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atinylittlepain · 1 year

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Apothecary - A Joel Miller Story

joel miller x witchy!reader

Series masterlist

joel becomes curious about the woman running the medicine shop in Jackson, and the strange rumors swirling around her.

warnings | 18+ angst, fluff, spooky ooky stuff

a/n | this was born out of me getting high and rewatching practical magic. i intend to make this a lil universe in and of itself bc i love the idea :)

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Joel stops outside the storefront down the main drag of Jackson. Old license plates have been cut up to create a hodge-podged sign hanging over the door. Apothecary. When he enters, wind chimes tinkling above the door, he thinks that it looks more like a greenhouse than a medicine shop, potted plants clearly tended to with care all over the place.

“Hello?” Though the sign says the store is open, he doesn’t see anyone around, sidling up to the checkout counter and eyeing the collection of rocks lined up next to the old, rusted-out cash register. He doesn’t have long to muse to himself about how strange the shop is when something brushes quick against his legs all of a sudden, making him let out a hard curse as he whips around in time to see a sleek black cat padding toward the back of the store.

“Sorry about her, Stevie thinks she owns the place.” He’s startled again by a voice, nearly jumping out of his boots when he turns around to find a woman has appeared behind the counter. She’s certainly a sight, old bracelets trailing up both her wrists, and dangling earrings that look to be made out of scraps of stained glass. She’s pretty, if not a little wild looking. He has to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, I’m sorry. The sign said you’re open.” She smiles, tilting her head slightly as she looks at him.

“Oh, we are! I was just working in the back. What can I help you with?”

“Maria sent me? She said you’d be able to help– my kid’s got a pretty bad case of poison ivy and, um, yeah. I’m Joel– by the way.” Her smile broadens, warm and bright as she steps out from behind the counter, Joel stuttering into motion as she nods for him to follow her.

“I know who you are, Joel. Everyone can’t stop talking about the Jackson newcomers– welcome– by the way.” He’s a little distracted from listening to her words by the backroom she leads him into, lined with shelves stacked with glass jars full of all sorts of dried plants and thick books. There’s a wide gas range in the back of the room, large bubbling pots on most of the hobs. She glances at him over her shoulder as she flits by to stir the simmering pots.

“This used to be a bakery, way before, if you can believe it. I thought Maria was crazy when she offered me the space. But we’ve made it work.” His brow furrows.

“We?” Just then, that damn cat brushes past his legs again, making him stumble over his feet. The cat leaps up onto one of the shelves, and she chuckles as she strokes its head, smiling at Joel before turning back to the stove.

Seemingly satisfied with the state of whatever she’s got brewing, she claps her hands together before turning back around to Joel.

“Now then, poison ivy is no fun, huh? Probably get someone in here every couple of days asking for my help with it in the summer. Lucky for you, I’ve got just the stuff to calm it down.” When she passes by him, he gets a deep whiff of something heady, like that incense stuff Sarah liked to burn. Her hands flicker over glass jars, muttering to herself as she grabs a few items. He can’t help the way his eyes graze down her bare legs in her cut-off overalls, smiling when he sees she’s wearing two different colored sneakers. Arms full, she lays out her haul on what looks like once was a butcher's block, her eyes darting up to his as she coaxes him further into the room with a crook of her finger.

“This is witch hazel– it’ll be your kid’s first line of defense to help some of the redness and swelling calm down.” She passes him a small glass bottle full of murky liquid before holding up a little tin.

“Salve made with beeswax from the hives in town and calendula– she can slather this on to help with the itching.” She’s speaking so fast he doesn’t have time to question how she knows that his kid is a she, already holding up something else, a cloth sachet.

“Oatmeal, Sarah can run a bath and soak with this in it– should soothe the itching and calm down the rash in general. I’ll give you a couple of those, you can use them a few times, but fresh is always better.” He didn’t hear the last bit, a ringing starting in his ears at the mention of that name.

“You said Sarah– w-where’d you hear that name?” Her face falls.

“Oh, I, um–” He swallows hard, cutting her off.

“I had a daughter named Sarah– she— passed— when everything– well, when everything fell apart. How did you– how did you know that name?” She sighs, offering him a nervous smile.

“It was just a slip, a lucky guess– or unlucky, I suppose. I’m really sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, no. It’s, um, it’s fine. Just caught me by surprise is all. Ellie– that’s the name of my kid that’s probably itching herself into a frenzy right now.” Her smile widens just slightly at that, her shoulders coming unwound. He reckons that if it had been anyone else saying Sarah’s name, he would’ve knocked their lights out. But all he feels hearing her say it is an almost soothing sadness.

“Well, in that case, I hope Ellie starts feeling better soon. Oh! I have one more thing for you!” Before he can protest, his hands already full of the little bits she gave him, she slips over to one of the shelves to grab another small tin before coming back over to him.

“Spearmint and lavender– these mountains are crawling with it– mixed up in a balm. Good for back pain.” His jaw slackens.

“How did you–”

“Lucky guess. Lemme know if it helps.” The way she grins at him almost distracts him, almost, but he huffs, shaking his head.

“I can’t take all this for free– it’s– it’s too much.” She laughs.

“Well who said anything about free? I was hoping you’d trade me some of your time for all that.” He squints at her, not sure what she means, and she chuckles at his questioning look.

“From what I hear, you’re pretty good on patrol. Would you be willing to come with me up into the mountains a time or two? It’s peak harvesting time for all these goodies and I could use an extra pair of eyes.” She waves her arm, motioning toward the shelves stocked with plants.

“That’s all? Doesn’t sound like a–” She cuts him off with another wave of her arm, her bracelets clinking wildly with the motion.

“I know I drive a hard deal, but that’s the best I can do.” By the crinkling around her eyes, he can tell that there will be no arguing with her, even though it’s obviously not a fair trade with the way she’s loaded him up with stuff. He sighs, finally nodding.

“Um, alright then. You just tell me when and I’m your man– I mean– not your– I’m–” while he’s mortified by the way he just put his foot in his mouth, she seems perfectly amused by it, letting out a light laugh that cuts off his floundering.

“Sounds like we have a deal. I’d shake your hand if both of them weren’t full– oh! I haven’t even told you my name, have I?” He shakes his head and she sighs at herself, telling him her name. He rolls it over in his mind a few times as she apologizes for her lack of manners, walking with him back out to the front of the shop.

“If Ellie’s still itching in a week, come back and tell me. I might have something a little stronger that can help.” He nods as she opens the door for him, but before he can step out, the cat is twining between his boots, purring like an engine. He’s never liked cats much.

“Hmm, Stevie likes you. That’s rare, y’know. Very high compliment from little miss.” She grins at him, all warmth and sweetness. Maybe he can make an exception for one cat. She scoops up the cat, nuzzling her chin over the top of the purring feline’s head. He leans against the doorframe, suddenly not too worried about getting home to Ellie who’s probably scratching her skin off right now.

“Is that Stevie, um, as in Stevie Nicks?” That earns him her brightest smile yet. It didn’t take a genius to make that guess, seeing as she’s dressed like she just stepped out of a hippie commune, though Joel supposes that Jackson could fit that description.

“Mmhmm, you a Fleetwood Mac fan?” Truthfully, he isn’t. Not now, and not before. But for some reason, he’s inclined to nod.

“Aren’t you a little young to be listening to them?” She scoffs. He’s honestly not sure how old she is, definitely younger than him, but that’s as far as he can guess.

“They were my mom’s favorite band, and then they were mine– are mine. I managed to snatch an old vinyl of theirs a while ago but I wore it out I played it so much.” She lets out a light laugh, Stevie squirming in her arms. Joel makes a mental note to keep his eyes peeled for records on his patrol shifts, only getting snapped out of his thoughts when she lets out a sigh.

“I should let you get back to Ellie, she’s probably itching up a storm by now. Let me know how that stuff works for her.” He nods, taking one more look at the cat who he swears has been staring at him, before stepping out.

“I will– thank you– really, I appreciate it. And you’ll let me know when you need my help?” She offers him a crooked smile as she nods.

“I sure will. It was nice to meet you, Joel. I’ll see you soon.”

It must have been his eyes playing tricks on him. At least that’s what he tells himself the whole walk home. Cats can’t wink, right?

…

With summer in full swing, the weekly market in town has moved from the community center outside to the main drag of Jackson, makeshift booths heavy with abundant produce, fresh breads, and other wares.

Ellie had dragged Joel out with her, poison ivy all but cleared now, and promptly abandoned him to run off with her new friends. He finds himself leaning up against one of the storefronts, quietly watching the comings and goings, always surprised by just how many folks there are in this town. His interest is piqued, however, when he sees a familiar black cat slinking through the crowd. He cranes his neck, watching as the cat stops between a pair of mismatched sneakers. His eyes trail up, seeing her in those same overalls, dangly earrings glinting in the mid-day sun as she looks over a table of produce.

“You’re gonna catch flies looking like that, brother.” Tommy’s voice startles him, his focus reluctantly pulling away from her to his brother who has sidled up next to him, a smug grin on his face. Joel clears his throat, trying to hide the fact that his jaw really had been hanging on its hinges. Tommy chuckles.

“Who are you making eyes at anyways?”

“I’m not making eyes at anyone. I was looking for Ellie– I lost track of her in this damn crowd.” Tommy shakes his head, his eyes trailing to where Joel had just been looking. By the way his grin widens, he seems to know exactly who Joel had been looking at.

“Maria told me she sent you to the apothecary the other day. That lady’s something else, huh?” Joel glances back over to her, seeing that she’s started wandering along the booths, cat trailing along behind her.

“What’s her– how– what do you know about her?” Tommy sighs, glancing back at Joel.

“Well, the old Jackson rumor mill will tell you one thing. But all she’s been is a service to the community, really. Was the biggest help to Maria when she was pregnant– helped her through the birth and everything.” Joel squints at his brother.

“And what does the “old Jackson rumor mill” have to say about her?” Tommy lets out another sigh, scratching at the scruff along his jaw.

“It’s silly, honestly. Just a story made up by people with small minds.”

“So what is it? Just tell me, Tommy.”

“Some folks around town– they’ve got it in their heads that– well, that she’s a witch.” Joel feels his face go slack at that. Tommy just shakes his head.

“I told you it’s stupid. People just– they think she’s a bit strange, I guess. Though if you ask me, that rumor has more to do with all the wives of Jackson not liking the way their men look at her.” Joel glances away at his brother, finding her in the crowd. But this time, he notices all the people around her, mostly the women, and the nasty way they seem to size her up as she walks by. Joel huffs.

“That’s gotta be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. A couple of ladies get jealous so they start calling her a witch? Seriously?” Tommy shrugs.

“Hey, stranger things have happened. It’s not so hard to believe, not since people started growing mushrooms out of their skulls.” Tommy’s got him there, but Joel still has to shake his head at what his brother has told him.

“I thought you said it’s just a silly rumor.” His brother’s silence tells him more than words ever could, and Joel has to laugh.

“You’re kidding. You actually think that we’ve got a– a witch in town?” Tommy grumbles at that.

“Look, Joel, I’m not gonna lie to you. There’s been some freaky shit with her– healing people, knowing things that she shouldn’t know, hell, even that damn cat of hers is–”

“What do you mean– knowing things she shouldn’t know?” Tommy huffs at Joel’s interruption.

“She calls them lucky guesses. All I’ll say is it sure seems like that woman has a lot of luck.” Joel’s breath catches listening to Tommy’s explanation, his mind immediately going back to that day he met her, how she had known Sarah’s name.

“Listen, the bottom line is, she’s done nothing but good for Jackson with that shop of hers. Whatever she is, she’s a good one. But, brother, I wouldn’t go calling after her.” Joel’s brow furrows, head tilting at his brother.

“I wasn’t– even if I was– why shouldn’t I?” Tommy smirks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because while the women of Jackson call her a witch, the men of Jackson just call her a heartbreaker.”

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou

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erisenyo · 7 months

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idk if you’ve done this already bc it fits so well but if you haven’t: “you were dead, i saw you die” for jetko?

For this prompt game! (And also this one!)

The attack when it comes descends on Zuko’s carriage from both sides with near-perfect coordination. And from above, judging by the weight landing on the carriage roof, a distinct thump amid the sudden clamor of shouting and weaponry as Zuko whips his dao from beneath the carriage seat, silently cursing the current fashion for floating, flowing layers as he gets his swords into his hands, the familiar hilts welcome and nearly foreign in his grip after so long wielding inkbrush and paper instead and Agni’s tits, has it really been that long since his last real vacation?

Zuko strains his ears, tracking the rapid sounds of the fight, his instinct to hurl himself into battle biting up against Captain Rin Mai’s constant admonishment for Zuko to please stay in one place, Your Majesty, so we can protect you.

Though judging by noise suddenly replacing the woodland quiet of the North Omashu-Chu road—

“Great hit!”

“Get ‘em, Hands!”

—it’s not Zuko who might need protecting today.

Zuko breathes up his inner flame, letting it shiver in his veins and pool in his hands as he hears Private Wang let out a low grunt and drop to the ground. He eyes the carriage door and its flimsy lock, mind flicking between a fire blast or just launching himself bodily through it and holding his fire in reserve, estimating just how much force he could barrel out with if he—

“Aw, fuck,” a clear, high voice suddenly says, “Look at ‘em, these aren’t the right guys!”

“Shit, what?”

“No!”

“The uniforms are all wrong,” the voice grumbles, disgusted. “We’re gonna have to cut them loose and hope they don’t cockroach rat.”

“Are you sure?” someone else asks, doubtful. “It could be a ruse.”

“We can't be positive without an interro—”

“We are not,” a new voice cuts in, low and exasperated like he says it often and tickling the back of Zuko's brain, “Going to interrogate—”

“Because this,” the woman snaps over top as she rips open the carriage door, skipping back when Zuko whips his dao into a ready position and keeping a wary eye on him as she shouts to her companions and Agni's balls this is a girl, Zuko reazlies, looking beneath the dirt and bright streaks of paint, “Is definitely the wrong target.”

“Oh yeah?” that new voice drawls, even more familiar now in a way that has Zuko's adrenaline wanting to spike against well-worn thoughts like ‘betrayal ’ and ‘assassination' even though the context— “What makes you so sure, Greenie. I believe you, but lay it out for the rest of us.”

“Well,” the girl—Greenie?—says, sarcastic, “He is Fire, for start.”

“Oh, well then,” Jet says, stepping around the open carriage door, “You know what we do with Fire around these parts,” he continues, eyes landing on Zuko and flaring wide a bare second before his expression closes into something aloof and watchful and deceptively amused.

Zuko can only gape back, stunned, barely keeping the tips of his dao from sagging and aware his usual court-trained neutrality is nowhere to be found as Jet slowly drags his eyes over Zuko from head to toe. Maybe, Zuko thinks wildly as he takes in the slashing eyebrows and shaggy hair and age-sharpened face, the attack was actually successful and this is all some kind of dream, his mind struggling its way back to consciousness. Or maybe Zuko actually did get assassinated this time, which is going to make things unfortunately difficult for a number of people, but Zuko doesn’t know how to explain the fact that he's seeing a ghost.

“You’re not going to ask?” Jet finally prods, tone low, dangerous, hook swords dangerously easy in his hands, "What we do?"

And Zuko doesn't know that he does want to ask, that he wants to know, but even if he did he doesn't have the words, couldn't speak if he did with how dry his mouth is as his eyes bounce across the familiar breadth of filled-out-now shoulders and the hodge-podge of armor that actually fits and that knowing, would-know-it-anywhere smirk that tils Jet's lips at the silence.

“Tell ‘im, Greenie,” Jet orders, soft, eyes half-lidded and intent and so familiar, too, never wavering from Zuko’s face in a way that makes Zuko's heart trip in his throat and that’s familiar, too, and—

“We tell ‘em,” Greenie says, drawing herself up and clearly imitating Jet’s drawl and slouching ease and somehow managing the bravado to pull it off in her small frame, “That we’ll get a Fire Nation audit set on their ass unless they clear out.”

Zuko jolts, blinking over at her in surprise, knocked out of his stupor with pure shock and gaping for an entirely different reason now as he stares at the girl, then finally back at Jet.

“We hear around here," Jet says like he was waiting for Zuko's attention, "That the Fire Lord is very strict when it comes to audits and impropriety among his ‘citizens living under Earth Kingdom jurisdiction’ these days." Jet's tone is sarcastic and mocking and laughing, his eyes sharp as they slide pointedly to Zuko’s headpiece.

“You were dead,” Zuko finally manages, shock sending the words tripping out of him, the only ones that currently matter. “I saw you die, you were dead.”

“What?” Jet frowns, taken aback enough to actually show it before he pulls his smirk back into place. “When, you weren’t there,” he says, nearly accusing.

“It was in a play,” Zuko says, numb, struggling with the wherewithal to explain right now that he was there, kind of, just early, or maybe late, depending on how you’re measuring it, “You—you got brainwashed and crushed and—” Zuko cuts off hard, gulping back the rest of the words at the way Jet’s hands tighten around his swords, corded muscle shifting along his forearms, Zuko's eyes flicking down and then catching at the faint patchwork of lines against tan skin, an array that could just be dust and dirt and the scars of living or could be—

“So the Fire Lord is getting his information from musical theater, in the new administration?” Jet finally asks, mockery back in his tone like Zuko can’t see the guarded wariness in his eyes, the ready anger, Jet’s gaze still staying fixed on Zuko even as Greenie jolts, her eyes flying wide, mouth forming a nearly comical oh of realization. "Is that an official policy? Part of the 'new era of peace and cooperation?'"

“It wasn’t—” Zuko snaps, hot and feeling himself flushing as he immediately cuts off, because…there might have been a song or two, actually. And Zuko wouldn’t say that puts the entire work into the musical theater category, but he knows that Earth Kingdom plays are generally so low on lyrical music that Jet might consider—

Jet raises his eyebrows, amused, and Zuko corrals his wayward thoughts as Jet crosses his arms, swords loose again in his hands. “Was I at least hot in it?”

“…Uh,” Zuko says, no part of him prepared to articulate ‘yes but not as hot as the actual you.’

But apparently he doesn’t have to articulate it with the way Jet’s smirk curls wide again, with the way Jet gives Zuko a smoldering, lazy once over that’s exactly the same as nine years ago on that boat in Serpent’s Pass, and Zuko swallows hard as his stomach swoops and flutters in answer like he’s sixteen again with that, too.

“We’re heading to rob a corrupt tax official, you know,” Jet suddenly says, tilting his head toward the line of curious eyes peeking around the carriage door, his eyes laughing when Zuko startles like he knows Zuko is only just noticing them. “Not Fire,” Jet smirks, amused and completely insincere as he adds with a casual wave toward Zuko’s unconscious guards, “Sorry.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, blank, rote. “Okay.” If the official isn’t Fire then Zuko can just…not care about it, for now. It’s Bumi’s problem, or—no, this far north it’s probably Lady Tang’s problem, actually, which under the treaty agreements eventually would make it Zuko's but either way, it’s not Zuko’s right now, and that’s what matters. His mind is currently otherwise occupied.

Mostly with the way Jet is watching him, eyes laughing and familiar and here.

“I hear,” Jet says, tucking a stalk of wheatgrass into his mouth and Agni, the way Zuko's stomach swoops seeing it, like in the nine years since he hasn't— “That the guy’s eating like a king, while the rest of his province has to feed off his scraps.”

Zuko stills. His breath catches, inner flame flaring into the gap in anticipation and then in answer as Jet smirks like he knows it, both of them locking eyes and ignoring the whispering behind the carriage door of, "Wait, I thought it was a lady, not—" "Shut up, idiot, do you want them to—"

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Jet drawls, gazee half-lidded and intent, and Zuko licks his lips, hesitating, because the next line isn’t his. Except Jet seems to know it, too, and also the girls, because Jet nudges her without looking and she obediently, immediately pipes up, “What sort of king is sh—he eating like?”

“The fat, happy kind,” Jet purrs, like an invitation, like a seduction, like a challenge, and Zuko is suddenly too impatient to wait for the question, exhilaration and a fuck-the-consequences kind of thrill he hasn’t been able to indulge in years flaring in his chest as he grabs the headpiece out of his hair, tucking it into his belt as he shrugs off his impractical outer robes to reveal the black, utilitarian, close-fitting garments underneath.

“I’m in,” Zuko rasps, familiar words and familiar excitement in his chest, and the feral smile on his lips familiar, too, and just like the one curling Jet’s lips in answer.

(If you'd like to imagine a grown-up Jet, my I direct you to this marvel)

#asks and answers #ask game #fic writing #my writing #This was a fun one I do love some Jetko egging each other on into idiocy #And also some Jet who cannot stop himself from adopting strays #Zuko #Jet #Jetko

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catapparently · 12 hours

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Five Times Kaz Brekker Denied His Feelings and One Time He Didn't

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AO3 LINK

MASTERLIST

Request by anon!

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x female!Reader

---

Kaz Brekker wasn’t known for being particularly emotional. If you asked anyone in the Barrel to describe his emotions, you’d be given the lack thereof as an answer. Though if someone’s ever seen the way the Bastard of the Barrel goes downright ballistic when his second-in-command gets hurt, the word to describe him would be angry. Furious- or more like a wild animal, protecting his own.

Nina had been the first to figure out that ruthless, cold Kaz had a penchant for his dear second-in-command. His heart usually had a steady beat, but when you would enter the room, his heart would skip a beat and set on an erratic pace, practically begging Nina’s Heart render abilities to calm him down.

It annoyed her just how stupid this man could be when it came to his own feelings, and if there was something you could say about Kaz, it would be that he’s probably one of the cleverest and most calculating people you would ever meet.. She was almost tempted to increase his heartbeat even more to the brink of a heart attack just for the sake of maybe making him realize just how in love he was with you.

The first time she’d noticed it was on a rainy evening. For the first time in forever, Kaz was in the Slat common room, sitting in front of the fireplace with the rest of their little team, planning another meeting at the Exchange. Nobody dared sit next to Kaz, even though there was another spot on the couch next to him. Inej was sitting on a windowsill as usual while Jesper and Wylan were squished together in the armchair. And Matthias was… well, Matthias. Ever the prude, debating whether he could publicly wrap his arms around her and hug her close or not.

Then you walked in, and Nina felt Kaz’s heartbeat spike. She’d initially been somewhat worried that he was having a stroke, not that she’d be fully devastated if he died. Then again, maybe even Matthias would miss the demjin.

You plopped down next to Kaz at a respectable distance, but to everyone else, you might as well be draped over him at this point. He didn’t say a thing. If anything, Nina swore she saw him take a bigger breath, as if he was lacking air.

“You’re late,” he stated, looking at you.

You scowled back at him. “Well, sorry, someone had me filing random papers and specifically told me to not leave the room until I was done.”

The Heartrender wanted to scream in frustration and tear Kaz’s terrible haircut off his scalp. Even Matthias hadn’t been this oblivious to his own feelings.

“You horrible, dense podge,” she muttered under her breath, secretly hoping Brekker had heard her.

~~~

Wylan sighed in frustration. This was the seventeenth time Kaz had made him redo a set of designs. He kept saying it wasn’t perfect enough, that the rings of the brass knuckles didn’t seem comfortable, that maybe they needed something softer around where the fingers would go; that maybe a fine plate of diamond over it would be more efficient… the list went on and on. Wylan was tempted to just dump the papers on his desk and tell him to design it himself.

“What do you even need these for?” the redhead asked. “Even if you steal all the materials necessary, commissioning a Fabrikator to make such sophisticated brass knuckles, a weapon you don’t even personally need, will cost you a fortune.”

Kaz scoffed. “You still speak like a spoiled merchant’s kid with a horde of tutors.”

The older man scrutinized the plans again, making sure nothing was missing. “It’s a gift for her. She needs them.”

He didn’t even need to mention her name for Wylan to know who he meant. There was only one person that the thought of could make his tone change like that and soften his gaze- even just a tiny bit.

Wylan cocked his head. “Why? Can’t you just get her a dagger or something? It’s much more efficient and a far bigger range.”

Kaz rolled the papers carefully and tucked them under his arm. “Her arms are strong and so are her hits. She has no technique though, so the deadliness of the brass knuckles should compensate for it. Besides, nobody can suddenly master knives. Knowing her, she’d knick herself instead of the opponent.”

If Wylan didn’t know any better, he’d swear that the smallest smile tugged at a corner of Kaz’s mouth, barely there.

“Does she matter that much to you, oh mighty Dirtyhands?” the younger boy lightly teased, hoping Kaz wouldn’t kill him for it.

“I can’t risk losing a very valuable asset.”

With that, Kaz turned around and walked out of Wylan’s little lab, leaving the sunshine of the Crows sighing at his denial.

Truth to be told, Kaz had freaked when he saw you bloodied, bruised and beaten on a simple mission. All you had to do was distract the guards while he broke into a vault. The guards had gotten suspicious and attacked. You hadn’t been able to keep up, instinct making you try to punch back aimlessly but without doing much damage. Kaz had heard the commotion and quickly stepped out of the vault.

He’d frozen. Kaz Brekker does NOT freeze. At that moment, he was Kaz Rietveld. Kaz Rietveld, watching his brother get beat up by a lowly thug. Every single cell inside of him screamed at him to do something, to risk something.

When the two of you finally made it out alive and got back to Slat, you expected him to scold you for not being good enough. For not being charismatic enough like Nina or Jesper or as stealthy as Inej.

Instead, Kaz locked himself in his office and spent all night finding a way to help her in fighting.

~~~

Jesper wasn’t sure what was going on. Kaz had given him a heavy bag of kruge and sent him down to the auction house.

“With how much you gamble, you’re excellent at randomly yelling out big sums of money,” he’d told him. “You’re walking out of that auction with that DeKappel oil painting of the beach. I don’t care how much it will cost.”

Jesper had felt absolutely insulted. Randomly yelling out big sums of money? Who did Kaz think he was? It wasn’t random. Jesper put utmost thought and precision into his choice of what sum to yell out when he was making a very risky gamble.

He had no choice but to go down to the auction house. He had to sit there for hours. The item he’d been tasked to bid on had yet to appear. So far, he’d seen some ancient lipstick that belonged to a star from many centuries ago and some queen’s rotten panties, which sold for more than Kaz could steal in a lifetime.

Why hadn’t the said man stolen the painting instead? It would surely cost a fortune. Since when does Kaz acquire stuff honestly, anyway?

Finally, after waiting and waiting and resisting to bid on a gorgeous set of diamond encrusted bullets, the infamous painting appeared on the auction stage. Jesper stared at it, dumbfounded. It was… just a painting. He was expecting something enchanted, something special. Not… a painting.

It was pretty, sure, but it was a basic depiction of the beach; turquoise waves crashing on the shore with a sun hanging low on the horizon.

But Jesper was a good boy, so he did exactly what he was told to and bid all of the money in the bag. Then he brought home the canvas, carrying straight up to Kaz’s office.

He looked at Jesper oddly as he entered. “What are you doing with it in my office?”

Jesper huffed in annoyance. “No ‘why, thank you, oh gorgeous and wonderful Jes’? I went through so much mental pain to get this painting for you. I even watched stale old grandma panties up on display for Saints know how long.”

Kaz shot him a cold glare. “It’s not for me.”

“Oh? Then for who is it?

“…”

“Aww, does the mighty, ruthless Dirtyhands have a little crush? A little, itsy-bitsy weakness? Is there something going on between the two of you? Is- OW!” The sharpshooter yelped in pain when Kaz’s lead-lined cane jammed into his side. If looks could kill, Jesper would be long since buried six feet under, underneath a pile of bricks that Kaz dumped on him brick by brick.

“There’s absolutely nothing going on. If you don’t want to die, then you can go up and help her place it on her wall.”

Jesper’s pain- both mental and physical- lifted in an instant. So the painting truly was for you. Adorable. He sauntered out of the office and down to your room, which was conveniently located right under the attic, closest to Kaz’s.

He didn’t even bother knocking, knowing he’d find you there, either lazily curled up in your bed or munching on sweets.

“Darlin’, look what good ol’ Kaz got you!” he exclaimed, waving the canvas in your face.

You stared at it, a soft smile gracing your features. “Kaz got it?”

“Well, to be fair, he sent me out to get it since he’s a lazy shit, but it’s still from him.”

You smiled and bounced out of your bed, taking it from him and placing it on a nearby hook on the wall where you used to hang a darts target before it broke because of overly angry dart throwing.

“So he really did remember.”

“Remember what?” he asked.

“Sometimes I tell him about my childhood and my travels. I once visited the beach in the Southern Colonies when I was a kid, and I still remember how magical it looked. I kinda miss it.” You stared fondly at the depiction of the beach.

Jesper was once again left standing there, dumfounded. Kaz had gotten her a painting of the ocean just because she missed the beach? Kaz? Kaz?!

And he dared say there was nothing going on between the two of you?

~~~

“Can’t you ask any nicer?”

Kaz scoffed. “Oh darling Inej, treasure of my heart, will you do me the honor of teaching my second-in-command how to fight?” he answered, a sarcastic tone taking over the usual cold one.

“Fine. But why is this so important to you?” the Suli girl asked.

“I can’t afford to lose such a valuable asset to the Dregs. I can’t always be there when she’s in trouble; she has to have a way to defend herself.”

A valuable asset? It was just as bad as back in the day when he’d call Inej a very important investment. He hadn’t changed a single bit.

Inej sat on the edge of the windowsill again, crossing one of her supple legs over the other. “I don’t suppose you gave her a weapon to work with, at least?”

“I commissioned a Fabrikator. Lead-lined brass knuckles with a fine diamond plating on the impacting area.”

A surprised look appeared on Inej’s face, along with a slight twinge of something in her heart. Kaz had gotten her a pair of brass knuckles at some point in time too, though they were plain.

She didn’t exactly have a right to feel jealous. After all, she was the one who’d pretty much rejected him. She wanted someone who she’d be able to touch, someone she could actually kiss and hold. It had hurt her at first, to definitely cross out Kaz in her heart, but she knew it was for the better. She deserved what she wanted, and she wouldn’t settle for anything else. Besides, why should she give up on her dreams of hunting slavers for a man?

She was genuinely happy for you. You were fine with Kaz’s touch aversion and his rather slow improvement. The both of you fit together well.

In her opinion, Kaz had been more in love with the idea of her than actually her.

“Okay. I’ll teach her.”

Kaz gave a slight nod. That was probably the closest to a thanks that she’d ever get from him.

“I heard that some people down in the Fifth Harbor are planning on selling some good ships,” he started. “Thought you might want to know.”

Her lips curved into a smile.

So long, Kaz Brekker.

~~~

Matthias thought he’d seen it all. He’d seen Grisha on parem, flying through the air and turning into water. He’d seen –and experienced- a gang of teenagers stealing a tank from the most safely guarded prison in the world and crashing it through a wall, then bombarding a bridge. He’d even see a girl, his girl, raise the dead and make them attack people.

Though, quite frankly, this, by far, took the cake to the point where Matthias had to bite down on his palm to make sure he wasn’t drugged and delirious and was back in Hellgate.

What in Djel’s name?!

The moment was so intimate that he felt the need to bleach his eyes and never be able to use them again in order to give the two of you a bit of privacy. Even though Matthias was still new to the language and local slang, he found himself muttering, “what the fuck?!” over and over again.

Kaz had recently come back wounded from Djel knows where. His excuse was that he’d snuck into some clinic to steal something, and instead of making himself fake wounds with makeup, he decided to cut himself up to make it look more real.

Matthias knew the story was fake. That little demjin was lying through his teeth.

Anyhow, with whatever had happened to him, Kaz couldn’t move around well, especially with his teeth. He also looked sore, wincing every time he moved, especially in the arms.

Maybe Matthias should have expected this. Maybe not. He was halfway down the wooden staircase that led down to the Slat common room. Most of the members were out and about, in the Crow Club or doing Djel knows what.

Kaz was seated at a smaller table in the far back corner of the dining room with you across from him. There was a plate of food in between you.

Matthias rubbed his eyes again to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

You dug a fork into the food and lifted it up to Kaz’s mouth. Kaz, who obediently opened his mouth and took the bite.

What in the name of Djel?

His arms were stiffly bandaged up, and his posture was just as stiff.

Matthias groaned inwardly. He could already hear the “she’s a very important asset…” speech. He didn’t get paid enough for this. He whirled around and walked back up to his room and into Nina’s warm, sleeping embrace.

~~~

Kaz was feeling strange lately. His heart had been feeling lighter, and he could almost say he’d been in a good mood if it wasn’t for the headache he had. All of his thoughts kept circling back to you. You, you you and you.

It would have been annoying if he weren’t so fond of his best asset. On an evening, he’d stood in the open doorway to your room to make sure Jesper had brought you the painting. He had to force himself to not smile at the thought of you going to bed and staring at the depiction of the beach, thinking about all those memories you had. That’s what he’d wanted. He wanted you to go to sleep thinking of a happy, carefree life. A life he wanted to give you but that he knew was impossible in the Barrel, so he’d settle for this.

You always refused to leave. He didn’t understand. You could go anywhere in the world. There was nothing keeping you here. He’d even give you the money for the travel and expenses if you needed.

Yet every time he brought it up, you always said the same answer. “I’m not leaving home, Kaz.”

His heart had soared with delusion and lightness. Home? Was he your home? He knew that he was overthinking it, but he could only dream.

It brought him to his current dilemma. What was going on in his heart? He knew he’d come to care for you more than he’d want to admit, but he also cared for Wylan, Jesper, Inej, Nina… maybe even Matthias too, even though he still wasn’t a major fan of the infamous blonde tulip. Even the tulip comparison someone had brought up was wrong. The Fjerdan was more like an overgrown weed you kept trying to rip out, but it only grew stronger and more resilient to your desperate tugs.

His heart fluttered when he looked at you. His heart lurched at the thought of you being in danger. His heart felt content when going to bed with you on his mind. His heart felt sad when dreaming about you and then waking up without you at his side.

He found himself standing at the door to her room again. His mouth twitched at the sight of the familiar sign that spelled your name. You changed it regularly, not liking the way you engraved your name, always complaining that a specific letter wasn’t curvy enough or another was too tall in comparison to the others.

You had personality. Kaz loved it.

He froze just as he was about to knock at that thought. Love? Was this love?

He didn’t even bother knocking anymore; he just burst through the door.

You were, as usual, seated in your bed. You’d been so insistent on getting one huge, soft bed instead of a smaller bed and a miniature couch. Kaz couldn’t complain; on rare moments of weakness, he often came and lounged on your cushiony mattress while the two of you made plans about missions and other stuff.

What caught Kaz’s attention was the little black ball of fluff with ears in your lap.

He swallowed thickly. “There’s a very strict rule that says no pets at the Slat. Not even crows.”

You look up at him with a grin on your face as you pet the small kitten. “Too bad. I’m keeping it. Forever and ever.”

Kaz sat down on the edge of the bed, his mind swirling and his heart still racing from his earlier realization. “I guess I can’t argue with you then, hmm?”

He hesitated. Then he removed his leather gloves, ignoring the slight widening of your eyes, and reached out a palm to lay it on the fluffy feline’s head. He moved his hand in a petting motion. He was pleasantly surprised that the contact didn’t affect him. Then again, animals were a different case.

“It’s cute.”

You didn’t say anything about him removing his gloves. Kaz liked that about you. You let him move at his own pace. You didn’t prod him or push him for more.

“What are you going to name it?” he asked.

You moved your hand down to rub the kitten’s belly, very careful to not accidentally touch Kaz’s hand in the process.

“I dunno. Either I’ll name it after you, Kazzle Dazzle or something, or I’ll find some other fitting name.”

Kaz let a slight smile appear on his face. He suddenly didn’t feel like keeping all of his guards up around you anymore.

“Don’t name it after me. Name it a real name, like Orion or Onyx or Jordie or Shadow-.” He held his breath, hoping you wouldn’t notice his intentional slip-up. He wasn’t sure exactly why he’d suggested that specific name to you. Maybe now that Pekka was no more, he’d healed a bit. Maybe he didn’t mind the little healthy reminder, a small piece of his brother prancing around with mice in its jaw.

Or maybe he didn’t mind sharing himself, all of his thoughts and past and trauma, with you.

“Hmm. Jordie. I like that.” You smiled fondly at him.

His hand slipped and brushed against the side of yours.

It wasn’t an accident.

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queerlyraging · 2 years

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look, the most important thing to me about being queer is the community involved, but i’m also aware of how hard it can be to have that community, especially locally if you’re unsure of your safety of being loudly queer, or if you’re closeted or semi-closeted. yet, it remains one of the most important things to me for people to simply have that opportunity, and to create it for them.

so about two and a half years ago, in april 2020, in the midst of the loneliness of full time quarantine on top of high school angst, i got tired of not knowing any other queer kids at my high school and set up a discord server specifically for the purpose of inviting only kids from my high school or living in my city, only for kids of high school age, only for kids who were queer or questioning. and then i sent invites to the 15 to 20 kids i knew who were gay and boom. discord server for queer kids.

when i left the server after graduation (stepping down as admin and owner, handing the reins off to a trusted incoming senior), there were about 120+ kids in the server - more were joining after i left. all different ages, genders, sexualities, races, social incomes - all joined together on a discord server. and by god, were they some of the closest group of queer kids i’d seen.

and i think about that sometimes, about how i met so many wonderful people and gave so many young queer kids a chance to be themselves - to be loudly, proudly, fully queer - and how many jumped at the opportunity to make friends with people in their local area and feel so welcomed with open arms, and how they all tried so hard to be exactly that for one another, in person and online, and i cry. it didn’t matter what your sexuality was, or gender, or pronouns, or religion, or anything. they were just so purely excited to find others who they could relate with.

and so i want to propose that idea to some of y’all. be safe, of course.

but maybe it would be cool if it happened in your local area. perhaps it’s focused in your school, or your city, but just a chance to meet queer folks your age in your area with the intent of being a community together. it’s such a powerful idea, and it’s exactly where we’re strongest - when we’re together.

#queer #lesbian #gay #bi #trans #pan #nonbinary #modge podge speaks #to this day that server remains my greatest accomplishment #we've got an alumni server for everyone who graduated and we're all still active

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starlitangels · 8 months

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Rocky Home Lives

This just kinda came to me. Teenage Shaw Pack boys + Darlin' 1.3k words

CW: discussion of parental issues and "marital" issues between parents

—

"Psst! Tank!" Milo hissed. I jolted out of my half-asleep stupor back into full wakefulness, anxiety clenching around my lungs and heart and in my throat. I sat up, looking around for a fire.

Asher rolled over, snoring, and scratched at his armpit. Still fully asleep.

Milo's smaller figure was silhouetted against the sliding glass door that led out to Gabe's backyard. The door was partially open. When he saw me sit up, Milo beckoned me closer.

Carefully, I eased to my feet and picked my way across every couch cushion and pillow in the Shaws' house that we'd gathered on the living room floor in a gigantic cuddle pile. I did my best not to step on Asher and hop over David so he wouldn't wake up. Amanda had rolled off the hodge-podge of blankets and fluff and was sprawled out on the carpet, drooling.

I tiptoed over to Milo. "What?" I whispered.

He slid the glass door open a little wider and slipped out, beckoning me out with him. Once I followed, he slid it shut behind us.

"What'd you wake me up for?" I asked, still whispering.

He scoffed quietly. "You were still awake."

"Barely. I was almost asleep, you moron."

"Sorry." He didn't sound apologetic at all. "Come sit with me."

Barefoot and in our pajamas, we crunched through the semi-dry summer grass to the pool deck. Milo carefully moved some of the pool cover out of the way and sat on the deck, dipping his feet in the water. I sat beside him. "What?"

His grey eyes were turned skyward. Stars twinkled in his irises. "We're not stupid, right?" he asked.

"Of course not."

"Okay. Then let's be honest with each other."

I raised a brow. "What are you getting at?"

He made a guttural noise as he sighed. Like a drawn out uuuuuggggghhhhh, but not quite. "You 'n' me both know that David doesn't spontaneously throw sleepovers. David doesn't host the sleepovers unless Gabe makes him do it."

"And?"

Milo looked down from the stars to fix me with a stare. "C'mon. My parents aren't the only ones arguin' tonight, Tank."

Ice spread out across my entire body from my heart. Even as anger at Milo's—correct—assumption boiled the blood in my neck and face. I sucked in a deep breath and huffed. "So?"

"So. We know why we're actually here. Not just for a fun night of video games and pizza. Gabe's tryna get us away from our folks tonight. Maybe it's an alpha's attempt to protect the young wolves in his pack."

I grunted and kicked my feet through the water of the pool, trying to be quiet. The water right at the surface was still warm from baking in the sunlight under the pool cover, but below the temperature dropped quickly. "Probably," I said noncommittally.

Milo pursed his lips in the corner of my eye and nodded.

We sat on the pool deck, listening to the crickets and trailing our feet forward-and-back through the water, for a really long time. Milo occasionally sniffed and scratched at the healing scab that split his left eyebrow from Asher's claw last week. The third time he reached up to itch it, I grabbed his wrist and dragged it back down. "Your mom said not to itch it. If you rip the scab it'll bleed a lot again."

That earned me an eye-roll. "I know," he retorted. "Doesn't stop it from bein' itchy though."

"That's because it's healing," I said.

With a quick yank, he pulled his wrist out of my grip.

I returned my hand to holding onto my knee, flicking my gaze up to the stars.

"Why..." I licked my lower lip, realizing how dry my mouth had become. "Why doesn't she ever... leave him?" I thought about the multiple times my parents split up and got back together.

Milo's expression turned thunderous and I knew I said the wrong thing. Stupid Tank. I always said the wrong thing.

I opened my mouth to tell him to forget I said anything, but he beat me to speaking.

"She never would," he said. Bare and honest and open in a way I just... never could replicate. "The thing about my folks is..." He made a face, thinking about how he wanted to word the next part, probably. "My parents love each other. Truly and deeply. It's honestly kinda gross sometimes. But..." He took a deep breath. "There are some... fundamental misalignments between them. Ma's priority is her family. Plain and simple. Dad... his is work. And then, y'know. The other stuff." The last three sentences were dripping with fury. "And I watch it break my ma's heart again and again but she'll never give up on him."

"Then your mom's better than both of my parents," I said.

Milo cleared his throat. "I kinda noticed that," he admitted.

I snorted. "It'd be impossible not to notice."

"Tank." He pulled one leg out of the pool to turn to face me head-on. "You're not them, got it?" he said.

"Both of them would vehemently disagree. I'm their blood."

"That means nothing. You've got your own life. How you choose to live it is up to you. Me? I'm terrified of bein' my dad. So I'm not gonna be. If I ever get a mate, I'm gonna love 'em and make 'em my number one priority and... avoid whatever sent my dad down the road he's on. Same can go for you."

I scoffed. "Oh please, Greer. Like anyone's ever going to want to date me. I tend to scare potential partners off before they're even within earshot. I'm waaay too much of a handful."

Milo fixed me with an expression that looked so much like his mother I actually leaned away from him. "Ya just gotta find someone who's willin' to use two hands, then. Look at my folks. Dad's a disaster 'n' Ma loves him anyway."

"Yeah, and look at mine," I replied sarcastically.

He screwed up his mouth. "You're not gonna be like them. Your heart's better'n both-a theirs."

"Maybe."

His hand landed on my shoulder, fingertips digging in tight. "It is. I see it all the time. No arguin', understand?"

"Yes, Marie."

"Oh, you little sh—" He shoved at my shoulder, kicking water out of the pool and over my pajamas.

I snickered and hopped up, water following me with a loud splash, racing away. Milo gave chase.

—

Gabe lifted one the slats in the blinds, looking down at the backyard. The starlight was barely enough to see two teenagers chasing each other around the lawn and pool. They were both smiling broadly, even through a plain competitive spirit.

Gabe breathed a sigh of relief. A lot of the younger generation of wolves in his pack had the misfortune of different degrees of rocky home lives.

At least here, those two got a little bit of respite to just be kids and chase each other around the yard.

He dropped the slat in the blinds and went back to bed.

—

I woke up the next morning exactly where I went to sleep.

Lying on my back in the grass with Milo's head near mine. But at a different angle where we'd laid down to look at the stars after running ourselves ragged chasing each other.

Morning dew clung to my pajamas and skin. The sun wasn't yet up, but it was ready to rise. Shafts of orange, pink, and gold were beginning to spear across the dark sky.

I made a face and sat up. "Wake up, Greer. We crashed outside."

Milo jolted tiredly and sat up. "Wh... what?" he mumbled.

"Let's get back inside."

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @darlin-collins @icedunderwaterroom

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Milo #Redacted Darlin'#Milo Greer #Redacted Audio #Starlit Fic

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twingeof-cosmic-angst · 9 months

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I love the doctors use of John Smith bc like it really hits home just how much that the doctor is shaped by the people they love. One of their companions uses the fake name when the doctor is unconscious and It's such a small little thing but centuries upon centuries later the doctor uses it without even thinking!! Like they carry their companions memories in every single action they do, every word they speak. the doctor is just a hodge-podge of memories and traits from their past companions and I'm sobbing!!!

#i am but a sentimental creachure i cannot help it #like it means so much to me amd its literally just a name #doctor who #classic doctor who

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pinegreenapples · 12 days

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Leave of Absence

Wrote a little something and I wanted to share it even though it's not finished! Feedback is always appreciated!

---

Valentino had received his new gun two days ago and he was in love.

It was a sleek little revolving pistol that made him feel like a sexy gangster whenever he blew out the smoke from the barrel. And he had been doing that a lot recently. But who could blame him? The first time he used her to blow off some idiot's head had been like snorting a line of coke, and Valentino was a hedonist through and through.

So what if production was going to be stalled because he shot his best camerawoman? She was being annoying! And his new gun made that better! Besides, she'd be back in a week or so.

But back to his new love, Veronica. Oh, how her name just rolled off his tongue-delightful.

His new baby was a special commission from Carmine and it could shoot both regular and angelic bullets, depending on how vexing he found his staff at the time. The frigid bitch had even caved and let him make some design choices. So Val's sweet baby girl was a gorgeous rose gold and pastel pink that shone iridescent in the fluorescent lights of the board room. All smooth lines and perfectly polished metal-Val shivered. She was practically sex incarnate.

However, that didn't mean she couldn't use a little more glam.

So today Valentino had a paintbrush, a jar of modge podge, and his personal rhinestone collection laid out in front of him as he debated over the best placement for each crystal on his new baby while Vox droned on in the background about their current ratings.

What a snoozefest. At least he had his precious darling to entertain him while he waited for the meeting to be over. Veronica was going to make an excellent addition to his collection. He could already see her at his side in the club, keeping him safe. Val smirked as he slid into the fantasy.

The way that they'd look together under the disco ball. How she'd fit in his hand like a glove and send a bullet through the heart of whoever dared challenge him. Mmmm, he could feel the heat of her barrel against his palm. What a sexy little lady! He'd blow out her smoke and give her a little kiss-

"-And your latest film has grossed over 2 mil in profits, good job, Val. Ratings are positive as well with even the Gazette admitting it was well done." Vox said, shattering Val's daydream with his stupid statistics.

Although, the recognition was appreciated. Val puffed his chest and grinned salaciously back at his partner.

"Well of course, amorcito, I made it." He purred.

Vox rolled his eyes and snapped his tablet cover shut.

Fuck, he was so hot when he was pissed off. Maybe Val could cop a feel when the meeting was over. It was such a shame that Vox was so rigid about those 'professional conduct' rules. Val knew he had to be a wildly kinky fucker-stressed business types always were.

"Well, that's the last of our logistics. I have just one more thing to say, I'll be taking a few personal days at the end of the month-"

"Wait, what?" Velvette piped up. Her face had emerged from behind her phone to stare at Vox.

Vox glared back at her and continued on. "-And, Jessica and Will will be taking over for me in the meantime."

Val blinked, then frowned. He opened his mouth to speak but Velvette beat him to it.

"Fucking what? You, Hell's worst control freak is going on a little 'holiday'," Velvette raised her fingers in little air quotes, "and leaving his assistants in charge of his company?" She snorted derisively and set her phone down. "I call fucking bullshit."

"She's right, Voxxy. We've been partners for forty years and not once have you ever taken a day off." Val chimed in. In fact, he could clearly remember several times he'd had to drag the man away from his desk because he hadn't slept in nearly 3 days and the power to the building was flickering like a flame in a tornado.

Vox sighed and a hand came to rub at his screen between his eyes.

"At most, I will be gone for five days. I am trusting you to not run this company into the ground during that time." He said, taking turns to stare at each of them.

Val gasped and hurried over to him.

"Voxxy, mi amor, are you sick? Dying? Is this our last month with you? Don't go, amorcito, we can find a cure!" He wailed. He wrapped his upper arms around the tv's head while his lower set pawed at Vox's clothes, trying to find what was wrong with the other demon.

"Val! What the fuck, get off me!!" Vox shrieked. His hands whacked at Valentino's fingers as they tried to prod his ribs. "I'm not fucking dying, I'm just taking some time off!"

Val wailed again and turned to face Velvette, Vox's head was now smushed against his chest and his fingers stroked the ports at the back of his head. His poor Voxxy, gone too soon! And they'd never even fucked! Truly a tragedy the likes of Romeo and Juliet!

"Velvette, it's worse than we thought!" He cried. His hand came to drape across his forehead. "I'm not ready to be a widow!"

Vox wrenched his head out of Val's fur coat and glared up at him.

"We're not even married, you idiot!" He growled. "Hell, we aren't even dating!"

Val just pulled him back in again and heard Velvette snort as Vox let out a pained 'hrk!' when he was shoved back into Val's ample pecs. Val swung him around like a doll as he bawled.

"I don't know, Val. I think you'd make a sexy widow. What about that little black number you bought at Yvonne's last month? I bet that would bring all the boys over to give you their condolences." Velvette grinned at him. Her phone was out again and pointed at the two of them.

Val cocked his head as he thought about it. Vel was right, that mini dress would look absolutely incredible with a pair of nylons, elbow length black gloves, and a mourning veil. Should he order a handkerchief as well? Or would that be too much? What was he saying? Nothing was ever too much!

Vox took his distraction as a chance to slip from his arms. Val cried out at the loss and ran after him.

Vox dodged his flailing arms and teleported next to Velvette. He snatched her phone, fingers tapping on the screen.

"Hey! Give it back!" Velvette yelled at him.

Vox ducked under her punch and took a step back as he continued to tap.

"Not until I delete them from the cloud and your phone's memory." He snarked back.

"Oh please! Like that'll stop me! You think I can't do a simple data retrieval?" Velvette said. Her arms folded across her chest and her eyes had taken on a dangerous glint.

Vox shrugged and tossed the phone back to her. "No, but it does give me enough time to corrupt all the files before you can get them back."

Velvette flipped him off.

He turned to face them both and pointed his finger. "It's five days at the end of this month. If I come back to the company in flames, I will personally kill both of you."

Then he zipped into the security camera and was gone.

Val turned to look at Vel. She met his gaze with a frown.

"Well that was fucking weird. Where's that bastard sodding off to for five whole days?" Vel muttered.

"I'll say." Val replied. "The man barely takes time to breathe and now he's taking almost a whole week off from his precious baby of a company?"

"That's what I'm saying!"

Val hummed. "This requires investigation. I'm sure we can get him to spill before he leaves. He's never been good at keeping secrets anyway."

"First one to get him to tell owes the other a shopping spree?" Vel asked.

"Done!" Val agreed eagerly.

He was already planning out how he was going to corner the man and-persuade him to come clean about this little secret.

Val giggled as he walked up to his suite. This next month was going to be fun.

#vox #hazbin hotel vox #valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #velvette #the vees #vox hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel #velvette hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel

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bambiraptorx · 9 months

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Okay so since yokai education system won in this poll as the topic of my lore dump, have a ramble.

The yokai education system is fairly complicated in nature: even though it's largely publicly funded via taxes, it doesn't necessarily resemble what people think of as a public school. (This is because I'm drawing a lot on my experiences from being homeschooled/ homeschool co-ops/in the US school system, so there's kind of a hodge-podge.) Also, as a rather important sidenote, I'm working with the headcanon that different yokai species have different rates of development/aging, so the whole process of education isn't nearly as standardized as it would be in a US public school anyway.

Yokai schools have a lot of variety in size and purpose, but are usually designed to provide classes for any level of education. This might be done through having multiple wings or floors in the building for different levels of education (kids are usually separated from adults, gen eds from higher level classes, etc) or having the school itself spread out over multiple buildings. Schools tend to be pretty large, and one person might spend their entire educational career (from what we'd consider pre-k all the way to a PhD) at one building or campus.

It's also fairly common for schools to be organized by subject: a wing (or floor or building) for science, for arts, for history, etc. If this is the case, there's usually a separate area specifically for the lower education levels (think elementary/middle school-ish) so that the youngest kids don't have to run all over the place or between buildings to get to classes.

Speaking of classes: they tend to be relatively small, no more than 20 students tops, but usually around 10-15, even going as small as 4-5 people on occasion. Students are more likely to take 3-4 days of classes than 5 days in a row, but it depends on what the parent is willing/able to teach them at home. Also, the selection of teachers is less "you went to school to learn how to educate" and more "hey we heard you're a physical therapist, would you like to teach anatomy and physiology classes this semester". There's a bit of a social expectation that people who have spent a long time in a given field will eventually teach a class about it, or at least come in and do guest lectures.

Also: P.E. is generally considered to be an extracurricular activity and/or a parental responsibility. Yokai are too varied in body types and exercise needs for any form of standardized physical education to be particularly effective (like how can you have bird person and a centaur and sentient slime do the same exercises? not easily, and it's way easier to teach a class where everyone's doing the same exercises than it is to teach one where everyone has to do different things.)

Schools will usually have sports teams though, and it's fairly common to offer some kind of fighting/weapons class. They often have plenty of clubs and extracurriculars, from chess and art clubs to theater productions. However, there's only one or two schools in the Hidden City that currently offer a robotics club.

Feel free to ask questions! This is barely a fraction of the lore I have, and, as you may have guessed, I like infodumping lol

#rottmnt #rottmnt au #rottmnt headcanons #minor interference au #minor interference lore #other topics i might still infodump about:#huginn and muninn's species #the major yokai gift-giving holiday #a yokai coming of age tradition/ceremony #and like. so much more #also i should probably add the lore tag to my masterpost lol

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theopolis · 4 months

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Hi! I was just wondering - what do you think about Dane Dehaan being Harry Osborn? I love this movie with my soul, but can't rewatch it because of Peter's horrible atitude to Harry. It just breaks my heart everytime I think of him just did nothing to try to safe Harry's life.

I retain my opinion that Dane DeHaan was very well cast as Harry and I would absolutely love to see him have another crack at it in a different project, but the movie's treatment of his character starts out a bit of a hodge podge, and ends up being deeply disappointing.

On one hand TASM actually attempts to give him a somewhat better defined inner life than the Raimi movies did. Whereas Raimi Harry sort of just had a vague insecurity around not being good enough in his fathers eyes that was only pinned on his lack of smarts or academic success in the first Spider-Man - something that, aside from omitting a lot of crucial context from the source material, was never explored further in the subsequent installments of the franchise, where Harry's inner turmoil was only used to fuel his conflict with Peter - TASM Harry is very driven by his abandonment issues and bitterness over being disregarded and "thrown away", as well as a desire to escape his fathers legacy throughout the whole film.

I think while both of these struggles have their roots in 616 and could be compelling things to do with the character, TASM, despite actually implementing more of Harry's frailty (though that could have been an acting choice on DeHaan's part, which would be another reason to praise him in the role) ultimately ran into the same issues as its predecessor by leaving out Harry's true thematic core, his fear of and revulsion towards his own softness. The usual adaptational nonsense really, but at least there's potential to build on. Until...

The movie takes a complete nosedive wrt Harry at the end by essentially using Goblin Sr and Goblin Jr interchangably and placing him in Norman's narrative role of Gwen's murderer. Here's where my good will with the writing choices comes ot an end.

Now I'm not gonna get into discourse of when a villain, broadly speaking, is or is not redeemable, because I don't think it matters to this conversation as much as the following does; In the source material, the purpose of Harry as a character is essentialy to showcase the value of vulnerability, and the instrument through which that message is conveyed is his relationship with his foil, Peter. Whether or not TASM Harry can be redeemed in the audiences eye, his relationship with Peter has clearly crossed over into being unsalvageable. There is no convincing way for the tenderness Peter extended towards Goblin Harry in the comics to exist and ultimately save the day in this franchise post TASM2 ending. On that same note, another crucial thing to critique is that not having it in him to actually take a life - as much as the occasional comic that does not care for Harry as a dynamic supporting cast member with narrative value seems to disagree - has been a consistent trait of his in the source material. This matters, because it's one of the defining pieces of characterization showing how his soft core makes him both "weak" and "strong"

I will say that I disagree with you on Peter's attitude towards Harry - I think the movie and Garfields performance make it clear that Peter has very warm and sentimental feelings towards Harry and wants to help him, even if he cannot see a safe way of doing so. The issue is that TASM2 is juggling a lot of things at once, ends up putting the "Harry is terminally ill" thing on the backburner for a long time, and then essentially uses this fault in the script as a plot device; Harry is tired of waiting, he's gonna resort to desperate measures!

In the end, I like the idea of TASM Harry. I like what he could have been, I like the inklings of a better treatment for his character in the first half of the movie. But what he ended up being is unfortunately very, very far removed from that and the only reason I'm not actively mad about it is that TASM is rather inconsequential in the current state of the Spider-Man franchise - It's not ongoing, nor well loved by a bigger portion of the fanbase, the only thing about it that really remains in public conscious is Andrew Garfield's Peter.

I personally have deeply mixed feelings about the franchise overall, for all kinds of reasons. I can see why you say you loved the movie, because I think it has some themes that it very much commits to and manages to tackle in an emotionally resonant way. It's just that Harry's character isn't really included in any of those themes and ends up being sacrified for them instead.

#harry #parksborn #theopolispost

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highpriestessarchives · 2 months

Text

Expectations: In Which Diverse Stories Have Extra Criteria

CW: mentions of racism, brutality, colonization, more of a vent post than anything informative

As much as I don’t like it, I feel as though the best way to start this off is to provide context on my own background. I’ll get to why I don’t like it in a moment, so bear with me. I’m a first generation born Filipino American. My parents are from Tarlac (and a DNA test shows that we also have lineage traced back to Northern and Western Philippines as well some Central & Eastern and Southern China), and they raised us in a semi-traditional Filipino fashion. They didn’t teach us the language in fear of us being made fun of by other Americans, but we did grow up eating the food, respecting our elders, and practicing Filipino Catholic traditions that my parents grew up with in their homeland.

Needless to say, the remarks that followed me into my adult life have pulled my resonance with my heritage in every which way. To other Filipinos and other Asians, I looked part white, and they would ask for pictures of my parents for “proof” that I wasn’t. True story: I remember one of my college friends grabbing my phone and showing her friends in an “I told you so” manner, as if my race was some mystery for them to crack. It wasn’t. I fully told them from the start that I’m Filipino. My Titas would tell me that I looked “mestiza,” and how many young girls in the Philippines would want to look the way I do, and I didn’t know how to explain to them that I started hating how pale I am because of how other Asians would assume my race because of it.

At the same time, my non-Asian counterparts (yes, majority of the people who made these comments were white) would assume that I was some hodge-podge of all Asian cultures. I remember my high school teacher showing us a Vietnamese medicine commercial (this was a class on medical malpractice, and, if I remember correctly, she wanted to show us how medicine is advertised internationally), and she walked into class saying, “The only one who might understand this clip is Rory.” She’d used my deadname at the time, but you get the idea. Jaw-dropped, I had to say, “I don’t speak Vietnamese. I’m not Vietnamese.”

I know, what does this have to do with writing? We’ll get there; don’t worry.

Around 2018, the term “decolonization” entered my realm of awareness. I would see other children of immigrants from all over the world dive into their heritage and continue their ancestors’ practices. Thinking that this would be a genuine way to connect with my roots (I had, and still have, a complicated relationship with the Catholic Church, so I was excited to hear about other Filipino faiths), I began doing my research. At the time, I had a sizable following on TikTok, and I would post entertainment-only sort of videos regarding my spirituality and craft, and I even had to put out a video explaining why I didn’t go into more detail with the Filipino aspects of it. I wasn’t as learned with it as I am now, and I was afraid of the criticism and backlash others would have towards it. In hindsight, I really shouldn’t have given a sh*t, but the internet, as we all know, is cruel.

See, I use my writing as a way to connect with myself and other people, mainly. Yes, I have a story to tell, but a majority of my purpose is to discover and process my own emotions and findings. I use what I observed in society and how I grew up as well as what I learned from my own research. I won’t go into detail of the racism Asian Americans face nor the brutality we have endured over the years; frankly, if you are not already aware of it, Google is free.

Still, my work seemed to be followed by one main criticism: this isn’t yours to tell.

There were a myriad of reasons behind it. I wasn’t born in the Philippines, I’m white-passing, I wasn’t raised with anitismo, other marginalized groups have it “exponentially” worse, etc. I’d be lying if I said this didn’t affect my writing. I froze. I grappled with what I was “allowed” to tell based on all of these criteria. I’d pull up article after article of what I learned in hopes to justify the reasons for including certain aspects in my work; but because of my own upbringing, it never seemed to be enough. What’s worse, a portion of these criticisms completely dismissed the aspects of racism that Asian Americans have spoken up about time and time again (once again, because other’s have it worse or because there just wasn’t enough awareness about it for it to be “valid.”)

Imagine that. We read of thousands of iterations of medieval fantasies from white authors, thousands of European fae romances, thousands of Greek mythological retellings, and treat it as the default. There is no question of whether the author is Greek or Gaelic enough or if their ancestors played a huge role during the medieval era. Hell, my first published work was based on Greek and Celtic mythology, and no one talked about my race then, whether it was about how white I look or how I'm not white at all.

But gods help us if a minority doesn’t fit the ultimate minority model while telling their stories. To be honest, this was why I started disliking the need to talk about my background; it has begun to feel as though it is more to provide credentials rather than to satiate genuine curiosity from other people.

Yes, I do recognize that I wasn’t born in the Philippines and that I was raised Catholic, but I’ve come to terms with how I feel like that is okay.

First of all, if we want to hear from more diverse writers, we cannot keep projecting this “model minority” expectation towards them. Otherwise, it will discourage other diaspora writers, such as myself, from connecting and relaying their heritage in fear of not being “[insert marginalized group here] enough,” whatever that even means at this point.

Secondly, our history is full of movement, whether it was by our own will, such as my parents’ decision to come to America, or if it was forced upon us by our oppressors. As such, those raised outside of their homeland only further enriches our culture, not dilutes it.

To filter the perspectives of or to project your own biases towards diaspora writers is to promote the narratives of the colonizers. We are valid, and our stories should be, too.

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