#i should have done elliot

[earl-grey-crow]

I feel like alice might've wanted to kick the pond in the shins but how do you kick an eldritch pond in the shins

[synth-spinner]

Thinks really hard about superior agreeing to do that for Taka in the recent issue...remembers issue 12💥💥. LOVE this manga they get me fr.. he HATES how he was as doc ock so bad he would rather DIE than go back to being how he used to be even tho he knows he cant win against himself anymore because he refuses to be cruel again.. THATS HOW IT SHOULD BEEEE THEY GET IT... sick and twisted to me knowing how superior vol 2 ended up resetting him anyway.. AAAARGRGGHHHGGGGHHHGHHHH💥

[puexii]

Realized I don't have a post dedicated for Nyx despite them being an important character in the story 💥

(they are included in the meme post but still)

So I have decided I must make a post for them, with all the drawings and doodles they are included in >:] (including the ones in the meme post)

All that's left is for me to remember to do that

[f0xgl0v3]

Uhhhh I’m doing something that is very important to me but this is my call for help- a moment of desperation if you will because there are so low stakes to what I’m doing but it’s so high stakes in my mind-

These are some concept sketch for a TMA Oc named Elliot Allan (I don’t know if there are any notable characters with the last name Allan so whatever-) she is a ecologist and dabbles in articulating (taxidermy but it’s just the bones- it’s super cool-) on the side. From what I’ve gathered so far she also comes from a rich family (Elliot is a nepo baby) and won’t shut up about it. I want to make her an avatar and before I go ahead and draw more and refine her character design more I want to consider what fear she might be the avatar for- if anyone has suggestions please I’d love to hear it before I cave and make her either Lonely

[doodlboy]

Hehehe >:]

[jacksintention]

Oz in his Negan era

[fingertipsmp3]

Only stressful thing about Stardew Valley is trying to pick who to romance tbh

[avocado-frog]

Trying to keep myself from adding in plot points for no reason because they would drastically change the story and having to convince myself to not do it is like going to a grocery store with a six year old who wants to buy toys that they're never going to play with

[puphoods]

i updated my artfight *covered in blood*

[raeofgayshine]

I just, how can I be embarrassed of young Elliot’s writing when it’s just so fucking funny?

How can I be embarrassed that my first attempt at writing was a fucking Extreme Makeover Home Edition fic with a family inspired by the dozens of TLC shows I was watching at the time, when objectively it is hilarious that, instead of watching cartoons, I was far more interested in watching shows about family drama or renovating houses, to the point I was so obsessed with them I was writing fic.

And not just one fic either. Like my first fic was that, but also years later when I was deep in my One Direction love, I wrote a second fic with the same premise it’s just One Direction was the celebrity guest on there also.

It’s fucking hilarious, like what kind of kid is like that? This is objectively one of the funniest thing about me as a person, so how can I be embarrassed about that?

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Can You Stay?

Olivia Benson x fem!reader

Warnings: sexual assault/rape (not graphic or anything, this takes place after the fact), trauma, hospitals, rape kit, established relationship, hurt/comfort, some explicit language, brief mentions of self-harm

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: You're assaulted by a man the SVU just can't seem to convict. Olivia is used to victims, she's used to the aftermath of a rape. She's not used to walking through it with someone she loves as much as you.

“Let me see her!” Olivia yelled, shoving Fin so hard he slammed into a wall.

“Liv, you can’t be here as a cop,” Elliot argued, holding her back.

Olivia ran her hands through her hair, angry beyond reason and worried out of her mind. “I’m not, Elliot! I’m here because my girlfriend got raped. Now get the fuck out of my way so I can take care of her!”

Elliot lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, just… you gotta let us do our job, okay?”

Olivia shoved past him and into your apartment, desperate to find you, to see you, to hold you and protect you. When she found you, shaking and huddled in a corner of your bedroom, it shattered her, but she didn’t feel sad, not yet. That would come soon, she knew. What she felt now was blinding, white hot anger at the man who’d done this to you.

You were so traumatized you didn’t even seem to notice her. Your eyes were glazed over, and you rocked back and forth, your head banging lightly into the wall each time. Munch sat on a corner of your bed, and Olivia looked at him, silently asking if you’d said anything yet. John shook his head. So it had just been the 9-1-1 call so far then.

Olivia lowered herself onto the floor next to you, careful not to touch you, to frighten you. Your hair was dripping wet, and the water had blotched your t-shirt. Her stomach sank. It was him again–Cleary–she just knew it.

“Sweetheart,” she started, her voice soft, looking into your blurry eyes. “It’s just me.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, but your eyes filled with tears, and you started banging your head against the wall with more force.

Olivia placed her hand between your head and the wall to soften the blows. You wanted to hurt yourself. You wanted to hurt so much that you forgot what had come before. But you couldn’t bear to hurt Olivia. You put your head in your hands instead and when you finally spoke, your voice was small and hoarse.

“I can’t stop shaking.”

“It’s okay,” she soothed, still not touching you. She’d let you initiate touch if you wanted to. “That’s normal. You’re in shock, okay, baby? It’ll pass.”

“He came in my window, Liv,” you stuttered, unable to breathe deeply enough, your fingers tingling with the lack of oxygen. “He came in my window. I thought it was locked. It– it sh– should have– been l–locked.”

You scrunched your eyes shut and shrunk into Olivia, her arms wrapping firmly and protectively around you as you buried your face in her neck and gasped for breath. She rubbed your back, resting her chin on the top of your head.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Just breathe, baby, breathe.”

Elliot entered the room and sat on the bed with John. Olivia met his eyes, and she saw that he hated to do this. They were always aware of the ways in which an investigation might come off as insensitive to the victim. In fact, they did everything they could to be kind and empathetic and caring. But it had never been clearer than it was now that questions and probing, while necessary, would likely only make your horrific night worse. 

You coughed, trying to desperately get enough air, the room swirling around you. You tried, you tried so hard to fight the darkening edges of your consciousness, but you couldn’t breathe. The last thing you remembered before blacking out was grabbing onto Olivia’s jacket.

“Shit,” Olivia muttered, as your body fell limp against her. “El–”

“On it,” he said, pulling out his radio and walking to the living room. “Yeah, we need a bus at Mott and Spring. Unconscious female. Rape victim, panic attack.”

Olivia laid you gently on the ground, brushing your hair out of your face and placing her fingers on your neck to ensure you had a pulse. It was hard to pass out from a panic attack–which showed just how scared you were. She sighed and watched you, holding back tears, as she brushed her thumbs back and forth across your wrist. She wanted to feel your heartbeat. Just to be safe.

“You okay?” John asked her.

Olivia shook her head, biting her lip. “No.” She smiled wryly, her eyes wet. “But I am dangerously close to committing a felony.”

“We’ll get him, Liv,” John assured her.

“We haven’t yet.”

“We will.”

When you jerked awake, gasping, your heart still racing, Olivia squeezed your hands and bent down close to you. “Hey,” she soothed. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay. I’m right here. Just keep breathing.”

She lifted your head onto her lap and you curled into yourself, your hand gripping tightly to hers. When the paramedics came, you shrank away from them and into Olivia, who might very well have assaulted an EMT to keep anyone from touching you and further traumatizing you.

“Can you walk?” she asked, and you nodded. “I got her,” she said forcefully to the paramedic who reached out for your arm.

Olivia walked you out of the room, out of your apartment, down the elevator, and into the back of the ambulance. She never once let you go, never once removed her arm from around your shoulder, glaring bullets at anyone who even came close to you.

Rape kits were always hard, no matter who the victim was, but it was excruciatingly hard now that it was you. Olivia almost couldn’t look at you as you talked the doctor at the ER through your assault. She wanted to cry, she wanted to shoot something, she wanted to hold you and never let you go. She would do anything, anything, to go back in time and have you stay at her place instead. Or, even better, to have been at yours so she could have shot the son of a bitch in self-defense. She didn’t know if she’d ever forgive herself for not being there.

You cried when they swabbed you, your body tensing in panic, hand squeezing Olivia’s so hard that little half moons formed on her skin under your nails. Olivia looked at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry. She felt like her heart was being fed through a shredder. It hurt more than anything, hurt so bad she was nearly bent over with it, to watch you cry. To watch your body flinch away from touch and comfort. To watch you poked and prodded and examined under the harsh fluorescent lights, the smell of alcohol sterilizer permeating everything, when you had already been through so much.

When they finally discharged you, Olivia pulled your softest, most oversized t-shirt and sweatpants out of her bag. She’d brought them from your apartment, knowing that they’d take your clothes for evidence. She dressed you gently, carefully, your eyes bloodshot, face streaked and puffy from tears.

She had Elliot drive you both to her apartment in a squad car, knowing you wouldn’t want to see anyone else, that you wouldn't be able to stomach a cab or the subway.

In the apartment, you sat on the edge of her bed, face blank, terrified to go to sleep. You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t speak. It was as if, after telling what had happened, your voice had switched off.

Olivia brushed your hair out of your face, bending down to look into your eyes.

“Do you think you can try to sleep, sweetheart?”

You nodded, exhaustion hitting you hard as the hours of adrenaline started to wear off. You crawled into bed, and Olivia pulled the covers over you. You struggled to keep your eyelids open, and Olivia gently kissed your forehead.

“Go to sleep, baby,” she whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

You grabbed her hand as she stood to leave, turning off the light.

“Can you stay?” you whimpered, tears welling up again, no matter how hard you tried to fight them.

Olivia wordlessly lifted the covers and pulled your body into hers, and you breathed easy for the first time in hours. Her arms were strong around you, her heartbeat sure and steady, hands soft as they ran through your hair. And you knew, you knew, that she would keep you safe.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

The problem with discussions about Henry Crawford is that there are two different questions being asked at the same time: 1) Can Fanny reform Henry? and 2) Can Henry reform?

Austen answers negatively to the first one, but I'd argue she's very ambivalent in her answer to the second.

Austen is not in the habit of "punishing" her villains; none of them are struck by accidents of fortune or anything the like, but we commonly perceive the downgrade between what they could have had and what they end up having. Edward Ferrars is an infinitely preferrable husband to Robert Ferrars, but Lucy Steele never seems to become aware of that fact. Isabella tries to get Captain Tilney over James Morland. Mr. Elliot is not crying by the corners over the fact that he lost Anne Elliot. Even Willoughby's regret is not about Marianne's actual goodness, but his personal convenience. Austen's "villains" as a rule are morally stupid people.

When Aristotle says that no one can be good who is stupid, he doesn't have in mind things like being good at Math or being well read or quick-witted; he's thinking of a certain intuition, clear-sightedness about what is good, what contributes to human flourishing, and this seems to be a strong component of what Austen calls sense. Sense is almost convertible (if not completely) with prudence, and prudence is a rather intuitive virtue, as it regulates the when, the how, the how much, etc of the other moral virtues. (and there goes my first thesis topic that I never did!).

In that way it is interesting that only 4 characters are said to possess sense in Mansfield Park: Edmund, Fanny, Henry, and Tom (and Tom doesn't even fully count, because his is expressed negatively: instead of having sense, he doesn't lack it). Here are the Henry instances:

"He did not want them to die of love; but with sense and temper which ought to have made him judge and feel better, he allowed himself great latitude on such points." "Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious." "That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should in a just measure attend his share of the offence is, we know, not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. In this world the penalty is less equal than could be wished; but without presuming to look forward to a juster appointment hereafter, we may fairly consider a man of sense, like Henry Crawford, to be providing for himself no small portion of vexation and regret: vexation that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and regret to wretchedness, in having so requited hospitality, so injured family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable, and endeared acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had rationally as well as passionately loved."

(I'm not counting the one time Edmund calls him a man of sense, and the one time Sir Thomas does the same, for obvious contextual reasons).

It's not only interesting that he is the only rake to be called a man of sense by the narrator (Mrs. Smith calling Mr. Elliot a man of sense in Persuasion is clearly not meant to be taken straight), but that it is always specifically tied to moral perceptiveness; he was morally perceptive enough to know he shouldn't have played the way he did, and he chose to ignore it. He perceives Fanny's moral worth, and it is the core reason why he wants to marry her.* He also perceives William's moral worth as something both good and desirable:

"To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed to have been at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much. His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through such bodily hardships and given such proofs of mind. The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast; and he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was!"

Both here and at the end of the novel, Henry's moral perceptiveness leads to remorse for his own moral wrongdoings. Compare this to Willoughby's regret over Marianne:

"Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;—nor that he long thought of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity."

This sense/moral perceptiveness of Henry Crawford, and his experiencing remorse for his own wrongdoings sets him apart from the other Austen rakes. He's also not a drinker or a gambler; he does take at least minimal care of Everingham ("Everingham could not do without him in the beginning of September. He went for a fortnight") and did some modifications to it as soon as he got it. The same way Darcy's character is revealed as we see Pemberley, so the inflexion point of Henry's redemption attempt is his trying to become a better master of his estate:

For her approbation, the particular reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this unusual time of year, was given. It had been real business, relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large and—he believed—industrious family was at stake. He had suspected his agent of some underhand dealing; of meaning to bias him against the deserving; and he had determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. He had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and was now able to congratulate himself upon it, and to feel that in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for his own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants whom he had never seen before; he had begun making acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. This was aimed, and well aimed, at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak so properly; here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be the friend of the poor and the oppressed! Nothing could be more grateful to her; and she was on the point of giving him an approving look, when it was all frightened off by his adding a something too pointed of his hoping soon to have an assistant, a friend, a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Everingham: a somebody that would make Everingham and all about it a dearer object than it had ever been yet. She turned away, and wished he would not say such things. She was willing to allow he might have more good qualities than she had been wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility of his turning out well at last; but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her, and ought not to think of her.

I have half an idea of going into Norfolk again soon. I am not satisfied about Maddison. I am sure he still means to impose on me if possible, and get a cousin of his own into a certain mill, which I design for somebody else. I must come to an understanding with him. I must make him know that I will not be tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than on the north: that I will be master of my own property. I was not explicit enough with him before. The mischief such a man does on an estate, both as to the credit of his employer and the welfare of the poor, is inconceivable. I have a great mind to go back into Norfolk directly, and put everything at once on such a footing as cannot be afterwards swerved from. Maddison is a clever fellow; I do not wish to displace him, provided he does not try to displace me; but it would be simple to be duped by a man who has no right of creditor to dupe me, and worse than simple to let him give me a hard-hearted, griping fellow for a tenant, instead of an honest man, to whom I have given half a promise already. Would it not be worse than simple? Shall I go? Do you advise it?” “I advise! You know very well what is right.” “Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know what is right. Your judgment is my rule of right.” “Oh, no! do not say so. We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.

This is even more hammered in by the narrator: "Had he done as he intended, and as he knew he ought, by going down to Everingham after his return from Portsmouth, he might have been deciding his own happy destiny."

All these elements seem to point towards his being redeemable; he almost managed it! If only he'd gone to Everingham instead of London, catastrophic failure would have been averted! And yet at the same time we are told this:

Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad domestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded vanity a little too long. Once it had, by an opening undesigned and unmerited, led him into the way of happiness. Could he have been satisfied with the conquest of one amiable woman’s affections, could he have found sufficient exultation in overcoming the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and tenderness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability of success and felicity for him. His affection had already done something. Her influence over him had already given him some influence over her. Would he have deserved more, there can be no doubt that more would have been obtained, especially when that marriage had taken place, which would have given him the assistance of her conscience in subduing her first inclination, and brought them very often together. Would he have persevered, and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward, and a reward very voluntarily bestowed, within a reasonable period from Edmund’s marrying Mary.

Ruined by early independence and bad domestic example. Mansfield Park is in a way a rather pessimist novel: it is a novel about education, and once your education has "set", your character is fixed, and your fate determined. Much of Maria and Julia's disgrace was also directly caused by their upbringing in a household where all importance was given to superficial qualities, and very little effective affection was shared; one can compare the restrained calm of Mansfield as a reflection of Sir Thomas' own unwillingness to see reality and give himself some discomfort in making others comfortable, with the bustle of the Musgrove household, and connect the dots to what makes the relationship between sisters Maria and Julia so different from the one between Louisa and Henrietta in similar situations.

In the end, it's a bit of a Schröedinger's cat situation. Can Henry reform? Yes, says Austen, he has the qualities needed for moral improvement, but no, his upbringing ruined him, and his character is fixed.

While this idea is the strongest in MP, it is present one way or another in all Austen's novels. Characters reforming is usually more about one specific quality or moral tone not being fine tuned than proper metanoia. Darcy was taught to do right, and did right; what he needed was to add proper humility and kindness to his practice. There is an exception, though, the one thing Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen agree upon: a close brush with death is the best recipe for moral cure in the otherwise incurable.

Maybe the key is to wish Henry a good pneumonia, or a strong horsefall-induced concussion.

_____________

*On a side note, it's interesting that before he proposes, he considers how attached Fanny is to Mansfield, as undeserving as he thinks the Bertrams to be of her affection, and even draws a plan that contemplates giving her pleasure that way too: "I will not take her from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood; perhaps Stanwix Lodge."

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

I seriously love the post you made about insomnia!s/o! Could you do the same prompt but with Ayaka, Edelgard (3H), Laura (cold steel), and Shenhe?

Hugging their S/O to sleep

Genshin Impact: Ayaka, Clorinde, Arlecchino, Shenhe FE3H: Edelgard, Dorothea, Constance ToCS: Laura, Towa, Elliot

First post in question

Man, I really need to start writing for the other fandoms again on this blog.

Ayaka must have been lucky, the only way to stave off S/O's habit of not sleeping was to be cuddled close into them.

Ayaka has zero issue in helping her S/O sleep, especially in such an intimate manner.

Though her face is flushing red, she still can't help but let her smile go ear to ear, hugging S/O close.

She nuzzles her head underneath their chin, listening to their heartbeat and not wanting to miss a single beat.

(Ayaka) "Good night, my love.~"

Clorinde can't help but hesitate whenever S/O gives her a hug, being unused to such intimacy.

But it doesn't take long for her to enjoy the feeling of their warmth, though her hands are usually gently caressing theirs instead of any grandiose display of affection.

And when she learned that S/O slept better when she held them, Clorinde decided that her embarrassment was a small price to pay for her love.

Making sure to not smother them they were comfortable, she lets their head rest on her chest as she sighs in content.

(Clorinde) "Sleep well, S/O. And...should you need me to move, please let me know."

Arlecchino usually had no trouble sleeping herself, but S/O did.

At first she was half tempted to wish them luck in falling asleep and leaving them be, but she wasn't that cruel.

Usually.

She can't always be home for S/O to hold them, but she indulges them whenever she is, still unused to this kind of intimacy from...well, anyone.

Her grip is tight, as her blackened fingers ruffle the back of their head, holding them close to her.

(Arlecchino) "I cannot guarantee that your dreams will be entirely pleasant near me but...I wish you a good night regardless, S/O."

Shenhe nearly crushes S/O's ribcage when she learned that they slept better with her nearby.

The tighter she hugged, meant the better they slept, right?

She lets go and makes sure she didn't cut off their blood circulation and nods to herself.

Shenhe still holds S/O tight, but makes sure they could at least breathe. This was something she both enjoyed and had zero issue in helping.

(Shenhe) "Let me know immediately if you need to breathe."

Edelgard's hugging strength is pretty damn strong anyways, but especially at night.

The nightmares still haunt her even so many years later, and even as Emperor.

Yet, when S/O was so close, the nightmares ceased.

At least in private, Edelgard doesn't hesitate to hug S/O tightly, breathing easy.

For now, she could just enjoy this moment and not have to think about her duties. Just her lover.

(Edelgard) "...Thank you, S/O."

Dorothea is openly affectionate with everything, including hugs.

And it absolutely warmed her heart to know that even that simple act could make S/O sleep with ease.

Zero hesitation and worry, Dorothea gladly takes S/O into her arms as she lays down on the bed, humming a tune to herself in a psuedo-lullaby.

Though, she expects the same to be done for her. If she pampered S/O like this, then it's only right they did the same for their darling singer.

(Dorothea) "Good night, my dear.~"

Constance scoffs at any notion of such affection displayed so easily!

She absolutely was not embarrassed that S/O felt comfortable by her hugs, dispel that thought!

After all, such effects were only natural when receiving it from a Nuvelle!

Pompousness aside, the blush that creeps onto her cheeks are always burning bright whenever S/O falls asleep thanks to her hold, making her mutter something under her breath.

(Constance) "...I hope I'm at least comfortable for you, S/O...N-NOTHING! I SAID NOTHING! RETURN TO SLUMBER!"

Laura is always at risk of snapping S/O like a toothpick with her hugs, but luckily she knows how to control her strength.

It makes her heart skip a beat whenever S/O got close to her in general, but doubly so when they shared a bed.

And whenever she hugged them, it never failed to make her smile to see how quickly they fall asleep thanks to her.

Especially with how tightly she was being hugged as well.

(Laura) "Hm, sweet dreams, S/O."

Towa pouts for a moment since she was supposed to be the one providing the hugs, yet here she was, completely engulfed by S/O's arms.

She's hugging them as tightly as she can, yet she felt like it was nothing compared to S/O's own vice grip.

With her head barely coming up to their chest, she pouts to herself in the darkness.

(Towa) sigh "I feel like a teddy bear right now..."

Elliot is a little nervous sharing a bed with his S/O, especially knowing they struggled to sleep easily.

But it quickly fades when he notices that his presence helps them fall asleep, doubly so when he hugs them.

His cheeks warm up but he can't help but let out a soft chuckle and hugs them with his hesitation quickly rocketing away.

Making sure his hair wasn't getting into their face, Elliot holds S/O's waist closer to him, resting his head against theirs.

(Elliot) "You're really cute, S/O..."

[mlmxreader]

Guard | Elliot Stabler x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ "You don't need to guard me." "I do. I said nothing would hurt you again."With Elliot stabler please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Elliot uses his holiday leave to stay with you when you get attacked by someone and no one does anything about it.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, violence, minor injury

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Nobody was happy about it.

When it came out that you had been attacked in the streets by someone you had used to know and love, nobody was happy about it; they had to fight tooth and nail for something, anything, to be done to keep you safe but nothing ever came of it.

At least, until Elliot managed to find some time off and get himself to go on holiday leave; still, he wasn't happy that it had to get to that for something to be done.

When he spoke to your friends, they swore at him and cursed him, and he couldn't find it in himself to blame them; so he stood there, stiff as a soldier, and took it. His jaw clenched a bit here and there, some of the words cutting deep and long, but he couldn't blame them at all. It should never have gotten to that point. 

Never. 

After all, you were one of their own... kind of. Sort of. Your nephew went to the same school as one of Elliot's kids and they became friends after sitting next to each other during a few classes, and you had met there a few times thanks to various events and parents' evenings before beginning a long and deep friendship.

It was only natural that Elliot would feel so protective over you, and would despise the very thought of someone ever even considering hurting you. 

Still, he managed to make it to your place without causing any disruption; it felt like he was home already, dumping his coat on the back of the kitchen chair and fixing himself a drink.

He came to sit beside you on the sofa, taking note of the bruises on your face and the bandages on your arms; he clenched his jaw tightly, trying to keep his temper under wraps long enough to growl out the question.

"How you feelin'?"

You sighed, shaking your head as you tilted your head back for a moment, closing your eyes and trying your best to keep your voice even and steady. An audible gulp coming from the back of your throat. "Not fucking great, El, can't lie... been fucked around the bush a lot."

He nodded slowly, daring to reach out and, with great caution, place his hand on your knee as he licked his lips and did his best to think of something better to say. "For what it's worth, you won't be anymore."

You shook your head again, although it wasn't in disbelief or disappointment, it was almost... regret? Guilt?

"It isn't your place, though - you don't need to guard me."

"I do. I said nothing would hurt you again." He pointed out, his tone even but stern. Authoritative but not quite commanding. "The first... do you remember the first time something like this happened?"

You nodded slowly. "You didn't leave me for days."

"I made a promise," Elliot pointed out. "I promised you that nothing, no one would do that again..."

"But it did," you whispered, sniffling and running a hand down your face in hopes that it would prevent the tears from falling. "It did, El, and it isn't your fault, but maybe I would've been better off if they'd have finished the job."

He moved, getting as close to you as he could so that he could gently put his arm around your shoulders, keeping you close as he frowned and let out a harsh, deep sigh. "Don't talk like that. It wasn't your fault, and it wouldn't have been better if they finished the job. I need you, your friends need you... I- we want you around."

You didn't respond, just sighing heavily and doing your best to regulate your breathing for a moment as you chewed at the inside of your lip. "Thank you..."

Elliot didn't want to say it, he couldn't. He was never good at emotions, but there had always been some part of his heart that was tied to you, and it was breaking his heart to think that you were silently blaming yourself for being... for thinking of yourself as an inconvenience. He hated that.

It cut deeper than anything else he had thought of.

"Listen," he pulled away, clearing his throat. "Why don't I get us a pizza? Half and half?"

You nodded slowly. "You sure?"

"My treat," Elliot told you with a shrug. "I know a good place that does delivery. You find something to watch - just not that thing Olivia told you about."

You smiled weakly at his little teasing comment, sniffling loudly and grumbling. "Sorry if I got snot on you..."

He shook his head, waving his hand briefly. "I've had worse... and, erm, don't worry - I'll take the sofa."

You shook your head, almost desperate as you glared at him with pleading eyes. "No, please... no..."

"Hey," without even hesitating, he dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your wrists in his hands. "It's fine. It's whatever you want, okay?"

You nodded, clearing your throat. "Can you sleep in my bed? With me?"

"Sure," he agreed. "Anything. Anything you want."

You smiled weakly again, swallowing thickly. "Thank you... really, Elliot, thank you."

He gave your wrists a small squeeze, just a little reassurance. "I said I'm always here, didn't I?"

You sniffled, your head stinging as you did your best not to start crying again. "I owe you..."

He shook his head, daring to smile a little bit. "If you wanna pay me, you can let me call your work tomorrow - I'll explain everything, don't worry."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure," he shrugged, hesitating for a split second. "We're friends."

You dared to lean forward, gently kissing his forehead. "I love you."

Fuck. He wished it meant something else. Pulling away as he cleared his throat and offered a faux smile, convincing enough to make sure that you relaxed as he made his way over to the phone. His hands were shaking. Shit.

It was going to be a long few days, he knew that much.

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

good evening! thanks so much for reading, but while I have your attention: Huda & Sara are two 12 y/o children from Gaza who are in urgent need of funds rn so that they can seek refuge as well as medical care. if you have anything to spare, even if it's just £1, please consider giving to them. they do genuinely, honestly, need all the help that they can get.

[doodlboy]

Om tag ramble

[sofiaruelle]

Aaa tumblr deleted my ask before I was done smh, anyway I was wondering who you think would do better at the ifuudoudou dance/shuffle, ass gang / she trio ?(stardew) i think they’d both give up in the middle from the quick-exhaustion, or how funny it’d probably be to see those sillies knocking each other over.

Aww man the ASS gang would DEMOLISH the SHE trio doing the ifuudoudou shuffle. Something something about being old and their old man knees (Abigail’s words). And in this essay I will explicate my take on the dance battle:

I can imagine the ASS gang would have to teach them how the dance moves first. The SHE trio practices for a bit. Harvey and Shane would definitely have a little with coordination (especially with the double bounce) but they get it down and are actually some what in sync as a group. Since Elliot was able to pick up on the dance moves quicker, he somewhat moves a little faster than the other two. Harvey tends to get flustered in the middle and would flail his arms trying to catch up to Elliot’s tempo thinking he messed up somewhere. Poor Shane would strugggglllleeeee with cardio. He blames the fact that he’s hungover to save face (he’s not, he’s been sober for a while, Elliot and Harvey pick up on this and just teases him)

Meanwhile the ASS gang is much more familiar with the song and dance. (my lil HC: Sebastian is a big fan of vocaloid; though he has yet to tell the rest of the gang what the song is about). For a time it had been a trend amongst them to dance the shuffle around town and filming themselves doing shennanigans. coughtiktokcough Despite being quite familiar with it, Sam struggles to move in the same direction as the others and bouncing on one place. He does quickly recover though!!!! Not his fault Abigail tends to forget to do the double bounce though hahahah. Sebastian has *perfected* the dance catch him practicing in between doing freelance programming.

I have this Idea™️ during the shuffle battle, Elliot realizes the song lyrics is quite scandalous and catches Sebastians eyes and they have a some kind of telepathic conversation which causes Sebastian to get flustered and embarassed at the implication of the lyrics. Elliot just laughs in amusement and nearly falters. Abigail in the middle of egging on the SHE trio notices this and calls out Elliot for the sabotage! Shane, tired of her teasing, tells his buddies to avenge him before collapsing on his ass, completely out of breath. Harvey to check on him but Shane waves him off. Also Sam nearly knocks everyone out trying to match up with the direction his hands should be facing, almost tripping on Shane. 😂 😂 😂