#but at least u can see i have a decades worth of managing not to be nasty abt trans ppl. wow

[orthodoxxing]

i love this thing cryptoterfs do where every individual post / tag is juuuust within the realms of of plausible deniability where like 'no u dont get it i just take issue with this specific individual thing and if u assume im a terf from just this then ur incapable of nuance / dont have reading comprehension / dont know me at all etc'. but then u go on their blog and actually if u look at enough posts u can form a clearer image of how far their transphobia / tramsmisogyny really extends. its like oh u wanna abolish gender sure i can see that as some sort of punk thing genderfuckery anarchist whatever that can be fun on its own. oh ur posting abt genital preferences sure thats a terf dogwhistle but its a dogwhistle for a reason, bc u pretty much cant argue w ppls sexual autonomy & trauma etc. and u go on and on in the tags about how if ppl call u a terf over these things then thats just silly of them. oh u see a post about someone who is explicitly described as a guy exposing his penis and u immediately start saying things about trans women and rape? now hang on just a minute. now why is that your immediate association when trans women werent even part of the discussion

[queerspacepunk]

Welcome to DADWC!! How about “A lifetime of laughter, at the expense of the death of a bachelor” (Panic! at the Disco, Death of a Bachelor) for Bull/Dorian?

thank u for the patience friend! I hadn't heard this song before but now I have. (Second @dadrunkwriting fill in one day? :0)

“You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?” “I really am. Are you disappointed?” Felix sighs, “I think you’re an idiot, and that this is a terrible idea but I’m also... strangely proud of you.”

To Blackwall, Cassandra, Cole, and 10 others: I was wondering if you would be free to join me tomorrow evening for... a memorial of sorts, for someone quite close to me.

To Blackwall, Cassandra, Cole, and 9 others: Room booked at the Herald’s Rest, tomorrow, 7PM.

To Sera: Room booked at the Herald’s Rest, tomorrow, 6:30PM.

From Josephine: Oh Dorian, I’m so sorry to hear this, of course we will be there! Might I ask, is this a recent loss?

To Josephine: Your presence is much appreciated. It’s something of a complicated story, I’m sure you won’t mind if I wait to tell you all at once, tomorrow evening.

From Josephine: No, of course not, forgive me for prying. Much love.

--

“You’re sure you don’t want to call this off?” Felix says through the phone.

“A little late for that now,” Dorian points out, “they’ll all be here shortly. What else can I do? Call them all and say, ‘sorry lied about the whole memorial thing, never mind’?”

“Isn’t the whole point of this that you’re lying to them?”

“Not lying,” Dorian says, “Misleading. It’s different. And I do think they’ll be a little too preoccupied to be mad, afterwards.”

“You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?”

“I really am. Are you disappointed?”

Felix sighs, “I think you’re an idiot, and that this is a terrible idea but I’m also... strangely proud of you.”

“Now, now,” Dorian admonishes gently, “there’s going to be enough sappiness later on, keep it together for me.”

Felix laughs, and Dorian can just about see him shaking his head.

“You sure you don’t want me to video call you in?”

“I’ll give the game away, just send me the recordings after, and Dorian?”

“Yes Felix?”

“Good luck.”

--

His friends arrive, almost entirely on time for once, in ones and twos and threes. Dorian greets them at the door to the private room, face solemn, and directs them to the seats he’s set out. There’s no faux coffin in the room -- he hadn’t wanted to get quite that morbid, but there is an indulgent spray of funeral flowers set at the front of the room.

Sera tries to ask questions, and is summarily shushed by Josephine. Cole tries to give answers and is dragged aside, informed, and shushed by Dorian. He doesn’t quite get it, but he must have a good feeling about the results because he keeps his mouth shut. Leliana seems to know something’s up, but is entertained enough to not say anything, and Bull gives Dorian a hell of a look, laced with enough concern that Dorian actually feels a little... guilty.

“Thank you all for coming,” Dorian says, once everyone is seated, and pulls out the stack of memorial pamphlets he’s had printed, “I appreciate your presence with me tonight, and your patience with what is a... complicated situation.”

He begins stepping around the circle, handing the pamphlets out.

“Er, Dorian,” Blackwall says, “I think there’s been a mix-up. They’ve put your picture on these.”

“Oh,” Dorian says, turning to the flowers to give him a moment to suppress the grin creeping onto his face, “no, that’s quite correct.”

“You better not be a bloody ghost!” Sera yelps, flinging her pamphlet at him as if to test her hypothesis. It manages, despite being a flat piece of paper that has no business being able to be thrown with any accuracy, to smack Dorian right in the face, which is unpleasant, but does at least seem to reassure her that he isn’t, in fact, a ghost.

None of the others seem particularly concerned that he’s undead, but there is a lot of muttering, and worried looks being pointed his way.

“You need an intervention or something, Pavus?” Krem asks with a frown, “cause I know that cries for help are actually a good thing and shit, and you Magisters-”

“Altus, Soporatus, you know better.”

“-fine, you Altus love your drama, but even this is a bit much.”

“I assure you,” Dorian says to the group at large, “this is not a cry for help.”

“You did just hand us all a funeral pamphlet with your face on it, Sparkler,” Varric points out.

“It’s not a funeral pamphlet, it’s a memorial pamphlet, and-”

“The dates are wrong,” Leliana interrupts, “The death date is a question mark so I cannot comment on that, however this is not your birthdate. You must have been... eighteen? Nineteen?”

“Eighteen,” Dorian confirms, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath, “this has all gone rather off-track, hasn’t it. If you would all just hold your questions, and nonsense,” he throws a quick glare at both Sera and Krem, “and allow me to explain things, I think you’ll find it will benefit all of us.”

Bull, Dorian notes, is watching him very, very carefully. They haven’t seen each other since yesterday which isn’t entirely unusual, given Dorian insistence that they maintain their own homes up unto this point, even if he spends most nights in Bull’s bed or with Bull in his own, but he can tell that the fact he’s said nothing about any of this to Bull is concerning him.

Nothing to be done about it now. Nothing but going forward with the plan as intended.

“We are here, this evening,” Dorian says, “to consider, and honour the life of someone I believe we all care about. Someone who has, for many years been the life of our parties, a bringer of spectacular stories and an improver of our collective fashion sense.”

“What happened to ‘im?” Sera interjects. Dorian rolls his eyes but doesn’t grizzle.

“Nothing, as of yet,” Dorian reassures them, “but the bachelor of which we speak has, while not by anyone’s definition a selfless man, has decided that there are certain things worth sacrificing one’s life for.”

They look at him (with the exception of Cole of course, and Vivienne who’s grinning like she knows the answer is is utterly uninterested in giving hints to anyone else) like he’s spouting absolute gibberish. He’d hoped his friends would be a little more advanced in their thinking, but alas. If he has to help them along, so be it.

“How,” he says, “does one kill a bachelor?”

“Shoot ‘im!” Sera suggests.

“Blunt force trauma?” Krem asks, “to the head?”

Leliana hums quietly, “poison?”

“Blessed Maker,” Dorian says aghast, “what is wrong with you?”

“Hate to break it to you,” Herah points out, “but you did invite us all along to what is looking a lot like a fake memorial service for yourself. Your high horse is more of a rocking pony.”

Dorian rolls his eyes, “how long did it take you to think of that?”

Herah pouts, “a couple of minutes.”

“Well done, regardless,” Dorian admits, “now you’ve all had enough time to think. Varric, surely you’ll know. How does one kill a bachelor?

“Explosion?”

“Oh for-” Dorian throws his hands in the air and turns away from them all, trying to come up with a plan B for how he’s going to make this happen. He can tell them the answer, of course, but it won’t be at all the same and someone figuring it out themselves-

“Oh,” Cassandra says, “of course.”

Dorian spins back to look at her, as does everyone else in the room, and she flushes.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she insists, “to kill a bachelor, you marry him.”

They all stare at Cassandra a moment before turning, slowly, to Dorian, who has taken advantage of their distraction to sink to his knee, and pull the ring box from his pocket.

“The Iron Bull,” he says, and he’s not choking up dammit, of course he isn’t, he’s practiced this too many time for that to happen, “I have been a bachelor for over a decade now, and I have thought for some time that it was something I would never give up. That I could not ask for more than what I had.”

“Dorian-” Bull says and there must be something wrong with the acoustics in here, because now he sounds like his voice is cracking and there’s not way that can be the truth.

“Hush,” Dorian says, gently, “let me finish.”

Bull does, closes his mouth and leans back in his chair but not before taking Dorian’s hand in his own, and holding it.

“Right,” Dorian says, “as I was saying. Bull you have come along and swept everything out from under me. Shown me that there is in fact, a whole other life to be had. A life full of laughter, a life full of love, and safety, and honesty.”

And bugger it all he is crying now, and he can only thank the Maker for the fact that he’s a pretty crier.

“I have realised,” Dorian says, “that this is a life I want, even if it comes at the expense of the death of a bachelor.”

He opens the box. It wasn’t easy convincing someone to make an untinted dawnstone ring, or managing to get the measurements without Bull noticing, but he’s done it.

“The Iron Bull, will you marry me?”

[lassieposting]

Ok...u got my attention...💘 for skuldugery and cassandra

OH BOY I GOT ONE

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

where they first met and how

Okay so when they first meet, it's way back before he met Skugwife, when he was on-again-off-again with China and Ghastly and making his way up the ranks in the Sanctuary army.

A dashing young officer with an impressive inheritance and a string of victories under his belt would've been prime 1600s marriage real estate. They meet at some Sanctuary party, dance together a bit, get along very well. Skug was already arrogant and vain, but he was also charming and funny, which was a bonus, and they were social equals - she's from a wealthy, landed family herself. She was interested in him and they were in each other's social circle from around his mid-20s to when he met Wifey and fell disgustingly in love, at which point she conceded defeat and let him go.

It's actually Gordon who brings them back into each other's lives in the 1980s. They've both changed a lot since they last saw one another and she's not really sure what to make of him. He's colder, more serious, and she knows he's lost...pretty much everyone. When she tells him to come by anytime, he's polite but detached and basically says that's not a good idea, so she doesn't expect to see much of him in the future. But he comes back some months later with a difficult case to ask if she's seen anything, and from that point on they work together sporadically, if she has any visions that might be useful to him.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved

They rekindle their flirtation after he comes back in Dark Days. He's not okay, not in the slightest, and she can see it. He's faking being okay, but he's overselling it. She knew him through the period where his mother was killed, and he tried to play that off the same way. He ends up driving out to her cottage at some ungodly hour of the early morning because he's falling apart and he doesn't really have anywhere else to go. she takes him in, sits with him until long after the sun comes up and lets him talk it out until he's dozing off where he's sitting.

By the War of the Sanctuaries, they're Together.

who fell for who first ( if applicable )

She was rather taken with him when they first met. She liked to think of herself as the future Mrs Captain Pleasant. He was attracted to her, but also otherwise entangled and considerably less invested.

When they get back together, it's more. Falling in love at the same time.

where their first date was and what it was like

They've spent a lot of time together, usually at her cottage, already. But he gets it into his head he wants to take her on an actual date, and she's a homebody, so he decides to make her dinner. It's kind of a disaster because he hasn't had to cook anything in hundreds of years - he follows a recipe, but he still manages to burn it and get food absolutely everywhere with the electric whisk. He's pretty frustrated and upset that he ruined it, but she finds it hilarious, and they end up cuddling on the couch with takeout and a movie.

who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? )

She gives him a key. She prefaces it with a big speech about how it doesn't have to mean anything, he just spends so much time there that he might as well be able to let himself in, and she wants him to have somewhere he really feels safe and comfortable and her place can be that for him if he wants, and -

He kisses her mid-speech, so she never gets to finish it.

who proposes first

He does. She'd never bring up marriage to him, when she knows how his first one ended. She can't be completely sure he's done grieving his first love, and she doesn't want to hurt him, so it's better not to bring it up.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away

It's not a secret at all. Valkyrie still goes nearly a decade without noticing.

where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? )

They're in bed together first thing in the morning. He doesn't remember the last time he was this relaxed and happy. He watches her wake up and she cuddles closer into him with the squinty morning-sun-in-your-face look and he never thought he'd love this much again and it just. Comes out.

who’s more dominant

Neither, really. They're very much a team. She tempers his recklessness, and he gives her a nudge out of her comfort zone. She has the same ability Wifey had, though, to wrangle him without ever letting on that she's doing it.

where their first kiss was and what it was like

He was totally drained after unloading a year's worth of torture on her post-Dark Days, and she was trying to comfort him. It doesn't lead anywhere - she puts him to bed on her couch and stays with him so he feels safe enough to switch off and sleep.

if they have any matching couples stuff ( mugs? sweaters? pillowcases? )

She buys him a hideous Christmas sweater the first year they're officially together, but has yet to successfully bully him into wearing it.

how into pda they are

They're your average couple. If she drops in on him at the Sanctuary, she'll kiss him goodbye. He'll put his arm around her when they're walking, or let her hold his hand. But neither of them is an exhibitionist.

who holds the umbrella when it rains

He does. He could easily just redirect the rain, but she likes nature stuff and that includes getting soaked through on occasion, kissing him in the rain, and splashing through puddles.

where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable )

Her cottage, more often than not. He'll happily take her out whenever she wants to, but she's a homebody at heart and she's more fond of going for long walks in the countryside near her home or cooking together, watching old movies, that sort of thing.

who’s more protective

Him, by a million miles. She doesn't necessarily like the amount of violence in his life, but to her he's very much the capable soldier who can look after himself. But she is a pacifist and very into the hippie ideology, so especially after the Night of Knives, she relies on him to protect her. He knows damn well that the only reason he didn't lose her the same night Finbar died is because he just happened to be sleeping over and the would-be assassin got more than he bargained for.

how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ )

Probably circa KOTW? It can't have been Death Bringer, or he'd have asked her to the Requiem Ball.

if they argue about anything

Not often. She's one of the most emotionally healthy people in this series, and she's the closest Skulduggery Pleasant has ever gotten to therapy. She's all about communication and talking it out.

who leaves more marks ( lipstick, hickeys, scratchmarks etc. )

Skug.

who steals whose clothes and how often

She steals his jackets and coats. She'll wear something just a little too light for the weather, so that he'll inevitably offer her his suit jacket. It's an old way of courting that she finds very endearing.

how they cuddle ( spooning? facing each other? )

what their favourite nonsexual activity is

They bring out the Old Person in each other. They like to go for long walks, and picnics, and dancing to old gramophone records. They read books and bicker about how much they did or didn't enjoy them. She likes to garden and paint, and he's not half bad at art either, so they'll paint each other and laugh about it.

how long they stay mad at each other

They don't. They argue very little in the first place, but Cassie is very communicative, so she usually manages to head off any potential arguments before they even start.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are

She has hot chocolate, and he has his black.

if they ever have any children together

No - but if he was ever going to have children with anyone else, it should probably be Cassie. She's sensible, level-headed and emotionally healthy, so he could be the same loving-but-irresponsible dad he was with Skugbab.

if they have any special pet names for each other

She's "Cassie" and he's usually "sweetheart" or "lovey".

what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? )

He "moves into"/spends most of his time at her little hippie hobbit hole, so nothing matches, tapestries everywhere, Interesting™ colour schemes, fuckin...crystals and tarot cards and witchy shit everywhere. They both have to make some compromises ("You don't bug me about making the bed and I won't play the banjo in the shower")

what their first christmas / hanukkah / etc as a couple was like

Very inappropriate to talk about at parties.

He's a Christmas grouch, but he did get two days off work, so they basically spent the entire time eating, fucking or fast asleep.

what their names are in each other’s phones

She's just "Cassie" but that makes her one of the few people in his phone not to be "Firstname Lastname". He's "SP".

if they have any ‘couple traditions’ ( buying a new mug for their collection every year? baking every friday evening? )

They can never really make plans for set days or times because of his incredibly erratic work schedule, but they make time every week to just spend time together. Unless the world is ending, which it usually does at least once a year.

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first

She falls asleep first at a sensible hour, and wakes up when he gets in. If she sleeps through him coming home, he'll stay up for an hour or two to work on a case, but if he wakes her, he'll go straight to bed and she'll go back to sleep with him holding her.

After the Night of Knives, she gets very anxious and stressed about being alone, especially when she hears the door open. So he'll call and wake her when he's leaving the Sanctuary, so that she knows to expect him home, and he's at the end of the phone any time she wants to get hold of him.

who’s the big spoon / little spoon

He's the big spoon like 70% of the time, but she's not opposed to letting him be the little spoon at all. Even the strongest general sometimes needs a good snuggle.

who hogs the bathroom

Cassie likes to take a book into the bath and spend hours in there. He'll come in and out as he pleases and sometimes do her hair for her or swipe bubbles on her nose.

who kills the spiders / takes them outside

Skug. This is, apparently, one of the greatest benefits to having him around all the time. He's glad she's comfortable enough with him to be honest that she's using him for his spider removal skills.

[infini-tree]

FANFIC: in post

Summary: A unexpected reunion takes place. Captain may be the one who starts it, but its Benjamin who ends it.

A/N: (alternate title - i don’t know what possessed me to write this post in fic form, but its here now and you all have to deal with it)

in post stuff isn’t going to be an ongoing multi-chapter thing, let alone in order, but just a place to put all the little drabbles I have. Unlike what the name suggests not all of them happen after the main story of the AU, though this one definitely does. The only way I can imagine this is after years after the main story has wrapped up.

though lbr i mostly because I got tired of trying to figure out titles for WIPs.

And just in case: slight content warning for verbal abuse from a parent. Its nothing explicit and is just a flashback, but it does take up the entire paragraph chunk its in and starts with “Suddenly he was back at his living room”.

                                                        ——–

Captain comes back to a gymnasium full of people and music, which wasn’t the weirdest part. Nor was the fact that the people were grown-ups. 

No, the weirdest part was that the gym wasn’t the one he had come to associate with Jerome Horwitz. Though, it was difficult to appreciate the novelty; between the sudden noise and people, he feels out of his depth.

His body moved automatically. Every accidental bump into someone was a shock, each trumpet blare was like a blow to his skull, and he dimly recalled thinking ah, that’s it when hearing the sound of snapping in the music. The clothes, while leagues comfier than his counterpart’s go-to, it was still there.

After what felt like ages of wading through a sea of people, he stumbled into a hallway just as unfamiliar as the gym. He really, really wanted to get out of this place quickly-- or at least, bring Benjamin back to deal with whatever this place is himself.

(Which bears the question: why did Benjamin come here? Parties aren’t exactly his Thing.)

The music faded as he moved away from the gymnasium, which helped a little.  Captain forced himself to look around. The walls looked the same as Jerome Horwitz was, but if the details were reshuffled. The lockers were in different places, the corridors weren’t exactly where he expected them to be and neither were the bulletin boards with posters on it-- wait, posters!

There were a lot of random stuff about clubs and other announcements, but one stood out. Its top edges curled in on itself, so he couldn’t read the top part, but the rest read: REUNION.

“Welcome back, class of--” Captain repeated, until--

Someone cleared their throat. He leapt up in the air with a short yell, nearly stumbling over his shoe-covered feet.

The newcomer winced, but nonetheless stayed silent. If the Waistband Warrior could describe her, then it would be... sharp. Sharp look, sharp flat top, sharp gaze. Not mean, though it could be. It reminded her of his sidekicks’ freshly sharpened pencils, ready and full of potential.

“...Are you lost?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You’ve been wandering the same hallway intersection and--” she pointed a thumb towards a distant hallway. “The gymnasium is over there.”

Captain blinked for a moment, letting her words sink in. “Oh-- ohhh. Oh no, I meant to get out of the gymnasium,” he said matter-of-factly. “Though yes, I am lost. Do you, ah, could you show me where the nearest washroom or... water fountain is around here, er--”

“Moxie.” It looked like she was expecting something, but when nothing did, her shoulders untensed.

“Captain!” he beamed.

The sharp look turned severe. “Is that a joke?”

He flinched, unsure of what set her off. “U-- uh, no?”

Sensing his nervous energy, the severe look shifted to apprehension. Her brow furrowed. Did she not know either?

“Ma’am?”

“...Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I’m no good with faces.”

Captain paled. Either she knew Benjamin-- which was not a conversation he was equipped for-- or she recognized him as Captain Underpants-- which was a whole other, potentially dangerous can of worms.

“Uh, nope!” he chirped. “About that washroom--”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” she said after a moment, pointing a thumb down a nearby corridor. “There should be one down the hall.”

"Alrighty, thank you! Have a lovely night, Moxie.” And with that, Captain rushed to the washroom to wash his face and get out of whatever that was.

And only when he looked in the mirror of the dingy washroom, to the clothes that made it hard to think did he slap a hand to his forehead. He really did just introduce himself as himself while dressed up as Benjamin. 

He was definitely going to read an essay’s worth of complaining after this whole thing.

                                                       ——–

“Hey, Captain.”

Benjamin gripped at his chest at the sudden voice. He just stepped outside and into the parking lot only to find Moxie Swaggerman, straight A student, the envy of literally half the school, now astronaut just...

“Uh, what are you doing out here?” his lip curls up wryly out of old habit-- he’ll address the whole Captain thing later-- what did that idiot do while he was out?! “Got tired of people asking for your autograph?”

She tilted her head, adjusting her aviator glasses. “Oh, so you do know me.” She almost seemed... disappointed by that. “Why, you want one?”

“Urgh, no.” He crinkled his nose. Opinions about her aside, that just sounded... weird to ask from someone he knew, even if said knowledge was periphery at best and non-existent at worst.

Moxie let out an amused huff. “Good, because I can only take so much people trying to kiss up to me.”

Despite himself, Benjamin couldn’t help but let out a laugh, short and loud and practically a cackle. The woman’s brow quirked up as she regarded him.

“What?” he snapped back.

“The lack of hair threw me off, since I remember you with that weird swoop back, but I finally figured it out--” And he couldn’t help but adjust his toupee as she swept back her hands on both sides as a pale imitation of how his hair was all those decades ago. “You were the one who competed against me for Prom Queen.”

Benjamin wanted to say something, but all that came out was half-noises. His entire body grew hot and his hands became clammy as she just... continued to stare. The worst part about all this was that, with the low light of outside, he couldn’t tell why. 

Suddenly he was back at his living room-- but not his, not anymore, he refused to consider that place his own-- staring down at the floor and clutching at the hems. Seeing his brother just peering in in his periphery vision as his mother continued her tirade, each word bullwhip-precise at hitting him in his core. But this was different; he was older and under no one’s thumb.

“A-- and what about it,” he managed to pry out of his throat.

Moxie’s posture shifted, and he could see her surprised expression now. If the circumstances were a bit different, then he would be reveling in the fact. Right now, though, he felt exposed, which was saying something considering who his counterpart was.

“Whoa-- hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” she clarified, and was that a hint of awkwardness? Remorse in her voice? “Honestly, it’s... nice to see you again.”

It was his turn to gawk. “...Really?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s uh-- like, its nice to see, ah... people like me still kicking.”

And it was then that Benjamin remembered the old rumors about Swaggerman-- about why she couldn’t get a nice guy to fall for her, and the girl from the rival school that clung by her side like a second shadow during summer vacation.

“I’ve always wondered for the longest time if you did that whole thing as a...” she paused, pursing her lips. “A joke, or something.”

“Oh,” he managed. “No, it wasn’t.”

“OK.” She nodded. “OK. Good to know.”

“Why, was that eating away at you?”

A passing car lit up her features in relief. When had her annoyingly cool façade been just that? It looked guarded now. A little more awkward. Funny how a few decades of separation can do.

Moxie shrugged. “Would have been nice to know back then.”

Benjamin wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he shrugged sympathetically and began to fiddle with the keys in his hand-- he had almost forgotten why he was out here in the first place.

She gaze followed the source of the glint. “Leaving early? Figure I should head out too.” She sighed. “Thanks.”

“...For what?”

“For making my last night before I get put to my paces a little more bearable.” She stretched her arms in front of her.

“Really, last night before you go to space and you choose to come here,” Benjamin deadpanned.

“First of all, no that’s not--” she shook her head. “Never mind. Basically, I wanted a normal night, and at least I got a bit of that. So, thanks, Captain.”

Benjamin had half a mind to correct her, but the moment had long passed and frankly he didn’t want to break the moment he was in now.

“Uh, yeah.” He waved her off awkwardly. “See you later.” 

She's going to space, idiot, not a weekend road trip, his own mind admonished.

Moxie only nodded in reply before she went off as well-- presumably to her own car.

[gingersnapwolves]

The Untamed, a brief summary [Part 4/6]

Part One: Sword Wizard School

Part Two:  The Search for the Yin Iron and the World’s Worst Summer Camp

Part Three: The Fall of Lotus Pier and the Sunshot Campaign

Part Four: The Downward Spiral

Ext, Nightless City [Qishan]

The war is over. Everything should be great now, right? Wrong.

Wei Wuxian has slept for three days. Jiang Yanli tells him that Lan Wangji was playing music to cleanse him of all the evil energy for most of those three days and that’s the only reason he’s awake so soon. Lan Wangji comes in to play more for him, even though Wei Wuxian is in the ancient Chinese version of his underoos. It’s cute.

Everyone else is having a serious meeting. Meng Yao has been legitimized by his father after killing Wen Ruohan, and this is a Very Big Deal. His name is now Jin Guangyao.

ENTER BAD TOUCH MAN

This is Jin Guangshan. He’s Jin Zixuan and Meng Yao/Jin Guangyao’s father. He sucks, big time. Everything about this guy is terrible. He’s a misogynist, a bully, and a patronizing piece of shit.

Jin Guangshan is having all the remaining Wens hunted down and killed, including the civilians. Nie Mingjue is cool with this. Lan Xichen says ‘hey, maybe murder isn’t the answer?’ but everyone tells him that murder absolutely is the answer and he shouldn’t worry about it.

ENTER THE HUMAN VERSION OF A CAR ALARM THAT HAS BEEN GOING OFF FOR AN HOUR IN YOUR WORK PARKING LOT

This is Jin Zixun, not to be confused with Jin Zixuan. Jin Zixuan is the former fiancée of Jiang Yanli and a spoiled brat but earning some brownie points as the story goes on. Jin Zixun is his cousin, and he has zero redeeming qualities.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have gone out for a romantic stroll. They find a batch of Wen civilians who are in chains, being hunted down and shot for sport by Jin Zixun. Somehow Wei Wuxian manages not to murder him, but it’s close. They play a requiem for the dead people to help their spirits find rest. ~just couple things~

Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Jin Guangyao swear brotherhood to each other in a cool ceremony that was definitely Lan Xichen’s idea.

Int, Nightless City [Qishan]

Jin Guangshan is throwing a big party since they won a war. Wei Wuxian doesn’t really want to go and spends most of it getting drunk outside. Relatable to be honest.

Jin Guangshan says to Jiang Cheng ‘hey remember when your sister was engaged to my son? That was cool, let’s put that back on’. Jiang Cheng looks like he’s been staked out on an anthill. Wei Wuxian comes in and is borderline rude to Jin Guangshan, saying he should ask Jiang Yanli herself. Jiang Yanli, with a retail smile that rivals Jin Guangyao’s, politely says that hey, her parents just died, her home is in ruins, why don’t they leave her alone for a decade and then she’ll think about it. Wei Wuxian bounces because he’s not a party person.

Jin Guangyao announces that in six months, they’re going to be holding a group hunt in Lanling and everyone’s invited.

After the banquet, Jin Guangshan asks Jin Guangyao how much he knows about Wei Wuxian, especially that cool amulet he used during the battle. Jin Guangyao says he’ll find out and then find a way to get it. I cry about the fact that I liked him a lot more before he started sucking up to his shitty dad, even though I understand why he’s doing it.

Ext, Lotus Pier [Yunmeng]

Our trio goes home and starts to clean things up. Wei Wuxian is drinking a lot, not setting a good example for the new disciples, and still won’t carry his sword. Jiang Cheng – remember, he doesn’t know that Wei Wuxian gave him his golden core, and thinks he can still cultivate – tells him to get his shit together. Jiang Yanli, as always, mediates.

Int, Cloud Recesses [Gusu]

Lan Wangji is also home. He’s studying manuscripts to find music that will help heal Wei Wuxian from the resentful energy. What he has isn’t good enough and he wants to go to the restricted section of the library. Lan Qiren refuses to allow him in, confines him to Cloud Recesses, and basically says ‘forget about Wei Wuxian, he’s evil now’. For obvious reasons, Lan Wangji does not like this advice.

Ext, some city [Yunmeng]

Lan Xichen arrives for a visit, finds Wei Wuxian, and gently reminds him that people are worried about him and he should remember his actions impact other people. Wei Wuxian interprets this as ‘you’re evil and it’s hurting people, specifically my brother’ instead of ‘we want to help you’, and shuts him out. It hurts. He came so close. *sobs*

Ext, Lotus Pier [Yunmeng]

Jin Zixuan turns up to formally invite the Yunmeng sibs to the crowd hunt. He acts like an awkward turtle. It seems like he might have realized he was being a dick this whole time. You know what that is? Growth. However he still says that it’s his mother who wants Jiang Yanli to come, because he sucks at this.

Ext, Phoenix Mountain [Lanling]

It’s the crowd hunt! Everyone’s there. They’re having an archery tournament to determine who will get to go in first.

Wei Wuxian flirts with Lan Wangji and taunts Jin Zixun, who asked for it. But then a bunch of Wen civilians are paraded out in chains to serve as ‘obstacles’ to make things more ‘interesting’. Somehow this does not end with Wei Wuxian murdering all the Jin sect members present. He definitely wants to, but then he looks at Jiang Cheng and remembers that their sect is still weak after the war and they probably shouldn’t piss off the strongest sect remaining.

Jin Zixuan does a fancy shot, so Wei Wuxian blindfolds himself and shoots five arrows at once, partly to show off, but partly because he knows nobody can top that so nobody will be able to shoot at the Wen sect prisoners. Jin Guangyao, who apparently arranged this (presumably because his father likes a little bloodshed as an appetizer), pouts unattractively. I wonder why I ever liked him.

Up on the mountain, Wei Wuxian does a bunch of demonic cultivation with his flute to drive the demons into Jiang sect nets so they can win. Then he decides to chill out for a bit.

Lan Wangji shows up. He tells Wei Wuxian that he has learned new music that should help with the whole ‘full of evil energy’ thing. Wei Wuxian asks who Lan Wangji is to tell him what to do. Lan Wangji responds by asking ‘what do you see me as’, Wei Wuxian replies ‘I used to think of you as my soulmate in this life’, Lan Wangji says, ‘I still am’ and the sound you just heard is my heart exploding.

Unfortunately before they can kiss, they hear other people on the path. It’s Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli. Jin Zixuan makes a pitiful attempt to impress her while she is clearly very uncomfortable.

Even though Jin Zixuan isn’t doing anything worse than inserting his own foot into his mouth, Wei Wuxian jumps in to tell him to fuck off. They argue. Jin Zixuan’s mother turns up and hilariously roasts him for always upsetting Jiang Yanli. You start to like her until she says that Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli shouldn’t spend time together because then people will think they’re having an affair. Jiang Yanli reminds her that Wei Wuxian is her younger brother, but Madam Jin sticks to her obnoxious guns. Jin Zixuan tries to say something nice and actually runs away which is the first time he’s felt relatable in the whole show.

Jin Zixun turns up, hauling his enormous bad attitude with him, and gets pissy with Wei Wuxian for using demonic cultivation to lure the demons into their nets. He’s super rude about it. Jiang Yanli politely eviscerates Jin Zixun in response and it’s super satisfying.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

They’re having a big party after the hunt. The Yunmeng Jiang did well and Jiang Cheng is happy for two seconds before he overhears some people saying that it’s only because of Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation and they don’t like that. Wei Wuxian has decided not to go to the banquet because these people suck.

Jin Guangyao, even though he’s now an errand boy for his power-hungry dick of a father, still has a big crush on Lan Xichen, and they have a few tender moments. Other people, like Madam Jin and Jin Zixun, are being absolute assholes to Jin Guangyao, and he’s wearing his best retail smile. I remember why I liked him. But uh oh! Jin Guangyao has made friends with and invited Su She, who you might remember from him betraying all the Gusu Lan who were hiding in the cave. Jin Guangyao doesn’t seem to know these two have history. Lan Xichen tells him not to worry about it but it’s awkward.

Ext, the city [Lanling]

Wei Wuxian is wandering around. He bumps into Wen Qing, who is there looking for Wen Ning.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Jin Zixun has decided he hasn’t been a big enough of a dick for the day, so he asks Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji to have a drink with him. Lan Xichen tells him that they aren’t allowed to drink alcohol because of their sect rules. Jin Zixun takes this as a personal insult, or at least pretends to because it gives him an excuse to act like a jerk.

Jin Guangyao asks what’s going on and who upset his cousin, then looks at Lan Xichen like they’re a biracial couple at a barbecue and he’s trying to apologize telepathically for what his racist uncle just said.

After a few moments of ‘no really, I just don’t drink alcohol’ Lan Xichen decides this fool ain’t worth it and takes a drink. Jin Guangyao looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. ‘U ok babe?’ his eyes say. ‘No I want to go home, this barbecue sucks’ Lan Xichen’s eyes reply. Jin Zixun then offers a cup to Lan Wangji, who stares into the middle distance and forcefully projects the information that he will literally die before accepting a drink from this asshole.

Wei Wuxian interrupts, snatches the cup, and says ‘I’ll drink for him. That’s okay, right?’ even though there’s absolutely no reason it would be since they’re not actually married. He drinks anyway. Then he asks Jin Zixun where Wen Ning is. Turns out Jin Zixun and his lackeys kidnapped Wen Ning and his whole village.

Jin Zixun pretends he doesn’t remember. Wei Wuxian threatens him a lot. It’s super hot if terribly inadvisable. Jiang Cheng is clearly upset that he’s out of line. Lan Wangji is clearly worried that he’s losing his marbles. Jin Guangshan tries to bully Wei Wuxian and fails on every level. After a few minutes, Jin Zixun caves and tells him that Wen Ning and the others are at Qiongqi Way. Wei Wuxian says ‘why couldn’t you just tell me that?’ and leaves. Jin Guangshan flips over the table. It’s awesome.

Everyone begins talking shit about Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng is more upset. Lan Wangji says ‘I mean, he wasn’t wrong’ and Jin Guangyao replies with the ‘he’s right but you shouldn’t say it’ meme. Lan Xichen reflects on the fact that Wei Wuxian’s ‘temperament has changed a lot’ as if this is something mystical and strange instead of the inevitable result of severe, untreated PTSD and the fact that he’s discovered massive systemic injustice.

Lan Wangji asks Lan Xichen if it’s okay if he kidnaps Wei Wuxian and brings him back to Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen tells him to go for it.

Ext, Qiongqi Way [Lanling]

All the Wen civilians have been forced into a labor camp. It’s really awful.

Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing arrive to find out they’re too late. Wen Ning has been killed. (Technically they say later he had ‘one breath left’ but that’s only because Chinese censorship doesn’t allow necromancy to be portrayed on TV. This explanation doesn’t actually make sense, and by and large fandom ignores it. In the book, he’s all dead, and that’s much simpler.)

Wei Wuxian has a complete breakdown and brings Wen Ning back as a fierce corpse (which is similar to a zombie but not exactly the same for xianxia reasons). Wen Ning murders all the guards at the prison (with a little help from Wei Wuxian) and then collapses. Wei Wuxian realizes they are Totally Fucked Now, lets everyone out of prison, and gets out of dodge.

Except Lan Wangji has followed him and is standing in the rain in his way. They have a really haunting exchange where Wei Wuxian asks Lan Wangji to confront the aforementioned systemic injustice, and Lan Wangji tells him if he continues on this path, it’ll be considered a rebellion and he’ll be hunted down and killed. Wei Wuxian says, basically, ‘If I’m so wrong, then you kill me. If it’s you, I’ll accept it.’ Lan Wangji stands aside to let them go. I cry for seventeen hours.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian has brought the refugees here. They ask if it’s really possible to live in such a place. He says he lived there for three months.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

You know, I don’t even remember if we see this, but I assume everyone there is super upset about everything.

ETA: Thanks to the people who reminded me! Everyone’s trashing Wei Wuxian. Mianmian (you may remember her from Turtle Cave, where Wei Wuxian saved her from being burned by Jiaojiao) sticks up for him, saying he doesn’t kill indiscriminately. Everyone pats her on the head and mansplains things to her, so she gives them all a big middle finger and leaves the Jin sect over it. Good for her.

Int, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Jiang Cheng shows up to ask Wei Wuxian what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Wei Wuxian, who is living in a cave and spent their entire refugee budget on candles, has Wen Ning’s unconscious body covered in talismans. He says he’s trying to restore Wen Ning’s consciousness. Jiang Cheng is pretty horrified and basically accuses Wei Wuxian of desecrating a corpse, and threatens to kill Wen Ning (more/again). Wei Wuxian brushes him off. Jiang Cheng says, heartwrenchingly, ‘If you keep protecting them, I can’t protect you’. Wei Wuxian replies, more heartwrenchingly, ‘Then abandon me.’ I cry for another seventeen hours.

ENTER A RAY OF SUNSHINE

There’s a little boy here about two or three years old named Wen Yuan. He’s adorable and likes to cling to people’s legs.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t like any of this so he bounces. Wen Qing walks him to the end of the trail and then gives him back the comb he gave her (she did pick it up!) earlier. He looks like she kicked him in the balls but doesn’t change his mind.

Ext, somewhere [Yiling]

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian stage a massive public fight. There’s some light stabbing. Jiang Cheng publicly disavows Wei Wuxian and says he’s no longer part of the Yunmeng Jiang. (You don’t actually know it’s staged at the time this happens but you find out pretty soon so whatever.)

Ext, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Jin Zixuan has now realized that Jiang Yanli is bae. He builds her a lotus pond and looks super awkward about it. It’s sweet. He’s doing much better now that he realizes he just shouldn’t talk.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian is a massive ball of PTSD and angst. It sucks. Wen Qing tries to persuade him to leave them there and go home, but he refuses.

Ext, some city [Yiling]

Lan Wangji is in Yiling because he was in the neighborhood on completely unrelated business. No he’s not there to see Wei Wuxian. Stop asking him questions. Suddenly a small child is clinging to his leg and crying. He is discomfited.

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian is buying refugee supplies and realizes Wen Yuan has wandered off. He finds him clinging to Lan Wangji’s leg and insists on buying him lunch. Wen Yuan asks Wei Wuxian to buy him a toy and when Wei Wuxian won’t, Lan Wangji buys him like 15 toys. It’s super adorable.

They have lunch together. Wen Yuan sits in Lan Wangji’s lap. The reason Lan Wangji definitely was not in the area was to tell Wei Wuxian that his sister is getting married to Jin Zixuan. Lunch is interrupted when Wei Wuxian’s talisman signals that Wen Ning is causing trouble back at the Burial Mounds. Lan Wangji has to pay for lunch.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wen Ning is on a rampage. This happens with fierce corpses. Wei Wuxian starts trying to use his magic to calm him down. With Lan Wangji’s help, he’s able to restore his consciousness. Everyone’s really happy.

Wei Wuxian asks Lan Wangji to stay for dinner but he says he has to go. They exchange the world’s most longing look. I resist the urge to climb into my screen, physically manifest in ancient China, and tie Lan Wangji to a tree so he can’t leave.

Wen Yuan asks if he’ll ever come back. Wei Wuxian says probably not. I rehydrate so I can cry more.

Back at the Burial Mounds, the villagers have come together to throw Wei Wuxian a thank you party. It’s super sweet.

Ext, the city [Yiling]

Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli come to show Wei Wuxian her wedding outfit. She’s brought him soup. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian roast each other a little bit, just like old times. However Jiang Cheng is also a bit of a dick to Wen Ning, because he’s still skeeved out by what Wei Wuxian did, and won’t let him sit with them. Jiang Yanli gives him a bowl of soup anyway. He can’t eat it, so he carries it back to the Burial Mounds and gives it to Wen Yuan.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian has planted lotus seeds. He’s still having mood swings and other PTSD symptoms but overall is improving somewhat. He finds out at some point that Jiang Yanli is pregnant and gets really excited about it.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Jiang Yanli has given birth to a boy they have named Jin Ling. They’re planning his one-month ceremony. She wants to invite Wei Wuxian. The Jin sect is skeptical. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji back her up, saying that Wei Wuxian hasn’t caused any trouble since going into exile, and this is a good opportunity to try to re-introduce him into polite society. Jin Guangshan agrees. He’s also a dick to Jin Guangyao, who asks to hold the baby, and Jin Guangshan won’t let him. Jin Zixuan points out to his father that Jin Guangyao has been loyal and helpful since joining the sect, and maybe his father shouldn’t be such a jerk. Jin Guangshan reminds him that Jin Guangyao is the son of a whore and says someone with his background can never be in a position of power in their sect.

Ext, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian receives a letter from Lan Wangji stating he’s invited to the one-month ceremony and is really excited.

Int, my apartment [America]

I’m gonna be real honest with you guys. I skimmed through the next couple episodes while sobbing on my phone and unlike most of the show, have only watched them once. It’s very possible that I’m going to get stuff slightly incorrect or in the wrong order. I’ll do my best but holy crap, I absolutely never want to watch these episodes again. This accounts for any mistakes I’ve made in fic, too, LOL.

Ext, Qiongqi Way [Lanling]

Wei Wuxian is on his way to Koi Tower with Wen Ning. Jin Zixun shows up and accuses Wei Wuxian of having cursed him with a curse called Hundred Holes. Wei Wuxian hilariously says ‘I don’t even know who you are’ because his memory is terrible and also Jin Zixun sucks. Jin Zixun has brought like a hundred guys with them and they start shooting arrows. Wen Ning starts to kick their asses.

Jin Zixuan shows up and tries to de-escalate the situation. He promised Jiang Yanli that Wei Wuxian would be able to visit Jin Ling.

Out of fucking nowhere, Wen Ning murders the shit out of Jin Zixuan. I screamed. Wei Wuxian clearly has no idea what the fuck just happened. Then Wen Ning murders Jin Zixun which is less of a problem. Once all the Jin guys are dead, Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning run the hell away and head back to Yiling.

Int, Koi Tower [Lanling]

Everyone wants to know what the fuck just happened. They conclude that Wei Wuxian lost control of Wen Ning and his violent nature (now that he’s a fierce corpse) caused him to murder a bunch of people. They demand that Wen Ning and Wen Qing surrender themselves to Koi Tower.

Int, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian has an absolute meltdown, for which we can’t blame him. He, too, has come to the conclusion that he lost control of Wen Ning and that’s why a ton of people are dead.

Wen Qing sticks a bunch of needles in him and tells him that they’re going to surrender themselves to Koi Tower. He hates everything about this but can’t stop them because of the needles. She says they’ll release him in three days, tells him ‘I’m sorry, and thank you’. I can’t see the screen through my tears.

Ext, Koi Tower [Lanling]

The Wen remnants surrender themselves. Jiang Cheng tells Jin Guangshan ‘whoever Wei Wuxian broke, I’ll pay for it, okay?’ but we’re a little beyond that now.

Int, the Burial Mounds [Yiling]

Wei Wuxian breaks out of his needle-induced coma and hurries to Koi Tower. I clutch my stuffed animal and think, naively, that he’ll make it in time.

Ext, Koi Tower [Lanling]

The bodies of the Wen remnants are on display. Wei Wuxian has another meltdown. He tries to find Jiang Yanli, sees her in widow’s white, and runs away.

Ext, Nightless City [Qishan]

For some reason everyone’s decided to go to Qishan to toss Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s ashes in a volcano, I guess. Mostly they’re just throwing a party for themselves because they killed a bunch of farmers. I hate them.

Wei Wuxian shows up and tells them they all suck. Some rando shoots Wei Wuxian with an arrow. He laughs at the dude, pulls it out, and throws it back, killing him. It’s hot. Lan Wangji tries to talk him down but can’t. They get in a fight. Wei Wuxian raises an absolute fuckton of resentful energy and angry spirits and starts trying to kill everyone there, which honestly seems fair to me at this point. For only the second time, he takes out the amulet made of yin iron that he used during the battle with Wen Ruohan.

Except something weird is going on. There’s a second flute playing and it’s unclear who’s playing it. I’m screaming at my monitor.

Jiang Yanli, who is there because this show doesn’t know what to do with women besides fridge them, gets attacked by a fierce corpse. Wei Wuxian tries to control it but can’t. He starts freaking out again. He and Jiang Cheng manage to save Jiang Yanli from the fierce corpse but Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what’s going on and he’s clearly about to break down completely. Jiang Yanli is still really sweet and gentle with him, even though (she thinks) he kind of killed her husband. Then some other rando tries to kill Wei Wuxian and ends up stabbing Jiang Yanli instead. She dies.

Wei Wuxian – I hate to overuse the term ‘freaks the fuck out’ but when the shoe fits – freaks the fuck out. He breaks the amulet into fragments and then throws himself off a cliff.

Lan Wangji catches him before he can fall, even though he’s been wounded in the battle. Wei Wuxian stares at him for a moment before he tells Lan Wangji to let him go. Lan Wangji doesn’t let him go. Jiang Cheng comes over and for a brief second Wei Wuxian sort of looks hopeful, but then Jiang Cheng tells him to go to hell and stabs downward with his sword. It’s not going to hit him – Jiang Cheng’s eyes aren’t even open – but it hits the rock and causes part of it to crumble. Wei Wuxian shakes Lan Wangji’s hand off and falls, smiling with relief, because this show absolutely wants to fucking kill me.

Yes, our protagonist is dead. Don’t worry, he gets better.

~end of part 4~

[xaphrin]

Raven pitched forward, smirking as she took a sip of her wine. “Color me surprised, I didn’t know Damian Wayne had a sweet tooth.”

He lifted an eyebrow and shoved another bite of the chocolate torte in his mouth, never breaking eye-contact with her. Heat crawled up her neck, but she couldn’t look away from him. Raven tried not to focus on the way his tongue slid along his full lips, making sure he didn’t waste a crumb. It was a tease of power, and he knew it would burn her. Heat coiled in the pit of her stomach, and Raven tore her eyes away from him, giving him that small concession to save her sanity. The last thing she needed was to have inconvenient feelings for Damian Wayne.

“Jealous?” Damian picked up a bite of torte and held his fork out to her. “You can ask for some.” 

Raven reached for the fork, but he pulled it out of her reach and leveled a stare at her. Oh. He… wanted to feed her? That was a step into an area she had never considered before. Raven glanced around the restaurant, realizing that there was more than one cell phone lifted, taking pictures of the two of them. One of the many hazards of being in public with a Wayne. Her stomach twisted and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Finally, she leaned forward and opened her mouth. 

Damian grinned and ate the bite himself, never looking away from her.

“Jerk.” She pursed her lips, but couldn’t stop the twitch of a smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. God, he was infuriating sometimes. With no decorum whatsoever, she reached across the table and grabbed the torte from in front of Damian, taking a bite herself. 

He laughed and leaned back in his chair watching her as if she completely fascinated him. But, more likely, he was trying to find something to tease her about. A soft silence settled between them before he filled it, tapping his fingers on the tablecloth. “So… after dinner, did you want to walk down by the bay?” 

Raven picked up her head, her fork hanging out of her mouth as she blinked. What? The soft, silky torte turned to ash in her mouth and she forced herself to swallow. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Take a walk by the bay together.” Damian shrugged and tried to look unaffected, but she swore she could see the tips of his ears turn pink. “We’re still on a date, and you paid a thousand dollars for this. So… you might as well take advantage of it. Get your money’s worth.” 

“Oh. Ah… I… sure?” If he had asked her this same question yesterday, she would have pulled out a whole ledger filled with reasons why this wasn’t a date and why they shouldn’t do date things. But, right now, Raven couldn’t think of a reason not to walk with him. They were sort of friends, she didn’t have anything else to do tonight. And… she was finding she didn’t mind his company all that much. In fact, she might have actually started to like him a little. It only took four damn years. Her toes curled in Donna’s shoes and she shifted, taking another bite of the torte as she tried to look unaffected. “I guess. Sure. It’s a nice night for it.”  

Damian motioned for the waiter and paid the bill, while Raven kept watching him from under her lowered lashes. Jesus, he was handsome. Although she would rather eat crow than admit that out loud. Candlelight slid over his olive skin, casting curious shadows bathing him in mystery. Her stomach twisted as her eyes traced the stern line of his jaw and his full, decadent lips. Lips she wouldn’t mind giving a test kiss too. Just to see if they were really as soft as they looked. Not because she liked him like that. No. Of course not. This was Damian Wayne, her arch rival for the better part of four years, not some boy she happened to have a crush on.

She left a few bites of the torte for him and pushed the plate back to his side of the table. “I’ll need to text Donna and let her know I’ll be a bit later than eleven.”

“Oh no.” He lifted an eyebrow. “We’re staying out past curfew. How will she manage the scandal?”

Raven offered a sardonic smile. “I just want to make sure that when my body inevitably goes missing, she knows to check the bay first.” 

He just rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop smiling.   

Raven reached for her purse on the back of her chair, but it slipped on the shiny wood and fell to the hardwood floor. With a sharp crash, the snap closure cracked open with the shock of the impact, spilling the contents of her purse. She sat there, in complete, silent horror, as no less than twenty brightly colored condoms scattered across the floor around their table like suggestive confetti. Oh, fuck. This night could not possibly get any worse.

Frozen in shock, she sat there, not exactly knowing what to do. It wasn’t like she could deny ownership of the condoms, they came from her purse. She could try to make a joke, or explain the water balloon contingency plan, but nothing came out. The table next to them snorted into their food, trying not to make eye contact with Raven or Damian, and that somehow made it worse.

Damian looked from the floor to her face and then back again. He cleared his throat and pressed his lips together. “Oh. Wow. You… seem prepared.” 

“Donna. Water balloons. Not… mine?” Raven found herself stumbling through a series of weaker and weaker excuses, until she finally gathered enough of her wits to stoop down and shove the condoms back in her purse. She was going to murder Donna when she got back to their house. Murder her and bury her in the basement of their old house.

“You missed one.” Damian, lips pressed together as he obviously tried to stifle a laugh, reached across the table and handed it to her. “While I like to think my stamina is impressive, twenty times in one night seems a bit much.” 

Raven snatched the condom from him and glared, pulling herself to her feet. “Let’s just go.”  

She stormed out of the restaurant, trying to hide her shame as she stepped onto the street. Of all the things that could possibly go wrong on her not-date with Damian Wayne, an exploding purse full of condoms was somehow not on her list of worst-case scenarios. She stood in the streetlight, taking a deep breath of the air, tinged with moist heat of late-spring, and felt her embarrassment flood her. She buried her face in her hands and tried not to feel so utterly inept at this. How could she be so bad at just going on a date?

“So…” Damian wandered up behind her, his voice surprisingly casual. “I’m learning more and more about Gotham U’s resident hardass.” 

Raven started to walk away from him, but Damian followed, his steps sound and sure as he caught up with her. 

“One - she really likes kittens. Two - she makes me laugh more than I realized.”

Raven’s feet stopped at the subtle compliment and she turned around to look at him. He continued to walk up to her, his hands shoved in his pockets. How in the world did he make this look so easy? Like he knew what he was doing? Her stomach twisted painfully as he stopped in front of her, his eyes searching her face like he was admiring art. A smirk played on his lips, and his eyes turned dark as he pitched forward to look at her.

“Three - she apparently really likes to have sex.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Raven turned back around and started to move down the sidewalk, walking away from him as fast as shoe could. “Donna thought it would be funny.”

“Funny?” Damian fell into step next to her, still smirking. “Or, was she looking out for you?”

“Looking out for me?” Raven turned at him, leveling a flat stare. “Oh, please. As if we’d ever have sex.” 

“Why’s that?” His face turned into an unreadable mask, and he lifted an eyebrow, questioning. He seemed genuinely surprised that sex was off limits, and Raven didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like they were actually involved. She wasn’t even sure if they tolerated each other, let alone liked each other. 

“Damian.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and sighed in defeat. “You hate me. You’ve hated me since freshman year. You’ve done nothing but push me and tease me for the past four years. At what point do you think we are ever going to have sex?”

“I don’t hate you, Raven. I’ve never hated you. I… always thought we were kind of friends.” 

She lifted her eyes and looked at him, blinking. “What?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if releasing a tension that had been building inside him for years. “All those times I pushed at you during school was because I knew you could do better than what you were giving yourself credit for. I fought you on everything because you were always ready to see things from different points of view - when you were challenged.” He shifted, his hands falling out of his pockets in a small show of vulnerability. “And I teased you because you were always so damn cute when you got angry. Plus, you gave as good as you got. I’ve been roasted by you enough times to know at least that.” 

Raven allowed herself to feel at least a little pride at that. 

“I’ve never hated you. Not once since I’ve met you. You’re smart - brilliant, actually - clever, witty, and…” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed. “…beautiful.” 

What. 

Raven found herself unable to breathe. She stood there, staring at him as her mouth opened and closed several times, hunting for anything to say. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that he had to have heard it over the sounds of the city. It felt like her head was swimming and her insides were melting, and she couldn’t make heads or tales of anything. Damian Wayne not only complimented her, but he called her beautiful. The man who could date supermodels and royalty, thought she was beautiful. Something inside her twisted with joy and excitement, and she found herself trying to explain her emotions away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t deny her own feelings anymore. After all this time together, maybe she really did like him. 

Steeling her nerves, she stepped up to him and lifted her face to his. “Don’t think this compliment erases everything you’ve ever said to me, Dami.” 

His lips twitched as he fought back a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“And I’m still not planning on having sex with you tonight.”

He arched an eyebrow, and she heard his breath catch in his throat. Was he… excited? His tongue wet his lips and he spoke softly, as if unsure about what she was almost offering. “There seems to be a qualifier in that sentence.”

“I’m not planning on having sex with you tonight,” she repeated before turning back around towards the bay. Her heart was pounding, excitement and playfulness coursing through her. She felt nymph-like, leading him on a chase after her. If Damian wanted to consider her beautiful, then she would try to be as beautiful as humanly possibly. She lowered her voice to a sultry, flirtatious hum, knowing he could hear the suggestion in her tone. “But… it doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind in the future.” 

With a teasing smile, she turned toward the marina entrance. 

Missed a step in Donna’s too-big shoes. 

And promptly fell down the stairs.  

[hermannsthumb]

I love your writing so so much!! Prompt: middle-aged husbands! Newt gets back from a work trip with some salt and pepper scruff he didn't have time to shave and Hermann goes a little weak in the knees

oh ho ho....also everything im writing this month and next must necessarily be set a snowy setting sry. as always thank u to k-sci-janitor for bouncing ideas w me over discord mild sexy stuff below cut!

--------

When Newton stumbles through the front door in a flurry of snow and clatter of suitcases two weeks after he left for a research trip, Hermann notices two things; the first, that the cliche about absence making the heart grow fonder really is true, the second, that Newton’s cheeks (when Hermann rushes to meet him in a rather embarrassingly fast fashion and allows himself to be scooped up into Newton’s arms, of all things) are distinctly...rougher than usual. Rougher, and pricklier. “How’s the hottest scientist in the world?” Newton says, after an entirely inappropriate amount of kissing. The neighbors could see, for goodness’ sake. “God, dude, I missed you so fucking much.”

“Close the door,” Hermann laughs. “You’re letting all the heat out, and the bloody snow in.”

But Newton merely kisses him again and again, cornering him against the wall and settling his hands low on Hermann’s hips. His cheeks scratch Hermann’s skin; Hermann shivers, not knowing whether from it or the chill of the air. “How much did you miss me?” Newton murmurs.

“Not enough to put on a show for the neighbors,” Hermann chides, though he shivers again when Newton nuzzles against him. He taps the end of his cane against the sodden laces of Newton’s boots. “Mm, ah, come on, I’ve lit a fire, and, and made us tea, take your—wet things off, and—”

Newton steps back with a grin. “You gonna warm me up, Hermann?”

“With a fire and tea,” Hermann says. He shuts the door before more snow can drift in to melt on the hardwood. “Er. For now, anyway. And do hang your jacket this time.”

Newton stumbles out of his winter things in record time, and then stumbles after Hermann the moment they’re tossed haphazardly onto the coat rack. “It’s so…neat in here,” he says, marveling as they pass through the tidy kitchen to get to the equally tidy sitting room, where the fireplace blazes away. “Did you do anything besides clean while I was gone?”

The truth of the matter is that Hermann (lost to mathematical abstraction, and lacking a partner to snap him out of it) let his clutter—half-finished tea, discarded notebook pages, broken pencils and chalk—pile up on every available surface throughout the two weeks of Newton’s absence, and only remembered the previous evening that this was not the usual state of their flat and he ought to see to it very quickly before Newton arrived home. He hopes Newton doesn’t take a peek inside their study any time soon. “Er, something like that,” Hermann says. “Clean, and miss you horrendously. How was the trip?”

“Long,” Newton says. He sits on the couch and drags Hermann down with him. There’s something different in his face Hermann can’t quite put his finger on—he’s changed somehow, Hermann is sure of it, but the question is how? Has he resorted to his spare pair of glasses? No—these are the ones he usually wears; Hermann can see the miniscule crack at the bottom of the left lens, sustained after a particularly energic round of lovemaking in which Hermann rolled right over on top of them. Not that any of that is at all relevant, of course. “Lonely. Fascinating, though, I wish you’d come with me.”

Newton was excited about his trip for weeks. Even the extinction of his object of study couldn’t make him any less one of the top k-biologists, and he was brought in to oversee the salvaging of some of the very last kaiju remains in existence—preserved all these years since the closure of the Breach by the ice of Alaska. Newton sent picture after picture of it, the snow, him bumbling around in the snow in Hermann’s borrowed winter parka, the team he led bundled up in parkas of their own. Hermann knows he ought to ask about it and ask how the salvage efforts went; he knows he ought to ask about the cold, and the snow, and whether or not the other remaining k-scientists were anyone they’d worked with before. Instead, he can’t seem to stop squinting at Newton. “Have you cut your hair?” Hermann says. “Or styled it differently, perhaps? Only there’s something so different about you, I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Different?” Newton says, frowning. “What do you—?" Then he laughs. “Oh! Yeah, I was wayyyy too busy to shave. You’re looking at, like, about as close as I ever get to a full-on beard.” He drags his hand over his jaw, and it rasps audibly. Of course—how did Hermann not realize that from Newton’s scratchy kisses? His stubble, usually so carefully maintained (even in the midst of the war), is overgrown enough to verge on thick, and for the first time Hermann notices the decent smattering of grey across it. It’s—well—it’s hardly a bad look on him. Rather, Hermann might say it’s the opposite. It makes him look older, a bit more…er, distinguished. “You like it?”

Hermann remembers the marvelous way it scratched across his skin. “Hmm,” he says.

Newton laughs again, and tugs at the front of Hermann’s sweater. “C’mon, take this off already. It’s been two weeks, dude.”

Hermann can’t argue with that logic.

Later, in bed, as Newton—having volunteered selflessly for the duty of big spoon—snores away happily at Hermann’s back, Hermann considers recent developments. He’s never been dissatisfied with Newton’s appearance before; he’s never looked at his husband and thought oh, I wish his hair was a bit different, or I could do without those glasses. Certainly never I want him to have a big, magnificent face of grey stubble that tickles my neck and my chest and my thighs and… Hermann presses his face into his pillow and groans in mortification. Oh, but God, it is an improvement. It’s an improvement Hermann never knew Newton needed. Not that he did need it—it’s just—Oh.

Newton mumbles something in his sleep and rolls away from Hermann. His stubble catches and drags on the back of Hermann’s neck, and Hermann stifles a moan into the pillow this time. Newton intends to shave it off, Hermann knows. Hermann watched him unpack his suitcase in the bedroom, watched him carefully tuck his shaving kit back into the medicine cabinet with a laugh and a reassurance of that very fact (take a picture while you can, it’s coming off tomorrow), all while he felt the tingle of irritated skin between his thighs that Newton had left behind on the couch. He snuck a glimpse at it when he changed into pyjamas—a faded red that matches that on his neck.

To explain to Newton why it is imperative he not proceed with his planned shave would be far too mortifying an experience for Hermann to undergo. And Newton would certainly never let him hear the end of it. No; it would be better to take matters into his own hands. Hermann swings two socked feet to the floor and reaches for his cane as quietly as he can manage.

Newton’s back-up disposable razors are snapped in two and buried in the bottom of the trashcan, beneath two weeks’ worth of dental floss and paper Dixie cups. His nice shaving kit proves a bit more of a challenge, not in the least because Hermann bought it for him as a birthday gift not long ago, and the thought of intentionally damaging it makes him cringe. He settles on simply stealing all the razor attachments and hiding them at the bottom of the spare hand towel basket. Hopefully, by the time they turn up, Newton will have long-since decided to grow out his stubble even further.

Newton stirs very lightly when Hermann tucks himself back beneath the bedspread and Newton’s arm. “’S the matter?” he mumbles.

“Had to use the loo,” Hermann whispers back.

“Mm,” Newton says, and presses his lips Hermann’s shoulder once before his breathing slowly evens out.

Hermann lazes in bed late the next morning. Late for them, anyway; pseudo-retirement hasn’t managed to knock a decade of strict routine out of him and Newton yet, and they still wake and dress before the sunrise like the war never ended. However, a soft, warm, and jetlagged Newton in his arms is hard to pull himself away from, especially with nothing but a foot of snow outside to look forward to, so he lets himself drift happily in and out of dreams for a good hour or so. Until Newton’s cell phone alarm startles them both up, that is. “Ugh,” Newton groans, smacking around on the bedside table for it. “Stupid thing. Where—”

He left it on Hermann’s bedside table. Hermann switches it off.

“Thanks, dude,” Newton says. He yawns. “Got a meeting this afternoon about the, uh, samples. Never get a break.”

Hermann hears him walk to the bathroom. He hears him open the medicine cabinet. He hears the zip of his shaving kit bag. “Uh,” Newton says. He pokes his head into the bedroom. “Hermann, do you know what happened to my razor?”

Hermann sits up and feigns a frown. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Like, all the parts are gone,” Newton says. He rifles through the kit again, as if to be sure, and shakes his head. “Yeah. They’re all gone. Shit, did I leave them at the base?”

“Oh, no,” Hermann says. “Your nice razor? The one I got you?”

Newton ducks back into the bathroom; Hermann hears him rattle around in the medicine cabinet again. “All my razors are missing. What the hell? I have a meeting in a few hours, I can’t show up looking like—” There’s a loud clatter, as if Newton knocked all their medication bottles over into the sink, and he swears. “Oh, well that’s fucking peachy.” He slams the cabinet door shut.

“Newton, come back to bed,” Hermann calls. He and Newton have limited time before they’re meant to start their responsibilities for the day, and he would like very much to enjoy that time to the fullest. “You’re making a mess of things. I’m sure you’ve just misplaced your razor—perhaps it’s in your suitcase.” When Newton doesn’t immediately bend to his command, Hermann rolls his eyes and lowers his voice. “Newton, darling,” he says, though this time in more of a purr. “Come back to bed.”

Newton is back and on Hermann in a flash. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he says between kisses. His fingers creep up Hermann’s pajama shirt and graze over Hermann’s ribs before tugging the shirt off entirely. “Hermann, I missed having sex with you so bad. You have no idea. Ugh.” He grinds his prick, already hard, into Hermann’s clothed thigh, and nips at his ear. “I kept thinking about your stupid sexy face, and your stupid sexy dick, and your stupid hair—” He burrows himself into the crook of Hermann’s newly bared neck and shoulder and kisses his collarbone, and Hermann moans at the scratchy sensation of his stubble shadow before he can help himself.

“Newton,” he gasps, “oh, bugger—”

“Ha, yeah, you like when I talk about your sexy dick, babe?” Newton says. “It’s so awesome and sexy, I can’t wait to—"

“Not that,” Hermann says. “Kiss me there again.” Newton obliges; Hermann whimpers and shivers, and (before he can help himself) confesses aloud “Oh, that damn beard of yours… I want it all over me…”

Newton pulls away with a frown. “You do?” he says. “Wait. Hermann—did you do something to my razor?”

“No,” Hermann lies. He wiggles around in a desperate attempt to get Newton’s stubble back on his skin, but Newton only pulls back further. He sighs. “Er. Perhaps. They’re just hidden, is all.”

Newton’s frown flicks up into a grin, and he laughs. “Dude, you could’ve just told me. You’re so dumb. So you like when I do this, then?” He dips back down to kisses a trail along Hermann’s sternum, making sure to graze his cheeks over his skin at every inch. “Or this?” He ducks beneath the covers and nuzzles at Hermann’s abdomen.

“Yes,” Hermann moans to the Newton-shaped lump under the blanket. Newton’s fingers work open his drawstring and slowly inch his pajama trousers down. “Yes, Newton, ah—”

“Or—”

Suffice to say, Newton keeps the beard.

[freetobeafcknriot]

apocalypse world midam for the hc ask please? thank u

hello! okay so, i got (unsurprisingly) carried away. i kept it at five but they're a bit long, so i'll put them under the cut. also i wasn't sure whether you wanted the apocalypse world from the show or not; i went with a generic, completely unrelated au, tell me if i got it wrong!

i hope they're not terrible! :')

𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑚 + 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑦𝑝𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑!𝑎𝑢

okay so — they meet by accident. and by accident, i mean that adam was hiking his way up to a meeting point after he got separated from his mom and the group of people he basically grew up with. we’re several generations from now in the future; the world is at its limits, nature has taken its course, and the few humans that still walk the earth are descendants of the ones who survived a big extinction-level event a few decades ago. they live in units, basically, with very little ways to communicate with each other, but they manage somehow. anyway, yeah, it’s not a safe world to live in if you count natural disasters, wild animals, and strange beasts that are kind of like the monsters preternatural tales talk about. what happens is, one day, adam is alone. it’s a miracle that he managed to survive to see another day honestly, it wasn’t a good night for him and being the sane person that he is, he’s freaked out, to say the least. but he manages to stay rational enough to decide that if the others are still alive they’ll make their way up to one of the nearest safe zones. so he gets his bearings and moves. which is easier said than done because what the sea didn’t reach, the forests did. but yeah anyway — one day, he meets michael.

it would be more accurate to say that michael saved his ass, actually. adam’s not a scaredy cat or a damsel in distress by all means, but remember the monsters i mentioned before? yeah, they suck and there is very little chance of survival. so this stranger appears out of the blue and saves adam. it’s unclear if he did it out of the goodness of his heart because later on, when adam tries to take a look at an ugly scratch on his arm, the response isn’t great. he finds out that the strange man’s name is michael and apparently his strength equals his idiosyncrasies. he’s kind of rude, stubborn, haughty, and overall interacting with him is unnerving and weird, and he thinks the exact same thing about adam. they argue more than they talk, but they end up sticking together (out of convenience and need at first, then later on things start to level up).

michael has cryptic mannerisms and apparently, he doesn’t have anyone left. he seems lost, but not in a childish way, there is some sort of sorrow and something old and unique that adam can’t pinpoint and michael won’t reveal. point is, the plan is to go north and hope to reach this camp adam never saw before but has heard of. he knows where it is, but the trail is long and exhausting; there is two of them though, and they sort of compliment each other. once michael begins to patronize adam less and stops giving off the impression he would rather be literally anywhere else, and once adam gets less snarky and impulsive and starts to approach him in a different, more patient way — they get to an agreement and it’s good! because adam has the knowledge of a healer and is actually smart, so he knows when to keep out of the rain from the color of the clouds and which berries and herbs are good to gather. and michael, for his part, knows his way around nature, it’s like his senses are enhanced, and he’s strong beyond belief. heals fast, too. man, the things he can do with a small pebble. . .

they travel and they get close, eventually. especially when they reach their destination and find it in ruins — the damages are pretty recent, and there are bodies here and there, plagued with some sort of disease. it’s a lot, but they have each other. so they decide the best course of action and move on with the intention of finding other humans. some days, the fatigue gets so much they have to stop (it’s mostly adam, and he’s so stubborn michael literally picked him up and went and dropped himself under a tree once, legs on either side of the younger man’s body. adam got him back when he was the one being insufferable, he all but snapped, ‘i love you, but if you don’t rest for a godamn minute and let me see that wound i’m gonna smack you’. wasn’t the best way to say i love you but it worked). other days, they manage to go more than 24 hours without threats (sometimes they run into abandoned places and they’re lucky enough to find supplies. michael managed to put together something resembling a sweet once and it was so worth the sunny smile on adam’s face!). it’s ups and downs, really,

the one thing that never changes is, they always talk. and they always find something good to be seen in one another. they sit on top of some old tree every day before sunset, because it’s safer, and they share what little they have. they stay in each other's space — both as companions seeking for warmth and as lovers. the sky doesn't look right. the color is off and there is always the possibility that one day the sun might just go out; they know, they talked about it. so michael puts his arm around adam's shoulders and adam takes his hand, and they discuss which way they'll go look for other people that surely are out there the following day. that is, until their conversations shift to anecdotes about the long-gone species and plants that adam got to know through his mom and old books, and old tales that go way, way back in time and that michael got so good at telling one could almost think they really happened or that he was there too. they have each other until the very end, and that's... good. you have to find some sort of reason in a world like that, right? well, there it is! at some point, their own ‘sort of reason’ started to be right next to each other.

ref.

[foreficfandom]

The Arcana - Taking Care Of Sick MC

(Minor trigger warnings for: mentions of the in-game plague, fear of sickness, medicinal bugs)

– Asra –

Asra notices your cold the same time you do. Right when he wakes up next to you and sees your pallid complexion, he immediately knows you’ve got the bug.

He usually takes any chance he can get to sleep in, but not this time. First a gentle word of assurance, then quickly to the kitchen to heat up some water for a medicinal tea mix. As the water boils, he feels your neck and face - not too hot. Thankfully it’s not serious, just inconvenient. 

Expect a lot of home remedies. Healing magic is too ostentatious for a simple cold, and it’s not a field Asra’s familiar with, anyways. He insists you eat some porridge, and drink lots of honeyed water. There’s lots of mugs of various teas, some awfully bitter but Asra insists you bear with it. You get a very pungent astringent balm on your chest for congestion, and he can’t hold in his giggles when you complain about how much it burns.

A lot of these remedies are trusted green witchery. Asra isn’t super skilled at making tinctures, but it’s enough to help a cold. Some he learned while studying magic, some he actually did invent.

He’s gonna manage the shop while you sleep. He lights lavender incense and mint candles, and Faust also stays upstairs to keep you company. Every hour he does a quick check to make sure you’re doing alright, or not sneaking out of bed. If he catches you, he bodyblocks you with a smirk until you sheepishly crawl back under the covers.

When there’s a lull in the shop, Asra hangs out at your bedside with a book, or some small chores he can quietly do with his hands. If you’re awake, the two of you chat a bit, mostly he does to save the strain on your throat. 

His herb teas do make a difference, and by evening you feel better. Bit more porridge and a hot bath, and your fever’s waned a lot. Asra drags out the comfiest blankets to wrap you tightly. Unfortunately, you’re gonna have to sleep alone tonight while Asra takes the couch, just to be safe.

Once you feel better, you finally get kisses. The best reward for recovery.

– Julian –

You’re in luck. Julian may have been described as a ‘hack doctor’ by certain bitter individuals, but in truth he’s a trusted physician well versed in internal medicine. All he’s gotta do is see your watery eyes and red nose, and he’s on the case. 

His clinic has some of the top-of-the-line medical technology, including a spiffy glass stick with a line of liquid mercury encased inside, which expands according to temperature. He has you sit on a patient bed and checks the inside of your throat, feels your face for lumps, uses a magnifying glass on your eyes and ears, lays his head on your chest to hear your lungs, all the things he does as a working doctor. 

It can even be a bit weird to see Julian switch into ‘professional’ mode while handling you. He’s got impeccable bedside manners, keeping you cheery and comforted as he pokes and prods, but you’re not just some patient, he’s your boyfriend and it’s kinda odd (or sexy???) to be sitting in his clinic like this. 

Nevertheless, he eventually diagnoses you with “a godly beauty and shining soul - oh, and also you have a cold”. He actually has you take up one of the beds in the clinic rather than go back upstairs to the apartment, and voila, an assistant registers you on the roster as an inpatient. There’s a reason for that, other than to make you blush - this way, he can prescribe medications. 

You get four servings of this awful tar-like tincture made out of lungwort, crab’s eye, snail venom, and other obscure ingredients. Assistants come by to wipe your face with a cold towel, and check your vitals. They don’t acknowledge your relationship with Julian, only treating you with the gentlest of respect. Jokes would be inappropriate, and Julian’s clinic values professionalism. They care about your health more than embarrassing you. 

The next morning, you wake to Dr. Julian announcing you nearing recovery already. But he doesn’t actually dismiss you until the fever’s completely gone, which means being stuck in the clinic for a couple of days and witnessing firsthand how strict Dr. Julian can be when it comes to his patients. At least it’s an excuse to see him more often. But you’re thankful to finally escape the role of the patient, and back to being Julian’s partner. Your bill? Several kisses!

– Nadia –

It’s just a cold, but Nadia immediately calls in the court doctor to perform a full physical. A hidden part of her normally-rational brain balks at any indication that someone she cares about might be sick. Blame the plague. 

Luckily it’s just a minor fever, so you’re prescribed lots of liquids and bedrest, along with some immunity-boosting citrus lozenges. Within a few minutes the servants retrofit the bedroom to be warm and invitingly dim, place heated bedpans under your feet, light sheh smoke, and deliver a large tray to your bedside. A teapot of water is kept hot over a miniature coal burner.

Nadia takes as much of her free time to dote on you. Which, unfortunately, isn’t a whole lot of time, she can only help you drink some ginger tea and wipe your face before she’s due for Countess work. But she positions a guard at your door with instructions that they’re to wait on your every whim. 

She spends the whole day thinking about you in the back of her mind, hoping you’re at least comfortable and healing properly. She finally gets a break for lunch, and rushes to the bedroom to check on you; you’re sitting up and reading, and she’s happy you’re well enough to enjoy yourself but you should be sleeping! Did the servants bring up your broth yet, have you taken your lozenges and tea, is your bedpan too cold, is the fire stoked too high

You try to calm her down through your stuffy nose; rarely do you see her so flustered. Nadia and you have lunch, and she’s eating the same thing you are because she’s not gonna eat delicious roasts while you’re stuck with broth.  

Duties again call her away until evening (she had dinner with dignitaries), and she gets the servants to run you a bath with rosemary and mint to help open up your sinuses. The two of you spend the night in separate rooms which makes you whine and her tempted to abandon decades of royal dignity to join you.

But before too long, you’re all better and life resumes as normal. She promises to dote on you no matter the state of your health.

– Muriel –

He hears you cough and says bluntly, “you have a cough”. You’ve known him well enough to know that in Muriel-speak, that translates to “I recognize that sound, and I’m going to help you take care of it”. Living in the forest can be hazardous to one’s health, and Muriel has a lot of experience with colds, fevers, and infections.

First step is to stoke the fire to blazing temperatures, then heating lots of clean water for tea and soup. He wraps you in multiple furs until you’re a pile seated near the hearth. He props the door open to let in fresh air, which offsets the uncomfortably sauna-like heat of the fire. A bundle of lemongrass is thrown into the hearth to smoke a citrusy scent throughout the hut, soothing your headache.

Whenever Muriel would get sick, he’d just plow through the day and hope he can sweat out his fever through chopping wood. But you deserve better than that, so you’re let off of chores until you’re better. Muriel balances his duties with nursing you, which is a little tough ‘cause he’s gotten so used to having an extra set of hands. But it’s definitely worth it, if you’d get better. 

He comes back from checking the rabbit traps to feed you a salty bone broth, and brews his green-magic tea brew (that he and Asra invented together) that has elderflower, willow bark, and ginseng. After lunch, he needs to leave again, so urges Inanna to cuddle you while he’s gone.

Finally, the chores are (largely) done, and he can finally afford his full attention to your pitiful, coughing self. He pulls out his rare ingredients - albatross feather, dried glowshroom - and charges them with magic before making it into a bitter powder he urges you to eat. Effectively a magical antibiotic, just in case of infection.

By night, you’re well enough to walk around and eat a bit more, and he’s feeling reassured. You spot one of his tiny smiles. But he pushes away your kisses until you’re for sure all cured. 

A couple more days of his tried-and-true forest witchery, and there’s no more coughing. Finally the two of you get to cuddle in the furs like you usually do! It’s felt like ages, you say, and Muriel can’t help but agree.

– Portia – 

First step upon hearing your raspy voice? Portia rushes to the kitchen (with Pepi hot on her heels because running time!! Yay!) to cook one of Mazelinka’s fever soups. Portia unfortunately lacks the ingredients to make Mazelinka’s more magical dishes, but there’s enough here for a nutrient-rich, hydrating broth, perfect for a cold.

She sends a pigeon to the castle to call in a sick day, so Portia can take her time in feeling up your forehead, heating water, and hauling out the thick winter quilts to sweat out your fever. You don’t look too bad, but it’s a shame Julian’s on a cruise right now. Otherwise, she’d drag him over right quick to do a check-up.

She mixes up a pot of ginger honey tea and leaves you with Pepi while she visits Mazelinka to request a remedy. Before too long, Portia comes back with a large jug of this thick, grassy-smelling stew with rice and various herbs. She insists on feeding you while you’re laid up in bed, which isn’t necessary but it makes her giggle so you indulge her. It tastes delicious, and you finish a large bowlful while Portia chats brightly and cracks jokes, making sure your spirits are high - the most important when it comes to recovery! 

You’re not sure what was in Mazelinka’s soup (although you’re pretty sure the ‘rice’ was actually scuttlebug larvae) but your fever’s waned a lot by the time you wake up from your nap. Portia’s right there when you open your eyes, knitting and humming to herself. She sees you awake and can tell you’re feeling better, which makes her smile. 

Dinner is the second half of Mazelinka’s soup, and then Portia fills the wooden tub for a nice, hot bath. Even your voice is less raspy now, so she and you chat while you soak. You’re so much healthier now that you don’t have to be in separate beds come nighttime, which truly is a blessing.

The first thing you do when you’re fully recovered is beg Mazelinka for her soup recipe. She relinquishes it to you, on the promise you won’t monetize it for your shop or anything, and you swear you won’t. Portia’s puppy-dog eyes probably wasn’t a necessary tactic, but appreciated none the same. 

– Lucio –

You wake up feverish and Lucio’s first step is to arrange the things he’d like to do on his sick days. Hot mulled wine, a giant bath of citrus oil and lavender, and the best doctors of Vesuvia to wait on him you hand and foot. You have to stop him before he goes too far, which is easier said than done with a sore throat versus an ex-Count on a mission.

You turn down the huge platters of petit-fours, but Lucio insists on the doctors, who come in and do a thorough check-up per Lucio’s strict orders. But it doesn’t take a full physical to ensure that you’ve just got a simple cold, and all you really need is water and rest. 

Lucio calls off all his plans so he can dedicate the entire day to keeping you company. He asks if you have a headache, if your sinuses are clogged, if your muscles are sore. You say yes to anything, he’ll try to call the doctors back and insist they give you some sort of medicinal relief. After lots of hemming and hawing, you get a walnut and cherry-based tincture to reduce inflammation, and also a peppermint lemon tea. 

He looks at your meager medicines and asks if you’re sure you don’t want anything more. He could call his pets up if you want some cuddles? Maybe we can take one of those baths? What about some dessert, just because? Or we can call up the troubadour to play some music - 

Lucio seems strangely contrite when you say that all you need is some rest. He’s very hesitant to leave you alone, so you kept feeling his gaze as you tried to nap. Finally, you asked what was his deal - you appreciate his attention, but something’s obviously wrong.

He’s not someone very in tune with his emotions, so it takes a while before you’re able to mine Lucio’s tremulous inner thoughts; when he was dying of the plague, Lucio hated being alone in his huge room, and ordered company whenever he could. There was no medicine that offered proper relief from his pains, and all he could do was wait and fear the inevitable. 

Seeing you sick, even with just a simple fever, brought back those memories. He’d do anything to make sure you never experienced that. Especially knowing what you’ve already been through.

You gently hold Lucio’s hand and assure him that things like fevers and sickness, they’re part of the living experience and they’re made much better with good company. Actual, good company that offers love and support. Which you have, with Lucio here.

He’s always struck dumbfounded whenever you describe him with noble attributes. He feels like he’s the one recovering from … something, rather than you. 

A few more nights, and you’re as fit as a fiddle. To celebrate, Lucio orders a large spread of your favorite foods to make up for all the bland mush you had to deal with. He’s back to being good ol’ Lucio, but you know that an inner part of him has changed for the better. 

[speedylightpeach]

A Decade and a bit

*Trigger warnings*

*18+ content*

It’s been about 12 years since I met a guy and ended up pregnant. I wanna say it was a choice, but it most certainly was not on purpose. I remember finding out, and being so afraid he would leave; telling my mom the same, just to have her blow up at him. Funny because now, I look back, wishing he’d have left right then and there. For the next 11 years it was bound to be hell; and all I can think is, how did I do this to myself? How did I allow this all to happen to me? How was I too blind to know I deserved better? I don’t know but still to this day, it haunts me, and unfortunately 60% of the time, I still don't believe I deserve better. February 2010 my daughter was conceived, honestly I was so happy, excited even. I remember hearing her first heartbeat, he wasn't there. I remember walking home with the biggest smile on my face, and feeling so stupid at the same time, walking around with this big weird smile on my face. She was a blessing. In the very beginning I decided I would raise her right, and try my best to build her up and make her strong. My mom always put me down, told me I couldn’t do anything. Well, she, that’s another whole different fricking story. Being pregnant was amazing, feeling baby move and just patiently waiting. I got lucky and didn’t even have bad morning sickness or pains or anything. Months roll around and these little red flags popped up but for some reason I was blind to them till later. I guess I just can handle a lot of shit. 6 maybe 7 months pregnant and we were walking somewhere, and i remember him like pulling me along and rushing me, and I was just so pregnant that I was getting stitches and it hurt, but he didn’t care cuz we had somewhere to be. I don’t even remember where, but the red flags came more and more, and I ignored them all. Not wanting to feel like I was an ass for thinking he was being an ass. He was an ass, and it only got worse and maybe I was an ass too, I don't think I'm innocent here, maybe we are both victims. I remember the day my daughter was born. I remember staying in Edmonton at his dad’s, doing the waiting game. November 23 2011, at 4:30 am, I remember waking him up and telling him that I was counting my contractions and I thought it was time. Now, after previously wishing he’d have left at the very beginning, this here is the next moment I wish we’d have separated and never turned back. Okay and first I have to say, this wasn’t one of those pregnancies where u end up going into the hospital ten times and just unsure. I went in once, around my due date to get induced, a week later, here we are. he looks at me, half asleep, and says “okay, well you go, and call me from the hospital if it’s time.” I wish i had walked out the door and let him miss it, sure seems like he didn’t even wanna be there. I have heard a lot of pregnancy stories, and I for one, had it easy. I went in at 4:30 am and had her by noon, with no complications. And while in the state I was in I sure would have liked to sleep, but here I’m looking over and he’s sleeping on the cot. Not enduring this with me, sleeping up to the very last moment. Just feels like the majority of these moments I look back and he wasn’t there. I thought the first couple years were good with the three of us, but I keep remembering things. Within the first year and a half of having her, I remember getting into an fight, and I remember him throwing a chair and being so afraid every time he would come near me. I’m pretty passive, until someone comes at me all aggressive. Honestly, this isn’t even the worst. Well, I’m not going to lie, in the first year or two with my daughter I spent a lot of nights going out to the bar, and he was pretty good about staying home with her, I mean even if he was just gunna sit and play video games all night anyways. I loved the bar. I loved the music, the way I felt so free and so good. Unfortunately, it got out of control. Maybe it had been so long since I felt the sparks of someone just simply touching a shoulder. A touch that didn't make me cringe, and I will tell you, if it makes you

cringe, I swear to god, go with your gut. Anyways, so I ended up way to drunk, and I ended up making out with the wrong guy. I remember feeling so good but so bad. I have a pretty good conscience, so I came clean. And boy did I eat shit. Well deserved I know, I crossed a line, maybe broke him, I'm not sure. I have never been more sorry in my life. And from that day on I basically quit drinking, we split up, kind of. I wanted that attachment so at this point I was basically willing to do whatever it took to get him back. To get him to see that I could change and i could be better. After a few months of doing these things I absolutely hated doing, he left and called me name after name after name. Letting me in just enough to get the good feels, then shoving my down in the ditch to drown, because for all i knew, that's what i deserved after what i did. 6 months apart, he’s living in Edmonton with his brother, unfortunately his brother was quite a mess at times too. Couldn't hold up his end, the bills were too much and my ex, well he needed help. So, he finally decided to let me back in. I remember the day we drove to Edmonton, it was February 2014, it was still winter and the winds were so bad, my mom didn't even wanna drive. It was like sign after sign after sign. The winds were like 100km winds, semi’s were blowing off the roads, and yet, I went. It was fine for a while, the three of us all living in one room, until one night my ex is at work, and his brother gets wasted and just starts getting so mad, clearly I just don't deal with aggression well. My ex came home and we ended up having to leave cuz his brother was on house arrest. He lost his job too for leaving to deal with our family crisis. We ended up grabbing everything we could from this place, losing a lot because all we could take was what we could take on the train with us. We managed to find another place, again all three of us living in one room sharing a house with a few Filipino people, they were pretty cool. The fighting never dulled or stopped. It was always something. I remember once being shown a Facebook account, with a Latino name and being assured that i had a fake Facebook account. The only thing was, it wasn't me. I will tell you another thing, a really shitty feeling, is when you're defending yourself persistently for something you didn't even do. Being told over and over again that your wrong when you know you're right. Being told I cheated with someone I never had. The landlord ended up selling the place so we found some roommates to move in with, another couple who had kids. These people were, intense to say lightly. Some what the same though, She couldn't leave without being harassed to come back home and deal with the kids. At this point I couldn't even see my best friend, because she had guys with her. I remember her coming to town and asking me to go to Red’s or something, and it was just such a fight to let me go. Are there guys? He didn't want me to go, and i remember swearing up and down that it wasn't his fault that I wouldn't go. He eventually did let me go, but when i came home it was assumptions and accusations. Seems like after this point every time i left the house, to go to work, to anything, I always walked back in to assumptions and accusations. I remember getting phone calls at work, with him screaming at me, and my coworkers just looking at me like I'm fucked. I wish I knew why I put up with it all. At this point I've probably been solely providing for my family for at least 4 years, since he lost that job. It was so hard to make ends meet with 13 dollars an hour and i just wore myself out. Sadly those were the days, i would ask my boss if i could stay longer, just so I didn't have to go home. This is where things really took a turn, because it wasn't just things I was doing anymore. Now its things someone else is doing, some stranger logging into his games and apps with convenient names to harass and make him feel bad. Which, I don’t know, I still to this day see as coincidences. Maybe I was wrong for not supporting him, I

honestly didn't know how. After all the times, I honestly felt like I would be lying if I said I believed it, and I had no one to talk to. I had already lost touch with reality. One day, the fight got so bad, I will never forget this day, it severely haunts me, and I pray I never get treated this way again. I don't even remember what we were fighting about, but it was bad, there were things thrown everywhere, glass smashed all over the place, my favorite things all broken. I remember standing in the kitchen while he picked up the weeks worth of garbage in the can and dumped it on me, and called me trash. And people wonder why I have no self worth, because I dealt with shit like this for too long. I broke. After the trash it was bong water, all over my Chili Peppers shirt stained with resin for life. I remember this was close to my daughters birthday. I was making her a cake and he threw that everywhere. I still have the video of the way the house looked. Whore, cunt, bitch, stupid. I pray that no one ever gets put down in this way. And fuck me, I still went back to him. Still allowed him another chance for what I don't know. With my mom and my best friend telling to leave, I justified it. Relationships are hard they take work, but hun not this much. Her birthday comes and he sits in his room the whole day. I don't remember the fight after that, the only thing I do remember was my daughter and niece in the living room probably only 4 and5 and he picked up my PlayStation and just threw it flat down right in front of them, and they looked so scared. At this point I’m yelling at him to get the fuck out. Do something to me that's one thing, I can take it a lot better than those poor little kids, whom had done nothing. As he was walking up the stairs I said his name and he turned around. I punched him in the face, and that was the first time I had ever hit anyone in the face ever. Its weird, I get to a point where I've had enough but then I'm okay and decide I guess I can handle a little more I don't know maybe it will be better, they say things get better… they didn't. I think it was 2017 when he finally moved back to our old town. Not long after I followed, I guess I just couldn't give myself the time to find something better, someone better. Ended up moving back in with him. This time, was the last time. This argument was horrid. Not as bad as having bong water and garbage dumped on you, but words have a way of sticking in the brain. Another fight i don't remember at all what I did, but I remember sitting on the deck begging my friend to come get me, when he throws a bag of roast beef sandwich meat at me and says my cunt smells. This guy has torn me down in every way possible. I honestly don't even have a clue as to how to rebuild myself. I wanted to leave the meat behind on the bed, with a note “ For when you start to miss me” I wish I had, but I guess I just didn't want to sink that low. I didn't realize how low I was already sinking. When he wanted sex that was it, he was either gunna belittle me until I just laid there and took it or he’d go watch porn and grope me while I tried to ignore it all. Honestly this is my biggest pain. I never want to feel what that feels like ever again. Lets be clear, he never once actually hit me, before he had pushed the back of the rocking chair and basically thrown me out of it, and this last time, he put his hand on my face and he shoved me. And I don't know why, but that's when I really broke. I walked out that door and never came back. We tried to be friends later, but it was too hard. He would try to kiss me and honestly cringe, to having to turn away to block a kiss u don't want. I so nicely explained how hard we tried and that we just had to let go. Spent a few months doing a lot of molly together. Before I realized I was sinking again, this time to molly. She felt so good. Gave me that feeling I wanted. Peace in my heart. No worries. No anger. Nothing. Peace. Just over two years separated and I honestly hope he leaves our lives and doesn't come back. I am sorry, that he misses

out on his kid, but I cannot fathom the idea of her going through the same tragedies I have. Today, I have anxiety, severe depression, mostly likely BPD, 60% of the time I feel like I'm drowning, or wish I was. I cant work, I hate going out for fear of people thinking and seeing me the way he did. All of those things he said have shaped the way I see myself and its so sad. One day, I hope I find my worth. And you, remember to love yourself more than anything else. I didn’t and it destroyed me. I had all the chances in the world to turn my life around, don’t miss yours.

[princess-of-riviaa]

The Last Time (Part 1)

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: As an agent of the CIA, August is always leaving you. This time, you’re sure your heart is too broken for it be mended.  But when he shows up in your life after a six month absence, you realize things are never so simple with him.

Author’s Note: If you’ve read any of my other work (I’m looking at you, Vices Chapter 5) then you know that I have a weird obsession with a couple sharing a meal together and enjoying wine. I just think it’s very romantic and relaxing and the idea of someone cooking my favorite meal for me in my home gets me all soft. So I had to put it in here. Enjoy ;) also, I am obsessed with Taylor Swift and one of my all time fav songs of hers is “The Last Time” on her Red album, which gave me a lot of inspiration for this fic lol

Warning(s): there is literally no smut, just angst (I’m writing a part 2 to this that will include smut)

Word Count: 2.5k

There’s a second impatient knock on your front door before you can even reach it. “One second! God, don’t you know that it takes time to answer a fucking door--” you began as you pulled the door open, then paused.

Hard blue eyes and a blank face stared down at you. His facial hair had grown out since you’d last seen him--what was it, six months?--but he was still just as thick with muscle. His brown curly hair was cut short and brushed back nicely, though his button-down shirt and jeans had blood stains on them. If you were anyone else, seeing August Walker standing at your door should have been enough to make you pee your pants or run and hide. But being who you were, and him being who he was, all you could do was stare at him.

He took you in, too, taking a minute to scan every inch of you and ensure you were the same woman he’d left behind all that time ago. August opened his mouth--

You slammed the door in his face.

“Seriously?” He scoffed, his deep voice loud enough to be heard through the door.

“Go away!” you hollered back.

“I’m not leaving,” he insisted.

“Go! Away!” You repeated, hitting your door and imagining it was him you were hitting instead, wanting to hurt him as much as he’d hurt you.

“Let me in,” he said calmly, knowing you would.

“Fuck you, August.” A lump formed in your throat. It became difficult to breathe, difficult to swallow, difficult to think--though the latter had more to do with who was on the other side of your door and less about the tears you struggled to hold back.

“Y/N.” Just the sound of your name on his lips made you want to give in. You wanted him to hold you in his arms as he kissed you passionately, his mouth whispering “I’m sorry”s against your own.

You crossed your arms, trying to resist the urge to open the door again. You knew your worth, knew you deserved more than what this man could give you. But you wanted him--oh, how you wanted him.

“January,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear it.

You gasped. That name... that stupid nickname he had for you... god, it shouldn’t have so much power over you. But you found yourself opening the door anyways. You glared up at him, ignoring the relief in his blue eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want to come home,” he said.

You scoffed. “Tired of the bounty hunter life already?”

“Tired of being away from the one thing that matters in my life,” he corrected.

You paused. He always knew just what to say. It was what you hated and loved about him: his beautiful words full of empty promises. “You should leave. You’re doing no one any good by being here.”

He took a step towards you and his scent overwhelmed your senses. That faint hint of his cologne--something woodsy--mixed with the smell that was pure August wrapped around you in a phantom embrace. You practically whimpered. The day that smell had vanished from your sheets and clothes had been a hard one. You’d wanted that smell back ever since you lost it. Now that it was here, overwhelming you, you only wanted it to disappear again. “I needed to see you. I needed to make sure you were alright, that no one had touched you.”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze as you snapped back, “You’ve worked hard to make sure that the world has no idea who I am, so no, no one’s come after me.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him. The hurt in his eyes was surprising; he was usually a mask of indifference, refusing to let the world into his mind.

“You said you needed to see me,” you repeated. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now leave.”

“January,” he said again, stepping even closer to you. You were now pressed against your apartment’s foyer wall, stuck between that and August. “The promise of a fresh start.”

You knew what he was saying without having to actually say it. He was asking for forgiveness--for abandoning you like he always does, for making you worried sick for six months straight that each new day you’d wake up and hear the news that he was dead. “I’ve given you plenty of fresh starts, and they always end the same. With you running off on some new adventure and me all alone and broken hearted. You ruin me every time.”

“My adventure is when I’m with you,” he corrected. “My missions are just work.”

He was so close to you, so large against your small frame, that you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His shoes brushed against your bare toes and he eyed the thin tank top and booty shorts you were dressed in. The look made heat spread through your body and your thighs clenched together. It was always so easy for him to get under your skin. You hated it but you were helpless to fight against it.

“I missed you,” he said in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I missed falling asleep beside you every night. I missed coming home to a warm bed with you in it, your legs all tangled up in the sheets as you dreamed about me--about us. I missed touching you, missed marking what was mine.”

A whine caught in your throat at his words. You were suddenly glad to be leaning against the wall because your legs almost gave out at the thought of him taking you, fucking you, claiming you.

He moved slowly as he brought his hand up to your face, letting you push him away at any second. But you couldn’t--not when he was all you could hear and see and smell. He hadn’t even touched you and already you were bending to his will. His fingers brushed across your cheek in a gentle caress. “Tell me you missed me just as much, Y/N.”

Oh, just the way he said your name! You gave in and leaned into his touch as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“Or tell me you didn’t and I’ll leave,” he promised. “I’ll leave and I’ll... I’ll never come back. I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want, you’ll never have to see me again.”

“August,” you sighed, closing your eyes. You couldn’t stand to be under his gaze any longer.

“Yes?” His tone was hopeful, eager.

You opened your mouth before you fully knew what you would say--I missed you too? Get the hell out of my apartment? Take me over your knee right now? But you never got the chance to find out. Before any words could leave your mouth you both were silenced by the loudest stomach growl you’d ever heard. You frowned, looking between him and his stomach. The blush that crept onto his face told you that you hadn’t imagined the sound.

“When was the last time you ate?” You questioned, your maternal instincts winning out over the anger and lust burning inside you.

August didn’t care of himself. He only allowed himself the basest human pleasure when he absolutely needed it. He was like that about everything--food, sleep, warmth, sex even. You wouldn’t be surprised if he said he hadn’t eaten anything at all today.

“I can’t remember,” he admitted.

You scoffed at him. You knew what that meant. It had been at least a day and half since he’d stopped to even stuff a crumb in his mouth. You dragged him to your kitchen.

“You can stay for dinner,” you allowed as you made your way over to the pantry, “and then you’re leaving.”

Because you had all the ingredients for it (and because--though you refused to admit it to yourself--you actually had missed him) you made ratatouille. It had been August’s favorite dish since you’d known him. He hovered over your shoulder as you danced around the kitchen, putting the vegetables and ham together. You finally managed to distract him with an appetizer of warm french rolls and cheese. He was insistent on helping you, though, and you finally sent him off to get a bottle of wine. It was quiet for several minutes as the meal cooked in the oven and you realized only when he came back that August had gone to the store a block away to buy some pinot.

“I have wine here,” you said, watching him scour your cabinets for wine glasses.

“I love you darling, I really do, but your taste in wine is...” He hesitated as he grabbed two glasses and brought them to the island, searching for the right word. “Your taste in wine leaves much to be desired.”

“Oh?” You scoffed. “And you’re so much wiser than me?”

He gave you a look. “I’ve spent the last decade and a half going all over Europe on behalf of my job. I’ve lost count of the amount of wineries I’ve been to, the amount of wine I’ve tasted. I’d say my palette is a little bit more advanced than yours, sweetheart.”

You just rolled your eyes. He was right. And you hated it. He knew more about the world than you ever would and you often found yourself envious of the depth of his worldly knowledge. He’d been to every part of the world and you’ve never been outside of your home state.

He poured some wine for both of you. You took a small sip and felt your tastebuds water. Whatever wine he’d bought--you hadn’t seen the label as he’d poured it, which was probably on purpose--was an explosion of sweetness in your mouth. You savored the aftertaste which tasted strongly of berry.

“I told you I know my wine,” he laughed. He’d watched you as you’d taken your first sip, wanting to gauge your reaction.

You just rolled your eyes and watched him as he took a small sip himself. A drop of the wine caught on the edge of his lip and his tongue flicked out to lick it up. Your gaze locked on his mouth, on that tongue, and suddenly your body was engulfed in heat as you remembered how that tongue felt on your skin--

The oven beeped. You jumped and lost your train of thought. It took mental effort to force the blush on your face to fade. August once again hovered over you as you pulled the food out and set it on the stove.

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelt,” he sighed, his voice right behind you.

“You may know your wine, August Walker, but I know how to cook.”

...

August’s plate was clear in less than a minute. After you’d lied and convinced him you weren’t hungry, he ate half of your plate, too. You couldn’t help it: you liked watching him eat. Admittedly, you knew it was strange. But he satisfied his body’s cravings and needs so rarely, held onto his self-control for so long, that it was a true sight to watch him give in.

Once he’d finished the food, he carried the dishes to your tiny sink and began washing them. Now it was your turn to be insistent in helping. He finally gave in when you used the tactic of pure logic--if you wash and I dry, we’ll be done in two minutes, you’d reasoned. He reluctantly agreed. You two fell into a silent rhythm for no longer than two minutes--just as you’d predicted. He rinsed his hands off when he was done.

That was when you noticed it.

The scar.

August Walker had worked for the CIA for years. You didn’t know exactly what he did (he was never allowed to share specifics) but you knew it was dangerous. He had scars all over his body. You’d seen them all. So you were used to the sight of him being covered in thick, pale scar tissue all over--but this scar was different.

You reached for his wrist and pulled it closer to you, moving too fast for him to stop you. You ran your thumb over the length of it. The scarring ran from the inside of his wrist to just a few inches below the inside of his elbow. The scar was straight and even. This cut had been made on purpose.

Tears were in your eyes when you looked back at him. “Tell me...” Your voice shook at the knot in your throat. “Tell me you didn’t do this to yourself. Tell me this was someone else--tell me you didn’t...” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. The mere thought of it was unbearable.

“I did it,” he admitted after a moment of hesitation.

“Oh!” You clasped a hand over your mouth as you began to cry. You didn’t want to picture it. The thought of him in that much pain...

He wiped the tears that slipped down your face. His blue eyes watched you, pained, as you continued to cry. “I did this to myself, yes, but I didn’t want to die. I’ve never been suicidal. You don’t have to worry about that.”

It took you a while to calm down even after his proclamation. But finally you managed to say, “Tell me.”

“You know I can’t--”

“Fuck the rules, fuck the secrets!” you exclaimed. “Tell me why the hell you cut your wrist open if you didn’t actually want to kill yourself.”

He hesitated, but one look in your eyes told him that you weren’t going to let this go. So he sighed and said, “I got kidnapped by some people. They tortured me for information. I knew eventually they would break me down. So I cut my wrist.”

“You wanted to die before they could get any information out of you,” you realized.

He nodded curtly.

You looked him deep in the eye as you said, “If you ever die, August, I’ll kill you.”

He smiled faintly. It didn’t reach his eyes, which were still sad at the sight of you in pain. You rested your forehead against his chest and breathed him in. Though he’d hurt you time and again, you loved him. The thought of him gone from this earth...

You pulled back and kissed him. It wasn’t rough and quick and needy, but rather slow and full of love. You wanted to show him how much he mattered to you, even after all this time.

“You don’t get to die on me, August Walker,” you whispered against his lips.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling him flush against his wide chest as he kissed you back just as intensely and full of love. “I’ll do my best.” After a moment he added, “how drunk are you?”

“Why?” you asked with a nervous laugh. You hadn’t expected the change in subject.

“Because I don’t want to feel guilty about fucking you tonight,” he said bluntly.

Your cheeks burned at his words, at the images they brought to life in your mind... “I’m drunk enough to let you fuck me, but not too drunk you should feel guilty about it.”

He smiled against your mouth. “That’s the perfect amount.”

...

THERE WILL BE A PART 2 (this time with smut)

[writersmacchiato]

seeing stars | charlie dalton

Summary: Charlie is in the unique position of falling in love with his fiancée while knowing nothing about her, only that they’re arranged to be married and she already has a boyfriend.

Request: Hi! Could I request a Charlie Dalton x Reader where they're set up for a marriage? And at the beginning they're not really happy about it cause either Charlie has a girlfriend or reader has a boyfriend but they end up liking each other. I'd love for it to have a LOT of fluff. Thanks in advance :) love u + Hi! I was wondering if you could write a really fluffy Charlie Dalton x reader please?? Thank you.

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, unnecessary detail about Charlie’s parents that isn’t canon, 2k words!!

You've got me seeing stars, brighter than ever Shining just like diamonds do

The rain splattered against the window, a roaring pour that offered no mercy to those unfortunate to be caught unawares by it. Charlie stared dismally at the passing cars and running people through the mirror, his expression was cold. 

"Just a few more measurements, Mr. Dalton, then we'll be done."

Charlie hummed his acknowledgement, but he wasn't thinking about the suit he was wearing. The heavy material that weighed down his shoulders, tight around the chest, feeling more like a noose than something fit for a wedding. 

"All done then." The tailor stepped away, folding his measuring tape away before making a few more notes in his notebook. "The alterations will be done by the 15th. Plenty of time before the happy day."

Happy day.

Charlie had to physically stop himself from scoffing. "Thank you." 

His father clears his throat, looking up from his newspaper. He manages a tight-lipped smile at his son."Your mother will be pleased."

"Will she?" Charlie said, enjoying the way his father tenses. 

The answer was no. Nothing pleased his mother; not the wealth of his father, the pride of a mother - she took her enjoyment by controlling those around her and bending them to her whim. She was pretty, beautiful back in her prime, but her relevance in high society was fading. A fact she hated more than anything. 

. . .

There are rows and rows of fabric, cards with the names of the color written neatly in cursive. 

"Purple or yellow?" Charlie flashed the two color cards at you, looking at the fabrics in disdain. Why were there so many?

"You can't just say a color! There are shades of purple and shades of yellow." You wrinkle your nose at him, looking between the two he held. "That canary yellow clashes with the plum. A darker yellow, like gold, would look better."

Charlie had to refrain from rolling his eyes. "I don't see how it matters. Or why they're making us plan so many things."

"They planned the marriage and can't even plan this?" 

You catch his eye, both of you straight-faced, before you're looking away with a smile.

Charlie smiles to himself, flicking through the cue cards. It's only as he watches you walk away that he realizes it's the first time he's smiled genuinely around you. 

. . .

You frown at the rich taste of buttercream; a velvety swirl of vanilla that is topped by a fondant white rose. The cake is vanilla bean, a soft and spongy delight that is overwhelmed by frosting. 

Malinda Dalton, Charlie's mother, sighed in satisfaction. "This is the one."

Charlie sits with his arms crossed, looking at you with an unreadable expression. 

"Are you sure? It's the first cake. We've prepared five cakes in total for tasting." 

Malinda twists her mouth to the side, something she does when someone goes against her. 

"It would be rude not to." You speak up with a smile, hiding your smirk at Malinda's side-eye in your direction. "In fact, we'd be delighted. Isn't that right, Charlie?"

"Absolutely." Charlie said. 

The other cakes fall within the same line of the first one; delicious, but entirely too decadent. Malinda goes out of her way to make her distaste known, set on the first cake. You share a look with Charlie.

"I like the red velvet cake the best." You said.

"Really? Me too." Charlie fakes his surprise, noticing how you hold back a laugh. 

An ugly look passes over Malinda's face before she covers it with her picture-perfect smile. "Well if it's what the couple wants..."

. . .

"Listen, Benny, when I say she's a momzilla--"

Charlie only hears the tail-end of your phone conversation, walking in with two glasses of champagne. 

You're wearing a beautiful blue dress, an overlay of gold embellishments. Gold earrings catching the light as you turn away from the phone. There is no mistaking the sadness in your eyes, how much they glitter with melancholy. 

"Talking to Ben?"

"Yeah."

Benjamin Jay West, your boyfriend of two years, or ex-boyfriend. Charlie wasn't sure what relation you still had with him. 

"I'm sorry." Charlie said. "I know you'd rather be doing all of this with him."

Sometimes, Charlie forgets that you have a life outside of this. That you take classes at the state university, that you hang out with friends, that you have a boyfriend you love. This being the bullshit that is high society. 

You don't say anything, but you offer a tepid smile. "I'm sorry, too. I know you don't want this either."

Charlie offers you the glass, watching the bubbles travel through the liquid. It's odd that this is the most you've talked without being forced to. You hold out the glass to his, clinking it gently. 

"Cheers. To being in an arranged marriage like it's the eighteen hundreds."

Charlie smiles, genuinely smiles. "Cheers."

He can't help the small voice that says 'maybe this will be okay'.

. . .

Charlie doesn't hear from you in a week. Which isn't entirely unusual, but there was often something that had to be planned for the wedding that required some form of communication. It was two months away now. Invitations were sent out, RSVPs being received. 

It was odd being outside of your studio apartment. Located downtown, it was close to the university. A graduation present from your parents. Charlie knew the address; had picked you up several times, had seen Ben peeking through the curtains. 

Now, there was no sign of life. 

The flowers on the stoop were wilted, a surprising neglect given your love of them. No lights are on that can be seen from the front entrance. It's quiet and suddenly he can't remember if anyone has heard from you.

The doorbell echoes throughout the building, before he hears the small patter of footsteps. Charlie can't help the way he visibly relaxes upon seeing you, even if your hair is messy and there are visible bags under your eyes. 

"Charlie?" Your voice is tired, a little hoarse from disuse. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried." He said. It surprises him how true that is. 

"Do you want to come in?" You trail away, leading to the kitchen where you put on a kettle and grab two mugs. 

You're quiet, the glittery look in your eyes that he's accustomed to seeing is gone, the air around you is filled with a sadness.

"Ben broke up with me." You said through a croak. "It's stupid. So stupid. I knew it would happen eventually, but I didn't expect it now--"

The kettle starts to whistle and you turn away from him, taking a long time to prepare the cups of tea. Charlie doesn't comment on it. 

"I'm sorry." Charlie isn't sure how many times he's said that now, but it feels insignificant. Not worth enough. 

"I wish I was brave enough to leave him when I found out, but I was too selfish." There are steady tears trailing from your eyes, finally putting a dull sparkle in them that is nothing compared to your usual brightness. 

"I'm sorry." He says it again, like maybe if it means enough something will change. 

. . .

You throw yourself into finishing the final details of the wedding.

Charlie didn't expect it. If anything he anticipated more resistance. It scares him, how eerily perfect your mask is. 

He knows that is what you did; form a mask that hid your heartbreak over losing Ben. You never indulged much information about him. Only small tidbits that slipped out, everything Charlie knew about him was gathered from how you behaved after talking to him. The smile that was radiant, eyes shining with stars. 

His father looks at the venue, carefully watching his wife from the corner of his eye as she walked around with a clipboard in hand. Pen in hand, making notes. 

"You know, all things considered...you're lucky."

Charlie tosses a nasty look at his father, daring him to keep speaking with the sarcasm dripping. "Really?!"

"Your bride-to-be has a good head on her shoulders, she's funny, smart. She isn't like other young ladies her age."

Charlie follows his father's gaze, finding his mother meticulously smoothing out a tablecloth. Despite the burst of anger that rises at his father's words, he sees the reason behind it. They could have set him up with a stranger, someone like his mother who cared about money and status. At least he somewhat knew you before the arrangement was made. You were smart, incredibly witty. He was surprised how often you made him laugh. There is that voice again, louder;

'maybe it won't be so bad'.

. . .

The suit, with its alterations, looked perfect on him. The navy crisped and starched, looking pristine against the bundle of flowers pinned to his breast pocket. His hair was combed, full of gel that crunched his hair in a way he hated. 

There was no denying that he looked every part of the handsome groom, though on the inside he was anything but. 

His feelings had wavered for you over the months, but he was certain that he didn't feel anything close to love. Perhaps he liked how you smiled at him, how your eyes crinkled at the edges. The way you stood up to his mother and father. How intelligent you were, devoted to your studies but never letting them rule your life. 

In different circumstances, Charlie might have fallen in love with you.

Instead he hears the organ begin playing, watching as you walk down the aisle in a white dress that looks extremely extravagant and nothing like you would pick out. 

Your hands are cold in his, your expression empty. The necklace around your neck, a gift from your mother, shines brightly under the light - a stark contrast to the lack of light in your eyes. 

"I do."

Never had two words been more damning, Charlie thinks as he kisses you for the first time. It's brief, awkward, and cold. Pulling away, his hand holds you as he leads the way out of the room. 

The guests in attendance clap politely, showing no real enthusiasm, as if they too know that this wedding is unwanted. 

. . .

Silence.  

The apartment was full of deafening quiet, something Charlie eventually adjusted to. Instead he took note of mundane sounds: the scratch of your pen on paper while you studied and did homework, the soft patter of your socks on the floor, clinking of cups in the morning as you made enough tea for two.

It wasn't an unbearable existence. Charlie quickly beginning to notice your quirks and habits. 

The silence is broken one early morning when he wakes up and sees that you're not in your room or kitchen. Worry picks at him before he sees the open balcony door. You're huddled under a wool blanket, cup of tea in hand, looking at the sun setting. 

"Hey." You scoot over on the small bench, leaving room for him. 

For once the silence doesn't feel cold or tense.

"I love sunrises."

"It's too damn early."

Maybe, Charlie thinks as he looks at your laughing face and starry eyes, maybe it will be okay. 

. . . 

The air is cold, fresh, as the morning dew collects on grass blades and leaves. There is a thin film of fog slowly dispersing as the sun creeps over the thicket of pine trees. 

Charlie opens the door to the back porch, a blanket folded over his arm, with two mugs of tea in hand. The mugs touch the table with a gentle clank. You lean into his side, tucking the blanket under your chin. His hand runs over your arm, nose nestling against your head. 

No words are exchanged as you watch the sunrise, finishing the tea in slow sips before it grows tepid. Pink blends into blue, a soft purple giving way to a peach that slowly slips away until it's only an ebb of yellow and blue. 

"Can't believe in two days it'll be one year." You whisper, playing with the simple gold band on his finger. 

Charlie presses a kiss to your cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too." 

Charlie feels his heart soar when you can't contain your smile, beaming up at him. Your eyes glittering with stars as you look at him. 

[jedivszombie]

HI! For f1 asks - 5 (+9 if you could give me some recs), 12, 13, 23, 28, 32, 33 sorry if its kinda a lot you dont have to answer all of them!!!

HI ANONYMOOSE! Thank you for the ask, I hope you see my answers and I apologise for replying a few days late! I once again ended up writing essays so you will find my answers under the cut! I hope you enjoy them!

it’s hump day: let’s talk about F1 baybee

5. Are there any movies or documentaries you would recommend to understand F1 better?

So I actually have not watched loads of F1 films or documentaries but I have watched a few that I think give an interesting and varied perspective on some things. 

Grand Prix (1966), this is a film and a very good film at that! It has a lot of drivers from that era who make cameos and comprise the background drivers - so it’s really cool to see them. The story is interesting and the direction and cinematography is top notch! It gives you a really good idea of what older cars and circuits and safety used to be like, albeit in a dramatised way. There are also a lot of nods to how teams like Ferrari etc used to be at the time. 

Race to Perfection (2020), this is a recent documentary mini series that is made up of a bunch of different episodes that cover different aspects of F1 and its history. There’s stuff about how the cars have developed since the 50s, there’s episodes about Schumi and Ayrton and all sorts. Also a lot of ex drivers and people who were involved with teams are interviewed so it’s interesting to hear from them about how situations unfolded or to reflect on some of their glory days. It is worth mentioning though that some of the people being interviewed have a vested interest in coming across a certain way (I’m looking at you Ron), or are choosing to remember things in a certain way. BUT it’s a great starting point for a good overview of different aspects of the sport and how it has evolved. 

Grand Prix Driver (2018), is a really good insight to McLaren starting to rebuild under Zak Brown. It follows Fernando and Stoffel during the 2017 season and gives some interesting insight to how one of the most successful and well known teams in the sport started to change their image and rebuild to how we know them now. 

I would also recommend trying to watch as many Ted’s Notebooks and Weekend Debriefs as you can find - Ted Kravitz hosts both of these shows and they cover a lot of interesting aspects from races that have happened and explain a lot of technical and complex concepts in a really accessible way. They talk about the drivers abilities, the way the cars are developing, the politics of the sport and other very interesting and key aspects of F1 to be aware of if you would like a broader understanding of the sport outside of just the racing and drivers personalities. 

There are definitely loads more documentaries and things you can watch but these are the ones I have personally watched and enjoyed. I have a few more on my list that I would like to watch, such as Grand Prix: The Killer Years and the McLaren doc about Bruce McLaren. 

9. Could you recommend anyone?

I think this is related to F1 YouTubers? I pretty much only follow Chainbear on YouTube in terms of F1 YouTubers. Out of Context F1 has a lot of good little clips and snippets of older footage from drivers - a lot of it is more on the meme side/funnier side but there are sometimes interesting clips from interviews there as well. 

The other F1 YouTube content I look at is the team’s socials or the stuff from F1 itself and older interviews/features with drivers etc that I can find. 

12. Which was the first driver you supported?

The first driver I supported was Schumi - my Dad is a MASSIVE Schumi fan and I have been watching since I was very very small and Schumi was very much involved and on a climb upwards. 

The first driver I actually chose to support myself was Fernando Alonso, it was my minor act of rebellion when I was a child. I still loved Schumi of course but for some reason I latched onto my man Flonso. I also absolutely loved Jenson too, but again so did my entire family. But those are the first three that I supported and remember supporting. 

13. Which was the first team you supported?

Ferrari baybee! Once you’re in, you can never leave!

The first team I chose to support was BAR Honda though - thank u Jenson.

23. Is there a driver that you think is underrated?

I have written a very long answer to this question here. 

28. Do you have a least favourite team? Which one and why?

Yes I do have a least favourite team. Red Bull is my least favourite team. I mean no shade to the engineers and mechanics and people working for the team because they are doing their jobs and doing their best. BUT I do not like their management in the slightest my god. I could rant about Red Bull for days but my main issue is the extremely toxic duo of Christian Horner and Helmut Marko. A lot of people talk extensively about the long list of Red Bull Juniors they have fucked over or passed over for the next big thing or not given proper chances to or actively fucked over (e.g. Buemi, Hartley, Sainz Jr, Gasly, Albon). But really you only have to look at the insane treatment that Jean-Eric Vergne and Daniil Kvyat endured during their time there. JEV was hospitalised trying to keep his weight down. Marko actively trashed him in the press and said he was lazy. There were jokes and comments about Daniil being on ‘shoelace watch’ after his demotion from Red Bull. Sure, if they drop you from the F1 team they will usually still sponsor you in your other series or help you find somewhere to land or even keep you on as a development/test/sim driver but at what cost? 

I know it’s F1 and I know the sport is brutal and to an extent there is always someone getting fucked over in teams or by the sport. I don’t expect drivers to be coddled but I do think more should be discussed about drivers mental health and the ways in which teams either help or do not help with that. Personally I would rather the guys behind the wheels of the super fast cars are actually feeling comfortable in their position in the sport and not super desperate because that’s hella dangerous for them and everyone else on track. BUT with Red Bull it’s more than a worrying pattern, it speaks to an entire culture and is downright neglectful at best and abusive at worst. 

Also fuck Haas, they fall under a similar toxic culture from management in my opinion. 

32. Which one is your favourite team principle and why?

I wrote my answer out in a previous ask here.

But I also just wanna do an honourable shout out to my man Franz Tost, he’s been putting in the work with the Red Bull Juniors and managing to nurture quite a few of them to success over the past decade and keeping a rather chaotic ship running - sure he’s not perfect but he’s been doing a pretty dope job, their treatment of Daniil aside.

33. Do you have a favourite team principle duo or ship?

I also answered this question here.

[kingjasnah]

Is there the full list of brandersons favourite games reposted somewhere?

i dont think so? or not that ive seen. u can literally just sign up for the newsletter on his website but screw it ill just post them for u. it sure was a TRIP scrolling past these to get to the interlude though. undertale is on this list.....im shakign at the thought that adolin was based off ff10 tidus but i cant get it out of my head now

#10: Katamari Damaci

I love things that make me look at the world in a new way. Katamari did this in spades. It is an imaginative, bizarre vision with unique gameplay. It is like nothing else in the world and I love it for all its strangeness and occasional lack of gameplay polish.

I was transfixed the first time I played it, and have looked forward to it being remade and rereleased on multiple different consoles. I love the cute—and somehow creepy at the same time—storyline. It feels like a fever dream more than a game sometimes, and is probably the closest I’ll ever get to understanding what it’s like to do drugs.

#9: Undertale

This is an oddball on this list because I think it’s the only game that is not a franchise from a major studio—but is instead an indie game, which I believe was originally funded on Kickstarter.I loved how this felt like a novel as much as a game. It was one person’s vision; a single story told really well, with a huge amount of personality. The humor was just my kind of wonderful/terrible, and I was instantly enamored with the characters.That probably would have been enough, but it is a nice deconstruction of video games as a medium—and has not one, but multiple innovative gameplay mechanics. Together, the package left me enamored. This is a work of genius that I feel everyone should at least try, even if it ends up not being for them.

#8: Fallout: New Vegas

I have played all of the core Fallout games, and I was one of the (it seems few) who was really excited when it moved from turn-based tactics to first-person shooter. While Fallout 3 was good, it didn’t have the charm of the first two.New Vegas delivered on everything I was hoping to see. The charm was back, the writing sharp, the quests imaginative. The gameplay was engaging and branched in a variety of directions, the gunplay was solid, and the atmosphere immersive. I of course love the first two games in the series—but New Vegas combines everything I like in gaming into one package. (As a note, I own the Outer Worlds, and am looking forward to digging into it. Consider this item on the list a recommendation of other Obsidian games—like Knights of the Old Republic Two—regardless of genre, as I’ve found them universally to be superior to their contemporaries.)

#7 Super Mario World

When I was eleven, I flew (alone, which was very exciting to me) from Nebraska to visit my uncle Devon in Salt Lake City. Before I left, my father gave me $200 and told me to pay for my own meals while on the trip—but of course, my uncle didn’t allow this. At the end of the trip, I tried to give him the money, which he wouldn’t take.I mentioned my dad would take the money back when I got home, but that was okay. Well, my uncle would have none of that, and drove me to the local mall and made me spend it on a Nintendo Entertainment System. (This uncle, you might guess, is an awesome human being.)Since that day of first plugging it in and experiencing Mario for the first time, I was hooked. This is the only platformer on the list, as I don’t love those. But one makes an exception for Mario. There’s just so much polish, so much elegance to the control schemes, that even a guy who prefers an FPS or an RPG like me has to admit these are great games. I picked World as my favorite as it’s the one I’ve gone back to and played the most.

#7: The Curse of Monkey Island (Monkey Island 3)

I kind of miss the golden age of adventure gaming, and I don’t know that anyone ever got it as right as they did with this game. It is the pinnacle of the genre, in my opinion—no offense to Grim Fandango fans.This game came out right before gaming’s awkward teenage phase where everything moved to 3-d polygons. For a while after, games looked pretty bad, though they could do more because of the swap. But if you want to go see what life was like before that change, play Monkey Island 3. Composed of beautiful art pieces that look like cells from Disney movies, with streamlined controls (the genre had come a long way from “Get yon torch”) and fantastic voice acting, this game still plays really well.This is one of the few games I’ve been able to get my non-gamer wife to play through with me, and it worked really well as a co-op game with the two of us trying to talk through problems. It’s a lovingly crafted time capsule of a previous era of gaming, and if you missed it, it’s really worth trying all these years later. (The first and second games hold up surprisingly well too, as a note, particularly with the redone art that came out a decade or so ago.)Also, again, this one has my kind of humor.

#6: Breath of the Wild

I never thought a Zelda game would unseat A Link to the Past as my favorite Zelda, but Breath of the Wild managed it. It combined the magic of classic gameplay with modern design aesthetic, and I loved this game.There’s not a lot to say about it that others haven’t said before, but I particularly liked how it took the elements of the previous games in the series (giving you specific tools to beat specific challenges) and let you have them all at once. I like how the dungeons became little mini puzzles to beat, instead of (sometimes seemingly endless) slogs to get through. I liked the exploration, the fluidity of the controls, and the use of a non-linear narrative in flashbacks. It’s worth buying a Switch just to play this one and Mario—but in case you want, you can also play Dark Souls on Switch... (That’s foreshadowing.)

#5: Halo 2

Telling stories about Halo Two on stream is what made me think of writing this list.I’m sometimes surprised that this game isn’t talked about as much as I think it should be. Granted, the franchise is very popular—but people tend to love either Reach or games 1 or 3 more than two. Two, however, is the only one I ever wanted to replay—and I’ve done so three or four times at this point. (It’s also the only one I ever beat on Legendary.)It’s made me think on why I love this one, while so many others seem to just consider it one of many in a strong—but in many ways unexceptional—series of games. I think part of this is because I focus primarily on the single-player aspects of a game (which is why there aren’t any MMOs on this list.) Others prefer Halo games with more balanced/polished multiplayer. But I like to game by myself, and don’t really look for a multiplayer experience. (Though this is changing as I game with my sons more and more.)I really like good writing—which I suppose you’d expect. But in games, I specifically prefer writing that enhances the style of game I’m playing. Just dumping a bunch of story on me isn’t enough; it has to be suited to the gameplay and the feel of the game. In that context, I’ve rarely encountered writing as good as Halo 2. From the opening—with the intercutting and juxtaposition of the two narratives—to the quotes barked out by the marines, the writing in this game is great. It stands out starkly against other Halo games, to the point that I wonder what the difference is.Yes, Halo Two is a bombastic hero fantasy about a super soldier stomping aliens. But it has subtle, yet powerful worldbuilding sprinkled all through it—and the music...it does things with the story that I envy. It’s kind of cheating that games and films get to have powerful scores to help with mood.The guns in Two feel so much better than Halo One, and the vehicles drive far better. The only complaint I have is that it’s only half a story—as in, Halo 2 and 3 seem like they were one game broken in two pieces. And while 3 is good (and Reach does something different, which I approve of in general) neither did it for me the way Two did, and continues to do.

#3: Final Fantasy X

You probably knew Final Fantasy was coming. People often ask if the way these games handle magic was an influence upon me. All I can say is that I’ve played them since the first one, and so they’re bound to have had an influence.On one hand, these games are really strange. I mean, I don’t think we gamers stop quite often enough to note how downright bizarre this series gets. Final Fantasy doesn’t always make the most sense—but the games are always ambitious.Ten is my favorite for a couple of reasons. I felt like the worldbuilding was among the strongest, and I really connected with the characters. That’s strange, because this is one of the FF games without an angst-filled teen as the protagonist. Instead, it has a kind of stable happy-go-lucky jock as the protagonist.But that’s what I needed, right then. A game that didn’t give me the same old protagonist, but instead gave me someone new and showed me I could bond to them just as well. Ten was the first with full voice acting, and that jump added a lot for me. It has my favorite music of the series, and all together is what I consider the perfect final fantasy game. (Though admittedly, I find it more and more difficult to get into turn-based battle mechanics as I grow older.)

#2: Bloodborne

Those who follow my streams, or who read other interviews I’ve done, probably expected this series to be at or near the top. The question wasn’t whether Souls would be here, but which one to pick as my favorite.I went with Bloodborne, though it could have been any of them. (Even Dark Souls 2—which I really like, despite its reputation in the fandom.) I’ve been following FromSoftware’s games since the King’s Field games, and Demon’s Souls was a huge triumph—with the director Hidetaka Miyazaki deserving much of the praise for its design, and Dark Souls (which is really just a more polished version of Demon’s Souls).As I am a fan of cosmic horror, Bloodborne is probably my favorite overall. It really hit the mix of cosmic and gothic horror perfectly. It forced me to change up my gameplay from the other Souls games, and I loved the beautiful visuals.I am a fan of hard games—but I like hard games that are what I consider “fair.” (For example, I don’t love those impossible fan-made Mario levels, or many of the super-crazy “bullet hell”-style games.) Dark Souls is a different kind of hard. Difficult like a stern instructor, expecting you to learn—but giving you the tools to do so. It presents a challenge, rather than being hard just to be hard.If I have a problem with Final Fantasy, it’s that the games sometimes feel like the gameplay is an afterthought to telling the story. But in the Souls games, story and gameplay are intermixed in a way I’d never seen done before. You have to construct the story like an archeologist, using dialogue and lore from descriptions of in-game objects. I find this fascinating; the series tells stories in a way a book never could. I’m always glad when a game series can show off the specific strengths of the medium.In fact, this series would be #1 except for the little fact that I have way too much time on Steam logged playing...

#1: Civilization VI

This series had to take #1 by sheer weight of gameplay time. I discovered the first on a friend’s computer in the dorms my freshman year—and I can still remember the feeling of the birds chirping outside, realizing I’d been playing all night and really should get back to my own dorm room.That still happens, and has happened, with every game in the series. I have a lot of thoughts on this series, many of them granular and too specific for this list. (Like, it’s obvious AI technology isn’t up to the task of playing a game this complex—so could we instead get a roguelike set of modifiers, game modes, etc. to liven up the games, rather than just having a difficulty slider that changes a few simple aspects of the game?)I’ll try not to rant, because I really do love this game series. A lot of people consider IV to be the pinnacle of the series, but after V unstacked units—and VI unstacked cities—there was no way I could ever go back. If for some reason, you’ve never played this grand patriarch of the 4X game genre, it’s about starting with a single stone-age settler who can found a city—then playing through eras of a civilization, growing your empire, to try to eventually get offworld with a space program. (Or, if you prefer, conquering the world.)It’s a load of fun in the way I like to have fun, and I feel like the series has only gotten better over the years. My hat is off to the developers, who keep reinventing the series, rather than making the exact same game over and over.Now, about that request for difficulty modes...

there are runner ups but for the sake of anyone whos on mobile and cant get past a read more (first of all omg im SO sorry) ill refrain. anyway he thought WHAT loz game was the best before botw?

[xlady-saya]

I’ve had a love of my own [ch. 4]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: Despite everything Neil could’ve imagined for his life, he never thought he’d be here, finally giving the world the interview they’ve always wanted.

It’s been decades, but even with his numerous accolades and sports wins, he finds that they’re the least important thing about his life.

Neil can’t help but laugh. Andrew would be so annoyed if he were here.

Of course, Neil only wants to talk about him, and the life they spent together.

Tags: interviews, post canon, major character death but not how u think I swear lol, neil is an old man retelling his memories about andrew, cheesy romance, post retirement, see more tags on ao3

Read on ao3! 

Rayah hands him tissues, but Neil passes them back.

She needs them.

Blake too, from the snot he's trying to wipe on the back of his hand. Weird, how Neil doesn't necessarily view this as a fond memory, or even the most important one he has to offer. It happened though, but he sees it more as a halfway point.

His journey with Andrew had really only begun, and he hadn't even known. So much time left, not infinite, but vast.

"You must've been so afraid," Rayah says, blowing into the tissue enough for Neil to lean back. He's glad they're there to break up the memory, he's become weak in his old age. Memories of the past can't come back to hurt him, Andrew taught him that.

Still, they can feel like barbed wire around his throat.

"I was," Neil affirms, checking his watch. Sydney will be due back soon, he can't linger much longer. "Andrew's reaction then was almost worse than the one on the court. Andrew was never violent with me, but I'd seen him lose control, I'd seen his rage. It had been so long...that was the first time in a long time he really looked like he wanted to tear the world apart."

Neil finally had a vague idea of what Baltimore was like for everyone else, and he finds himself grinning down at his hands.

"Funny, I was so worried about leaving Andrew," Neil mentions, and watches both Blake and Rayah freeze. When had they started hanging onto his words? He shakes his head, touching the watch on his wrist. "But now I'm here."

At their sad faces, he corrects himself, holding up his hands with a laugh. "No no, I don't see it the way I saw it then!" In fact, he sees it more how Andrew saw it. There was no way for them to be apart after everything they'd been through together. Neil's smile fades, his words serious, and he moves the recorder a little closer. His voice is crystal clear when he says: "Andrew didn't leave me. I was not abandoned."

He could never be abandoned by Andrew. Andrew helped him be at a place where he could never feel that way, and he did the same in return for Andrew. Had Neil gone first, he knows the blond would've managed in much the same way. As much as he would've mourned, he would've had his brother, the rest of their family. All of Neil's excessive Palmetto merch and memorabilia to look after...

They were never each other's answers, just something they didn't want to be without.

"I think I actually ended up being kind of happy, not when he died but later. Andrew's final act was a selfish one. He didn't want to be here without me, so he made sure it wouldn't happen."

Neil finds himself feeling smug, despite his aching. Andrew was someone who always did things for others, despite what he tried to convince people of. Knowing his last act was completely for himself...

Neil couldn't be prouder.

Okay, so he's not going to be able to remain strong. Neil grabs the tissues petulantly, overcome with it. He blames Andrew. "The bastard."

They look away out of respect while he sorts himself out, hands clasped.

Rayah's mascara smears a little when she goes to wipe her red eyes, sticky on her finger, and Blake is so engrossed he doesn't notice when she wipes it against his clean white shirt. He leans forward after a moment, and Neil isn't surprised. A reporter's curiosity is never sated. There's a fire in his eyes, urging Neil on. "What happened next?"

Ha. Now isn't that an interesting question?

Regardless of how terrified Neil felt in the moment, his smile has a smug edge to it when he recalls the night he arrived, the sound of a cane echoing at the back of Neil's head.

He leans back, and keeps his voice low. "They did eventually come."

--

One night, just as time bleeds over into the next day, there's a click of a lock that reverberates through their entire flat.

Neil instantly knows; the click is akin to a gunshot, a timer going off. No more hiding, nowhere to run.

At least Neil still has some of his reflexes.

Andrew shoots up, knife in hand in half a second, and Neil grabs his own legs like they can save him one last time. No, not himself, Andrew.

His legs, still wrapped up and healing, are not nearly ready for any excessive movements. Neil doesn't care; he throws them over Andrew as quick as he can, and cries out when they land.

It's excruciating.

Movement shouldn't be possible, but Neil has never listened to doctor's orders. The pain is the consequence; it's a blow torch on his tendons, searing every nerve and joint it can. His scream breaks off into strangled gasps, and he feels Andrew halt completely.

It's a dirty trick, but necessary.

Andrew's scowl is almost worse than the blaze of his joints, but Neil doesn't back down. He doesn't weigh much; Andrew could throw him aside with ease. But he won't. Neil's legs are pushed firmly in his lap, resting against his abdomen, pinning Andrew between his own body and the headboard.

There's no way to lunge without hurting Neil, and despite the way Andrew must be weighing the pros and cons of it in his head, Neil is his weak spot. Andrew edges forward in warning, but Neil digs his heels in and whimpers.

"Andrew," he pleads, and the sound from Andrew's throat makes him feel sick.

"Fuck off, Neil," he replies, teeth bared. It's unfair, he gets it. Andrew never got to fight, last time he didn't even know Neil would be taken away. But Neil can't, he just can't--

"No."

Stay down.

Neil wants Andrew to let him fight first, let him try his luck one more time. Andrew's scathing response is cut short by tap of shoes on their hardwood, and they silence themselves, fixated on the door.

Ichirou never follows anyone's schedule but his own. He walks leisurely, calm, and without care for the panic he's caused. His cane clicks offbeat with his footsteps, the sound disjointed and not nearly as polished as the rest of him usually seems.

Neil watches the shadow on the wall grow larger and more distorted, until it finally forms the thin silhouette of the reaper himself.

He never got tired of silk suits, Neil notes. They fit a little better now though; Ichirou has filled them in, not just physically. Neil forgets how young he is, it's been so long since they've seen each other, but he remembers how even someone as menacing and cold as Ichirou had looked new, not yet settled into his role.

That Ichirou is gone.

He walks into the room, ramrod straight and poised, with an air of superiority not many people other than himself and perhaps Allison Reynolds can pull off. It nearly has Neil turning to face him, but he won't, for sake of letting Andrew loose.

Andrew snarls under his breath, but Ichirou's entrance into the room, while dramatic, isn't anything particularly foreboding. In fact, he grabs one of their crappy folding chairs, one Neil's physical therapist uses, and drags it across the room after some consideration. It throws Neil off almost immediately, and the subtle scrape of the chair legs grate on his nerves. However, he hopes it means Ichirou is here to talk.

While Neil knew realistically that would happen, a swift execution wouldn't have surprised him.

Ichirou places the chair down a few feet from them, and the thump of it puts a silencer on the world around them. The street below doesn't dare make a peep. Ichirou regards their positions with an edge of amusement, but lingers on Neil's legs.

"I'll admit I did not know what to expect," he speaks, and his voice reminds Neil of the embers of a fire. Grave, subdued, and ready to be stroked into something far more devastating.

"Lord," Neil replies, and he bows his head despite how much it makes the lump in his throat all the more constricting. "I've been waiting for you."

"I'm sure you have." Ichirou gestures to Neil's legs calmly, and leaves his hand hanging there until Neil looks. Salt in the wound, but Neil does it. "Your father would be happy."

Fury and resentment spike in Neil's chest, and while it may bleed onto his face, it's not much compared to how Andrew tries to lunge forward. All it takes is Neil's wince to stop him, to send him reeling back and torn between checking on him and not taking his eyes off Ichirou.

Neil is glad for his forethought; he wants Andrew to be safe, but even he can't be completely passive. Neil scowls, letting some of the respect melt away.

He can't help it. The cold smile is on his face before he means it to be, and Ichirou inhales sharply. Neil wonders if it's an acknowledgement of one of his own. "Well he's dead, so we'll never know."

He's dead and rotting somewhere, insignificant.

Even when he's hanging on by a thread himself, Neil's comforted by the memory.

Ichirou's eyes narrow, but it's not a threat in his eyes.

"Someone's feeling bold, though I suppose you always are," he says, humming in the back of his throat. "So close to death all your life, nothing to lose. You've never needed my presence to know that."

Neil bites back all he could say, all the things about his life Ichirou wouldn't care about or label as valuable. He has everything to lose now.

"Lord, I know I'm in no position to ask for favors," he says, and Ichirou nods in agreement. Neil's worth and investment potential have run out, if they're going by the bare bones of his contract. Before he can think better of it, he prioritizes what's important. His voice takes on a desperate edge, a critical mistake in front of someone like Ichirou, but unavoidable. "I'm prepared to make my case but—but leave Andrew out of this. He's not—"

A hand finds the back of his neck and squeezes; it's not painful, never painful, but it startles him enough to make him choke on the rest. Andrew's tone rattles against his brain, warning. "If you try to be a martyr in front of me, I'll kill you before he even gets the chance," Andrew bites at him, and Neil glares at the lie. Always a bad liar. But without acknowledging that, Andrew whips around to Ichirou, and his threat has Neil's blood solidifying. On ice, already. "And you, get out of our house."

Neil's hand flies up to squeeze the blond's arm, but he doesn't have the strength to do much. "Andrew."

Ichirou just chuckles, amused as Neil has ever seen him. Instead of threatening Andrew in return or silencing him right then and there, he leans back in the chair, regarding them like they're some species he's never heard of. "You're lucky I'm not here for you. I'm willing to overlook your rudeness because of what I need to say."

Ichirou doesn't so much as glance at Andrew while he says it, nor anytime after, and Neil feels the blond's trembling pour into him. He straightens, watching the careful tap of Ichirou's finger on the cane, and refuses to let himself jolt when those eyes meet his. Darkness meets an ocean blue, and Neil is thankful for the resemblance to his father now. He hopes Ichirou has just as much trouble navigating the sea of his mind, in finding what's locked away.

"Nathaniel," Ichirou begins, then tilts his head. A correction, one that makes Neil hold his breath. "Neil. Given the circumstances, I'm willing to confess a little here. You've always been an enigma to me. For a long time, I did not know whether to label you as a disgusting leech, or the wolf in the henhouse. Or maybe fox is more appropriate. Either way, you're a particularly giant, conniving thorn in my side."

Good, Neil thinks. He never wants to be that known, that easy to pick apart. He never saw himself as a threat though, regardless of his potential, his willingness to claw and bite. Yet, he never took any pleasure in the pain of others unless they deserved it. That was a big difference between him and his father, something that's perhaps hard for Ichirou to wrap his head around.

Neil never asked him before, he realizes. What did Ichirou think of The Butcher?

As if hearing Neil thinking too hard, Ichirou's eyes pierce through him, holding the thoughts hostage, pinning to a wall.

"There's blood on your hands wherever you go," Ichirou muses. "There are nights where I think I should've killed you. You're too dangerous to be let loose, to be kept alive and constantly bearing down on my throat when I don't even realize it. You are the riskiest investment I ever made, and your retirement should be nothing more than an act of charity from the powers above."

Ichirou looks to his cane then, and taps it once, twice against the floor. "I wonder."

He sits there a beat too long to be comfortable, and that's when he reaches into his suit pocket, as if having made up his mind. All Neil sees is the gun, from that point on.

The air in his lungs is ripped clean out, and that's appropriate. He feels like a husk, with Andrew's pleas in his ear to let him up, now Neil, now. But Neil's mind ignores it all, voice tiny and wheezing. "Lord," he tries, but has no idea what to say. "I--"

What? What does he want?

It's the simplest, most pathetic thing. But all he can think is: not in front of Andrew.

Yes, that's it. Neil's panic flares, and it's not his rabbit instincts for once. He doesn't want to be home anymore. He doesn't want to ruin this place they built together, the place they made their home with all their pictures and souvenirs.

He's an idiot, what was he thinking?

He opens his mouth to say as much, and stops short when Ichirou places the gun on his knee. Andrew's gaze tries to melt the thing until it’s molten, and he's just getting more and more frustrated when that doesn't happen. It's still shiny, and very much there. It's so elegant, so unassuming, for being a deliverer of death.

Andrew keeps trying to make Neil budge, to at least move in front of him like a shield, but Neil refuses. His legs cry out in agony, but he'll ignore it until his last breath.

"I'm not done," Ichirou says, and points the gun at them both for good measure before it's back at his side. Neil tracks it up until Ichirou slams his cane on the hardwood, and pulls Neil's gaze back to him. There's a resignation in his gaze Neil doesn't know what to do with, a question not even Neil can parse. And if he can't understand the weight of this, who can?

"I could finally be rid of you. I could wipe the slate clean of yet another risk. You are the only one who threatens me."

Neil bites his tongue; Ichirou's only half speaking to him. Neil wants to argue he would never, there's nothing about that life, the one Ichirou leads, that Neil could want to steal away.

But Ichirou has to know that. Maybe that's the thing he can't wrap his head around, what makes Neil dangerous.

"But it just so happens that some of that blood on your hands was beneficial to me," Ichirou admits, huffing to himself. "Without you and the stress you put on my family's contacts, the animosity towards Riko...I may not have this throne of mine."

Neil chokes on the realization of where this is leading, but doesn't dare to let himself expect it.

Ichirou leans back again, and takes him in with nothing short of disdain. It's the most expressive Neil has ever seen him, the cool veneer stripped away.

"Make no mistake, I am not giving you credit, not even an ounce of it," Ichirou spits out, then he closes his eyes, breathing in to regain a shred of the composure he had when he walked in. Neil doesn't care, he's too busy staring at the furrow in his brow, at the retreating gun. Ichirou's eyes meet his and they're blazing, but the ring of fire doesn't scathe him. Neil seems to be the one point it can't reach. "You don't deserve it. But with your father gone, with my enemies and all those squabbling liabilities rotting in the ground...I can move freely."

He puts away the gun, as slow and conflicted as the movement is. But it's gone. Hidden. Neil's last stroke of luck. May he never be in need of more.

Andrew sneers, unable to help himself. "That sounds like plenty of credit is due."

Any other moment, Neil would wheeze, would fear retaliation. But Ichirou's just shown him his decision, a mind made up. He won't go back on it once he's crossed that line. It's not in his nature.

Funny. No matter how depraved the code of ethics is, it's still there, clean and outlined.

Ichirou stands, contempt clear as he stares down at them. "Think of this as repayment instead, a courtesy if you will," he mutters. "This will close out our account officially. There are some terms. I'll be happy to take that remaining 80% of your pension, your severance, but after? I want nothing to do with you."

The last syllable is laced with thin disgust, but then Ichirou retreats back into himself. The mask returns, an icy veil which emotions don't stand a chance against.

And well, Neil's always been a little stupid. He exhales shakily, his lungs aching from being so deprived. "You...you're letting me go?"

"I'm letting you become someone else's burden," Ichirou glances at Andrew, at the way his fists are still clenched around Neil. "But do not think me merciful."

He could never.

He understands their relationship, or rather, the end of it. That doesn't stop Ichirou from making it exceedingly clear.

His voice fills the room, coating the walls and staining it. It's not as bad as blood, but it's a promise Neil won't soon remove, a reminder that if he wants to keep this home of his, he'll listen. "I’ll extend the courtesy to your companions if they’re ever in the same situation. But if I ever see you again, if I hear that you're involved in anything, from the smallest transaction or negotiation in my circle, in my empire, I will kill you all," Ichirou explains, a vow. Then, his gaze flickers over Andrew one last time, and yes, Neil understands perfectly. He shows it in the way he glares, in the way he calls on his father's ghost one last time. "I will do more than kill you, I will destroy everything about you."

The fear begins to trickle out of him, and maybe that's a bad thing where Neil is concerned. He's not sure what he's exuding right then, but he can feel himself stop shaking, can feel his chin tilt up in a challenge. It's a deceptive calm, but one Ichirou will read correctly.

Acknowledgement, respect, but underneath all that it's a boast. It says I won.

Neil's not sure it can be called that but he owns it, with all his infuriating confidence, he owns it, and makes sure Ichirou knows there will always be some truth to it.

Even if Neil didn't have to convince him, even if Ichirou came to the conclusion all on his own.

He was bested, and Neil has to squash the smile that wants to bloom on his face.

Andrew stops shaking too, his rage reigned in for now. He probably won't sleep for days regardless; the fear, the what ifs...they're too fresh and heavy.

But that's alright. More than alright. Because Neil can spend the rest of their lives making it up to him.

"Do we have a deal?" Ichirou states, like he needs to. But Neil nods anyways. It's a farewell he didn't know he wanted so badly.

"Yes, we do," he says, and adds reluctantly: "Thank you, Lord."

Ichirou inclines his head, and Neil has to bite back any sass. It's a look that says 'don't thank me yet. Don't thank me until you're old and gray.'

With that final warning, Ichirou turns away, and neither of them dare to move.

That's where the acknowledgement ends; Ichirou reaches the door, and without looking back, solidifies his exit from Neil's life.

"Goodbye, Neil Josten."

They don't move at first. They listen to the disjointed steps as Ichirou leaves, and only when it sinks in that he's walking away does Neil feel Andrew pull him gently closer. It's a fierce hold regardless, an attempt to carve Neil a place in his chest to hide. It's 'I've got you' and 'I get to keep you' all at once.

When the lock on their front door clicks shut, the one to Neil's future opens wide.

--

Neil lets Blake and Rayah take their time scribbling their notes, neither of them daring to ask for clarification. Neil hopes it's because there's nothing to clarify.

It's too simplistic to say he won some climactic battle, that the rest of his life was carefree and happy. This was merely a pause in his life, a blip in time which also passed like everything else, drowned out with visits to Germany and difficult trips to the vet.

Neil doesn't view it as the middle, or a turning point. He doesn't view anything that way. He started his life as Neil Josten and it flowed from there, choppy and untamed at times, but no less...memorable.

His encounter with Ichirou was a moment he had to wait, to breathe in and take in what he had before he kept going. A log or dam that eventually eroded away like the rest of the obstacles he faced.

And there was so, so much more that came after that.

Perhaps not as exciting; family vacations, Exy games, and weekend getaways are hardly anything compared to run-ins with the mafia, to devastating injuries and comebacks. No one wants to hear about the petty arguments and compromises, the bouts of depression which came from being robbed of the sport he loved despite his survival. There's nothing riveting about the quiet dinners Neil enjoyed with Andrew at his side every night for over thirty years after.

But even still, he's waiting to get to those. He wants to talk about those.

Each time he finishes a memory, he's antsy to tell the next one. It's the most exciting thing to him, knowing that even when it all stops, when he has nothing more he needs to share, that nothing ever ended. He could go on and on. As long as he’s breathing, he can say more.

It doesn't end until he's gone, and how sneaky he is, how brilliant, for even going beyond that to preserve their life, every boring piece of it.

He sends Andrew a smug little smile, just for that.

So now people can know, for at least a few years to come, that yes, Neil Josten survived the mafia. But more importantly, Andrew Minyard was next to him, and was just about the best companion Neil could've asked for.

It makes him smile, uncontrolled in its entirety, and when Sydney walks in she doesn't even ask. She returns it, and that fondness makes Neil feel as if Andrew is still in the room, because it was so often directed at him as well.

When she leaves, the room is quiet apart from the last fading scratches of pen on paper.

Occasionally one of the reporters will look up at him, scan him as if they can get the residual emotions hanging from his aura and paste them onto the messy pages.

Neil doesn't envy them.

He's never been a writer, and he's giving them a daunting task. Vague, but detailed. Powerful, but without all the flowery, over-exaggerated nonsense. This is not a sensationalist piece, but his life, and while they've been treating him with the respect he asked for, he gets the feeling they just now came to the realization fully.

It's easy to say you love someone, at the end of the day. Even if it's a lie, even if it takes you a while to work up the courage for it. It's easy to repeat it over and over again.

But for people to understand the full scope of Neil's feelings, so far beyond that word with all the strange deviations and intricacies...

Well, he can tell by the way Rayah and Blake come to a standstill, eyes fixed on their notes, that they do understand. That's what makes it so difficult, that's what makes it impossible.

Nothing they do or write will truly replicate the way Neil has made them feel, the way Andrew made Neil feel.

And Neil's grateful for that. He's grateful, because he always knew deep down that his relationship with Andrew was not something anyone would be able to capture and define. It was theirs.

As long as that's obvious, then he thinks it'll be more than okay.

He'll keep providing all the details they need to compensate.

Eventually, when they do look up, Rayah just laughs, smoothing her hand over the paper. Neither of them make a move for their food. "I—I don't know what to ask anymore?" She frames it as a question, tone searching, and when she looks at Blake, he merely shrugs.

There's a mistiness in his eyes when he turns to Neil too, as if to ask, 'well?'

Neil beams brighter, bringing his food in front of him. Ten years and he hasn't changed the order. It's still the plate he and Andrew split.

And with that warmth in his chest, he's more than happy to take it from there.

"Don't worry," he says, amusement lacing his tone. "I know what comes next."

[popatochisssp]

listen i Adore your gem headcanons (gemcanons, if u will) & i love hearing about them & they make me wanna go off about my own crossovers so if you have any more ideas!!! please do tell us!!!! also i hope you're doing well!!!!!

…………

Okay so…….

Regarding the Sea Glass gemsona concept, specifically, part of my headcanon for them is that like Pearls, their appearance is customizable…but unlike Pearls and many other types of gem, since they’re essentially just created as ornaments/toys to suit their master’s preferences, they have a very wide range of physicality–body types, faces, voices…

Kinda…kinda sounds like a reader-insert, doesn’t it…?

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Sans (Undertale): You’ve been in service to this particular Sapphire for decades, at least. He doesn’t have a Pearl, or even any other Sea Glass– it’s just you. You entertain him, lend your ear when he needs to talk something out, stand by his side as proper and perfect as you can, through everything… and it still somehow feels like he barely knows you exist. He definitely takes you for granted and that hurts a lot more than you’d like it to. …Except one day, he looks at you, seeing you, and you don’t know how to describe the look on his face except ‘dawning abject horror.’ He latches onto you, grabbing you by the arm and refusing to let go for days and all he’ll say is, “it won’t happen, i won’t let it, i need you,” and even as it scares you a little…it finally feels like you matter to him.

Papyrus (Undertale): You are not a very good Sea Glass. Your hue is dull and your attempts at entertaining your masters are all falling flat and your anxiety is mounting because that’s masters, plural, you’ve cycled through too many that haven’t wanted you. Now you’re being evaluated and if you don’t pass muster like you know you won’t… Your saving grace comes in the form of a visiting Hessonite, on a tour of the facilities. He takes one look at you and your obviously stressed face and loudly notes that he’s never seen a Sea Glass before, out on the front lines, glory for the Empire and all that, show him that one! Your probably-soon-to-be-shatterers protest that you’re likely defective, not a good example, but, “NONSENSE, LOOK HOW THEY CATCH THE LIGHT, THAT’S LOVELY, WHAT AN INCREDIBLE GEM!” and far be it from technicians to argue with a garnet. You leave with him, decidedly unshattered, and even though you warn him that you’re not a very good Sea Glass, he assures you that he’s not a very good Hessonite—so you’ll surely do well together!

Sky (Underswap Sans): You’re part of an aristocrat’s entourage, and not the favorite by far. You mostly lurk on the outskirts of your group of Sea Glass, an unnoticed extra in the background. …Which is probably why it’s so surprising that when a group of rowdy quartz soldiers passing by manage to dissipate your body, you actually reform again—unshattered and not even cracked. One of the soldiers is there to greet you, a brightly grinning Chalcedony who apologizes for his squad’s roughhousing and that you got caught up in the scuffle. He caught you, though, before you could hit the ground, so no harm done, right? No, you suppose not…except… where’s your master? And all the others? How long were you out? The Chalcedony’s grin falls a little when he has to be the bearer of bad news: they left without you, didn’t even stick around to see that your gem was alright. …Ouch. But it’s okay! You can stay with him! He’ll look out for you and protect you, unless of course you’d like to go somewhere else? In which case, he’ll take you! You have nowhere else to go and no real desire to try your luck out in the universe all on your own, so… you think you’ll stay with the Chalcedony. His smile is awfully cute…

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): You’re walking behind your Zircon as they talk with other Zircons about things you’ve never needed to understand. With your head politely down, you hear more than see them approaching a lit workstation and chiding someone for still being there, saying that no one ever got anything done honing their gem from both ends, it’s important to relax sometimes. The stranger protests, claiming he relaxes plenty and he’ll head back to his quarters soon. Your Zircon doesn’t seem to accept that as an answer, insisting—maybe he ought to get a Sea Glass? Your Zircon has a few, they’re great, really, he should get one already, but still the stranger resists. “sea glass are a fad,” he drawls, like he might be rolling his eyes and it makes you curious enough to look up. “i don’t need to get o—…” He’s looking at you. He’s looking right at you, into your eyes, and when he moves his jaw again, it’s to say, “wow…” You’re too flustered to pay much attention to how it happens, but before you know it, you’re changing hands, Zircon to Zircon, because this one wants you and your old one already has four. You should probably feel insulted, somewhere in this, but at the same time…that ‘wow’ makes you think that this master is probably the right one.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): The moment he heard about Sea Glass, he wanted one. Like a Pearl, but none of that snooty attitude? Something that just about anyone, even a common Ruby could get ahold of? Yes, he wants one. Immediately. He attentively customizes every detail, having you made to his exact specifications—if he can only get one, he may as well go all out, right? He’s on pins and needles waiting to meet you, visiting every day even when your gem is nowhere near to being properly finished. Eventually, the day comes that you’re ready and you take your form…and you are absolutely nothing like he thought you would be. He never could’ve fully imagined you, not the way you are standing right in front of him here and now, made for him but so clearly and wholly your own gem and that… He loves it, you’re perfect. He’s never had anything of his own before, and for his first thing ever to be someone like you is utterly mindblowing. He wants to learn everything about you, no matter how long it takes.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): You’re a gift, a rarely colored Sea Glass given to a wildly successful Bixbite commander as a reward for another in a long line of victories daringly wrested by his fearsome fleet. Your reception is polite and you look forward to your service to such an impressive gem…so it’s disappointing, to say the least, when you’re summarily shunted off to a large harem of Sea Glass just like you, who tell you that your Bixbite has no interest in any of you and never even visits. You while away more time than you care to admit there, while your fellow Sea Glass sing and dance and make art for each other instead of your absent master, but eventually, it gets to you. You don’t want to stay here with all these gems so similar in temperament to you yet so different in all the wrong ways. They bore you, you crave variety—novelty! No one stops you when you sneak out of the harem the first time, or the second, or the third. Other gems barely pay you a passing glance as you start to steal away to other parts of the ship as they catch your fancy, chatting with soldiers and servants alike and doing whatever you choose to do. …Which is, of course, exactly how your Bixbite notices you, catching a glimpse of a stray Sea Glass roaming his halls. You’ve caught his eye now, a strange gem who wandered off seeking excitement when all the others of your type stayed put. He wants to know what makes you different and a gem of his ranking is very accustomed to getting what he wants.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He wanted a Pearl. It’s a very stressful job, herding quartzes and otherwise running the day-to-day operations of a base, and an Agate only has so many hands. A Pearl assistant would lighten his load, open doors for him, sort files, carry his things… So, he put in for one and you can imagine how slighted he felt when his superiors would only sign off on a Sea Glass. You show up and it’s clear that your master resents you, at least a little. There are plenty of snide comments to you about what he would be having a Pearl assist him with and how you can remain in his quarters for the day since obviously he won’t require you, and those…hurt. But you are nonetheless determined to do your job and with every moment of downtime your Agate has, you try to show him your worth. It takes a long time…a very long time…but eventually, he starts to come around. You may not be what he wanted, but it’s possible that you’re exactly what he needed: with you around, he finally starts to actually relax in his downtime and that makes a world of difference for a stressed out workaholic like him. He…owes you one hell of an apology…

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He’s in the middle of his least favorite part of any day—the part where he has to do his job. At least he’s not the only Topaz there sent to round up a suspected traitor to the Empire and escort them to holding until trial, so it could be worse…but not by much. The traitor puts up a fight because of course they do, nothing can just be easy, and somewhere in the scuffle he bumps into you, the traitor’s poor Sea Glass. He tries to shield you from as much of the action as possible, no point putting you at risk too, right? Except that when it’s all over, traitor bubbled and the other Topazes heading out the door he has to wonder… “what happens to them?” His fellow Topazes don’t seem all that concerned about your fate: one says to leave you for someone else to deal with, another says to shatter you now and get it over with, and right there, in a moment of thoughtless impulse, he blurts out that he’ll just take you. Which is just great because what the hell is he supposed to do with a Sea Glass? He’s never had a…anything before, he’s only a Topaz, and a poor example of one at that! But…there you are, apparently his now, looking at him hopefully and…he doesn’t know how to say no to that. Guess you two will just have to…figure this out together?

Slate (Horrortale Sans): You’re a Sea Glass who rebelled against your fate. You didn’t want to serve, you didn’t want to be owned, you didn’t want to be a second class citizen in the rigid war-machine of Homeworld’s Empire, and so before you’d even been given to your first master, you ran. …That’s what the broken Sapphire foresees one day, anyway, having no idea if it was something that already happened or a vision that would never come true. He still tells the story to his brother—the Hessonite born from the same Kindergarten as him, from the same planetary vein, mere eras apart and now cracked just like him—and he can only end it with, “…i hope it was real. i wanna meet ‘em…” Luck is on his side for once and not a day later, you arrive, alone and frazzled and worried you’ve somehow been followed, as if anyone cared enough about the comings and goings of a Sea Glass to sound an alarm on you. You’re welcomed into the fold of the lost and the broken and even with nothing physically wrong with you, you joke that you’re the most defective of all for running away the very second you formed the legs to do it. You regret nothing: you found your home right here…especially with the Sapphire, whose touch is warm and reassuring even when he stares off into space for hours or talks about things that never were. He always comes back eventually and the way he smiles at you is…worth defying fate for. A hundred times over.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): You have not had the easiest life. Being born into the world a Sea Glass should’ve precluded you from experiencing violence…but things don’t always work out the way they ‘should.’ Your master was not a kind gem, to say the least, and decades of verbal and emotional vitriol have left you timid, trying to obey orders and do exactly as you’re told as quickly as possible to avoid the inevitable punishment. …You somehow never expected it to get physical, though. Your mistake—all it takes is one thoughtless strike at your gem and you’re cracked, not shattered yet but still malformed from what you were supposed to be, permanently damaged. And your master, terrible as they were, had no use for damaged goods. You’re discarded just as thoughtlessly as you were cracked, running from a society that would shatter you completely without a ‘real’ gem to vouch for you and praying your crack doesn’t worsen. That’s when you find the Hessonite, cracked, like you are, but still whole, and managing it. He invites you with him, to somewhere you’ll be safe. You have no choice but to trust him…but you think that even if you did have the choice, you would make the same one: his crooked smile is too earnest to doubt and you know that if it came down to it, he’d defend you or shatter completely trying.