. It had become as second nature to me as brushing my teeth or washing my hair. But, I chose to stop shaving. Over the years, I would cave to the misery and get rid of it all over again, but eventually I'd let it grow out, and it was uncomfortable. It was scary. The prickling hair drove me crazy, the sandy feel of my legs making me squirm once it had grown out. I loathed putting lotion on. It felt like I had to use half the bottle just to get to my legs. Jeans in the summer until I couldn't stand it anymore, friends that flushed with embarrassment when we'd go to the pool. A mother pleading me to do it again, "for me". Struggling to find products that would work for me because women's hygiene isn't formulated with women's natural selves in mind... by now, I don't think I've shaved in over 4 years, and I certainly don't feel so otherly anymore. Was it the easy choice? Was it the comfortable one? Not at all, but I feel as though it was the necessary one.

[adoregojo]

after decades, I finally write a fic about hiroi, even if it was a little short and mid at least it's something d: i love his character sosososos much even if he was a little hard to write mwah mwah i still love pretty boys. warnings: cussing. mention of needles. tattoo artist!reader, karasu being a third wheel. hiroi being a lovesick bastard, karasu basically suffering throughout the fic.

"what are we even doing here?" karasu's question goes upon death ears, suddenly he regrets tagging along in this.

it was like 8:49 at night, the crow head had his plans ready and set up just for hiori to barge in and drag him to a half hour drive to some tattoo studio on a an unfamiliar street he never stepped a foot on. this should consider kidnapping, he knew he should've screamed out of the window when he had the chance.

however he gotta admit the place didn't look half bad, it was well styled and didn't reek of smoke like expected, it even whiffed of fragrance. black painted walls and some hanged pieces of art, whoever chose them have a good taste. but being the smartass he is, karasu knew that whatever reason hiori was here for, was definitely not for a tattoo.

it was obvious even a blind one could get it, the cyan head had to take a few breathers out and in before opening the door. he didn't like that foolish smile that stayed glued to his face all the way here, and doesn't his cheeks hurt from beaming that damn long? like he didn't make the same remark of him smirking day and night, fucking hypocrite.

and what he didn't like most of all was how he kept overlooking him all that time, basically neglecting whatever doubts that pushed out his lips.

it's someone or something that was definitely dancing on his mind all night long. that explains why have he been coming to the dorms late at nights for the past weeks, he didn't even pat an eye to the class he missed. karasu was starting to think he was being hold hostage at once.

the crow male watch as he entered what he can guess it's where people sit on a chair and getting brutally needled by a an unbothered tattooer, that looked like it hurts like a bitch if you ask him. and when hiori sat down comfortably on a stuffed couch like it was his own home, he had enough.

"ye better answer me before i slam that stupid smile you have on ya face." karasu threat, showing his mettle and irritation just for his cyan friend to pat on the empty space beside him. karasu could feel his hair white, just what the hell was he getting on.

he sat down anyway, his hands deep in his pockets. the couch was awfully too comfy. he needs to ask for this brand, after beating hiori's ass of course. maybe he'll park his car in the place where birds shat on daily for a pay back, sounds like a plan.

"soooo, ya speaking or not, shithead?"

"be a good friend and shut yer yap, please?" that's the first thing he says tonight, and still with that put-off smile.

"yea, no wonder ya got only one friend." his remark was left hanging in the air. karasu had to physically clench his fist to a ball before he actually make hiori give the tile floor a very loving kiss.

his cyan hues were transformed to another direction, the path where a middle aged man was on the shelf of tears and the tattoo artist trying to hand them a piece of sooth. it was an embarrassing sight, and a situation to be put in. he had a knowledge of hiori being a little into drama but this better not be what he was brought up for.

however, that wasn't what hiori's eyes was on, if he looked closely, his sights were sat on the tattooist themselves, and that ogle was the definition of being absolute dotty and smitten, hiroi's ears were tipsy and he looked like he was about burst out the universe from his chest. disgusting is you asked karasu.

fucking hell, hirori had the fattest crush on the tattoo artist and he had to sit there and watch him grew enamoredly over them by the second.

you were literally in a misery of a situation, sweat running downhill your forehead, your locks were messy and out of place. and his friend over here eyes about to glow out in a shade of hearts like you were the only one to look at. he seriously wanted to throw up at this makeshift k-drama, he'd even throw tomatoes if he can.

he wondered what mistake he owned the university for to make him sit down there for the next hour with sniffing echoes throughout the walls and the annoying noises of that coil will definitely haunt him in his dreams. did he mention that he wasn't having a good time?

finally that man took his leave, mumbling apologies over and over his way before weaving over at you. this was the call of freedom, the door was calling him, seducing him with it blazing light to go through it and take his leave because he was dead serious when he say that he doesn't feel his butt no more.

"hiroi? is that you?"

have mercy on him.

you walked up to them, karasu doesn't know if it was hallucination taking over him but he could hear his friend's rabid heart pounding louder than ever by every step you take, he really thought another foot step would give a heart attack.

he doesn't think twice before standing up to greet you. "hi." hiori's reply came out clumsily, his eyes revolving around every corner of the room but your figure.

"hello, hello. did you finally decide to a get a tattoo?" you tilted your head slightly. he shook his head in response, "not yet, I actually came here for you." he admitted, you fix your posture quickly. playing with your fingers timidly behind your back, a failed attempt to hide the affect of his words.

"well, are you willing to wait a few hours before a finish this shift?" you asked jokingly, flashing your lashes rabidly. you could feel his gaze burning on you, drinking on your every move and every feature, detailed and craved to his mind.

"I'll wait for whatever long if that means seeing you." hiroi cooed, when did that girlish dude become a sappy one? as if he was finding pure joy in seeing you all red-faced and shrinking. you chuckle in response, raising your hand in attempt to places the hair locks back to it place. you definitely looked hideous right now, yet he kept his dreamy pairs on you only.

gently, he takes your hand his. slowly and timed in case you felt uncomfortable, it fitted perfectly, made for him to hold. the urge to lock your fingers together was tight. flipping your hand then he opened your gloved palm that was pained after the hour of holding the coil. hiori reaches for his pocket to site a piece of warped up candies. your favourites.

you stare at him, almost as if asking him without the need of words. "you mentioned that your jar run out of candy, so I brought you some. if you wanted i can refill it for you." he says, still looking at your still warped up in his hand. it bloomed him with unexplained warmth.

a burst of butterflies swirls in your stomach, he was close, almost leaning over your face that you could feel his suffuse mint breath tickling your skin. "that's so... thoughtful of you, hiroi. you're too kind."

"only for you."

what the fuck is he witnessing.

you two were literally making-out in front of karasu, and he was this close to bawling his eyes out. he seriously considered what on earth did he have done to deserve witnessing his friend being all lovey-dovey with a hot tattooist, is the consequence of him being friends with otoya finally catching him?

his blue bare of eyes sae as hiori pointed his finger at at him, "actually he wants to get a tattoo."

he was what now?

"wait wha-"

"and he'd like to do it anytime soon."

he couldn't actually believe this, absolute backstabbed. his what he considered a friend was basically setting him up just so he can spend time with his crush. just what the hell, what kind of betrayal is this, he got sat up brutally by the last person he expected from.

your eyes traveled to karasu's jaw dropped face. you didn't even notice him until hiori pointed him out. "oh, I'm sorry it's packed up today. i can set him for someone else if you want to." you suggested.

"no, i only trust you to do that." hiori didn't rethink before saying that, your eyes widened at him. he always managed to caught you off guard with his genuine sugar-coating words.

"if you insist, i have an empty seat tomorrow."

"I'll make sure we'll be there. and it's his first time, be gentle with him, kay?"

"I'll make sure to." you assured him, patting him on his arm. he held himself back from jolting at your nails digging his skin through the fabric of his sweater. it was soft, something that he isn't quite used to. and it lingered longer than it was supposed to when you lifted it off.

you take a piece of rolled up paper and stuff it into his pocket, "my number, call when you need." you say, eyes shifting between the floor and hiori's own, kicking your feet from side to side. while he couldn't take his off you. like blinking would make you disappear and slip away forever.

he knew he was taking advantage of karasu, and he was all ready for the consequences of it all if it mean spending any more seconds alongside with you. he promise to cherish it and held it deep within the depths of his soul. he promised to make it to him later, but now he was just too drowned to care, too intoxicated to think about anything beside of you.

"how about i go bring you some dinner? and we'll-"

"FUCK NO!" Karasu finally snapped.

in a blink of an eye, hiori was being harshly pulled by his behind collar, "we're are going home, and that's final!" karasu shouted as he dragged the cyan head who kept on reaching his hand uselessly towards you. he couldn't protect himself before he was already out of the store then thrown carelessly into the passenger seat.

the crow slammed the car door grimly, warping the safety belt then driving off like there was no tomorrow. not giving hiori a time to get a grip of himself. a pregnant silence fall on them, and he couldn't careless when he felt a burning glare on his head, if looks could kill, karasu would've been dead thousands of times.

"fucking cockbloker."

"oh, zip it you sadistic bitch."

study math? no, write for hiori? hell yea

[gamchawizzy]

❗️Mutual Aid Needed🦐

Hello hello, I am Woz, I am a trans guy from the global south, and outside of my day job in corporate, I am an artist. I am the breadwinner of my family, and I also get my younger sibling through school.

For a little more than half a decade I have been suffering with bad mental health and suicidal thoughts, on top of trying to keep my family afloat with what I can earn.

I work two jobs to earn money, on top of tabling at conventions to be able to earn extra on the side. I am the one who pays all the house bills, some groceries, often having to send money to my sibling for school and sometimes tuition. Due to the constant pressure from overworking and the abusive social environment I have been exposed to for the longest time, I am now experiencing bodily pains, shortness of breath, headaches, worsening eyesight, and worsened depression as I clock in 10-15 hours almost daily (including weekends and holidays) trying to make ends meet.

I’m humbly asking for your help so I can get proper healthcare, which has been out of my reach for the longest time due to poverty. I was hoping to be able to afford help a few years ago, as soon as I got a job, but ever since the pandemic, the local price hikes just kept going, and going, until the matter was off the table entirely. The biggest reason why I am trying to get this moving now and as urgently as possible is so I can still receive treatment while I am still mentally and physically able to take charge of my own health. 

While I’m still more or less able to function well enough to work, I recently escaped an abusive situation, which was one of the biggest causes of my misery. The fallout from this event brought on a severe impact on my mental health and I was subject to a cult-like shunning by my old community. This has caused me to develop suicidal thoughts again, which eventually led to several self-delete attempts, the latest of which almost succeeded had I not been caught at literally the last second.

At the moment I am stable again and in the hands of trusted loved ones, but I still do not have access to professional help and I don’t know how long this stability will last and the next thing might cause me to spiral again.

We already did some research on getting local help and have a plan in motion, all we need now is the funds to carry it out. The bulk of it will be for the initial consultations and possibly medication, and we’re hoping to have enough to get the ball rolling for a couple months’ worth of treatment as I get myself back on track.

The initial process will be the most expensive as I am suspecting to have an undiagnosed condition that I would like to have checked, as well as possible medication. I do not have a disability ID yet (but I plan on getting one once I get a dx on paper), so we may have to pay full price for initial treatments.

Currently, my primary goal for this would be to achieve psychiatric help, diagnosis, medication, and therapy.

If I’m able to save up for a few months of maintenance and still have extra left over, my secondary goal would be to finally get my knees checked, as I have chronic pain and the occasional kneecap dislocation in them. This has been left unchecked for more than 15 years due to both poverty as well as being outright denied healthcare by the adults around me due to them downplaying the problem. I am nearing my 30s soon. While I’m still able to walk and engage in physical activities without the use of mobility aids, I fear that the complications from this condition if left untreated will only take a turn for the worse as I age.

Direct ways to support me:

Paypal:

Ko-Fi:

I have prints! You can pick up some of my art here:

We do not have a set price goal in mind as it will be a months-long process of beginning treatment and maintaining it, but rest assured all funds received will be set aside for the purpose of my healthcare and well-being only.

I still cannot escape many factors of my life that continue to hurt me, but I am hoping that continuous treatment, therapy, and support will help keep me going so I can keep my family fed without me having to worry about my own health.

Any donation, big or small, helps me so much! Even just a dollar/peso helps, shares and reblogs too! PH Moots, feel free to ask for my GCash in private!

Thank you all for reading! I’m always grateful 😭🙏❤

[glitterguts13]

Can you do Dr. Ratio or Gallagher x Caelus mpreg, with preg-Dr. Ratio/Gallaget?

Fluff plz~

Like their far along amd getting frustrated with their belly getting the way and just bring preg in general.

Can it have some age difference?

Plz and thank you

Why not both? My personal age headcanons for these three are as follows: Ratio: 35 Gallagher: 45 Caelus: 23 On a good day, learning under Dr. Ratio was brutal. Learning under a heavily pregnant, sore, and downright miserable Dr Ratio was its own fresh hell. There was no stopping to let anyone write notes, no time for questions, and heaven forbid you submit a late paper-

The chalk snaps in half, and Ratio all but grands the rest to dust in his fist. His back hurt, his ankles hurt, hell even his hair felt like it was hurting and the way his belly got in the way of him using the chalkboard at all was pushing him over the edge.

"Knock knock." there was no knock, just the voice responsible for his misery.

"Caelus, I have told you numerous times to not interrupt me while I am working." Dr. Ratio snaps, glaring over his shoulder at the younger man. The trailblazer stood at the door of the empty classroom with a take-out bag in hand, grinding sheepishly.

"Come on, it's your lunch break. Have you even eaten yet today?" he waves the bag in the air, "I got your favorite."

Ratio pauses, hand hovering over the chalkboard.

"...Carbonara?"

"With pork, from that place downtown you like." had he the strength, Ratio would have slapped that smug grin right off his lovers face.

"Very well. I suppose I can take a short break." tossing the broken chalk into the bin, Ratio carefully lowers himself down into his seat, hissing as the weight shifts off his ankles and settles into his spine.

"You know, most people take maternity leave this far along." setting the food in front of Ratio, Caelus hums to himself, "It won't kill you to hand over your job to a substitute for a few weeks so you can rest."

There was an argument to be had, but for once, Ratio couldn't bring himself to start it. The food looked too good and he was far too hungry to ignore it.

"Still, I wish you wouldn't bother coming here," he grumbles into his first forkful, eyes narrowing. Caelus chuckles warmly,

"I think you're a little past hiding your 'condition', doctor." the announcement of his pregnancy had sent shockwaves through the school, and well, the galaxy. No one expected the great Dr. Ratio to ever consider having a child, let alone with someone so...different from himself.

"I don't want people to get the wrong idea."

"Wrong idea? You don't want people to know I'm the father?" the jest is wiped from his tone, and for a moment, Caelus looks genuinely hurt. Ratio kicks himself mentally, no matter if he didn't show it, he hated seeing his lover look anything but their usual happy self.

"Caelus, you look young enough to be one of my students. I don't want anyone to think I've gone and done something uncouth." truthfully, no one was really sure just how old Caelus was. An adult, yes, even with all his knowledge, Ratio couldn't pinpoint an exact age, only the general range of 19 to 25. Even on the higher end of that scale, Caelus was still a decade his junior and that could certainly raise some eyebrows.

"I mean, I look young enough to be a student, but I could be older than you for all we know." not factually incorrect, but highly unlikely. Ratio sighs, shaking his head.

"If it's that big a deal, I promise not to bother you at work anymore. I just...worry about you. You work so hard and you never rest enough." there it was again, that kicked puppy expression that made Ratio feel entirely too guilty.

"...I suppose I don't mind you visiting. Sometimes. When class isn't in session." he ignores the shit-eating grin that spreads over his lover's face, but nearly stabs his fork into the back of Caelus's neck when the younger man dove to his knees and presses a cheek against his swollen belly.

"Aw~ Your mama isn't so mean after all~" face flushed, and a few curious students stuck their heads into his classroom, Ratio growled under his breath.

"Get. Out."

~~~~

At the age of forty-five, Gallagher thought his baby-making days were long over.

Oh, how wrong he was.

"Caelus, I need you to get me that bottle of whiskey. The one up top, yeah, that one, in the gold bottle." leaning back against the bar, one hand resting over the top of his swollen belly, Gallagher watches his boyfriend climb up top of the bar and snatch the bottle down.

"Thanks."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, pick up that dish towel over there for me." Caelus grins and does as he's asked without hesitation.

"Can't climb up the bar, can't bend down to pick shit up...can't even have a goddamn drink," Gallagher grumbles under his breath, poking at his taunt gut with a frown, "All because of you."

""Aw, don't blame the baby." Caelus whines, hooking his arms around Gallagher's and hugging him tightly. The pitiful puppy dog pout does nothing to move Gallagher.

"Right. I should be blaming you." he flicks the trailblazer's forehead, smirking as he whines loudly and lets go of his arm to rub to sore spot.

"I'm too old for this shit. Youngin's like you should be the one's having babies, not me." how he ended up in this mess was anyone's guess. Knocked up and nearly fifty with a boyfriend who he isn't even sure can legally drink outside of Penacony.

"I think you look adorable." there comes that sweet purr, the flick of his tongue over those soft pink lips and beautiful, lust-filled eyes. His hands are on Gallagher in seconds, rubbing his tummy and nuzzling into his neck.

Right.

That's how he got into this position.

"I think," Caelus cooes, nipping at Gallagher's ear, "You've got another pregnancy or two in you before it's time to stop."

[kivaember]

some soft viv621... post-LoR ending where Rusty lives bc I'm wilfully delusional about his survival ok

-

The outpost was more like a makeshift camp congregated within the walls of an old industrial complex. The electric grid was functional here, still chugging along after a planetary disaster and decades of neglect (say what you will about the Institute, but they built things to last), identifying it as a suitable base of operation for this sector's clean-up.

'Clean-up' being hunting down the last dregs of corporate interlopers and ejecting them from Rubicon - usually by shoving them off the mortal coil. There'd been reports of a few Arquebus loyalists holed up in an old water refinery plant, and they had two HCs in their possession, making them an intolerable threat...

Also, the Liberation Front also wanted that water refinery plant. While it wasn't fully functional, a bit of elbow grease would have its fresh water production rise from 1% to at least 20%, and from there they could start rebuilding the city's ruined infrastructure from the ground up - the first step in Rubicon's revival.

But Rusty was getting ahead of himself.

Reconstruction, independence... that was outside of his current cares or duties right now. The only thing he needed to focus on was rooting out the last of the corporate ticks still stubbornly clinging onto their world, and while it was a tedious slog sometimes, dispersed as they were and hunkered down amongst valuable infrastructure, he could admit to some malicious vindication at finally getting to bare his fangs and tear them to shreds.

He was disappointed Snail hadn't survived the Xylem, really. He would've loved to have him witness the slow fall of Arquebus on Rubicon by being hunted down like a rat. Ah well. You couldn't have everything in life, he supposed.

Rusty sighed as he leaned back on his rickety fold-out cot, fighting the urge to rub his eyes to clear the slight blurriness from them. He was sitting in his 'tent', a small one that could just about squeeze two cots in with enough room to walk between them, the plans for the water refinery plant sprawled out on his lap. Someone had managed to find the hardcopy of them, miraculously, but it meant Rusty was forced to use his Mark One Eyeball to study the layout, rather than having a digital version his implants could reference on demand.

It was important they got this water refinery plant without causing any further damage to it... but damn, Rusty felt like he was going cross-eyed, staring at the tiny print and thin lines...

A rustle drew his attention, and he looked up to see Raven skulking into their tent with a displeased air about him, a gust of snowy wind chasing his ice-crusted boots.

Rusty smiled.

"Cold, buddy?" he asked teasingly, looking his friend up and down. Raven was bundled up in what looked like two thick coats, a scarf concealing half of his face and a beanie crammed over his head, dark curls peeking out from underneath its hem. Snow stuck to his legs in thick, icy clumps, and Raven stood unhappily at the tent's entranceway, trying - and failing - to stomp the frozen snow off of him.

"Ah, hold on. Let me..."

Rusty folded up the plans and tossed them carelessly onto his cot, before standing up and moving to assist Raven. Carefully, he prised off the icy snow with his bare hands, the bite of cold against his fingers not really bothering him. Raven made a vague, appreciative noise when Rusty was done, and they moved to sit on their respective cots facing each other.

The heater positioned between their cots was promptly cranked up a few degrees. Raven still didn't shed any of his warm kit.

"How're you finding the rough living?" Rusty asked, already knowing the answer. Raven had been exuding an aura of pure misery for over a week now. "Not too hard on you, is it?"

Raven gave him a dead-eyed stare.

"Well, give it a few weeks, and we might get an actual building we can set up base in," Rusty said, trying not to smirk at Raven's - admittedly adorable - sulking. "Won't have to go outside to take a piss and risk getting a frostbitten dick, then."

Raven outright grimaced, and he fumbled with his pocket to withdraw his communication device. After very reluctantly removing his thick mittens, his fingers pale and stiff, he typed: «I don't know how you stand it.»

Rusty's smile turned sympathetic. "Experience."

Raven grunted at that dissatisfactory answer.

"You'll get used to it eventually." Or, maybe not, as Raven had been on Rubicon for months and still wasn't used to it. Maybe it was a Gen Four thing, the lack of cold resilience? Or, more likely, a Raven thing. "But for now..."

Rusty leaned back fractionally and held his arms open. "How about I help you thaw out, hm?"

Raven didn't hesitate. He rose from his cot and did a 180 turn to primly sit down on Rusty's lap. The bottom of his coat(s) had chunks of frozen snow sticking to it, so Rusty got a delightful shock of cold on certain, erm, areas that had his toes curling in his boots from the sharpness of it before the chill faded. He ruefully resigned himself to having a distinctive wet patch on his crotch for a bit.

"There we go." Rusty wrapped his arms around Raven's midriff, and gently caught his hands in his own. Raven's hands were tiny compared to his, easily engulfed in his own, his fingers like ice and almost stark white, they were so bloodless. It made the pink scars along the joints stand out vividly.

He rested his cheek against Raven's beanie, the wool a little scratchy. It smelled of exhaust. Probably spent time in the makeshift garage they had set up. He could feel Raven shiver, the double-coat layer not hiding how skinny he was beneath the fabric's bulk.

"No wonder you're always cold... you're basically skin and bones," Rusty murmured. "I'll ask if you can have your rations increased, get some bulk on you."

Raven made a vague, humming noise of acknowledgement.

They sat like that for a while. Raven stopped shivering, and Rusty admittedly began to drowse off, even if he started to lose blood circulation to his legs. Outside of the tent, the noise of a bustling camp filtered through: the growl of heavy-duty trucks, the thrum of heli-transporters arriving and departing, and shouts and chatter and laughter. Morale was high amongst the Liberation Front, for obvious reasons.

The PCA had been chased off the planet, its precious 'System' nothing but mangled metal deep in the Depths. The corporations had been humiliated and left with a broken nose, with only pockets of loyalists that had been abandoned by their corporate masters to die was 'rogue elements' on a planet actively hostile to them. Slowly but surely, the Liberation Front was reclaiming their home, mile by painful mile.

It was hard, gruelling work. The infrastructure was intact in only a few, certain locations, and most of them military complexes. Attempting to rebuild domestic and civilian infrastructure from that was slow going, but possible, and now that they weren't actively fighting for survival from the PCA or the corporations... they were finally making progress.

They were going to rebuild a city here, with running water and electricity and homes, and establish a sustainable hydrophonics and mealworm farm, and bring online the long-neglected fabrication foundry nearby. It'll take time, a lot of time, but it was a goal every single one of them were fixated on achieving - while they had the time.

Everyone knew the corporations were going to come back. In larger numbers, and with UEG backing, more likely. In that time, Rubicon needed to shore up its defences, finishing seizing and integrating PCA's weaponry and tech into their militia, and see if they could regain control over the Institute's rogue C-Weapons that were aimlessly milling across the countryside, freed from the frozen, subterranean tomb.

Rusty still couldn't believe it was happening, really. He'd dreamed of it, of course, had aimed to achieve this exact thing... yet still, he couldn't believe it. It had such a low chance of success, and it only worked because of...

He tightened his arms around Raven's waist, giving him a squeeze. Raven made a quiet, prompting noise.

"...not sure if I ever said 'thank you'," Rusty murmured, his voice muffled by Raven's beanie. "All of this... we couldn't've done it without you, buddy."

Raven was still for a moment, before he fumbled for something. His communication device.

«You did all the hard work. I just helped at the end.»

"Still..." Rusty butted his head gently against Raven's. "Thanks."

Raven made a shrugging motion, still awkward and uncomfortable in the face of honest gratitude. It was slow going, deprogramming him from his days as a hound lacking in any agency, teaching him to say 'no' or to express his opinions. But much like Rubicon's reconstruction, Raven was rebuilding himself too, day by day, inch by inch.

Slowly but surely.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I think it might have been deleted with your old blog or buried somewhere but would you consider touching on Matthew having chronic anemia again? Idk I have chronic anemia and it's just weirdly comforting hearing your ideas for Matthew also suffering it

Oh man, yeah, I have thoughts. I just used this post to like brain dump 400 years of Matt meatsack headcanons so whoooo enjoy. Anemia was very common throughout history. Religious fasting, low meat consumption, famines, irregular food supply, blood loss, infection, cold exposure, lack of sunlight— you name it and it can cause anemia. I've got a friend who jokes that being anemic or vitamin deficient is just the Canadian default but to be fair its that isn't special or specifically Canadian. At least we get sun in summer. Sometimes. This got REALLY long like so long. I seriously did 400 years. asking me about the history of medicine basically makes me a word vomit machine. i am so sorry in advance.

I think about it as something that has often crept up on him throughout his life, like it will for most people at some point or another. It added a nice layer of misery too his existence. I don't think it was ever life threatening on its own but it did some damage over time or when combined with other things.

It's a reflection of carelessness if not neglect. I think he was often a healthy, happy child when someone gave a shit. Most of the people who did were his own, the few French Canadians. Occasionally Alfred, occasionally Alasdair, occasionally Francis, occasionally Arthur. These efforts were, however, mostly sporadic. Francois was desperate to squeeze out a profit, its often written that while France itself boomed, Quebec was a national embarrassment. When Matt and Quebec itself were failing, and they usually were, Francis left him to his own devices. Sometimes cared for sometimes not. This was the ancient regime, this era of intricate at and rococo and excess and high sophistication. Matt, a backwoods money sap was about as interesting as the smell of piss in Paris or Versailles. He didn't get hit, he got fed as well as anyone else, he tried to be useful. Here the anemia is seasonal. Shit food storage, lent eliminating what nutrition there was in the diet of the late winter, hard chores, cold weather. Late winter and early spring was always hard and I think it just hit him harder. It didn't matter though, being freezing tired and anxious because he's got one functioning blood-cell didn't matter if he had something to do.

It was really bad after the hand over. Years of hardship was crowned by the British and the French armies both burning Canadian crops and cutting off hunting fishing or any other method of obtaining food. Hauling canoes, marching. It wasn't uncommon for soldiers to just drop dead and I'm sure Matt did at some point.

The 15 years between the capitulation, the hand over and Alfred leaving were probably the best of Matt's life in some ways. He ate better under Arthur's hand. He didn't really get treated the same as Alfred but he ate as well and he was pitiful enough and Alasdair engaged enough he was only doing light, actually age appropriate chores, usually eating as much as he wanted and sleeping enough, usually snuggled up to Alfred's side. He started growing a little bit.

It didn't last. Enter another decade of war. An invasion of Quebec, being hauled up and down the American colonies as a paranoid Arthur loathed him for still holding affection for Alfred whiling counting on him to be disloyal and bail Alfred's ass out at least twice. No one pays attention to the quiet unassuming child always half out of sight so Matt got away with a lot. These years were hard when he was with Arthur. Shit food, not enough rest, abject emotional misery. He had it better than Alfred at least but thats not saying much. Shortly after the war turned south as the Americans slowly began to get the upper hand, Arthur dragged Matt with him. And the anemia contributed to the malaria and on a hot day he fainted, slid right out of the saddle and hit the ground. Arthur sent him north and didn't speak to him until Yorktown.

The years between Yorktown and New South Wales were pretty bad. The American revolution hadn't resolved the economic problems that Matt's acquisition had caused, there was no money to squeeze out of Canada, and the economy sucked. He was a part of the household. He did some chores, got fed two meals a day like everyone else, had somewhere to sleep. This is where I think a cycle kind of began. On the odd occassion someone was spending time with him, he got more or better food, affection, and with more energy he was bright and a bit less disappointing. Next to Alfred, everyone looks kind of dull but the cold, anxious lethargy of anemia made him look even worse. He's uninterested, doesn't initiate much, not very talkative, has to be forced out of bed. He seems lazy, stubborn, not particularly bright and that just adds to poor returns on any attention he ever does get. He feels like shit most of the time. The anemia doesn't help but he's just depressed in general. When Alasdair visits or someone acknowledges his existence and feeds him something with an actual vitamin in it, he has a little spirit in him again and got the cat for instance and Arthur gives him a whole 30 seconds of interest for the first time in probably a solid decade. He also fucked off back to Halifax without anyone noticing, working his way back on a ship and living pretty rough.

In a fit of frustration with how Matt only really seems to ever be happy when Alasdair is around, Arthur takes him to sea. Matt's a good sailor at first and Arthur is fairly pleased but long times at sea with shit food breaks down Matt's attention span, dropping those iron levels along with the vitamin c and everything else that plagued the average sailor. A vang line takes a chunk out of him and he gets knocked overboard in the process and Arthur dives in after him and kind of realizes, oh shit, thats the last kid he's got and even if he's pathetic he's better than nothing so Matt gets upgraded from a constantly damp hammock on the orlop deck to a fairly cosy cot in the captain's cabin. Matt receives a whole fuck given from Arthur, some decent food, heals up and its the perkiest Arthur's ever seen him. Instead of a dead-eyed pointless money suck, here's a bright, eager to please lad who hangs on Arthur's every word.

There are more wars with the French but Matt is loyal and by the very end of the century, the British royal family visits Canada and Queen Victoria's father actually took a French Canadian mistress iirc. Matt's growing a little, he's getting fed, he's getting attention. Arthur takes an interest, even lives with him sometimes, writes now and again. There are still some lean years, and he was really sick a few times in the late winter and early spring and once with cholera but its a lot better than it's ever been. He has another bad bout of it when Arthur throws him to Australia after the rebellion, shivering in the heat of the antipodean sun because he hasn't had a decent meal since he got on the ship six months ago. He was in bad shape if nothing next to Arthur when he earned his place back when he and Alfred bailed the imperial dipshit from the soup pot of HMS Terror. After that he's pretty good for a few years, living more like the son of an English country squire or whatever the fuck Arthur's pretending to be.

He doesn't have problems again until after he spends a few months with Alfred after Alfred got galloping consumption while burning the shit out of himself during Sherman's march to the sea. Alfred gets better, buts the lid on the whole Fenian thing and fucks off west. Matt's pretty healthy at this point, but spending a few months with a dying TB patient eventually leads to the inevitable and when the economy tanks just after confederation, its a whole ass free fall. He doesn't really mention it to anyone, but eventually he can't avoid Arthur's summons, dies on the old man's favourite sofa and they spend a lot of time at the sea side shoveling food at Matt until he doesn't look like a corpse. Things are good and stable for a decent period after that. He still has the odd small problem because he's slowly turning into a caffeine junky and eating with coffee and tea blocks iron consumption but mostly he's good. No major problems. He gets taller, things are going okay.

World War one he gets a nasty drop in iron every-time he's gassed, its fairly common and worsened existing issues. He does okay with the help of a lot of cocaine and coffee and tea until the kansas flu which can cause just all the anemia's just all of them. Not really unique to him but whoooo its a familiar feeling for Matt. It never really went completely away during the 20s or 30s. He was in pretty bad shape but he's kind of used to being in pretty bad shape by the great depression hits and the drop is bad but it isn't quite as catastrophic for him as it is Alfred.

World War Two has some rough moments, but in the grand scheme of things he's fine compared to the rest of the world. Post war goes pretty good. One short bout after Suez when he's pretty much exiled from the family and stops eating but Arthur gets a grip and he's good plus Jan's answer to most problems is calories so its pretty okay. Matt still doesn't know whats going on with that though.

It probably becomes the worst its ever been in the 70s and 80s as he and Jan drift, he has political issues at home, his foreign policy is increasingly isolated from the rest of the anglosphere, and he's doing a lot of drugs. Like a lot. Not eating in spurts. Not sleeping in spurts. He's careful enough it doesn't show but when things get so bumpy he starts going feral in the woods around this time it shows up in force and continues to be a problem when he's out there, when he's depressed, or just on some pretty intense green outs where he doesn't really pay attention to reality. Or he just doesn't give a shit. I feel like Zee only finally succeeded in getting him to do some blood work in the 2000s. Might have been when he had one of his depressive not really eating spurts, picked up something bad and was pretty helpless when the clock started to melt somewhere around 39 degrees. She took the opportunity to tap his veins like a maple to do a blood count lol the man is shocked when doing the bare minimum for his meatsack actually helps you know, keep him alive and healthy and not catastrophically depressed.

[connanro]

i’m sure someone has made this list before. but i’ve recently reread the robin (1993-2009) comics and realised how Batshit Crazy tim’s time as robin was. here’s a list of major events that happened during his tenure:

obeah man???: still not clear on exactly what happened here, but his parents are both poisoned, resulting in his mom’s death and his dad’s long-term coma.

knightfall/knightquest/knightsend: the iconic arc when bane breaks bruce’s back and azrael (derogatory) temporarily becomes batman then quickly goes off the rails and tries to kill tim, forcing him to go solo and work with huntress (hashtag girlboss) before bruce returns and handles azrael

contagion: the incurable Apocalypse Virus™ threatens to wipe out gotham city and tim naturally catches it and nearly dies before bruce returns with The Cure

the final night: a sun-eater tries to Eat The Sun. tim meets impulse! robin and spoiler defend gotham city on their own during the crisis! tim’s girlfriend’s crazy mafia uncle tries to kill him after finding them in bed together (not doing the sexy. but it looked like they were gonna do it.)

cataclysm: a massive earthquake levels half of gotham, throwing the city into crisis and causing some problems in tim’s personal life as his father relocates them to keystone briefly before tim’s misery convinces him to move them back to gotham

no man’s land (a personal favourite): gotham’s post-earthquake crisis worsens and the government decides that the best solution is to declare it no man’s land. shockingly, this causes Even More Problems. there’s a whole thing where tim’s dad realises tim snuck off into the city, and the news about it makes people sympathetic enough to gotham’s (cough a rich white family’s) plight that the government decides to actually help. cass becomes batgirl!

young justice/teen titans drama!: so much went on here. i don’t even know where to begin. the whole imperiex/our worlds at war apocalyptic crisis. tim quits young justice after the thing where the justice league discovers batman’s Super Paranoid Contingency Plans™ causes the team to distrust him. he returns to the team, which is disbanded after a team-up with the titans goes badly. the teen titans is formed. general fuckery involving tim’s civilian life!

unmasked: tim’s dad finds out he’s robin, confronts batman in the batcave with a gun and forces tim to quit. steph becomes robin and cuts off contact with tim. superboy tries to convince tim to come back to teen titans, but tim insists that he’s Totally Happy Just Being A Civilian, Kon. Really. He’s Less Stressed Now That He’s Not Dealing With Constant Crises! (lying)

war games: oh god. we all know this one. gang war! gotham in peril! steph dies! tim meets evil!future batman!tim who murdered the entire rogue gallery with the gun that killed bruce’s parents. tim seriously considers killing himself to prevent this future.

identity crisis: a Mysterious Villain begins targeting families of the justice league. because tim is not allowed to have anything remotely nice, his dad is murdered (by captain boomerang, which is frankly adding insult to injury). tim invents an uncle to avoid getting adopted by bruce (really, kid? really?). bruce finds out and helps him solidify the fake uncle's identity (bruce no)

robin: to kill a bird: jason todd returns all crazy and nearly kills tim at titans’ tower (dressed in a version of his robin costume) and signs his name in tim’s blood. theatre kid much, jason?

infinite crisis: c’mon dc, you’ve done like four world-ending crises in the last decade. chill your goddamn tits. the teen titans, doom patrol, and justice society of america team up to take down superboy prime. normal superboy dies due to the fight, despite tim’s desperate attempt to find a cure. also bludhaven got nuked and tim’s stepmother gets a traumatic brain injury and is permanently hospitalised. then bruce, tim, and dick go on vacation and tim accepts bruce’s offer to adopt him! yay!

one year later: cass is briefly evil! the league of assassins tries to recruit tim, who barely escapes with his life after turning them down. then he goes a little crazy with grief, tries to clone kon, and has a brief relationship with extreme violence before deciding to break it off.

the resurrection of ra’s al ghul: damian arrives in gotham! and tries to kill tim multiple times! ra’s tries to seduce tim to the Dark Side with the promise of resurrecting his parents! tim refuses! ra’s tries to force bruce to sacrifice either tim or damian to become his new host body! tim tries to sacrifice himself but is convinced by dick to Not Do That at the last minute!

batman r.i.p.: bruce dies, but not really! fun times!

battle for the cowl: i like to pretend this doesn’t exist, because it is Stupid As Fuck. jason nearly kills tim again, but damian (!) rescues him.

red robin: dick makes damian robin. the end!

but not really

and then of course the whole red robin series (which i love) is just like. tim is passively suicidal! tim loses an entire important organ while working with the loa! tim becomes ceo of wayne enterprises then blows up the loa and ra’s almost kills him! tim is nearly raped by one of ra’s’ daughters because ra’s really wants tim’s babies! this is not dealt with at all!!! love that for him

[blindedbythedarkness]

Dear Josh,

A few weeks ago it should have been your 25th birthday. Where did all that time go?! In a few more months it'll be five years since you died; you only made it to 20.

I feel like I've healed a lot since you passed. I've long since moved through the five stages of grief and accepted that you're gone. Writing to you was a huge part of it. I've also relived that horrific day in therapy, which helped my mind reprocess the whole thing and took the sting out of the memory. We still visit your grave once a year or thereabouts, but I've found a balance between missing you and moving on.

There's only one thing that I'm still holding back on. A few weeks before you died I remember you singing along to Roaring 20's by Panic! At the Disco and I could never bring myself to listen to it again since. In truth I can't really remember how you sounded when you sang it now; though I remember being amused it wasn't quite in tune (I'd never have told you though). I don't even particularly like the song, nor the band anymore for that matter. But this song is so intertwined with your memory that I still actively avoid it.

The irony of it being about the Roaring 20's isn't lost on me. You never made it to the 2020's. You never lived your own 20's. And this decade so far has been far from roaring. I guess maybe any hope of that died with you, or maybe we were all just unlucky.

Knowing it's been half a decade without you brings some pretty mixed feelings. Logically, I still wish you'd never died- any life cut short is tragic and it will always break my heart that you were murdered by your own sadness. I can't lie though; a part of me is glad you've missed out on half a decade of global crisis and misery. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, so I guess it's a testament to me still loving you that it hurts me to imagine you enduring this along with us.

I also fear that had you lived until now, we wouldn't still be friends. That you'd have abandoned me to walk alongside the brainwashed masses, participating in eugenics for the sake of brunch. Maybe it's selfish of me to be glad that our friendship got cut short before it got soured. But, I just can't shake that thought.

I just hope that one day, maybe when we pass the anniversary of your 30th birthday, I'll feel different. Maybe I'll have finally picked off that last scab and listened to the Roaring 20's. Maybe the world will be looking up enough for me to say "hey, actually I still wish you were here because it was all worth it in the end." Hopefully, I won't find myself joining you between now and then.

I guess I'll come visit soon, Josh.

Lots of love,

C

[decolonize-the-left]

My gf was watching a YouTube documentary on Chris Chan and I have some complex feelings on the whole ordeal.

Like for one, I've discovered that even if they're a bigoted, abusive piece of shit, I do think there is a limit for bullying and dehumanizing another person. At some point it stops being "haha nobody owes you kindness cuz you suck" and starts turning into just senseless torture. Like there is actually a point where you need to realize you've stepped away from socially acceptable bigot shaming and stepped into the territory of Abuser.

Like these people straight up detached Chris from any form of reality over the course of 2 decades. They got Chris to think she was living on another planet with sonic characters she made up herself. That she was traveling dimensions through a game console. They've had her post humiliating videos, taken advantage of her financially, emotionally, & psychologically, forced her to do things I literally feel uncomfortable typing out. And I really don't feel comfortable saying what else they got her to believe and do. But I will say Chris was never really in a right mind and everything these people did made it worse.

And I'll admit at first I enjoyed watching Chris, a huge bigoted predator, get absolutely dunked on. Who wouldn't? I mean Chris said and done things I'd feel uncomfortable typing out too. Fuck bigots, they deserve nothing, amirite? I'm the first to say so.

But then it just didn't stop. Ever. And it got dark. It made me uncomfortable even as someone only half-paying attention to a documentary. And it still hasn't stopped and it's been going since like 2005. Chris is literally in jail rn and there's still an entire reddit sub wishing her the absolute worst.

All this happened on 4-chan so obviously it's a dumpster fire to begin with... But idk. Like from a psychological standpoint it's fascinating to me. Like a fucked up psychology experiment.

And I think one of the more disgusting things I noticed was the way people were eager to harm someone when they could justify it. Like moths to a flame. They just wanted to hurt someone. It didn't matter if Chris deserved it or even what Chris did. What matters is they could justify how horribly they treated another person and Chris, with her loose grip on reality, naivete, and mental instability, made a good victim.

Like aside from Chris herself... What drives human beings to relish in being the cause of someone else's misery? Cuz it definitely speaks to what kind of person even engages with this sort of thing in the first place. Hurt people hurt people as the saying goes, abused people abuse people, etc etc.

Like it really shows how trauma & abuse compound on themselves, how mental illness compounds, how community can choose to exacerbate that trauma, how everyone is constantly just projecting on everyone else and making everyone collectively worse, even how you traumatize someone, how you breakdown the reality of a person, how long it takes, the mindsets/feeling/values that make a person willing to put up with being on the receiving end of this and continuously choosing to engage with it for almost 2 whole decades.

Anyway I thought I'd share that. Cuz I know I'm personally one of the first to say that bigots can catch hands. That nobody owes awful people kindness but this made me question how much I actually mean that, to what extent. Because now I've seen how that mindset plays out in real lives in real time without limits or ramifications.

And it sucked.

And I've decided we do owe people kindness actually. Not all the time, not unconditionally. But they are owed kindness. People can not improve under cruel conditions and they can not improve without support. If we want the world to be better, if we really want to improve our surroundings and cultures, we need to accept that.

The human condition is such that it won't improve without love, kindness, and support, it does not care whether or not that's what we deserve.

[cosmicjoke]

Sorry for spamming this stupid post of mine.  I had to make a few edits to it, and I suppose, since it’s so long and overblown like all my posts, it’s best to make it a separate meta from my other about Nicki and Lestat.  Anyway, if you saw this before, sorry for the re-post.  If not, sorry for the obsessive compulsive posting in general about these books lately, lol.  I guess if there’s one good thing I can take away from the AMC show (other than enjoying it on its own merit), it’s that it got me interested in reading the books again.  I’m almost done with “The Vampire Lestat”, and once I am, I’ll be moving on to “The Tale of the Body Thief”!  I’m excited about it, as I’ve never read past “Queen of the Damned”.  And even though I know some people have said they don’t particularly like it, I’m looking forward to it anyway, and delving into more analysis if I find anything interesting to say.  My tastes seem to deviate a lot of the time anyway, and I end up really liking things most other people don’t, so we’ll see.  Anyway, enough rambling.

“I never revealed to him half of my powers, and with reason, because he shrank in guilt and self-loathing from using even half of his own.”

Another thing I wanted to talk about as I’ve gone along in my re-read of “The Vampire Lestat”, is related to what Lestat says here about Louis and being afraid to show him his vampiric powers, and how that relates back to his experience with Nicki.  

In addition to Lestat fearing, because of Louis’ obvious disgust with himself and what he is, that if he shows Louis his own abilities, Louis will feel similar disgust for him, a large part of Lestat’s reluctance to teach Louis more about his new found powers and what Louis can do with them is, I think, because of what happened with Nicki, and what Nicki blamed Lestat for, and accused him of.

Because Lestat, rather than allowing Nicki to sink into the mire of his own negative feelings regarding his abilities as a violinist, tried to lift him up out of it, tried to encourage him and make him believe in himself and his chances at success if he only kept at it.  He tried to make Nicki believe in the value of what he was doing, in the capacity his music had for creating good.  And Nicki ended up blaming this encouragement, this refusal on Lestat’s part to let him fail, to let him wallow in his own misery and self-destructiveness, and succumb to his negative self-image, for his going mad.  Nicki made Lestat believe that it was his fault, by trying to help him up out of the darkness, for his eventually falling to it.

And I can’t help but think that Lestat must have, once again, feared that history was repeating itself with Louis.  That he must have remembered what happened with Nicki.  How the last person he loved, whom he also tried to help through encouragement and support of his abilities and talent, ended up going insane and killing himself.  And so, seeing Louis’ “guilt and self-loathing” over his vampiric abilities and nature, Lestat had to have been reluctant to step in and encourage Louis to embrace them, or to teach Louis how to use them properly, terrified that doing so would lead Louis down the same path Nicki ended up on.  We see here again the damage wrought on Lestat by Nicki’s mad accusations and blame, the way they continued to have ramifications for Lestat decades, even centuries later.  And that’s truly tragic.

This also ties into another point I wanted to make about Louis, and how Louis’ self-denial in many ways ended up unintentionally hurting Lestat.  Lestat’s lack of forthcoming knowledge to both Louis and Claudia, and how that contributed to things eventually going bad between them, gets talked about a lot in this fandom, and rightfully so.  But I think, for every instant of unintentional abuse Lestat engages in with Louis and Claudia, Louis engaged in just as much with Lestat, in a different way.  Claudia’s abuse of Lestat and Louis was, by contrast I think, very much intentional, but that’s a different topic.

Another quote from Lestat sums it up well, when he said about Louis:

“His blindness to the motives or the suffering of others was as much a part of his charm as his soft unkempt black hair or the eternally troubled expression in his green eyes.”

Louis ends up blaming Lestat, and feeling resentment towards Lestat, for not teaching him about his abilities as a vampire, and indeed we see later, when he meets Armand, that he discovers for the first time his ability to scale sheer walls, for example.  Louis convinces himself that his lack of knowledge in this area is Lestat’s fault, but I think in reality, it has more to do with Louis’ own lack of self-belief, born out of his sense of guilt for choosing to become what he is.  

Lestat, after all, had no one to guide him.  Magnus left him on the very night he made him.  And yet, by the very next night, Lestat was already testing the limits of and discovering his abilities, experimenting by engaging in physical feats which would be impossible for a mortal being.  He discovered he could climb sheer walls on the second night of his immortality, something which took Louis 75 years to figure out.

Louis convinces himself that his ignorance regarding his abilities is Lestat’s fault, but if he’d really wanted to, Louis could have begun testing and discovering his abilities all on his own from the start.  He let his own sense of guilt and self-disgust keep him from it though, a kind of self-imposed punishment for what he was and what he chose to be, and in turn, though I don’t at all think Louis meant to, he ended up hurting Lestat by holding him accountable for it and using that as fuel for his own, growing resentment, feeding the turmoil and increasingly constant fighting between them.  

And I think this manifests again in Louis convincing himself that Lestat was somehow keeping both him and Claudia hostage, that he couldn’t leave Lestat because he didn’t know the extent of Lestat’s powers and that made escaping impossible.  But, again, just like Louis, if he’d really wanted to, could have discovered the extent of his vampiric abilities on his own, he could have similarly taken Claudia and left Lestat any time he really wanted, and I think he also knew, deep down, that Lestat wouldn’t have stopped either of them, that he never really would have been able to hurt either of them.

Rather, I think, Louis’ inability to leave Lestat was born out of a secret desire to stay with him.  

Lestat talks about Louis omitting from his interview with Daniel all the good things between them in the 65 years they had together.  How they used to walk and talk together, how they used to hunt the riverfront taverns arm in arm, how they would act out Shakespeare together for Claudia, or how Louis came to him at times in anxiety, begging Lestat not to leave him.  

Louis convinces himself that it was Lestat keeping him tied to him and New Orleans, but in reality, I think it was Louis himself.  And just like with denying himself his vampiric powers out of guilt, it was Louis’ sense of guilt in loving Lestat, I think, that made him believe what he did about being a hostage.  It was only after he and Claudia seemingly kill Lestat and flee to Europe that an even greater sense of guilt begins to eat Louis alive, and he’s forced to have to begin acknowledging his actual feelings for Lestat.  But only begin, as he’s still clearly in denial about them when he gives his interview to Daniel.

Claudia was the one who wanted to genuinely get away.  She wanted to be free of BOTH Lestat and Louis, having developed a genuine hatred for them both over her being turned at such a young age,  and doubtless she would have just upped and left on her own if she could have.  But she needed one of them to take care of her, and I think she knew Louis, deep down, didn’t really want to leave.  But she could sense the weakness in Louis born from his guilt.  She knew she could easily manipulate that guilt over loving Lestat, play on it and reinforce this coping mechanism, this idea in Louis that they were being held against their will by Lestat, and in turn convince him to stand by and do nothing while she murdered him.  For Claudia, going back to what I said about her abuse being, in contrast to Lestat’s and Louis’, very much intentional, when she tells Louis she’ll enjoy killing Lestat, I think she absolutely means it.  It’s icing on the cake to her, that for her plan to work, to really convince Louis to take her and leave, Lestat needs to be gone, because otherwise, Louis simply won’t go.  Again, not because he can’t, but because he really doesn’t want to.

Louis’ self-denial here, once again, and to much more devastating consequences, ends up hurting Lestat, nearly getting him killed, and plunging him into a state of degradation, desperation and isolation that would last for more than 120 years.

Going back to what Lestat says about Louis being blind to the motivations and the suffering of others, I don’t think Louis was at all aware how his own sense of guilt, and the self-denial born out of it, impacted Lestat.  

[hjellacott]

My love for JK Rowling: An essay

I've never simply loved someone just like that, other than my family. With me it's a meritocracy, always.

And so I went through the Potter books as a child and I thought "I love these books", but I was a child, I didn't care about the author. Then when I was older and her other books came out I began to read them purely because by then I knew that, from a literature point of view, she was a fantastic writer. That's when it really hit me: she was a fantastic writer for real.

I remember little of the story in The Casual Vacancy, but I remember finishing it feeling like "Oh my GOD". It was the first time I was sure Rowling had known proper poverty and misery, and the first time I became properly aware (also being older) of how incredibly compassionate and empathetic she is. I was so fucking impressed, touched and honestly, a little shocked. Everything else, from her other books to her articles and essays has gone on to prove beyond doubt, specially the more Literature and Language I studied, that her skills as a writer truly are beyond most writers. She's somewhat like Dostoievski, somewhat like Tolstoi, somewhat like Dickens, somewhat like Highsmith... yet somehow, like combining them all, removing their flaws and making it somehow better. Her books are like poetry in prose. It's incredible really. It's no wonder she got children to read.

But her books also speak of so much more than skill and talent. They describe her as a very awake writer, with eyes wide open to the worst and best of the universe, with a romantic and hopefully optimistic heart, with great empathy, compassion and humility. They show her as a very raw, very humane person, loving, mysterious, wise beyond her years and with a wonderful drive. She writes fantasy in a way that she creates this whole, enormous and fantastically comforting world for you to lose yourself in, she writes reality and people in a way that you can see them clearly and truly feel for them, she writes mystery and police work so that you cannot put it down even to breathe, and she writes for children somehow seamlessly putting huge topics in easy words, opening the child's mind and heart without them realising, making you laugh, cry and re-connect with your long-forgotten childhood for a little while again.

I've since re-read all of her work several times and in several languages, including the original English (which is to me the richest and the only way to discover all her true grandiosity). I cannot doubt, not now and not ever, that we won't have a writer like her perhaps ever. She and Tolkien would've definitely made a dangerously great team, but what can we expect from the land of Austen, Bröntes, Lewis and so on? Greatness is the only option. The extra gift with Rowling that not every writer gives you is that the more you re-read, the more new, wonderful bits you find. Suddenly you understand a new meaning you didn't catch before, suddenly something hits you a little harder or a little deeper. Like, I remember going back to Harry Potter after losing a parent, and crying, healing, and feeling so, so understood and seen and comforted. It was a cathartic experience, as it always is, the way this woman speaks to you.

I only got an interest into who Rowling was as a person about a decade and a half into beginning to read her books, and it was only a pleasant surprise to discover that she truly is as great as a person as she seems in her books. Many writers are disappointing, leading you to believe they're wonderful people, as it happens with actors as well, only to disappoint you. So it was a delight to find out Rowling truly does care about social causes, supporting so many and doing so much work in charity and giving, that she used her money to change the world for the better and to help, among many causes, people with the same disease that took her own mother, and that she's a feminist, a lioness mother who wants the best for children, specially the more vulnerable ones, and for women. And that's when I truly fell in love with her, because how couldn't I?

[wherethedeadneversleep]

Whatever It Takes

Jasper opened his eyes to see silver moonlight shine upon silken blonde hair before him. Silently, he reached out and ran his fingers through those lush locks, only to lean over and bury his face into the crook of her neck. The warmth of her body beneath the blankets wasn't enough for him, as the memory of their previous outing remained fresh in his mind. The screams of the lives they took rang like music in his ears.

"Not bad for being 'rusty,' huh?" he teased as he slid an arm across Caroline's torso and embraced her from behind. Whether he was referring to his killing streak the night before, or his performance in the bedroom, she could decide. He'd been considered "deceased" for decades until he was reunited with his true love, the vampire whom he held in his arms. She saved him from a life he didn't think he needed saving from until he'd been abandoned by those he thought were his family.

Impatience got the better of him, and he repositioned their bodies, so he was now on his back, and he had Caroline resting upon him. Allowing one of his legs to intertwine with hers, with his fingertips gently upon her temple, he said, "If those dumbasses had let us take over David's position back then, we never would've allowed children to have located the cave, let alone kill off most of the gang."

Even after all the years, they had been apart Caroline hadn't forgotten just how good it felt to be wrapped up in Jasper's arms. Nor had she forgotten how damn amazing he was in bed. Jasper was her soul mate and she had known it from the very moment their paths had crossed. It was also the reason why her break up with Leon back in the day had been such an easy one. No one understood her the way Jasper did. Even after all the years she spent alone thinking he was dead she never allowed herself to get close to anyone else. He was her reason, her meaning, her everything.

" Rusty is the last thing I'd call you. " A deep content sigh drew from her lips as his arm wrapped around her holding her close. Life without him had been nothing short of misery ─ so many of these moments had been lost. Killing wasn't even the same with him gone but now they had a second chance to take everything they wanted and more. The only regret she had was that it wasn't Jasper who had turned her, but now she was a vampire just like him and nothing would part them again. Together they would kill anyone or anything that dared to try.

As comfortable as she was the mention of Jasper's old gang got her stirred up. So much so that she snaked herself out of his grasp and climbed directly on top of him. Her arm rested against his chest while the upper half of her body lingered above him. " The only sad thing is those idiots didn't stay dead. " Her index finger stretched out to glide along his jawline. " ' Let us '? " Caroline couldn't help but giggle a bit over the thought. " There is no letting us do anything. Honey, you and I are going to take that position and if the others have a problem with that then they can have the same fate David's going to suffer. They didn't give a shit about me or anything that happened to me. Clearly, they didn't give a damn about you. I think we're more than past do in spreading some of that not giving a damn right back at them. "

Jasper's eyes drank in the sight of Caroline's gorgeous body as he considered her words. He was one lucky bastard to be reunited with her after everything they'd been through. Take. Yes, they would take over. They were more than deserving. David wasn't fit to be a leader. Jasper saw it. He challenged David back then, and he was the only one brave enough to do so. Max tried to take him out of it as any concerned father figure would for his "son," but Jasper would have none of it. If David wouldn't step down willingly, then Jasper would force him to do so.

A twinge of pain coursed along his backside and he grimaced. The scars on his body sadly remained painful reminders of what he endured at the hands of David. There wasn't enough blood he could consume to heal them. The desiccation he endured for years upon years constantly reminded him of his hatred for David, and the pain he caused him. The longing he had for Caroline during those times was torture in itself. She was the first true love of his life, and not knowing what would happen to her was one of the other reasons he lost his fight with David. David taunted him about falling for Caroline. He didn't approve of her being with Jasper, and didn't want her to be "one of them." That selfish son of a bitch. David knew nothing about Caroline, and what she was capable of.

Jasper's body grew tense, enough that he had to sit up. His arm remained around Caroline, and he kept her against his chest.

"Let's get out of here," he suggested, and it was followed by a feral smile. "Feeling like tearing into a few blood bags at the boardwalk."

Caroline couldn't give a damn if David approved of her or if he approved of her becoming one of them because she knew how she and Jasper felt about one another. Before everything went south for them they had even talked about Jasper turning her when the time was right. Unfortunately, someone beat him to the punch and to this day she is still unsure of who exactly her sire was. When she learned David had been behind what happened to Jasper it gave her more than enough reason to plan his demise. For years she watched and listened to everything that happened in Santa Carla. Her devious little mind was at work coming up with the perfect plan that would ensure David's downfall. Who the hell was he to judge? If it was a matter of something David wanted then there was no questioning it. Who was he to question what Jasper had wanted and to go to the lengths he had to prevent them from being together? That selfish arrogant bastard.

It should be enough that she and Jasper were finally reunited but it wasn't. It would never be enough until David paid for what he had done. Only then could things be right again. The vampires of Santa Carla deserved a leader who would protect them and lead them. What vampire could hold their head high knowing they were bested by a bunch of children ... oh that's right, David could. The thought caused Caroline to dramatically roll her eyes.

She could feel how tense his body had become when he sat up with his arms still around her. The idea of getting out of their nice warm bed was unsettling but they like any other vampire had to feed.

That feral smile of his only made her lean in for another kiss. How she loved how his mind was just as equally as wicked as hers was. Once she drew back from the kiss she relented with a little sigh and inched her way off his lap and out of the bed to gather up her clothing that was scattered all along the room.

" Not a bad idea since you always know how to work up a girl's appetite. Along the way, I should probably tell you about an idea I've had brewing for a while now. It won't come without risk but when have we ever shied away from a challenge? " Caroline would twist around with a devious smile of her own. " If we pulled this off, we'd have a huge advantage in our favor. "

"An idea, huh?" Jasper mused, as he forced himself out of bed, and collected his clothes off the ground. One of the many qualities he loved about Caroline, was how her mind was constantly working. The gears in her head never stopped turning. It was one of his selling points for David and the boys, and why she'd be a great fit for their group. Yet they weren't swayed. Max seemed somewhat keen on the idea of adding her to the family… and perhaps that was why David didn't want her because Max did - or at least pretended he did. They were always wanting to go against Max. The boys loved to get on his nerves. Sure, Max was a dork, who tried too hard to fit in with the humans, but it allowed their family to thrive as long as they had, didn't they?

But considering how it was Max who brought the downfall of their family in the end, it was a good thing he remained dead, Jasper thought, as he stepped into his pants, and then found his sweater. He allowed his greed to overcome everything and everyone else. Knowing Caroline, and the many years she spent watching what happened to the rest of his so-called brothers, she wouldn't be as reckless and cocky. She was smarter than the rest of the boys put together.

After putting on his shoes, he picked up his phone from the charger and switched it to camera mode, where he could see his reflection. A Caucasian male in his mid-20s with spiked blond hair and dark green eyes gazes back at him, with a strong, defined jaw. Not even desiccation could ruin his stunning features, so long as he maintained his ravenous intake of human blood.

“Challenges and risks are often one and the same, so long as the results play in our favor,” Jasper said after he put his phone in his back pocket, and turned to Caroline. Once he raked his fingers through his hair, he grinned with eager delight.

“Ready when you are.”

Caroline smiled at Jasper when he asked about the plan brewing inside her head. She had been thinking about it for some time now. The people they would deal with were dangerous in their own rights but she and Jasper together were a force to be reckoned with. There was no turning back now. It was time to make their move. " I've been doing some research and found out there are Day Light Rings. They allow creatures such as ourselves to walk during the day. " Caroline's smile widened. " It takes a powerful witch to cast the spell needed to get them to work. If we could get someone like Sonya to make us these pretty little rings we'd have the element of surprise. Walk right up into the cave when everyone else is sleeping. We just have to figure out our angle in making her do this. "

This would not be risk-free, as she mentioned earlier. Sonya and her family weren't a group many wanted on their bad side. They had to find a way to pressure those who opposed them. It had to be a solution that could provide the necessary leverage without too much risk of retaliation. She had a few ideas but nothing was completely solid yet. " We would be unstoppable. " As much as she loved their quiet cottage home outside of town along the beach, it would be nice to appreciate it just as intensely during the daylight hours. It would also save them time hunting during the night. They could lure in stupid and helpless tourists throughout the day.

Jasper was still as stunning as the first time she laid eyes upon him. A part of her just wanted to stay where they were and make up for all the time taken from them. On the other hand, how could anyone take either of them seriously if they didn't strike back? Jasper and she were determined to make their mark and prove their worth. They had been through too much to back down now. This was the time they had been waiting for. No more excuses.

" I guarantee it will work in our favor. Family means everything to the redhead. So we pursue something she loves the most and would do anything to protect. Ideally, her son. " Caroline's brow arched as that thought popped into her mind. " And where do most teenagers hang out on the weekends in Santa Carla? " The Boardwalk.

After slipping on her jacket she pushed open the front door and stepped out onto the rocky path that led down to the beach. She could feel the damp chill of the night air on her skin and the crunch of the pebbles beneath her feet. The moon was just rising over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the sea. She could hear the roar of the waves crashing on the shore and the sound of seagulls wheeling overhead. She breathed in the salty air and smiled, feeling the night's peace and calm wash over her. Taking one last look at the star-studded sky she looked back at Jasper and grinned. Just like that Caroline vanished in a blur as her vampire set a path for the Boardwalk.

[riahlynn101]

Whumptober: Day Five - Alternative Prompt: "Broken."

Trigger warnings: implied/referenced kidnapping.

I just want to say, this story fought me. It's fairly short and I apologize if it doesn't make much sense. I might publish another story today just to make up for the low word count.

--

They say misery loves company.

Vanessa can’t disprove that. Not when she finds solace in Mike’s suffering. 

It reminds Vanessa so much of her own. 

The anguish of losing a sibling. 

That burning, fiery feeling of self-loathing. 

And the constant thought of, it’s all my fault. 

Of course, logically, it wasn’t. Neither of them couldn’t have done anything differently. They were both kids. 

Vanessa had been eleven at the time, and bedridden that particular day. Her brother was invited to a party. Technically, both of them were invited, but she had contracted a nasty stomach bug. So, her parents made Vanessa stay home. 

The boy that invited them, Gabriel, also went missing. 

Sometimes she thinks about how close she had been to sharing their fates. The what-ifs making her dizzy. 

What if I didn’t get sick. 

What if I went to the party?

What if Cassidy was the one that stayed home?

What if we both went missing?

What if…what if….what if….

Mike hasn’t shared much about his brother, or that day in general. It’s obvious even now, a decade-and-a-half later, it haunts him. 

“That day….we went to a park. I can’t remember why…” Mike trails off, as if actually trying to recall ‘why’ his family went there. 

“Mike,” Vanessa murmurs, trying to keep him on track. They don’t have a lot of time together. She got here late tonight, and her shift starts in an hour. 

“Uh….sorry…um….we went to the park. Me and Garrett were so excited.” Mike smiles softly at the table, a faraway look in his big brown eyes. “We played pirates on the playscape, tag, and….”

“And?” Vanessa presses, quirking a brow. 

Mike blinks, shifting in the chair. “And I was ‘it.’” 

Vanessa listens patiently. Taking in his shuddering breaths and wet eyes. 

“I…I was supposed to- supposed to find him, but I ... .uh ... .couldn't. I ran all the way to the parking lot. I thought maybe he hid under our car. He wasn’t allowed to, but since when do kids listen?” Mike chuckles a little at that, but his eyes remain fixated on the tabletop. “But when I got there I saw him in the backseat of someone else’s car, and they were driving away. I remember trying to chase after them, but I tripped. I think, maybe, I screamed. But I can’t remember very clearly after I tripped.”

Vanessa watches him closely. The words, ‘it’s not your fault,’ sit heavy on her tongue. But she knows from experience that he won’t believe her. Years of being told the same by therapists and counselors and every other adult didn’t make a dent in her self-blame. 

“My brother,” she starts, watching Mike perk up at the change of topic, “and I were close. I told you once that I used to come to this place as a kid.”

He nods. 

“Well, I came here a lot with my brother. Our parents couldn’t afford daycare and didn’t trust us enough to stay home alone, so they would just give us a few bucks and send us here.”

“Huh, very responsible of them.”

Vanessa makes a show of craning her neck to where Abby’s sleeping, curled up in the little fort Mike made. 

He coughs. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

“Anyways, so we spent a lot of time here.” It’s Vanessa’s turn to stare at the table. Memories rush back to her. The smell of pizza. Children cheering as the animatronics sang the same five songs over and over and over again. “Well, one day, my brother went to the pizzeria alone. It was a weekend, and we normally didn’t go on weekends. But my brother and I were invited to a birthday party. I….got sick. A stomach bug or the flu, I can’t remember now. So, I couldn’t go. My brother did though…” She bites her bottom lip to keep from crying. It had been years, almost as long as Mike’s brother’s been missing, and still, she can’t keep it together. 

Mike lays a gentle hand on top of her’s. He doesn’t say a word, but the concerned look in his eyes says it all. 

For once, Vanessa feels seen. 

Misery loves the company of broken people. And Vanessa, the most broken of them all, staring at the only other person she’s ever met that could rival that, would be a fool to deny that. 

[nicklloydnow]

“Every so often a film comes along with the capacity to break a friendship in half. Those of us who saw Prometheus in 2012 may understand what I mean. The exploding head, the inexplicable pale giant, the unresolved mysteries of humanity’s origins—it all left me enraged. Where is the Xenomorph?! Listening to a friend outside the theater insist that Prometheus is an excellent film, that it’s an intelligent film, one that I might just not necessarily understand, well, it drove me up a wall. And it made me want to blast my phone, and our friendship, into the vacuum of space. I thought he was full of shit.

(…)

For over a decade now, people have complained that Prometheus doesn’t make sense, that Scott never tells us why our creators despise us, and that, because this goes apparently unresolved, the movie just doesn’t have a cohesive message. They say it can’t live up to such bulletproof classics as the first three Alien films, since those combine satisfying horror action with very simple motivations–in those films, the Aliens are among us, and we have to kill them before they kill us. That’s it.

Although it’s a pretty lousy way to enjoy the vast and colorful world of film—always requiring directors to answer all the questions they ask—if you are looking for conclusions, they’re all there in Prometheus. You might just not have given the film enough of a chance to notice them. The humans in Prometheus, except for perhaps Dr. Shaw, are prideful creatures of ignorance, vanity, and, of course, bottomless greed. One of the central criticisms of Prometheus is that the scientists aboard the Prometheus are too dumb to be believable, that they operate with such arrogance that it’s almost impossible to sympathize with them. But have you ever considered that Scott might have characterized them that way for a reason?

(…)

You don’t need to look far beyond the borders of Prometheus to see why, after more than 30 years since Scott made the relatively optimistic Alien (hey, at least Ripley survives with the cat), the director may have become a bit more nihilistic about humans. The way in which we’ve torn this planet to shreds, how we’ve turned the natural world into our own personal toilet, how tax-skipping billionaires rocket off into space instead of trying to solve real, dire issues such as poverty or world hunger. The misery, the violence, the subjugation constantly frothing around the corners of our every waking day–hey, maybe he’s trying to tell us something here?

(…)

Since Scott will likely never get a chance to tie off the prequel trilogy he all-but-promised us, this film, with all its philosophy and promises of grandeur, will never feel fully satisfying. It'll always appear a bit smaller than it needs to be. But remember, as David says, "Big things have small beginnings."”

“10 years ago, Prometheus hit theaters and people freaked out. If you’re looking for a movie scarier than Alien, Prometheus fails. It’s got some terrifying moments, but none that top the messy originality of its source material. If you’re looking for a movie with a more cohesive aesthetic, Prometheus again fails to top Alien. It merely borrows from its predecessor’s basic design, resulting in technology that looks way slicker even though the movie is a prequel.

But Alien is a horror movie that happens to be set in space. You could move the action to a drilling station or a submarine. You could even swap the chest-bursting xenomorph for a demon or a genetic experiment gone haywire. It wouldn’t be the same movie, but it would have the same spirit.

Even King Kong has ties to Alien insofar as the idea of capturing and then using a beast is a trope that exists across different genres. The basic story of Alien — while an aesthetic triumph of minimalism — is not reliant on science fiction to actually work.

Once you hold this very specific criterion in your brain, it’s easy to see why Prometheus is a more interesting science fiction story than its more famous horror progenitor. The premise of the film concerns the notion of panspermia, the theory that human beings were seeded on Earth by aliens. And, although Prometheus presents this theory to be essentially true, the unfolding implications impact all the characters in profound ways.

(…)

In Alien, none of these questions exist. It’s only about survival. In Prometheus, the art of speculative fiction, the idea that the audience and the characters are actually contemplating big ideas through a sci-fi lens, doesn’t just drive the story, it is the story. You can’t take the science fiction out of Prometheus and make it work. That may not excuse its flaws, but for people who truly love the genre, it should encourage you to cut the movie a break.

Ridley Scott made an Alien prequel that no one wanted about huge philosophical subjects that are hard to discuss. He crammed all of that into an action-horror that used a similar plot structure to a more famous film he already directed. For most moviegoers, this audacious experiment failed. In fact, the more by-the-numbers approach in the troubled sequel, Alien: Covenant, proves how much Scott retreated from some of his bigger ideas in Prometheus.

But none of that changes this film’s thoughtfulness. In a sea of sci-fi movies trying to play the hits, Ridley Scott’s Prometheus tried to get weird. And for that, it remains one of the better sci-fi movies of the 21st century.”

“Alien is an excellent haunted house horror movie. Seriously, it’s great. Aliens is a constantly entertaining war movie. But Prometheus manages to combine spooks (that creepy first act), action (that flame-filled second act) while adding the element that makes it transcend for me – philosophy. Yep, Ridley Scott was brave enough to shove a philosophical exploration of the very nature of human existence into his summer blockbusting Alien movie sequel/prequel/reimaginequal. And for that he should be applauded.

When some people look to the sky, they see God. Others just see stars. That dichotomy is at the root of Prometheus ’ big question: If there’s no God, where did we come from? And it goes further: can God exist in a scientific world? Prometheus is Scott’s attempt to splice the wide-minded wonder of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey with the DNA of the summer-movie template.

I’ll concede that it’s an experiment that didn’t work for everyone, but just because you didn’t get it doesn’t mean it’s not a good film. There’s so much to love in Prometheus , whether it’s the subtle theme of creators rejecting their creations, the jaw-slackingly beautiful visuals (as pretty as anything in Scott’s back catalogue), or the mindbending implications of that key conceit.”