#it’ll be back to your regularly scheduled programming

[lilyisda1]

All the Automata doodles I’ve made since I realized it’s been a while since I posted any finished pieces T~T

[upontherisers]

[sailforvalinor]

*rubs hands together* alright, here goes nothing, then:

Before I get into this, a few disclaimers/important items: my knowledge of DW canon, especially Classic Who, is very sparse at best, and I've only watched through some of the Eleventh Doctor, so I will be playing very fast and loose with DW canon here--but as roughly 70 percent of this story won't really have anything to do with those storylines, so it hopefully shouldn't be TOO egregious. But as such, this will be taking place roughly over the span of Nine, Ten, and probably some of Eleven's run, and my oc's will run into the Doctor and his companions on occasion.

Anyway, with that out of the way, on to the fun stuff:

(And, um, fair warning, I wrote WAY MORE than I was anticipating)

Joker, the first of my oc's, is a female Time Lord who has been traveling the universe for an indeterminate amount of centuries for reasons that are her own. Unlike the Doctor, she usually tends to go by "Joker" instead of "The Joker" (I'll admit, I'm mostly doing this to avoid Batman associations, which isn't at all what I'm going for here, lol). When I initially conceptualized her character, I was still watching Nine's run, and I kind of subconsciously made her as a sort of antithesis to Nine...and thus rather reminiscent of Eleven. She's very cheerful, free-spirited, and affectionate, and on occasion can seem a bit spacey. (Hehe. Spacey.) She's almost rather ethereal and fairy-like, which serves to disguise that she's as sharp as a tack. One thing she does have in common with the Doctor though is her great appreciation, almost bordering on reverence for the beauty of the universe, and a strange magnetism towards the human race.

However, though she's not exactly forthcoming with these details at first, two things eventually become apparent: firstly, Joker is an amnesiac. Other than being a Time Lord (and having most of the subsequent intelligence and knowledge that comes with that), she has no idea who she is, where she comes from, or how she came to be here. She has no knowledge of the Time War, or even why she calls herself "Joker." Her first memory is of being a child in her TARDIS, floating in the nebulous vacuum of space-time.

Secondly, she cannot regenerate properly. Every time she has "died," she's begun the regeneration process, but it is excruciatingly painful to an abnormal degree, and when she comes out the other side, she's still the same person--she has never changed.

Now, you may be asking--all the Time Lords are dead, how on earth is she a Time Lord? Where did she get a TARDIS? Why does she have so many similarities to the Doctor? These are all questions that Nine will be asking very loudly when they first meet, and if I ever actually sit down and write this, will eventually be answered. I do at least know the answers though, lol.

A few other fun miscellaneous things, instead of having an iconic outfit or two that she always wears, Joker likes to switch up her wardrobe--a lot. She's a bit of a fashionista. If this were actually a show I were showrunning, I wouldn't ever let her repeat an outfit. She's always very particular that she dresses to match whatever era or culture she's visiting, but in general errs on the side of fancy, tends to favor dresses, wears a light color palette, especially a lot of white, favors lace, and often carries a short walking stick.

As I mentioned earlier, she does have a TARDIS, and though I'm not entirely sold on this I'm thinking it often takes the shape of a tree, and the inside feels a little Mirkwood-esque, though a bit brighter and airier with some occasional alien technology mixed in, of course. I also haven't decided if I want to give her a sonic-anything. I genuinely have no ideas, I'm open to suggestions. She also has a very lovely singing voice and plays classical guitar.

Also, in terms of appearance, though this isn't entirely set in stone, I imagine her to have pale-blond, curly hair that falls to her waist when it's down, pale blue eyes, and a rather round face. She's on the shorter side, but probably often favors heels.

And then I have her companion, Theodore Ace. She calls him "Ace" (because how could she pass up a good theme when its handed to her on a silver platter), he usually refers to himself as "Theodore," the Doctor calls him "Theo," and Rose calls him "Teddy" (as do I half the time, lol). Also, I am fully aware that there is a Classic Who companion named Ace, but I didn’t know this when I conceptualized his character and I’m way too attached to the theme to give it up now. I’ll somehow make it make sense, lol.

It occurred to me that it's kind of the NuWho rule of law that the Doctor's companion has to be from the current present day--which is understandable, it is an escapist fantasy after all--but I thought it would be fun to change up the status quo. So, Theodore is the third son of an English lord from either near the end of the Georgian Era or the beginning of the Victorian Era--I haven't quite nailed down the year yet, but somewhere in that area. He has two older brothers, three older sisters, and a younger half brother and sister from his father's second wife. (This number could change, but regardless, he has a lot of siblings.) Ace lived a very privileged life, and was a very happy and idealistic boy who idolized his older brothers and was adored by his older sisters. He had a particular love for Arthurian legend, Edmund Spenser, and other tales of knights and chivalric deeds—he was the sort of boy who would be obsessed with superheroes if he lived in the 21st century.

However, Ace was clever. Too clever. And when he was thirteen years old, he discovered something that sent his world crashing around his ears—namely, that his father was the head of one of the biggest crime syndicates in Britain.

I can’t decide whether I want this to mean that his father somehow conned himself into the English aristocracy (honestly probably the best option, a lot more fun) or cheated a cousin out of an inheritance or something, but regardless, he has cheated, lied, stolen, extorted, blackmailed, and even murdered to both obtain and maintain his status and finances. What’s worse, all of Ace’s older siblings are in on it, his brothers even being high-ranking members of the syndicate itself.

Far from being displeased at being found out, his father is very impressed with Ace’s intelligence—neither of his brothers figured it out on their own, especially not so young—and though Ace is still very young, his father offers to make him his protégée and train him up to replace him one day—if he can prove himself more capable than his brothers.

Ace, however, is absolutely horrified—to a boy that values honor and chivalry so highly, the discovery that everyone has been lying to him, that so many of his jolly “aunts and uncles” were just his father’s “business associates,” and his family and their good name is nothing but a sham was earth-shattering. To his father’s shock, he refused outright to have anything to do with the syndicate—and thus his life became a living nightmare.

Ace was immediately taken out of school and began to be tutored at home, so he could be under constant watch for fear that he might betray the family secret. From this point on in his life he was nearly completely isolated, aside from his sisters, who scorned him, and his brothers, who began to bully him relentlessly, both because of his convictions and their jealousy, for their father was still clearly determined to have him as his successor. Ace would have none of it, however.

When he finished his schooling at eighteen, Ace wanted to get a commission and go into the navy, but his father wouldn’t hear of it, for of course he would then be completely out of his reach and he’d have no way to keep an eye on him. Thus Ace was sent to university, ostensibly to be a clergyman, but in actuality was sent in hopes he would get a sense for what the “real world” was like and help bring him to his senses. This of course doesn’t work, though, having grown more bitter and pessimistic, he was now resisting less out of a desire to hold to his convictions and more to spite his father. He was of course being watched at all times, and Ace knew it, and he kept quiet. His father was under the impression that he did not betray him out of fear of what the syndicate would do to him if he did—however, it was actually because Ace knew that if he exposed his father, it would be the ruin of his innocent stepmother and half-siblings, and at present he had no means of taking care of them if they were left destitute.

When he comes home from university, to his father’s chagrin, Ace is quite possibly more stubborn than when he left, and will have nothing to do with his father’s business. He intends to take orders as soon as possible, and this is when his father catches on to what he’s planning to do—i.e., as soon as he has obtained a living and has some means of providing for his stepmother and half siblings, he plans to expose his family. Finally realizing that he’s a lost cause, his father comes to the conclusion that he will have to come up with a way to keep him quiet more…permanently.

One night a few weeks after he’s come home, at a ball he was forced to attend with his sisters, Ace spots a mysterious, rather lovely young woman milling about the crowd. His sisters immediately begin whispering—she’s here without an escort, bold as brass, who even is she, who invited her—and just to spite his sisters, he introduces himself to her and asks her to dance.

Later that night, after they’ve come home and his sisters had gone to bed, he’s startled to discover that same woman breaking into his house. More shocked than angry, especially as she doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by being caught, he of course asks her what on earth she’s doing.

“Among other things,” she says, plucking the wineglass a servant had just brought to him out of his hand and pouring its contents with great ceremony out of the window she’d just climbed through, “preventing a tragic filicide.”

Thus, after a series of convoluted events, Ace realizes that he has to run away for fear of his father attempting to murder him again and succeeding, and Joker offers that he travel with her—and thus, Joker and Ace’s adventures begin.

With his backstory out of the way, in terms of personality, Ace is a cynic, in danger of sliding further and further into nihilism. He believes that every good thing must have some dark underbelly, that everything has a catch—it takes a long time for Joker to make him believe that she didn’t have some ulterior motive for bringing him with her. Despite all of this, Ace is still a gentleman, it’s been too well-trained into him. Deep down, he still has his strong convictions and morals, and he can’t seem to help acting on them, though “logically” he can’t understand why. His arc of course is about how there is good in the world and that honor and chivalry are worth upholding and fighting for, so he does lighten up a bit over the course of the story, but it takes awhile. Also there will of course be an arc where he returns to take care of “family business.” (Mwhahhahha.)

Because I am just this corny, if this were an actual show I would have episodes of character significance for him called “Ace of Diamonds,” “Ace of Spades, “Ace of Clubs,” and yes, of course, “Ace of Hearts,” but as it’s not, they may end up as chapter titles.

I’m also thinking that a running gag will be that though he tries to hide how interested he is in it at first, he absolutely loves learning about pop culture. He spends hours researching and watching things in the TARDIS’s library, and in turn Joker loves introducing him to things. I’m thinking at some point she gifts him a spaced-out Walkman that can access all of any planet or culture’s music if it is present on that planet (this is MAYBE a little GOTG inspired, sue me). He discovers late 90’s/early 00’s punk rock and it does something to his brain chemistry (he’s a Yellowcard stan), probably gets into fantasy novels, and probably cried while watching LOTR. It would also be hilarious if at some point Joker blows up on someone for casually mentioning that Darth Vader is Luke’s father in his hearing.

Unlike Joker, Ace tends to wear black, usually some variation on a suit—to paraphrase AOS, every century has a boring square. He’s also a talented fencer and is usually carrying a rapier, and possibly eventually some form of handgun (which of course the Doctor is not a fan of). Also, in terms of appearance he’s fairly average height (shorter than his brothers), short dark hair, brown eyes, and, despite his otherwise very classy, aristocratic air, dimples. Given that he was about to take orders, he’s probably nearly 24 years old.

Joker and Ace are technically a grumpy x sunshine dynamic, though I don’t think I did that intentionally. It is a little bit more complex than that, but I don’t want to spoil too much in case I ever actually write this, but suffice it so say that it is in some ways similar to the NuWho Doctor-and-companion relationship, but in other ways pretty different.

Though it will involve both, I sort of imagine Joker and Ace to lean more towards the historical/time travel side of the DW universe than the alien/space travel side that NuWho often favors. It would be very fun to write them into some of the NuWho episodes—The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances, Rise of the Cybermen/Age of Steel, The Lazarus Experiment, and the Metacrisis are a few that come to mind—as well as vice-versa, especially during Series 2. Rose and Ace would have SUCH a fun dynamic, they are nearly complete opposites and probably wouldn’t get along well at first, but eventually settle into a brother-and-sister/partners-in-crime dynamic (i.e., Ace keeps Rose from nearly getting herself killed all the time).

Also, on a completely unrelated note, there is a lot of dancing in this story. I don’t know why, but I picture them dancing together a lot. They are both very good, Joker loves it and Ace can’t even bring himself to pretend to hate it. The Doctor is convinced that they’re on some dance-tour of the universe, because half the time he happens to run into them they’re investigating what the social dancing scene is like in the culture they’re visiting. (They have to learn the lindy hop at some point, this is a requirement.)

The weird thing about this story is I only have the major plot points vaguely planned out, but I could write the ending write now. Take that as you will.

Out of curiosity, would anyone be interested in reading some of my concepts and ideas about my Doctor Who oc’s if I were to post them? I don’t really have time to write anything for them right now, but I might at a later date, and they are taking up SO much brain space.

[pockykierra]

Hi! Hope you’re doing well! I wanted to ask if you still writing your fanficition?

Hello! I hope you’re doing well also! Yes, I am still writing fanfic. I’m sure I sound like a broke record at this point in saying this, but this year has been pretty rough for me, and has just recently started to calm down. So I have been taking a bit of a break, and I have also working on some secret santa fics that can’t be posted quite yet. But hopefully once the beginning of the year rolls around It’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming! Thank you for your message : D

[pristinegroupcleaning]

How to Get Rid of Clogged Restaurant Filters

When a restaurant’s exhaust hood filters get dirty, the fan can’t work properly to pull smoke and grease out of the kitchen. This can make the restaurant filter cleaning, smoky and hot, and customers don’t want to eat in a place that smells like a greasy kitchen. But if you clean your filters regularly, the fan can continue to do its job. The best way to do that is with an automated hood cleaning system like AutoMist. These systems can be programmed to clean your vent system on a schedule that fits with your kitchen’s operations. They work from inside the hood and ducts, spraying a mix of grease-dissolving water and detergent that goes to work to remove accumulated grease.

Using this method eliminates the need to shut down the restaurant for a long cleaning process. It also frees up staff to focus on other tasks. If you don’t want to deal with a third-party kitchen exhaust cleaning company, there are ways you can cut back on the need for a full cleaning by doing things like installing hood access doors to make it easier to get at your filter.

First, start by removing your filters and getting them ready for the cleaning process. They should be wiped down with a sponge or non-abrasive brush to remove loose debris. Then, fill a sink or large container with a solution of degreaser and hot water. Submerge the filters and let them soak for 10 to 15 minutes.

After the soaking, drain the sink and rinse your filters. You can then use the sponge or non-abrasive brush again to remove any remaining grease and dirt from your filter. Now, let the filters air dry before putting them back in the exhaust system.

When you’re finished, your filters should look good as new and be ready for use. They’ll help keep your kitchen cleaner and safer for your employees and customers. And, they’ll help your kitchen exhaust system stay in compliance with NFPA 96 requirements.

A clogged filter can lead to an overworked motor, forcing it to work overtime to push heat and smoke out of the restaurant. That puts the restaurant at risk of a fire. But, when the filters are cleaned on a regular basis and following a cleaning schedule, the fan can continue to do its job without causing a fire hazard.

To avoid costly repairs and expensive re-cleaning, it’s important to follow a cleaning schedule for your exhaust system. A reputable and certified hood cleaning company will clean the entire kitchen exhaust system from the hood canopy to the exhaust fan and baffle filters. This will not only keep the kitchen and customers safe, but it will help you avoid a costly fire. And, it’ll allow you to continue to receive inspection stickers that show when your restaurant is due for a full cleaning by a third-party kitchen exhaust company. This will keep your restaurant in compliance with local and state regulations.

Pristine Group Cleaning provides unrivaled quality cleaning services to Houses, Apartments, Townhouses, Estates, and Small Offices throughout Sydney. Hire our professional cleaning services in Sydney and transform the entire look and feel of your place with us! We are ready to sweep off your feet with cleaning services in Sydney. We are passionate about our work and keep up with technology and progress.

[squiddtastic]

Hey! Where’ve u been😭

AHH hello there anon!! apologies for the late reply and for being so suddenly inactive! truth be told i haven’t been doing so hot mentally these past few months and have been taking small steps to get better on my own since i have no means of getting professional help atm. i have very little mental and social energy. unfortunately this means going MIA on lots of stuff which also means i don’t know when i will be officially back :( but i appreciate the concern!! i might occasionally reblog if i see something i like on here, maybe post art once in a while, but i won’t be able to do much or respond to DM’s or anything like that right now. i’ll just do whatever, yknow?

i’m also not really into the witcher anymore which is unfortunate but true, so when i do come back, i won’t be a witcher focussed blog anymore. i’ll reblog things that stick out to me but it won’t be the focus and i can’t guarantee how much, if any, i’ll post about it! if that bothers you a lot, i won’t be offended if you unfollow!!

anyway, again thank you for the concern! i’m trying to get more social on a personal level again but it’s definitely gonna be quite the process. i am a bit more active on twitter if anyone is interested :) but i love appreciate you all!!

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Protector

Chapter One

Author’s Note: And welcome back to your regularly scheduled regularly scheduled program!

Alright, summary that's as non graphic as I can make it!  In the last chapter, Virgil goes to rescue Janus, then buys Janus time to fix the barrier by shifting to take his place.  Janus realizes he's messed up just a tiny bit, and he and the rest of the sides and Thomas all go down to rescue Virgil, who's being tortured by the other sides there, using an idea Remus gave them back when he was down there alone and trying anything to stop being bored.  Remus rescues him by killing Malice, but Virgil still asks Remus to kill him rather than recover from the injuries he has, so Remus does.  It ends there, and Virgil's now out of commission for a little bit.

Also, hopefully last heads up, but there's not going to be a chapter next week because I'll be out of internet range.  This should be the last time, and there should (knock on wood) be a chapter every week until the story is done after that.

Chapter Thirty-Three:

Janus had locked Cruelty and Positivity up in their rooms for the indefinite future.  He said he’d locked Malice’s door prematurely, so he’d be locked up when he reappeared.  Remus wasn’t sure why the hell he told him.  It’s not like that was enough to make up for everything.

Virgil’s door would likely be gone for another week, meaning Remus was alone, again, and he hated it.  Everyone was giving him a wide berth, which he wanted, obviously, but it meant he had nothing and no one.  The creatures he made in The Imagination got boring after a while, especially since all his ideas were apparently so useless.

Well.  Not that Malice would think so.

Remus tried to distract himself from the crushing guilt and loneliness by giving Thomas tons of horrible ideas about what could happen, doing his part while Virgil wasn’t here.

Tommy-boy was a bit of a mess, as he always was when Virgil was gone.  They were all kind of spending most of their time watching him.  Remus did his part entirely from his room so he wouldn’t have to see any of their stupid faces, and lived his life under dark of night like the horrifying monster that he was.  He didn’t really expect that to work forever, but he also didn’t expect anyone who found him due to getting a glass of water or midnight snack to stick around for very long.

He certainly didn’t expect Patton to be the side that stuck around.

“Hi kiddo,” came a soft voice, and Remus glared over his shoulder on instinct to find Patton standing at the bottom of the steps in kitten-covered pajamas.

“I thought I might find you up at this time,” Patton said.  “Since no one saw you around during the day.”

“You’re stalking me?” Remus asked, glaring at Patton some more.

“Of course not kiddo, I was just looking for you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Remus snapped, turning away as if he had something else to do.  “And don’t call me kiddo.  It’s not like you care about me.”

“That isn’t true.”

Remus whirled back around instantly.  “Yes it is,” he hissed.  “Don’t act like you would have been doing this if what had happened hadn’t happened.”

Patton winced.  “That’s… probably true,” he admitted.  “But it did happen, so it’s kind of irrelevant, isn’t it?”

“Says who?” Remus said, crossing his arms.

“Would you rather I go on being cold and distant?” Patton asked.

“Yes.  You don’t get to claim a relationship with me just because you all suddenly saw the consequences of your own actions.”

Patton narrowed his eyes in concern.  “I’m not trying to claim a relationship with anyone, Remus.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

Patton crossed his arms.  “You’re hurting,” he said.  “You’ve been hurt.  You shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Why, because it’ll make you feel bad?”

“No,” Patton said gently.  “Because it will make you feel bad.”

Remus glared away and said nothing.

“Do you want me to leave?” Patton said.  “I came here to offer some company, but I will leave if you want me to.”

Remus looked suspiciously over again.  “It’s the middle of the night.”

“And?”

Remus didn’t say anything, but after a second he glared away again.  “If you stay you say absolutely nothing,” he snapped.

Patton nodded and sat down on the chair nearby, then didn’t say anything.

Remus glared away again, but Patton didn’t leave.  Instead, they both sat there for a very long time, neither of them saying anything.  It felt more than a little awkward, but Patton still didn’t leave.  And finally, after a couple hours, the sun started to rise, and Remus sank out to his room.

Well, he supposed whatever the hell that was beat sitting there alone.  He still didn’t get what Virgil saw in Patton.

…

Remus knew he was wrong for letting Patton stay.  It was giving the others ideas that they could approach him too, as evidenced by the knock on his door coming way too soon to be Virgil.

Remus waved an extra lock into existence on his door and rolled over in his bed.  It was noon.  He wasn’t getting up yet.

The knock came again.  Remus groaned and shoved a pillow over his ears.

It came a third time.

Remus screamed through his teeth, threw his covers back, and climbed out of bed and stormed over to the door.

“I was sleeping,” Remus snapped as he opened it.  He didn’t stop glaring when he saw it was Logan, but he also didn’t start glaring harder, like he would have with Roman or Janus.

“I apologize,” Logan said.  “I did not mean to wake you up.  What would be a better time to come back?”

“Never,” Remus spat.

Logan hesitated.  “I… do not think that would be wise.”

“I don’t want to see any of your fucking faces.”

“I can certainly understand that perspective,” Logan said.  “But I do not think staying here all by yourself is a good decision.”

“Oh, so you all were checking on Anxiety after he ducked out, then?”

Logan winced.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Leave me the fuck alone then.”

He slammed the door in Logan’s face and didn’t get a knock again.

That apparently didn’t mean Logan was done, however, because he woke up a couple hours later to the sound of a piece of paper being slipped under his door.

He sat upright immediately and climbed out of bed again to get it.  Didn’t these idiots know how to transfer paper quietly?

The letter was from Logan, which didn’t really surprise him.

What did surprise him were the contents.

 Remus,

 I am not foolish enough to believe that the changing of my behavior will endear me to you.  However, that is not why you change behavior, so I am going to proceed with doing it anyway.  I hope at least that it will not anger you.

 Remus scoffed but kept reading.

 It is true that I did not treat Anxiety well following his decision to duck out.  I believed you and Anxiety to be a threat, and so I treated you as such.  I do not wish to lie to you, so I will say I don’t think this was necessarily unfair of me, though I do regret how it has seemed to harm you both.

I offered to Anxiety a few days ago a chance to talk if he wished, as I suspected you both had been through something traumatic and I knew that it is important to talk about those things.

 Remus narrowed his eyes.  As if Logan cared whether or not he and Virgil had gone through something.  As if Remus would want to talk to him when he obviously wouldn’t care.

 I would like to extend—

 Ha, like that erection medicine.

 —that same offer to you.  You are of course not obligated to talk, nor would I want you to if you did not wish to.  However, as I said to Anxiety, it is important to know that the offer is there.  So, I have made it.

 Sincerely,

Logan

 Remus glared down at the paper for a moment.  That was stupid.  It was a stupid thing for Logan to do.  As if Remus was going to talk about what he’d gone through to anyone other than Virgil.  They didn’t have the right to know.  That kind of thing needed trust.  And Remus trusted all of them about as much as he cared about them.

He crumpled the letter up and tossed it in his garbage can, the one that wasn’t being used to grow mold, and stormed out of his room and across the commons in order to bang on Logan’s door.

Logan showed up remarkably quickly, and looked surprised to see Remus there.

“I,” Remus said, jabbing a finger against Logan’s chest.  “Don’t want to talk to anyone.  I don’t understand why the concept of leave me alone is so hard for you idiots to get.”

“Isolating yourself is not a good idea, Remus,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses.

“Well lucky for me I don’t have to do shit!  You all were already considerate enough to do that for me!  So at least have the decency to finish what you started and back the hell off.”

He stormed back to his room and slammed his door shut before Logan could say anything in response.

…

Remus was going to kill someone, he’d decided.  He didn’t know what had made everyone decide that it was okay to interact with him, but it was idiotic whatever it was, and Remus had decided he was going to kill someone over it.

It was probably going to be Roman, because more than Patton’s sympathy or Logan’s guilt, he didn’t want Roman’s pity.  He hadn’t wanted it before and he didn’t want it now.  What he wanted was for Roman to go back to hating him.  Obviously that’s what he wanted.  They were brothers, they were supposed to hate each other.

…Virgil was different.

He didn’t want Roman’s pity and he didn’t want his pitiful attempts to fix things and he didn’t want whatever the hell this was.

Remus tossed another brainstorming paper into the fire pit in front of him and poked it with a stick, humming.  He’d lost track of which of those were Roman’s and which were his own.  He supposed it didn’t really matter at this point.

“Remus?”

“Sorry not sorry I burned your shit,” Remus said without turning around.

“I… was trying to see if you wanted to add anything to the idea,” Roman said, walking up to stand next to him.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I was going to do it before what happened too, Remus.”

Remus stopped poking with the stick.  “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

Remus poked harshly with the stick again and didn’t say anything.

“Why would you burn your ideas?” Roman asked, looking over at him.

Remus kept poking at the fire.  “I burned your ideas too.  It’s all shit and none of it matters.”

“That’s not true.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.  You know, because I’ve kind of built a lot of Thomas’ career off of some of those ideas, and I’d like to think it’s not all shit that doesn’t matter.”

Remus kept poking and didn’t say anything.

After a minute, Roman turned away.  “And I’d appreciate you not saying that too,” he said quietly.  “Those ideas weren’t exactly easy to come up with, you know.”

Remus jabbed a log over onto its side.  “Sorry.”

Roman turned to face him again in confusion.  “What?”

Remus moved one of the pieces of paper that had fallen to the side around until it caught ablaze.  “Sorry.”

“Why… are you apologizing?”

“Shut up, no I’m not.”

Roman didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“You didn’t have to burn them.”

“What, you gonna hit me for it?”

“What?  No!”

Roman said it with such immediacy and vitriol that it was obvious what he was thinking about.

Remus shot him a look.  “Shut the hell up.”

“I… I don’t want to hurt you, Remus.”

Remus glared back at the fire and started poking at it again.

“…I’m sorry,” Roman whispered, and Remus went still.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.  “I should have looked closer.”

Remus clenched the stick tighter.

“I mean Anxiety told you, didn’t he?  I would think he would—”

“Yes he told me,” Remus snapped, poking harshly enough to send a shower of sparks up into the air.  “He told me you’re a pathetic little baby who can’t even be bothered to decide whether he cares or not.  If they bothered you why didn’t you come check?”

“I was scared,” Roman said quietly.

Remus laughed.  “Yeah, me too, asshole.”

Roman winced.  “Not of them,” he murmured.  “Of you.”

Remus’ breath caught.  “I didn’t do anything,” he said weakly.  “I didn’t.”

“No, of course not, Remus,” Roman said, like it wasn’t even a question, like Remus hadn’t caused all sorts of new creative problems just because he couldn’t deal with being bored for a little while.

“I was scared of… you taking my place,” Roman said, looking up at the sky.  “And I know that’s not fair, not even close to the kind of stuff you were dealing with.  I just… I don’t know.  I was still scared.  That they’d decide your ideas were better than mine, or that you would be better at coming up with them, and then they’d decide they didn’t want me anymore.”

Remus threw the stick into the fire and threw his head back and laughed.  “Well that’s hilarious,” he said, turning a glare to Roman, who looked a little startled.  “That’s real funny Ro, because from what I remember, I wasn’t the one who took Janus from you.”

Roman’s eyes widened.  “Remus—”

“What the hell do you know about losing people?  I can tell you a few things about that!  It sucks!  And you were kind of right to be afraid of it, so fuck you!”

“I—” Roman reached a hand out, and then dropped it again.  “I’m sorry.”

“For what?  Are you sorry that you feel bad?  Is that it?  Because that’s a pretty shitty apology!”

“What?  No, I— I can’t be sorry because I hurt you?”

Remus glared back at the fire, half debating reaching in to grab his stick back.  “Yeah, right.  Since when do you care about me?”

“Since I started having nightmares about you getting hurt,” Roman said quietly.  “And my brain was stupid and just decided to interpret that as missing my brother.”

Remus crossed his arms.  “Well you should have come and said hi.  Maybe noticed all the bruises.”

“I know,” Roman murmured.

Remus glared over at him.  “I don’t forgive you.”

Roman blinked.  “I’m not asking you to forgive me.”

“That wouldn’t make your sad little prince ego feel better?”

Roman looked away.  “It’s not about me, Remus.”

“Isn’t everything?  You’re the creative one Thomathy wants, and the one Janus wants, and the one everyone wants.”

Roman bit his lip.  “I think Anxiety prefers you.”

“Anxiety isn’t here.”

Roman was silent for a long moment.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmured finally.  “Janus hasn’t left his room since we all came back here.  I don’t think he’s ever felt worse about anything.  I know that’s probably not worth much.”

“It isn’t.”

Roman nodded slightly.

“If you don’t want me to forgive you then why are you here?”

“I was checking on you.  I thought… I don’t know.  We could brainstorm.”

Remus kicked the firepit.  “Whoops.”

“It’s okay.  Maybe a break is best right now anyway.”

“Go away now.”

“Okay,” Roman said softly.  “I… you can always talk to me, Remus.  If you want.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Roman nodded again and sank out.

…

Remus didn’t know how to feel about the idea that Janus hadn’t left his room since they got back.  Mostly it pissed him off, honestly.  Virgil was going to be back soon, and if Janus was still hiding in his room like a wimp it would make Virgil concerned or something, and Remus was not going to let him spend time worrying about Janus when he should be recovering.

He’d blame that for why he showed up there one morning.

Janus was watching Thomas over at his desk, leaning heavily on one hand, apparently not having noticed Remus at all yet.

“Hey.”

Janus jumped so badly that he knocked a handful of things to the floor, and spun around with a hand pressed to his chest, breathing heavily.

Remus raised an eyebrow, trying to convey ‘Really?’ with his eyes.

Janus pushed himself up with the back of his chair.  “Remus?” he said weakly.  “What… what are you doing here?”

“You’re not going to be in here when Virgil shows up.”

Janus flinched.  “Remus—”

“You are not, do you hear me?  He’s just going to get worried, because for some reason he ‘cares about you’ and ‘thinks you’re worth saving’ and doesn’t think you ‘deserve everything that’s coming to you.’”

Janus trailed his gaze on the floor.  “He’s wrong.”

“I know that.  But he’s Virgil, you know how stubborn he gets when he’s really decided on something.”

A crumpled paper version of a smile crossed Janus’ face.

“So I’m going to say this once.  You’re going to get the fuck over yourself in the next couple days, and by the time Virgil gets out here, you’re going to be doing your job like a good little Deceit who knows how to suppress entire parts of his personality.  Capiche?”

Janus nodded.  “Okay.”  He didn’t say anything else.

Remus clenched his hands into fists.  “Okay?”

Janus looked up hesitantly.  “Yes?”

“You’re just gonna do what I tell you?”

Janus blinked.  “Do you want me to do something else?”

“I want you— you do not get to be devastated by this,” Remus snapped.  “It is your fault.  You don’t get to be upset.”

“I…” Janus looked lost.  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Well, Remus didn’t know what he wanted him to say either, but he wasn’t going to let Janus know that.  Instead, he summoned his morningstar and hurled it over towards the wall, knocking one of Janus’ posters down.

Janus startled and gripped the back of the chair he was next to until his knuckles turned white.

“I’m sorry,” he said, which was the wrong thing, because Remus might not know what he wanted but he didn’t want that.

“No!” he screamed.  “You’re not!”

But Janus just shook his head.  “Yes I am, Remus,” he said.  “I don’t— I can’t even begin to express to you how much I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Remus spat.  “It won’t be enough and you shouldn’t try!”

Janus nodded and took a small step back.  “Okay.”

“Stop it!  Stop just— just bending to my whims!”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Janus said weakly.

“I want you to not have left!” Remus screamed.  He walked forward and shoved Janus back into his desk, knocking more things onto the floor.  “I want you to have listened when we begged you to stay!  Things were fine,” he shoved Janus again, “when you were there.  Things were manageable and it was fine.  Then everyone decided they liked you, and Thomas decided he liked you, and you just decided ‘oh well who gives a fuck about Virgil and Remus anymore, huh?  It’s not my fault they can only be marginally safe when I’m around!  It’s not my fault that they had to learn how to do first aid on themselves at ten years old!  It’s not my fault that Virgil brings Remus to sleep leaning against Janus’ bedroom door because that’s the only way they’ll be left alone!  No, I have to think about Thomas.  Never mind that I’ve been able to do my job living here until now!  Nevermind that Virgil and Remus are part of Thomas too, and more than that, I’m supposed to be in charge of them so it absolutely is my fault if they get hurt!’”

Janus was leaning back against his desk now, and he tried to wipe discreetly at his eyes as Remus finished screaming, ending up panting with clenched fists shaking at his sides.  He expected Janus to say he hadn’t known, or that he would have done something if he had, but he just said nothing.

“Well?  Say something!”

“Like what?” Janus croaked.  “What am I supposed to say to make this better for you, Remus?”

Remus buried his hands in his hair, yanked on it, and screamed.

“Don’t do that,” Janus said weakly, moving forward pulling Remus’ hands down.

Remus smacked his hands away.  “Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Janus dropped his hands, but didn’t move away, meaning he’d probably stop Remus if he pulled his hair again.  So, Remus moved back himself, and leaned back against Janus’ door, then slid to the ground.

“I am never,” he said vehemently.  “Going to forgive you.”

Janus swallowed.  “Good.”

“Stay away from me.  Don’t ever talk to me unless I say you can.  And have your fucking act together by the time Virgil wakes up.”

Janus nodded.  “Okay.”

Remus glared up at Janus and spit in his face.

Janus blinked in shock, but after a second just moved back slightly and wiped it off. 

Remus grabbed the doorknob and used it to hoist himself up.  He opened it and slammed it shut behind him.  Everyone else was out in the commons and staring at him as he did, probably alerted by all the yelling.

Remus gave them a murderous glare and stormed off to his room.

...

Chapter Thirty-Four

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

And Now Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Program.

[Zetsubou HQ - Meanwhile] 

Right...That should be everything.

Are you sure that this is the most optimal solution? Why not just ask her instead of forcing your way in?

That’s not guaranteed to work. Plus, if I go for such a roundabout option, I doubt Shirogane will be willing to trust me for anything else around here.

You seem very desperate to gain Shirogane’s trust. Why?

Well, what can I say? Everyone else around here is in deep with her. As the newcomer, I’ve got some big shoes to fill.

Would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about this though.

Do you want me to hold your hand?

No, why-

Why would I want you to hold my hand? I’m not a child!

No...But you ARE an emotionally damaged human being with chronic depression, which can cause you to break down over immense pressure; plus this operation is riding on your skills, and you fear disappointment more than-

STOP! Stop! Stooop...!

I get it, alright? Get off my case!

Sounds like you two are having fun.

*Tsumugi suddenly walks in with a group of Zetsubou goons behind her.

Shirogane! What brings you here?

I’m here because I’m excited to see what you’ve come up with. After all, a lot is riding on this.

You’ve come to be a witness?

Not just a witness. I brought these soldiers in case an altercation happens.

Funny. I brought Gyalusetsu for a similar reason. 

Now Uchui, I just want to remind you, GENTLY I will add, that if this doesn’t work, I won’t be able to uphold my end of the contract. Seiko will have to stay here until you can think of a different solution.

Oh, don’t worry Miss.

*Uchui suddenly reaches to his pocket and pulls out a pistol shaped object.

I know what I’m doing.

*With that, he approaches the door.

*inhale*

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

Excuse me? May I come in for a moment?

Well that was lame.

Yeah, too soft!

Well excuse me! She could be indecent for all I know!

Ahem...Yes?

*Seiko pokes her head out the crack in the door.

Ah, h-hello Doctor Sorry, may I come in?

Sure, but I have other guests in right now.

Nagito and Kanata I presume. Very well then. Excuse me!

Wah!?

Huh!?

Eh!?

*Uchui forces his way into the room, with Tsumugi, Matta and the others behind him.

Woah, woah, what’s going on!? Why are you storming my lab!?

Apologies in advance, Dr Inori. This is highly important. I fear of wasting any more time, so I’ll get right to the point. 

*Uchui clears Kanata out of the way and points his blaster at Seiko.

Forgive me for this.

Wha-!? 

What are you doing!?

Uchui, what the hell!?

I know how this looks, but stand down!

Like hell I-

*SMASH!*

GUHUGH!

...!

*Nagito lunges at him, but is suddenly tackled by Matta and pinned to the wall. The soldiers also restrain Kanata.

Hey! Grgh...LET ME GO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER!?

(Wh-What the hell is this...!? I...can’t move! How is he DOING this!?)

Aahh...!

Don’t worry...This won’t...hurt...a bit.

*CLICK!*

*BTOOOM!*

GAGH!

SEIKKOOOOOOO!!

!!!???

...

...?

*A flash of light beams over Seiko, but as soon as it dissipates, she’s standing where she was, unchanged.

S-Seiko...are you alright?

I-I don’t know. There was fl-lash...a-and...

Ugh...!

*THUD!*

Seiko!?

I don’t...what...BRRAAGH!

!!!???

!!!???

*To Nagito and Kanata’s horror, Seiko suddenly drops to her knees and coughs up a considerable amount of blood.

Hey HEY! Take it easy! Ugh, someone get me a tissue and some meds. And a new mask while you’re at it.

*The goons grab what Uchui needs. He hands the pills to Seiko with a bottle of water, and a new clean mask to put on afterwards.

What did...Grgh...

Shhhh! Don’t speak. It’ll make it worse.

Uchui, what did you do!?

No...Is this...what I think it is...!?

What? What!?

I see you’ve already long caught on, Ms Inori.

Nagito. Tell me. How familiar are you with the Kibougamine Gakuen (Danganronpa Another 1) Killing Game?

The one that Kanata was a part of? Moderately, why?

Are you aware of what happened to Mikako Kurokawa during that Killing Game?

Uchui: I’m sure you remember, but allow me to jog your memory. Both Mikako Kurokawa and her brother, Yamato Kisaragi, are special cases when it comes to the world’s history of Killing Games. They are the only two participants, barring Mukuro Ikusaba, who didn’t have their memories erased prior to the game.

Matta: Why not? I was under the impression the Kibougamine Killing Game served as a test drive for the memory erasure?

Uchui: Kisaragi invented a device that prevented Matsuda’s memory altercation methods from working on them. However, this came at an unfortunate side effect for both of them.

Kanata: I was killed by Uehara before I ever found this out, but upon resurrection, I read more into it. The device turned Yamato into a talkative lunatic, with most of what he’s saying be borderline incoherent. But as for Mikako...

Uchui: Kurokawa suffered almost the complete reverse. If she talked too much, she would suffer heavy migraines and vertigo, which would make her pass out before she could form even a comprehensive sentence.

Hence what you are seeing now...

Wait...are you saying-!?

I recreated Kisaragi’s machine into a smaller form, and just used it on Seiko. If she tries to spill the beans about ANYTHING she discovered during her time here in Zetsubou...

She’ll vomit buckets of blood like she did just now...

...!?

Yes, therefore...I think it’s best that you keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself, Ms Kimura.

*Uchui holds out a hand towards her.

It’s over now...It will be ok?

Wh-What do you mean it’s over?

As of tomorrow, Seiko Kimura will be free to leave Organization Zetsubou base.

...!

...!

I know that this looks bad, but this was the only way I could ensure that Seiko would be allowed to leave the base alive. We can’t have her tattling information about the organization, can we?

*Seiko takes Uchui’s hand and helps her up.

Get some rest, and I’ll arrive with the grunts to come and pick you up tomorrow. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.

Gyalusetsu. Release Nagito.

Very well.

Grgh!

*Gyalusetsu drops Nagito, who ultimately failed to get him to release him. The goons also release Kanata. Uchui hands Kanata the meds.

If she starts acting up again, this will calm her condition. Would you mind taking her back to her room?

I don’t need you to tell me that.

*Kanata snatches the pills, glaring at Uchui, and helping to support Seiko out of the room.

...!

...!

*Seiko looks back one last time at Nagito before she’s taken out of sight.

Zetsubou Soldier: Should we follow them, Miss Shirogane?

Nah, leave them. Not like they can discuss much like this.

So this is good enough?

It’s more than good enough. There’s no cure for the device, is there? So we’re all set to go.

Not that I want to sound demanding in front of my boss, but I want to make sure she gets delivered out SAFELY. I already have a plan of where to drop her off which I’ll discuss with you later.

Sounds like a plan. You did good Uchui. Maybe I shouldn’t have doubted you.

Yeah, hehe...That said, may I kindly make one more demand for now?

I appreciate the help from all of you, but would you mind giving Nagito and I the room please?

...!?

Huh? How come?

He’s obviously still concerned about this whole situation. I just want to walk him through my thinking so he knows that Seiko will be 100% safe. He’s obviously worried about it.

Very well. You heard him boys. Let’s pack up and move out.

*Tsumugi and the goons leave the room. Matta goes to follow, briefly stopping to whisper to Uchui.

In case he tries to kill you, scream and I will come running.

How thoughtful of you.

*Matta then leaves and closes the door behind him.

...

...

*The menacing furious aura pollutes the room as soon as Uchui and Nagito are alone. Despite his legs shaking, Uchui stands his ground.

You’re probably very angry, but-

Of course I’m angry! I thought I could trust you! And then you turn around and do THIS!?

Oh, you know what!? Shush your mush! Keep in mind the alternatives were wiping her memories or killing her! Would you have preferred she forgot who she was? Forgot about your relationship!?

I...Um...

Or are you satisfied with her staying here? I know that gives you two a lot of time to stay alone together, but that’s very selfish of you Nagito! She doesn’t deserve this.

I don’t get it Uchui. Who’s side are you on? You want Zetsubou’s help and yet you’re rescuing Seiko? What is your end goal?

Heh...You think I’m done rescuing Seiko? I’ve only just gotten started?

Huh?

*He leans in close to whisper.

Shirogane was wrong about something. She has no idea but...there IS a cure for this device. And I know exactly how to get it.

What...!?

I think it’s high time I told you the full story of what I’m hoping to achieve here. But before I do, there’s something I need YOU to do for me.

And that is...?

*Uchui looks around to make sure no one is listening, and then delivers his ultimatum.

I need you to help me meet with the Killing Game Survivor’s. Fuyuhiko, Kazuichi...ALL of them.

...!?

...

[emmyrosee]

It’ll be back to your regularly scheduled programs tomorrow, I’ve got some pieces I was tagged in ( @reverie-starlight IM COMIN BACK FOR YOU BABY!) and some inbox things to clear out, im just.

Ugh. What a day. What a dog.

[rowansparrow]

A Secret Room

Taking another brief intermission from your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this drabble for @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life because I am NOTHING if not devoted to my mutuals. Pro, beloved, I'm sorry you've been having a bad time lately, and I hope the rest of your week is kinder to you. <3 Have some tooth-rotting fluff with the 501st.

Rating: General Audiences Ships: 501st & Female!Reader (But make it cute) Words: 1.6k Warnings: None! Just Them Boys :)

You threw your tools across the room in frustration, listening to the wrench clatter against the durasteel wall before you sank down onto your ass, burying your face in your hands and trying to bite back tears of frustration. Nothing had been going right for you today.

You'd been trying (and failing) to repair General Skywalker's starfighter from where it had taken damage in the latest firefight, but the hardware was trickier than you anticipated. You thought you'd fixed it, but his coolant systems shorted out mid-siege, and his starfighter overheated in the thick of battle. The Chosen One had barely made it back onto the cruiser in one piece, and the Admiral had given you an earful for nearly letting the General die.

Not only that, but he'd shouted at you in full view of Anakin Skywalker and his men. You were embarrassed, humiliated, and not to mention wracked with guilt over almost killing your general.

So now here you were, wrestling with the hardware of his starfighter once again (despite the General's insistence that it wasn't your fault and he wasn't angry) but the damned coolant system was still giving you a hard time.

The day weighed heavily on you, and you sniffled, grinding the heel of your hand into your eye to keep from crying.

“Lights out was thirty minutes ago.” Said a voice. “It’s bad enough you’re up after hours, but adding a commotion and damage to the hangar as well? You’re in for it now.”

Captain Rex was trying to joke, but it didn’t quite land, and your eyes only brimmed further with tears. You looked away from him quickly, standing up and brushing yourself off.

“Sorry, sir.” You said thickly, hurrying to retrieve your wrench from where you’d chucked it. “I’ll be done here soon, I promise.”

“Hey.” Rex took your arm gently, holding you in place. “I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you further.” He let go of you quickly, as if embarrassed, and rubbed the back of his neck instead. “Uh… Listen, if you’re at a stopping point for the night, I wanted to erm… I had something I wanted to show you.” He blurted.

You wiped your eyes again. “I think I just want to go to bed.” You mumbled.

“This won’t take long.” Rex promised. “It’ll be worth it.”

He had a mischievous gleam in his eye, and you raised an eyebrow. “Okay.” You said reluctantly.

Rex gave you a little smile, and offered you his arm. Your eyebrow arched higher.

“Rex?” You asked tentatively.

“Just… go with it.” He said with a little chuckle. “And try to look surprised. I’m ah… I’m not the best at keeping secrets.” He admitted sheepishly.

Your confusion only grew at his words, but you took his arm, looping yours through his as he led you down the hallway, not towards your quarters, but instead towards the 501st barracks.

Rex glanced down at you, flashed you a small smile, and opened the door.

You gasped, a hand flying to your mouth as you looked over the room. The bunks had all been moved, forming a perimeter around the room. Blankets and pillows had been strategically draped across bunks and chairs, footlockers latched over corners to help hold everything in place.

It was the biggest pillow fort you had ever seen.

“Oh kriff, she’s here!”

A blanket flap opened, and Hardcase stuck his head out, beaming up at you.

“Hiya!” He said cheekily. “Are you here for the grand tour?”

“What – what is going on?” You asked, looking up at Rex again. The captain just raised his hands in surrender.

“C’mon!” Hardcase called again, holding the blanket aside and beckoning you into the fort.

You dropped to your knees, crawling through the entrance with him as Rex followed along behind you. Hardcase led you down a well-constructed blanket tunnel – the clones were nothing if not efficient – and the tunnel opened up into a large canopy. Blankets had been hung from the ceiling to give enough space for clones to either sit or stand if they wanted. The clones were already in their blacks, in varying states of relaxation.

“This is the Gathering Room.” Hardcase explained, gesturing proudly.

Some clones were already asleep – Denal was half-buried under a heap of blankets, and Coric was snoring slightly to his left. Others you didn’t recognize were awake and talking softly near another tunnel. Tup was playing Sabacc with a group of older vod, and from the groans and Tup’s smug look, he’d just won a hand.

Echo was lounging on a pile of pillows, flipping absently through a datapad. He gave you a smile and waved, but Fives, who previously had been half asleep with his head on Echo’s lap, sat up abruptly.

“Are you giving her the grand tour without me?!” He demanded, crawling quickly over to Hardcase. You watched in amusement as Fives rubbed his hands and socked feet against the floor as hard and as fast as he could, and then stuck his finger out to Hardcase’s ear, giving him a static shock.

“Hey -!” Hardcase shocked him back, and Rex chuckled from behind you.

“Can we get this show on the road?” He asked, shaking his head at the boys.

“I’m showing her the snack room.” Fives told Hardcase, elbowing him out of the way so he could lead. He ducked under another tunnel, leading you into a tiny alcove that was currently being guarded by Jesse.

“No – no!” He swatted at Fives as the trooper crawled closer. “No! You already had your share!”

“We all contributed snacks.” Hardcase explained proudly. “We had to smuggle some stuff out of the canteen – sorry, Captain – or we had contraband.” He leaned in close, like he was sharing a secret. “I had chocolate.”

You giggled, peeking around Jesse at the box behind him.

“Can she have something?” Fives asked, pointing at you. Jesse turned, sneakily opening the box and pulling out a little piece of caramel wrapped in foil, offering it to you.

“From General Plo, sir. A gift to the 501st for assisting the Wolfpack on Naboo.” He gave Rex a little wink. “Rex told me they were your favorite.”

“They are,” You grinned, popping the candy into your mouth quickly. “Thank you, Jesse.”

He gave you a little salute, and Hardcase crawled ahead, pointing out various other sections within the fort. There was a refresher – which was really just a blanket covering the entrance to the actual refresher – a weapons depo, with Appo grumbling under his breath as he tried to focus on formwork while sandwiched uncomfortably between two munitions crates. Somebody had scribbled “Weapons Officer” onto a sheet of flimsi and taped it to the front of his helmet, designating his role.

Kix was in good spirits in the medbay area of the fort, where he’d gotten his hands on band-aids with little loth cats printed on them – he insisted he carried them purely for injured civilian children – but from the way Hardcase was begging Kix to give him one, you guessed they were as much for the vode as they were for the civvies. Dogma was pouting in the back corner of the area, his arms folded across his chest and two loth-cat band-aids slapped onto his forehead in an “x” pattern.

“He kept dodging his physicals.” Kix whispered to you with a little grin. “I finally wrangled him in here.”

“And finally, the barracks.” Fives said proudly, and he and Hardcase parted the blankets to reveal all the mattresses from the bunks had been stacked precariously throughout the room, as many pillows and blankets as possible shoved into the smaller space.

“You’re all going to sleep here?” You asked, looking up at Fives.

“You are too!” Hardcase said eagerly, wiggling past you and moving towards another walled off area. “Ta-da!”

He pulled the blanket aside, and inside was a tiny little room. It was big enough for a single mattress, but on that mattress was the thickest GAR-regulation blanket they could find, two pillows, a little clone trooper plushie that looked carefully handmade, and a bundle of the caramel candies that Jesse had given you earlier. A lantern was set up in the corner, giving the whole room a soft, warm glow.

“What do you think?” Fives asked hopefully, looking at you quickly before glancing over his shoulder at Hardcase. Behind you, the other clones had crawled through the entrance, all crammed together in the barracks.

You teared up again, wiping your eyes as you looked at your little room.

“I told you she’d get uncomfortable.” Dogma hissed at Jesse, elbowing him roughly.

“We can take it down?” Rex said quickly, coming up beside you and putting a hand on your shoulder. “We didn’t mean – we just – you seemed so upset earlier and we wanted to -.”

“I love it.” You said finally, wiping your eyes, and turning to look at them all. “I love it.”

The fort erupted in cheers, and Rex looked relieved, knocking his forehead lightly against yours even as one of the blankets came down on top of you both. You laughed, poking your head out of the blanket but keeping it wrapped around the two of you, leaning slightly into the Captain as the other clones scrambled to resecure the fort to keep everything from coming crashing down.

“So, you’ll stay?” Rex prompted quietly. “Just for tonight?”

“Yeah.” You grinned up at him. “This is way better than my quarters.”

Rex chuckled, and leaned into your side.

[redphlox]

Rei and Touya/Dabi

I know we’re collectively worried about Rei’s state of mind after the Dabi reveal. The popular speculation is that seeing what’s become of her eldest son will set back her recovery. I’m here to offer you the opposite scenario based on a few panels I can’t stop thinking about: Touya’s return won’t break her, and it’s exactly what she needed. 

Okay, let’s backtrack. She’s hospitalized because of the mental breakdown she suffered due to domestic abuse. She felt guilty for burning Shouto. It’s not a coincidence that she’s been making huge gains ever since Shouto reached out to her and they’ve reconnected. They’re both healing because the other is healing, too. They now have a relationship that doesn’t include Endeavor whatsoever. Both mother and son have redefined his fire side - he doesn’t see himself as an extension of Endeavor, and neither does she. 

Now, what was the other event that was the final blow to her mental state?

Touya’s death. The death of her eldest son.

Endeavor is speaking in this panel, but even though Rei is pictured as he says this, I don’t think he means Rei. I think he’s referring to Touya. Before this panel, he’s reflecting on his motivation to be #1 and comes to the conclusion that it’s “them” - children. 

And which child’s future did he cut short? Touya’s. I think he’s referring to Touya, and I think that’s Rei’s reaction upon learning of his death. She’s terrified and devastated. Look at her twisted mouth and quivering chin. She may even blame herself for Touya’s death - she spent all that time protecting Shouto from Endeavor’s training because he was the one in direct danger, and it probably never crossed her mind that harm would come to her other children because Endeavor neglected them. 

But look at what happened… Touya died in a fire at a training facility where Endeavor used to train. Even if Endeavor wasn’t directly involved, Rei’s nightmare has come true - the worst thing possible happened because of Endeavor’s ambition. One of her children died. 

It was too much for Rei. To survive, she needed to forget about Endeavor and everything that reminded her of him. Shouto recognized this, and stayed away from her for years until enough time passed that they could address their past. 

This is all my speculation, because Hori hasn’t given us Rei’s POV, but I want to emphasize that parental love is unconditional. That’s been explored in the manga indirectly through Endeavor’s neglect of his children when they didn’t possess good enough quirks. While the Todoroki children didn’t receive unconditional love from Endeavor, they did receive that from Rei. There’s a reason Shouto never resented Rei for burning him - he saw that as an action toward Endeavor, not him. He even asked about her after he came home bandaged up from the teakettle incident. He loves his mother unconditionally, and she does in return.  She loves all of her children. I think that extends to Touya/Dabi, too.

 So, let’s talk about Rei’s reaction to the Dabi reveal, specifically in reference to her facial expression. We’ve seen her look frightened before, usually when she was reminded of Endeavor. 

But the expression she has after seeing Dabi/Touya isn’t anything like that. She’s stunned, she’s frozen, but she’s not afraid of the man she’s seeing on the television. Her eyes kind of hold some curious, surprised recognition in them, more like “Ah, he looks familiar, but why?” instead of the “what the heck, this isn’t my regularly scheduled program that I was watching!” someone else might say at the slight annoyance of their show/the news being hacked. 

After he says his name, her mouth is opened like she just let out a soft, “Oh.” And she’s still not afraid or terrified. Her eyes aren’t wide, her pupils aren’t dilated. Her expression is nothing like the look of terror we’ve seen her wear before. She knows he’s her son because she no longer sees Endeavor in Shouto’s left side and she no longer sees Endeavor in Touya either. While Dabi still sees himself as an extension of Endeavor, she’s seeing her son, her baby. She’s not seeing a murderer or villain - she’s seeing the product of Endeavor’s abuse.

I don’t think she’ll spurn Dabi or villainize him - she completely understand more than anyone what atrocities Endeavor’s abuse could bring someone to do. 

In a way, now that she knows Touya is alive, she has a second chance to “protect” him from Endeavor and release him from Endeavor’s hold. The child who wanted so desperately to please and be loved is still in there. Rei couldn’t protect him from Endeavor or Endeavor’s will before, but now that she’s in a better mental state, maybe she can. And yes, Endeavor isn’t abusing Dabi/Touya right now, but the past never forgets and those scars don’t just go away when you remove yourself from the situation (in his case, when he “died”). Touya is still in the middle of his trauma, reliving it over and over again as Endeavor becomes #1 and Shouto interns with him. It probably only reopens the wound more to see Endeavor with his “perfect” son.

It’s a sort of miracle that some of the factor’s in Rei’s breakdown are “reversing”: Shouto’s burn, Touya’s death. She has Shouto in her life again, and now Touya can be, too. This reversal doesn’t diminish or fix the pain or the past, of course. It’s also not to say she’ll return to her old self, because growth and recovery isn’t about returning to a previous version of yourself. It’s about learning coping mechanisms and reframing your thoughts and perception. That’s why I think Dabi’s reveal won’t send her into a relapse - she’s in a better place, she’s made strides and has worked SO hard. I think with her children’s love and her new fortitude, Rei can overcome this situation too, and reaching out to Touya will help her recovery. I think this quote by the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu fits Rei’s mental state and present situation the best: “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

I don’t know, maybe it’ll be “Shouto’s visiting her, Touya is alive and recovering, and our family’s looking toward the future more and more.” In the end, the Todorokis have a second chance at being a family. But there’s a lot of healing that needs to happen, and Dabi needs to be saved first... and he needs to be willing to be saved.

[abeautifulblog]

GOOD NEWS

Oooh la, I’ve been holding off on posting this, because I have made you promises and broken them before, but I ~*FINALLY*~ had the breakthrough I needed on this one bit in the final chapter of Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood that has been the holdup for literal years, and, guys, it’s really actually happening.

I am currently turning shitty first-draft words into less-shitty later-draft words, but the bones are good (and also 85% of it is done and ready to roll out) and I am so hyped to finally put the capstone on this. SOSH is on hold; Beautiful Day has the wheel right now.

I’ll also be clearing out some of the old drafts of ddads posts and meta that I never got around to posting before, so this is once again going to be a ddads blog for a while.

(And then the hookup AU. Oh my god I can’t wait to post the hookup AU. It’s so goooooood, 50k words of high-energy porn-with-feelings.)

Anyway. 😀

Apologies to people who are here for my witcher shit not my gay dads shit, but these guys have been waiting much longer for it. I am not actually leaving or changing fandoms, I am (at long last) honoring my commitments from a previous fandom. I promise it’ll go back to your regularly-scheduled witcher programming before too long -- in the mean time I’ll be tagging these posts with “ddads renaissance” if you want to blacklist it.

(Or you can join the fun!!)

[yandere-dandelion]

Hey everyone, just letting you know I’m gonna be inactive for around 10 days starting August 19, but after that it’ll be back to your regularly scheduled programming (:

[4stars-uswnt]

Home Is Wherever I’m With You [Christen Press x Reader]

requested by anon: Hey, there just want to drop of this prompt in case you feel like writing it. Reader got home after a few months being away from CP because of the quarantine, maybe a moment of CP confronting R that she’s jealous of R’s teammate that got to lockdown together. Thanks.

A/N: after a week break (for the election and other stresses of life) (and technically i haven’t written in like three weeks bc of life and school), we’re BACK! hope y’all like this one :) and as always, feedback is more than welcome!! anyways, back to your regularly scheduled programming... 

“Hey, baby, I’m home,” you call out, as you enter the LA apartment you shared with your girlfriend, closing the door behind you, “fucking finally.” You mumble under your breath, as you drop your bags onto the floor.

“(Y/N)!” Christen runs from the bedroom upon hearing your voice, but before she can crash into you for a long-awaited hug, you put up your hands to stop her.

“Woah, Chris,” you almost falter at the sight of her pout, “I just got off a plane and came from the airport. I need to shower and get all these yucky germs off me.” You smell your shirt and make a face to exaggerate your point.

“But I missed you.” Christen pouts, and you give her a sympathetic smile.

“I missed you too, babe, but I just wanna be extra safe. Can’t have you getting sick or anything like that.” You wink, as you make your way to the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Blowing her a kiss, you disappear down the hallway.

Christen sinks down into the couch, letting out a frustrated groan. If the forward was being honest with herself, she more than missed you; she was jealous. Although she knew that you loved her and only her and the two of you had been dating for almost two years, Christen couldn’t help the green-eyed monster from taking over when she constantly saw you on Sofia Huerta’s instagram.

The past two months, you had to quarantine in Seattle and stay in your apartment that you shared with Sofia during the season, while waiting for COVID to settle down enough for you to travel. During that time, you and Sofia spent a lot of time together, doing anything to keep you entertained.

Unfortunately for you, Sofia had often posted on her Instagram story photos and videos of your activities, whether it be a movie night or a bike around Discovery Park, leading to a very annoyed Christen Press.

It wasn’t that Christen was jealous in the sense that she thought there was something going on between you and the midfielder, more so that she was jealous that it was Sofia that got to spend time doing all that fun stuff with you rather than her.

Too caught up in her thoughts, Christen didn’t notice you plop down next to her. “You there?”

“Hmm,” she turns to face you, “yeah, yeah, just got lost in thought.”

“Well, now that I’m all clean,” you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively, as you move to straddle your girlfriend, “I thought we could make up for some lost time.”

“I like the sound of that.” Christen leans in closer to connect your lips.

—————

The next morning, after a long uneventful night, you woke up in your own bed next to your girlfriend for the first time in months. Turning over, you smile and admire the sleeping woman next to you. Wanting to do something somewhat romantic, you silently slip out of bed, careful not to wake your girlfriend, and head to the kitchen to make some breakfast.

As you were fixing up some coffee and healthy yogurt, oats, and chia seeds (or whatever healthy stuff your girlfriend puts in her breakfast), Christen was groggily waking up. Rolling over, she reaches out to the other side of the bed, expecting to find your warm body, only to be disappointed with cold sheets. Christen rubs her eyes and sits up, but before she could call out to you, you enter the bedroom, carrying a tray with two bowls and a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, sunshine.” You smile, leaning down to give your girlfriend a peck. “Brought you some breakfast in bed.”

“Thanks, babe.” Christen’s heart melted, as she looks to see what you made. “Aw, and you even made my favorite.”

“Yup.” You playfully boast and wink. “Your favorite for my favorite.”

Your girlfriend can’t help but giggle at your cheesiness. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it, love.”

Right as you go to take a bite, Christen grabs your wrist. “Wait.”

“Whatttttt?” You whine like a child.

“Lemme take a photo.” She explains gently, ignoring your antics.

You roll your eyes, as she takes a photo of your bowls and posts it to her Instagram story:

The two of you spend the rest of the morning in bed, eating breakfast, giggling, catching up, and just enjoying each other’s much missed presence.

—————

Later that afternoon, as the two of you were doing your separate tasks, Christen preoccupied with re-inc and you with your article for the tribune, you finish typing your thought and shut your laptop. You get up from the sofa and approach your girlfriend, who’s sitting at the kitchen counter, wrapping your arms around her waist and resting your chin on her shoulder.

“You almost done?”

“Almost.” Christen hums, smiling slightly, as you kiss her shoulder and then her neck, making your way up to her cheek.

“I’m bored.”

Christen finishes writing her email and then turns around to face you. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

“You’re done?” You ask, feeling slightly guilty from pulling her away from her work, knowing she had more to do.

“I can be, if you offer up a better alternative.” Christen teases.

“Oh, I definitely have something better to offer.” You smirk and bring her in for a deep kiss. You immediately swipe your tongue on her bottom lip, asking for an entrance, which the green-eyed woman grants. Your mouths move in a perfect harmony, like a well-rehearsed dance. As you kiss down her throat, Christen lets out a sigh.

“Yeah,” she breaths, “this is definitely better.”

“Yeah?” You mumble into her neck.

“Mhmm.”

“Well then,” you pull your head out of the crook of her neck, “you’re just gonna have to wait till later because I found this Bob Ross tutorial that we’re gonna do.” You exclaim giddily, and you give Christen’s nose a quick kiss.

“Really, (Y/N)?” She calls out after you, as you go to get the supplies, slightly riled up. But when you come back, balancing canvases in one hand and paints and brushes in the other, Christen completely forgets about her frustration, as she sees your enthusiastic smile.

“C’mon, Chris.” You nod your head for her to follow you into the dining area. “And bring some wine too!”

Christen laughs, shaking her head, but grabs a bottle of rosé and two glasses.

“So what scene are we painting?”

“‘Island in the Wilderness.’” You scroll through YouTube until clicking on the video.

“Sounds hard.” Christen states hesitantly, as she pours some wine for the both of you.

“Eh, it probably is, but that’s the fun of it.” You shrug, thanking her, as she hands you your glass.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

While you’re setting up the canvases on easels and open up the necessary paints, Christen quickly pulls out her phone to take a picture of the set up, once again adding it to her story:

“Ready?” You turn to your girlfriend, about to start the video. Christen nods and picks up one of the brushes.

About 10 minutes into the tutorial, you lean back into your chair, frustrated by the difficulty of the painting.

“Ugh! This is so hard.” You set your brush down, replacing it with your glass of wine. “How does Bob make it look so easy? Mine looks nothing like his, or even yours.” Pouting, you gesture to Christen’s piece, which unfairly looks quite similar to the video’s.

Your girlfriend just chuckles at you, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek, hoping to placate you. “(Y/N/N), yours is looking great.”

“You have to say that. You’re my girlfriend.” You huff jokingly.

Christen ignores you and continues to watch Bob paint some trees just by flicking his brush back and forth.

Having given up on your own painting, you sit back and watch your girlfriend gracefully paint. You soon become bored, Bob Ross’s soothing voice almost putting you to sleep, so you grab one of your brushes. Reaching out, you poke Christen’s cheek, dotting blue paint across the side of her face.

Her jaw drops, and she turns to face you, as you have to stifle your laughter.

“You did not just do that.” She glares at you, readying her own brush, and before you know it, you have a stripe of green paint down your nose.

You raise your eyebrows at your girlfriend and then narrow your eyes. “Oh, it is so on.” You reach out in front of you and dip your hands in paint, and you see Christen out of the corner of your eye doing the same.

Before she could prepare herself, you’re smearing paint up and down her arms.

“Hey!” Christen shouts. “That’s not fair. I wasn’t ready.”

“All is fair in love and war.” You cheekily smirk.

“Alright, if you wanna play that way…” Christen trails off, as she cups your cheeks with her painted hands, squishing them together, effectively rubbing paint all over your face. “There you go, love.”

“That’s it. You are so getting it.” You wipe your mouth, where some paint had gotten.

Christen squeals and goes to run away, causing you to chase after her. Catching up to her, which is no easy task, fortunately for you, the forward had been wearing socks, you wrap your arms around her waist and pick her up. You nuzzle your nose in the crook of her neck, effectively spreading the paint.

“(Y/N), my clothes!” Your girlfriend exclaims in between laughs.

“It’ll wash out. And if not, I’m pretty sure you have like at least ten other shirts just like that.” You set the other woman back down on the floor, and she turns to wrap her arms around your neck.

“I love you, (Y/N).” She says with a giant grin on her face.

“I love you too, Christen.” You rubs your nose against hers, snorting when you see paint end up on her nose. “You’re more beautiful than any art piece.”

Christen giggles and brings you in for a sweet kiss. Pulling away, she backs away from you, slowly turning around to head to down the hallway.

“I think I could use a shower now.” Christen reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. Looking over her shoulder, she throws you a wink, as she unclips her bra. “You coming?”

Your eyes widen at the sight of the smooth skin of your girlfriend’s back. Shaking your head, you knock yourself out of your stupor and eagerly follow Christen into the bathroom, almost tripping on your own two feet.

—————

About twenty minutes later, the two of you are clean, having gotten rid of nearly all the paint off your bodies. As you’re going to get dressed, you notice Christen changing into a pair of sweat shorts.

“Babe, you might wanna change into something a little warmer.”

“What? Why?” Christen furrows her eyebrows, tilting her head in confusion. “What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“You mean besides the fact that they’re mine?” You tease, earning a blush from your girlfriend. “We’re going out.” You tell her succinctly.

“What? Where?”

“It’s a surprise.” You pull on a pair of loose jeans and slip on a warm sweater.

“Well, will you at least tell me what to wear?” Christen prods.

“Wear some layers. It might get cold.” You give her a quick kiss before heading into the kitchen to prepare your surprise, leaving your girlfriend absolutely clueless and struggling to pick out some clothes.

While Christen was fussing over her outfit, you quickly put together some fruit, and some cheese and crackers into a picnic basket, along with the bottle of rosé, two glasses, and a blanket. Scanning the apartment, you quickly thought of what else you needed. You snatch two of the pillows from the couch and stuff them in another bag.

'What else? Is that everything?’ You think to yourself. ‘Flowers, definitely need some flowers!’

You grab the basket and the bag with the pillows and head to the front door. “Chris, I’m gonna go pick up the mail!” While that was only partly true, as the mail had definitely been sitting in your box all day, you were also gonna go put these bags in your car and pick some flowers on the way out.

“Okay, thanks, babe!” She yells back from the bedroom. With that, you kick the door shut behind you and head down to the garage.

After having picking some flowers from the shared garden at the front of your apartment building, putting everything in the trunk, and grabbing the mail, you reenter your apartment.

“What took so long?” Christen asks with no malice in her voice.

You look up from the mail, and your breath hitches. Your girlfriend was wearing a simple outfit, a pair of light-washed jeans and a sherpa quarter zip, and her curly hair was in a half-up-half-down bun. While it may be simple, her beauty never failed to take your breath away.

“(Y/N)?” She pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you shake your head, “I ran into Jerry, and he wanted to know, and I quote, ‘where the hell’ I’ve been.”

Christen chuckles. “Of course he did.”

Jerry was the doorman and was very excited when he found at that Christen Press and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) would be living in the building, as he was a huge fan of women’s soccer.

“So, you ready?” You reach out to take your girlfriend’s hand.

“Yup.” She squeezes your hand. “You still not gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope.” You quip. “You’ll just have to be patient, my love.”

“Fine.” Christen pouts, and you kiss her cheek, wiping the frown off her face.

—————

It was about a fifteen minute drive to the beach from your apartment, and when Christen recognized the familiar route, she piped up.

“We’re going to the beach?”

“Mhmm.” You hum. “You’re too smart for your own good, Press.”

“That’s what happens when you go to Stanford.” Christen teases, knowing your distain towards the school, you yourself having gone to Cal.

“Whatever.” You mumble under your breath, earning a small giggle from the other woman.

You park the car and race around to open Christen’s door for her. “M’lady.” You say with a fake posh British accent, as you hold your hand out for her to take.

“Why thank you.” She blushes, responding with her own accent.

As you open the trunk and pull out the things for your picnic, Christen’s eyes soften and feels her whole body flush with a warmth she could only describe as love.

“(Y/N/N),” she gasps, “what is all of this for?”

Closing the trunk, you give her a goofy grin. “What? I have to have a reason to spoil my girlfriend and take her on a romantic picnic on the beach?”

“I mean— no.” Christen’s cheeks tint pink.

“That’s what I thought.” You throw her a wink. “Now, c’mon, this food won’t eat itself!”

The two of you make your way down onto the beach, finding the perfect spot where there weren’t very many people. After you finish setting up the blanket and pillows and unpack the picnic basket, Christen snaps a photo of the serene setting, as the sun is almost setting.

“Chris, come join me!” You wave over your girlfriend, who notices that you’re now sitting on the blanket, snacking on some grapes.

The forward slips off her shoes and takes a seat next to you, sinking her toes in the sand.

“This is amazing, (Y/N).” Christen intertwines your fingers and kisses the back of your hand. “Thank you for this, and this entire day really. I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

“Just being you, Chris. You deserve the world.” You smile softly. “Annnddd, I figured since we’ve been apart for so long, this was the least I could do.”

“Well, thank you, again.”

You lean in to give her a sweet kiss. “Anytime, babe.” And Christen could tell by your voice, and just from knowing you, that you truly did mean any time, that you would do anything for her because she would do anything for you.

Watching the sunset, the two of you snack on the food and sip on the wine you’d brought, conversing about plans for the holidays and the upcoming Olympics.

At the break of your conversations, as you sit in silence, watching the waves crash and the last rays of sun reflect across the water, you feel your phone buzz. Checking the screen, you see it’s a text from Megan, and you chuckle in amusement but also in confusion.

“Chris, do you know why Pinoe texted me saying: ‘Thanks for making me look bad with all your romantic gestures. Now Sue is badgering me, asking why I never do stuff like that for her.’?”

“Um, I have no idea.” Christen looks down, suddenly finding the sand incredibly interesting.

“Hmm, okay.” You eye your girlfriend suspiciously, as you text your teammate back, asking her what she’s talking about. Seconds later, you get a response telling you to check Christen’s Instagram story. Opening the app, you click on your girlfriend’s posts and notice she’s documented the activities throughout your day, from breakfast in bed to painting Bob Ross to your romantic picnic.

Looking up from your phone, you turn to Christen and see she’s still fiddling with the grains of sand.

“Chris?” You gently coax. “Is this what Pinoe was talking about?”

She nods, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” you grab her hands, guiding her to look at you, “I’m not mad at you, baby, not at all.”

You weren’t angry or upset with her for posting those pictures, as your relationship wasn’t a secret to anybody, but you knew this wasn’t like Christen at all. You knew your girlfriend was a very private person, not one to post or flaunt your relationship on social media, and you respected her decisions and boundaries, being a somewhat conserved person as well.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all.” You continue, gently brushing a loose hair out of her face. “What brought this on?”

Christen murmurs something under her breath.

“I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.”

She takes a deep breath and repeats herself. “I wanted to show everyone that you’re mine. I know it’s stupid, but I was a jealous of Sofia and how you two got to spend so much time together. And I know that you would never ever cheat on me, I know that, (Y/N), but it just sucked that I couldn’t be with you for the past two months, so I just wanted to show people that—“

You bring your girlfriend’s face closer to yours and kiss her, cutting off her rambling. Leaning your forehead against hers, you look deeply into her eyes.

“I love you, Christen. And being away from you for these past two months absolutely sucked because you’re my home, Chris, as cheesy as that sounds it’s true. I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel like I was ignoring you by spending time with Sofia. I love you and only you.”

Christen shakes her head. “No, (Y/N), you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I was just frustrated by this whole pandemic and not being able to spend time with you.”

“Me too, Chris, me too.” You pepper her face with kisses, causing her to throw her head back giggling.

“And I’m sorry if me posting stuff from our day made you uncomfortable.” Christen apologizes sincerely, before nudging you with a slight smirk on her face. “I just wanted to show off my amazing romantic girlfriend to the world.”

You let out a hearty laugh. “I don’t mind being shown off, babe, not at all.”

“Good, because I plan on doing it for a long time. You’re stuck with me.” She sticks out her tongue at you, earning a fond smile.

“Lucky me.”

[teasandcardigans]

gonna go a rant and then it’ll be back to your regularly scheduled programming

i am so tired of people thinking that digital media work is the easiest thing. that pretty much photography and videography and graphic design don’t hold a candle to a “practical” career like business. my work and major are just the easiest things in the world, right?

wrong.

it takes a lot of dedication, and time, and money, and effort to pursue digital media. it’s more than learning how to use a camera, or understanding photoshop. i have worked my ass off day and night for projects that people wouldn’t even spare a glance at. i have spent hours upon hours creating, writing, designing, and editing work while considering design principles and communication theories that people don’t even think to learn. i have studied the physics of sound for an audio drama that got played, what, like five times?

spoke with a potential client for some editing work. they were completely caught off guard that i have an hourly rate for my services, and they already asked if i knew others that would be interested in doing it for portfolio assets (essentially, for free). needless to say, don’t really have my hopes up about getting brought on for the project. 

i charge a rate because i’m good at what i do and that’s not meant in a narcissistic way. i’ve put in the time and money to learn and grow in this profession to be able to charge for my services at 20 years old, and i’d give all all the time and effort and money again and again, because i love what i do.

i’m just so tired of having what i do be undermined.

and please, don’t get me wrong. other careers and professions are hard, and deserve respect. but don’t you think mine deserves just as much?

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Paul Higgs: Baby Daze

Tomorrow I will return you to your regularly scheduled whump programming. Today... this is what wanted to be written.

CW: Teen pregnancy, some crass language surrounding said pregnancy, brief gun reference, some organized crime references

Approximately eighteen years before Tristan Higgs became another casualty of WRU…

-

"Well, look who’s here! Billy Higgs’s boy, come to see us after school, then?" Sean Malley claps him on the back and Paul nearly stumbles forward, just barely catching himself as he crosses the threshold from the sun-warmed walkway with straggly weeds growing stubbornly up through the cracks into the chilly shadowed warehouse. His sneakers scrape along the ground, but he stays standing.

He's hardly even as big as a stick compared to his dad's work buddies, all older guys with thick muscled forearms and sleeves rolled up to their elbows. He’s never had much muscle on him at all, but then his dad didn’t have much in old photos either. Maybe he’d get some as he got older, if he worked here. If they let him. "How’s things, hm? Keeping your grades up?”

Paul smiles, a slightly strained expression. The smile is automatic, it’s what everyone expects with small talk. At school he mostly doesn’t even bother with it, but with his dad’s friends… well, a smile’s polite. Right? Friendly. 

He tries to look more friendly. He needs them to say yes to what he’s about to ask for.

“They’re fine,” He says, squinting as his eyes adjust to the change in light. “Same as always, A’s and B’s.”

Mostly B’s, but they don’t need to know that.

“Good, good.” Sean slides an arm around his shoulders, jovial as always. Paul tries not to be visibly uncomfortable at the touch. Everyone is always touchy, in the world, and he’s never liked it much. Except with Ronnie, but… that’s different. “So, talk to us, Paulie. What's got Billy’s boy mucking around here at the Garden with the old-timers?" 

It's not actually much of a garden, unless you count the dandelions in the sidewalks and the bits of scraggly grass along the edges of the pavement as your rows of plants. Instead, the big warehouse stretches wider than two Walmarts, chopped off into pieces by the standalone temporary walls inside that don't reach the ceiling. 

The ‘Garden’ is a place where things happen that no one with a badge is ever supposed to see. There's shouting, good-natured calling out of sums and figures and code words Paul doesn't know, bouncing and echoing in a constant chaos of sound. Metal scrapes, an odd clicking Paul vaguely recognizes but can’t quite place until he thinks of his dad cleaning his guns now and then at night, carefully putting them back together once he’s done. 

All that noise lays heavy like a blanket over his skin. He pushes past it - he's got a reason to be here, and he won't let Ronnie down. He can’t let her down.

"I'm here to work," He says, going for strong and loud. He doesn't change expression when the men around him laugh. 

He doesn't think their laughter is meant to be unkind, and besides, he doesn't really care if it is. These men have all known him since he was born - if anyone’s going to give him what he needs, it’ll be them. "My dad told me I could pick up some shifts this weekend as a lookout, that you pay cash at the end of the shift, right away. That I could get a couple hundred if I’m good at it, maybe five if I do some running, too.”

"Oh he said that, did he?" Sean meets eyes with Cilly, whose real name Paul has never learned. He isn’t entirely sure anyone here has ever given him their real legal name. Not even Sean. "Will might've let the family know first before he sent his boy here, hm? 

"Well, it's. It's important I get cash. Um. Fast. I just spoke to him, probably he'll call you in a bit thinking he's giving you a warning." Paul tries for another smile, and hopes it's warm enough. A bit of coppery strawberry blond hair falls over his green eyes as he looks hopefully from man to man. 

He's not even eighteen yet, but really, isn't that even better for a lookout? He knows where they do their business, he knows who to watch for, and he doesn’t look like he’s one of them at all. He's paid attention, sat up at night making maps of where they work and what they do. He knows they’ve gotten into business with WRU, even, the big Facility up in Berras has been sending people down here now and then. He’s good at this sort of thing. He knows he can do this. He’s going to make a living at this one day, and everyone starts somewhere.

He just… has to convince them. These men aren't unreasonable, and they're family. Well, sort of. In a way. In that they all commit crimes with his dad. And some of them actually are real family, although he’s not always sure exactly who.

"What d'you need cash for that can't wait for your parents to come back from Florida, then?" That's Cilly, scratching idly at a red spot on his face, sipping a mug of hot tea like they're at a kitchen counter and not a fold-out table by a warehouse door. The others all have takeout coffee cups, but not Cilly. 

Paul's mom buys him new mugs on all her vacations. A gentleman among thieves, she said once. 

Nah, Paul's dad had said. Just a thief. But he puts on airs for you. 

All the more reason to show him my appreciation, Bill. 

The mug he’s drinking from now was one of Paul’s mom’s presents to him. It has a little palmetto tree on the side and Nothin’ Could Be Finer written in swirling script. It came from a trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina when Paul was seven. 

He hated that trip. He never liked sand. Or the ocean. Or the noise of all the people everywhere in the street. He would have been happy with a book on the couch in the condo if they’d have let him stay there. 

"They're not in-"

"Think they're in Georgia," Conor pipes up, the oldest with hair gone nearly gray, cousins to the real boss, a man Paul has met maybe three times and knows only as Mr. Sondheim - which isn’t even a little bit his actual name. 

Conor makes Paul’s skin prickle, the way he thinks maybe a cat feels when it sees a mean-looking dog across the street. Paul's dad came home once with blood he had to wash off his hands and a shirt he had to throw out. When Paul asked, he said only, Conor's temper is going to get someone who matters killed one day. Too bad his grandson's as bad as he is. "Aren't they?"

"Nah," Sean says, shaking his head. "Florida. Definitely Florida."

"Actually," Paul starts. "They're in-"

"I thought Texas," Cilly says, almost thoughtful. He interrupts Paul thoughtlessly, and Paul’s face colors a little with embarrassment. He feels like the odd man out in a conversation meant to be about him. 

"They went to Alabama," Paul finally says, soft. Thinking no one’s listening, but they all look at him then. That's worse than when they weren't paying attention at all. He never meets any one person's eyes, instead focusing on Sean Malley's forehead, a spot that'll look like eye contact without having to be it. He's never liked having to look too many people in the eye. 

Or anyone, actually. 

"Ah, all right then. Alabama. Well. What couldn't wait for them to get back from Alabama, Paulie-Wol?"

No one's called him Paulie-Wol since he was eleven - and he hated it then. He blushes even darker. He's always been easy to make blush, and they laugh again. It's a little meaner this time. He has to not care. It’s important not to care, so they’ll let him work. 

Paul Higgs straightens his narrow shoulders and pulls a crumpled but of paper, shiny on one side, out from his back pocket. "This is why. I need money. Fast. For this."

He can't help how his voice dips, hushed, almost in awe. Sean is the first to take the little piece of paper, eyes widening in surprise at what he sees, before he hands it to Conor, who whistles through his teeth. Cilly takes it next, with a soft exhalation that's either curse or prayer. 

With this group, it could be either. Or both. Paul’s dad always says God doesn’t care overmuch about the difference.

"You're a bit young, aren't you? To need money for this?" Sean asks, and he's… concerned, Paul thinks, and he tries to square himself up even taller. “What’re you, Paulie, fifteen?”

"S-seventeen. It’s-... we didn’t plan on it, Sean, it just happened." This time when his face stays red, heat burning under the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose, they don't laugh. All their smiles are gone, too.

They've gone serious, these men who aren't quite blood but might as well be. They aren't laughing at or with or because of him. They look worried about him.

"Paulie," Conor says, shaking his head. "Paulie, you know better than this. Don't they teach you how to make sure this shit don't just happen? Thought we’d stop having teenagers knocking each other up once we got past the eighties.”

"They did. I had a whole health class where we-... but it doesn’t matter, it still. Happened, okay?" The absolute last thing he wants to do is talk to these old guys about Ronnie, and why, and when. If they ask him he’ll melt into the floor, and die, and just be dead right here and now.  

“So, when you say you need money… Are you looking to drive her up to Berras?”

“No, that’s not... We talked about it, but she said she already thought about it and made her decision. This isn’t… Don’t look at me like that. I like her decision. I’m happy.”

“You are?” Sean blinks, surprised.

“Yes! I'm happy, so don't tell me I fucked up, because I did. I know I did, but… but I talked to Ronnie, and we have a whole plan and I need money for my plan. And just. Look at it.”

Sean glances back down, taking the paper back, smoothing it out. Shiny on one side, it's a printed black and white image, a smeary blur of monochrome shades. Unmistakable in its center, more or less, is a gently rounded blob of white, topped with another and with other little blobs coming off its sides. Labeled along the top is Baby Botham, 14 weeks 3 days. 

“Botham?” Sean asks, head cocked to one side.

“That’s… that’s Ronnie’s last name. She, uh. She didn’t tell them… Because we’re not married.” Paul squares himself up again. “Yet. We’re not married yet.”

He tries not to think about Ronnie crying on his shoulder about how her parents and her sister had screamed at her when she told them, that no one was talking to her and they might throw her out, like this. His throat will close up if he does, in hurt for her, and in anger. 

His own parents he’d just told on the phone today, heard the long silence on the other end. Whispers that didn’t quite carry through the line. Then his mother had said, brisk and no-nonsense as always, So what does Ronnie want to do? We’ll help however we can. Will she need somewhere to stay?

“You’re not married yet,” Cilly repeats, not with derision, just with a kind of flat uncertainty. “You’re seventeen, Paulie. Little young to be talking marriage, don’t you think?”

“Well, we’re talking it, anyway,” Paul says firmly. “And don’t tell me it’s stupid. We already made our minds up.”

“Well, far be it for me to question your judgement,” Sean deadpans. “Since you’re clearly making excellent decisions already-”

“I got married at sixteen,” Conor points out. “Wife and I been married forty-two years this December, too. Sometimes it works out.”

“Different world, different times,” Cilly counters, and Conor has to nod in agreement to that. “Lots of those didn’t work out either, now did they? Besides, kids got options now we didn’t have back then.”

“Ronnie doesn’t want those other options,” Paul says, forcing his voice to be loud enough to carry, surprising all three men, who give him a new kind of look. Maybe even seeing him as nearly a man and not a kid, just for the moment. “She doesn’t. I never told her to do or not do anything, we talked about it, and she knows what she wants to do, and I agree with her. Ronnie and I want to get married, and we’ll need somewhere we can live when-... when the baby comes. So I need to start making money. And I want-... I need some fast, this weekend.”

Cilly’s expression goes cold. “Don’t tell me your folks are making you find a place that fast. I’ll take Billy to the woodshed myself if he’d be such a bastard to his own kid when things get tough-”

“He’s not,” Paul says quickly. “They’re not. Mom and Dad aren’t-... but they get it, they’re helping us. It’s not for an apartment, not yet. It’s so I can buy her some stuff.”

"This is a serious thing," Sean says, and he rubs his thumb over what Paul is pretty sure is his baby's head. The blobs are all sort of odd to look at, but… he's pretty sure that one's the head. It’s where he would put the head, if he were designing a person, anyway. "But I can see you’re quite the serious young man, now. What sort of stuff are you lookin’ to buy, Paulie?" 

Paul swallows, nervously rubbing his palms along the seems on the outside of his pants. “I… I don’t know. What do you buy someone who’s pregnant? I thought, like, baby clothes? Or a crib?”

“No, no, no.” Sean shakes his head. “You can’t just get her baby stuff, not this early. You are not starting with a crib, Paulie. You got nowhere to even put one yet.”

“Then… what do I buy?” Paul looks from man to man. “I’ve never known a pregnant person before, not anyone I cared about.”

“You were around for my wife’s last pregnancy,” Sean says, mildly offended.

Paul shrugs. 

The three older men look at each other, and then sigh nearly as one. Someone pushes out the fourth chair from the fold-up table and Paul sits, each of the other men sitting in turn. Sean picks up his phone and dials. “Hey, Don. Let everybody know we’re off-limits for the next couple hours, ‘til lunch. Yeah, Billy Higgs’s boy stopped by. He’s sniffing around for some lookout work this weekend. Find him some decent jobs for me, will you?”

Paul starts to smile, and it’s genuine this time. Sean hands him back the little picture of the blob that will become a baby, his and Ronnie’s baby, and he tries not to crumble it fully in his hands, worried his sweat will smear the ink. She’ll get another one in a few weeks, said her doctor told her it’ll look more like a person, then. Less like a weird frog. Or like a really, really bad painting.

“Thanks, I’ll owe you.” Sean hangs up the phone and grins, leaning on his elbows on the wobbly little table. The sun shines warmly through the open warehouse doors on Paul’s back. “All right. Between the three of us, we’ve got, what, ten kids?”

“Yeah, but five of those are all Cilly’s,” Conor points out. “And mine stopped bein’ kids decades ago.”

“Yeah, but babies don’t change, and they don’t need much. You need a pen and paper to write things down, Paulie?”

“Write… write what down?” 

“What you’re gonna spend your money on, for your girlfriend. You don’t just show up with baby clothes, kid, you gotta go all out. Let’s talk date, let’s talk gifts for this Ronnie, let’s talk it all out.”

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” Cilly says. “They all get that book, right? Isn’t that the one?”

Sean snorts, derisive. “Don’t get her that, not this early. That damn book had my wife in fucking tears telling her everything that could go wrong. We need to think of a happier book than that.”

“Well, call your wife and ask her what she’d want, then.”

“Maybe I will.”

“You should!”

“She’s liable to start planning a damn baby shower if I do. You know how Christa is about little ones.”

Cilly grins. “Think she’ll make those deviled eggs I like for the shower?”

“Cilly, for God’s sake, we found out about this five minutes ago.”

“Right, but... deviled eggs.”

Paul takes a deep breath, and sits back in his chair. “I’ll remember, whatever you say. I promise. I don’t need to write it down. Just tell me what I should get her, what I should do.”

“Right. Well, then.” Sean spreads his hands. “Let’s talk gifts.”

-

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