#so none of these lads are related to one another by blood or other. just to be clear. ok? ok. cool.

[ota-division]

C H A R O N

"All souls that die, from every nation, collect here, as one. Pray that you were buried with obolus, so that you may be piloted by the ferryman known as C H A R O N." - Centurion

C H A R O N.

A rap supergroup that took the country of Japan by storm. Second in power only to the famed rap supergroup, TDD. During their six-year reign, there was no one alive who hadn't heard of them. Skill, charisma, talent: this group had it all. And what one member lacked, another more than made up for. Despite how dramatic many thought the name was, none could deny that it fit the power of this group.

"Maggots drink the blood of me, insects lick tears I weep. The hornets pierce me, and the wasps are breaking every single fuckin' inch of skin on me!" - ATLAS

...So the question on everyone's mind is, where did it all go wrong?

Such questions are better suited to be answered by the creators themselves.

Meet the people behind the band. Meet the members themselves.

Meet...

C H A R O N

1. Oracle

Full Name: Chinen Chinami

Age: 29

Position: Main Lyricist/Singer

Bio: The main lyricist of the band, this blind woman, despite having no eyes, was able to write beautiful lyrics due to her natural gift for poetry. Though joining a rap group wasn't what she saw herself doing, after being persuaded by Haru, she decided to join up. She admitted that being part of C H A R O N was one of the happiest moments in her life. Not only did it allow her to make full use of her writing talents, but it also allowed her to meet the man she would eventually marry. His death broke her, and caused her to leave the group, which signified the end of C H A R O N.

2. Centurion

Full Name: Tanabe Haru

Age: 27 (At the time of his death)

Position: Lyricist/Rapper

Bio: An aspiring writer, this nerdy, young lad loved writing almost as much as he loved history. One of the frontmen for the group, he was the one responsible for finding and recruiting people to join. As he and the other lyricist of the group, Chinami, got better acquainted and friendly with each other, their friendship soon transformed into something greater. After a year or so of dating, he finally proposed to her, and the two became husband and wife, bearing one child. Sadly, a year into the marriage, he was shot and killed by a drug addict while the two were walking home from the studio one night. His death is what effectively broke the group and eventually caused it to dissolve. Rumors circulate whether his death was really just a drug-related incident, and not a planned hit. Kira, Chinami's younger sister, who is still looking into the incident, has her doubts...

3. Helen

Full Name: Funai Reiko

Age: 28

Position: Singer/Spokesperson

Bio: To this day, it's still questioned exactly what a famous actress had to gain from joining a rap group. It couldn't be about money, and she already had thousands of fans. Rumors circulate, but the most likely explanation is that she needed some time away from the big screen after a scandal erupted involving a director and a sex tape that somehow made its way online. Whatever the reason, there's no denying that this famous celebrity helped to push C H A R O N into the limelight. With her connections and gift for gab, she was able to quickly get the group noticed.

While she was undoubtedly the face of the group, she was also dubbed 'The Weakest Link' due to having no skill with rapping or singing. After C H A R O N disbanded, she went back to acting. It's unknown if she keeps in contact with her former partners.

4. Rose

Full Name: Hayakawa Aimi

Age: 24

Position: Musician/Singer

Bio: Born an albino, this half-British/half-Japanese person faced a lot of scrutiny because of their appearance. The fact that they were transgendered only made it worse. A lover of music in all its forms, they consider it to be their heart and soul. Thus, it's no surprise that they were the group's main songwriter, composing beats and notes with little to no problem. A neighbor of Haru's, they accepted his offer to join the group, because it got them away from home, far from their scrutinizing and abusive mother, who tried to force them to accept their gender. They idolized Chinami for her inner strength, and Reiko, for her beauty.

After the group dissolved, they struggled to figure out what to do, refusing to return back to their home. With Reiko's help, they were introduced to a music agency, where they are now working hard to produce their first album. They still keep in touch with their former bandmates, and they always find time to visit Haru's grave with Chinami.

5. ATLAS

Full Name: Teagan Oki

Age: 31

Position: Frontman/Rapper

Bio: It's still a wonder how Oki and Haru were able to become good friends despite their personalities being completely different from each other's. Some attribute it to the fact that they were childhood friends, and others believe it's just a concept of how opposites are attracted to each other. In any case, it was his idea to form a rap group in the first place and Haru went along with him. A rapper with an impressive rhyme scheme, he was believed to be the powerhouse behind C H A R O N.

Despite his impressive skills, he had a very poor disposition and was known for his numerous fights and brawls, most of which were his own fault. Besides that, he reveled in the envy that C H A R O N received from reporters or smaller rap teams. Also, save for Haru, he didn't get on well with some of the other members of the group, including Chinami. In fact, after Haru died, he blamed her for his friend's death and for breaking the group up. It's unknown what happened to him after the group broke up.

6. Neleus

Full Name: Sawada Nori

Age: 22

Position: Rapper

Bio: He was the lively youngest member of C H A R O N, generally speaking. Formerly from a rich family, he ran away from home with only a few thousand dollars to his name after an incident occurred that caused him to leave. He was often noted as being someone who didn't take things seriously until the situation called for it. He also had a bad habit (he'd call it a skill) to push work off onto other people, and he was very, very sleek about it. Besides that, he was a very easygoing guy who loved to party, play video games, and flirt with people. Despite that, he was known to be a peacekeeper among the group. Even Oki found it hard to be angry in his presence. Attracted to Rose, he allowed them to stay in his flat in Tokyo while they work on their album.

Trivia

Haru was the one who came up with the name for the group. He once stated in an interview, "I chose it simply because I like Greek mythology, and I admired Charon's role in the stories. The fact that the first letter of our names and MC names make up the word was completely coincidental. Honest!"

The group often made a habit of dressing up as Greek characters during live shows.

Despite the group's dissolution, they still remain popular with the people of Japan.

It's only hearsay, but there are rumors that after Haru had married Chinami, he was going to leave C H A R O N so he could focus more on his writing career and so he could be a devoted husband and father to his family. When Oki found out, he wasn't happy and the two reportedly fought over this.

#hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic oc #chinami chinen #haru tanabe #reiko funai #aimi hayakawa #oki tengan #nori sawada #c h a r o n #charon #oracle #centurion #helen #rose #atlas #neleus

[moral-turpitudes]

Roses 🥀:

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of an Age Gap (sort-of, nothing happens).

Word Count: 3,835

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader, Finn Shelby x Female!Reader

Requested: Yes

Requested by: @msbzowy​, I apologize for it taking so long, this was such a joy to write!

Summary: Y/N is sent flowers from a secret admirer, making Thomas a bit jealous as he realizes he’s harbored feelings for her. Meanwhile, her admirer turns out to be none other than the youngest blinder, Finn Shelby.

The smell of roses filled the room as Thomas walked in, the soft petals strewn over the shop floors as the sun shined brightly through the dusty windows, giving an almost pink hue to the room.

As Thomas sat down in his office, the smell only grew stronger as he looked around, opening up every drawer to see them all stuffed with bouquets of roses. He frantically picked them out, throwing them on the ground harshly as the thorns pricked at his fingers, small traces of blood coming through the skin with the contact. As he threw them in the bin he noticed Y/N standing there, her face fixed in a permanent smile as she clutched what seemed to be a hundred roses, all wilting and wet. Her eyes were tired and her clothes were soaking as she stood there, the usual bustling around the shop becoming eerily silent as she stepped into the room, his brothers all following as they carried more wilted roses in their arms.

“Take these. Now.” She said in a menacing tone as she got closer, the rest of the blinders advancing towards him as he backed up against a bookshelf. His eyes fixed on Y/N as she stalked towards him. His breathing quickened as he reached out to take them from her, a piercing scream rang from the doorway as he did so. Polly was holding another bouquet in the doorway, her eyes boring into his as she stood there.

He looked around to see everyone’s faces plastered with wicked smiles as they watched him, all silent as the room grew from a pink hue to red, with only another piercing scream coming from Polly as the roses Y/N was holding plunged their way stem-first into his heart.

With a gasp, Thomas awoke. The air in the room seeming thick as he looked around the large bedroom. The sound of birds chirping and Charlie playing down the hall with the nanny as he got a grasp on his surroundings.

Once composed, he got ready, knowing he had to be at the shop soon. No matter how jarring a nightmare he had, the business never stopped, and so he had to continue even through the madness.

It had been a week since the first bouquet of red roses arrived at the shop, the mailman smiling as he placed it on Y/N’s desk near Thomas’ office.

“Oh these are lovely! Thank you!” She said, dismissing him to go about his deliveries. Polly coming over as curious as a cat.

“Who’s the admirer Y/N?” She asked, smelling one of the roses.

“Oh uh...well...it doesn’t say. There’s no note.” She said, fiddling with the flowers in search of one.

“Interesting. Well enjoy love. This is the most color the shop has seen since Christmas.” She said.

“Thanks Pol, I will.” She said, a genuine smile on her face as she placed them on the corner of her desk.

As the week went on though, the flowers became a regular occurrence. By Friday she’d had 5 bouquets lined up, almost to where she was hidden behind them.

“Who’s the lucky lad aye?” Thomas asked as he walked by, only taking a real interest after the third day the bouquet’s came, forever being oblivious to things that weren’t work related.

“I was going to ask you Tommy. I haven’t the slightest clue. It’s strange now though. I’ll have a whole rose garden by next week it seems.” She said with a light laugh that made Tommy’s heart do flips. She carefully cleared them off her desk to where they sat along the floor, hoping that would be the end of them.

“I’ll decorate the office with them, no use having them all here.” She said, grabbing two vases and placing one on Polly and Esme’s desks.

“Have fun with that. Just leave them out of my office though, love.” He said.

“No problem.” She said, retrieving the other two and placing them on Lizzie and Johns desks.

After the weekend flew by, Y/N hesitantly opened the door to the shop early that Monday morning to find another bouquet placed on her desk, a slight smile appearing on her face as she looked around the room.

“Christ. The poor lads in love.” Polly said as she walked in, seeing the bouquets placed on almost everyone’s desks.

“I still don’t know who it is though. Not a fucking clue Pol.” She said with a sigh.

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled this week. You do the same.” Polly said as she sat down, returning to the work she’d left from the week prior.

“Will do.” Y/N said, starting on her own paper work.

Thomas smirked as he walked in past her desk, Y/N not noticing as he went straight to his office. His suspicions started to grow with each passing day, eventually leading to the nightmare that he’d had later that week.

Thomas nervously went into his office later that Friday. It had been a week since the first onslaught of them, with no man in sight besides the delivery man. But something inside him made him feel something was off. The nightmare only fueling his anxiety as he thought about it.

“Pol, can I have a word?” He said from his doorway, his slender frame leaning out just so she could see him.

Polly nodded and came in, her head swimming with questions.

“This has to stop.” He said sitting at his desk, running a hand through his hair.

“What does Tom?” She asked.

“The roses. I can’t tell if someone’s trying to send me a message or a threat or what. Whoever it is they know where we are and what we do. And they somehow know when she’ll be in the office.” He said, his hatred for uncertainty shining through.

“I don’t think anyone’s after you or the company Tommy. If anything someone’s after her...not in a bad way though.” She said.

“What do you know about roses in dreams?” He asked, lighting a cigarette.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” She said, sighing as she got comfortable in one of the armchairs in the room.

“I had a nightmare...last night... where you were screaming, and everyone was holding wilted fucking roses and...Y/N stabbed me in the heart with them.” He said, the memory of it causing his brows to furrow.

“Well, in general roses are for affection, but if she stabbed you with them, that’s hard to say. But if they’re wilted...that could be a relationship ending...although I’m not sure one has even begun. If I were you I wouldn’t look into it too much.” She said, trying to console him.

“Why not?” He asked.

“It’ll only stress you out more. You don’t need that on you with everyone going on already. If she likes the person, I’m sure she’ll return the favor. Those roses probably weren’t cheap in the first place.” She said.

“Alright, well until then can you help get a family meeting together? I’m trying to see if we can narrow down who’s sending them. I don’t like that they know our business and hers.” He said.

“Okay. May I ask one thing?” She said, looking into her nephews eyes. She’s seen the look only a few times before.

“Are you jealous of this person? Perhaps the roses were for her not reciprocating your feelings.” She said.

Thomas chuckled as he took a drag from his cigarette, his eyes cutting away from Polly’s to stare out the window.

“If I was I would’ve found the lad wouldn’t I? I can’t control who she likes or who likes her.” He said.

“Well, you’re pretty involved for someone who isn’t jealous. I’ll see what I can do, but until then keep your eyes peeled. I’ve told Y/N to do the same.” She said.

“Alright.” He said, watching her leave as he blew out a puff of smoke. The dream still running circles through his mind.

Later that night Polly let everyone go early as she told Arthur and John of the family meeting, the other workers all filing out, including Y/N.

“Hey Y/N...” Thomas said, holding the door for her as she walked out of the shop.

“Yeah?” She asked, the cold air causing her to wrap her coat tightly around her as she stared into his ice-blue eyes.

“The roses haven’t been sent to your house have they?” He asked.

“No. Why?” She asked, clutching one of the smaller more recent bouquets.

“Good. I’m trying to look into who sent them.” He said.

“Oh, thank you. They were uh...sweet the first time ‘round but after two weeks it’s kind of concerning me.” She said, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips as she looked around.

“Me too. I’ll let you know if I find out anything alright?” He asked.

“Okay Tommy. Goodnight.” She said, turning away from him.

“Goodnight.” He said, watching her walk away down the cold streets. Something pained him to see her walking alone, suddenly walking towards her on a whim.

“Y/N wait!” He said loud enough so that she stopped.

“Would you...would you like me to walk you home?” He asked.

Y/N’s face heated up as she looked down, trying to hide it from him.

“Sure.” She said. Her heart racing in her chest as they continued down the narrow walkway.

She’d admired the man from afar for most of her employment, but never had the courage to talk to him more outside of work. He was a busy man and all and she knew he was notorious for nabbing various women, but here she was being walked home by the man who only recently started talking to her more as the hundreds of flowers trickled in.

“I have a peculiar question Tommy...” She said, as they neared her apartment.

“I may have a peculiar answer.” He said, smirking as he looked at her. Her eyes glinting in the setting sun as she turned to him.

“You weren’t the one who sent them were you?” She asked.

As much as he abhorred the thought of a hundred flowers, he wished he would’ve been the one sending them. Loving the way the color of the roses illuminated her skin. The way her smile grew at the sight of them. It was in these two weeks that he realized he should’ve sent them, even if he wasn’t one for flowers, he’d have filled the whole room with them just to see her smile.

With a hurt look in his eyes, he spoke. His answer slipping off his lips as he looked at her.

“No. Unfortunately I’m not one for many flowers. But I would’ve sent one at least. Whoever this was...clearly has me beat.” He said.

“Oh, well, if anything I hope you can find out who it was. Good luck with your search.” She said, unlocking her door.

“Oh and Tommy?” She asked as he turned around, her hair blowing slightly in the cool wind.

“Thank you for walking me back. It was nice to have your company.” She said, giving him a small smile as he nodded and resumed his walk back to the shop. His heart aching and angered at the same time. Someone out there had outdone him, and it was only a matter of time before he found out who.

Back at the shop, everyone gathered around the table as they chatted. Patiently waiting for Thomas and Finn as the sun finally set for the night. With a harsh slam of the door, Finn waltzed in, fingers bandaged as he looked at the roses on everyone’s desks.

“Oi! Where you been brother? Tommy’s called a meeting but hasn’t shown yet. We were wondering if you knew where he was.” Arthur said, causing all eyes to go to the young Shelby.

“Oh uh, I was at the stables. Helping the horses.” He said.

“Did they try to eat your fingers? Look at the bandages on them...” Polly said slowly uncovering them to see small red pricks of dried blood. Her smirk grew wide as she looked at him, his face paling as he realized he’d been caught quite literally red-handed at this point.

“Well aren’t you just a little Cupid!” She said. The others looking at the two like they had ten heads.

“The flowers....Finn sent them.” She said, sitting back proudly in her seat.

“Well well well...Finny boy has a crush aye?” John said slapping his younger brother on the shoulder.

“I’d say he has more than a crush. He’s in love.” Ada said teasingly.

Finn’s face flushed as red as a tomato, his heart racing as he sat down. Embarrassed that he’d picked so many for her.

“Right, so let me take a wild guess. It’s Y/N innit? You know she’s older than you right?” Arthur asked, smiling.

Finn sighed and ran a hand through his tousled hair, the pain from the thorns pricking him finally taking their toll.

“You’d have a promising job as florist brother...if the job with us doesn’t work out.” John said, earning a chuckle from the group.

“Well personally I think it’s cute...But Arthur’s right Finn. She’s much older than you. She didn’t even know who they were from, love.” Ada said.

“I should’ve just kept it to myself. No one would ever go for me anyway.” He said, a sullen tone to his voice. His heart felt like it was stabbed and crushed with the weight of a thousand bricks as he took in the reality of the situation. He’d only liked her from afar, never knowing how to approach her even though she was much older than him. It pained him to know a number held so much weight but it did, and no one could change that.

“Oh Finn...you’ll find someone. I know there’s many a girl your age at the shops down the street. Seems like that’s where they all go to hang out anyways besides the Garrison. I’ll tell Isiah to tag along with ya when I see him tomorrow how about that?” Polly asked, holding his hand.

Finn sighed again, knowing his crush had to end at some point. It’s why they called them crushes after all.

“Yeah...alright. I’ll go down there. I’ll throw those out later.” He said, gesturing to the flowers.

“You know what Finn? One thing ya did right though is you showed Tommy up. He practically had to chase her out the door to see who was sending them. He’s a bit jealous she has such an amazing admirer.” Ada said, a small smile on her face.

“Oh great. Tommy will kill me then aye?” He asked.

“Only one way to find out.” John said, pointing to the front door that swung open.

Thomas walked in, a frustrated look on his face as he neared the family.

“Aye Tommy where were ya?” Arthur asked, trying to hide a smile.

“Walking Y/N home. Speaking of that...I’d like to know if any of you know who’s been sending the fucking flowers? If it’s none of you then it’s some other man trying to drag us into something.” He said, lighting a cigarette as he sat down.

“I uh...I sent them Tom.” Finn said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“What?” He asked.

“I...I sent the flowers. Bloody stupid of me aye?” He said, laughing at himself to lessen the blow.

“Ah...so...you’re her little admirer then...that’s cute.” He said, his tone low. Finn clutched his fists at his side as he nervously shifted in his seat.

“I’m serious Tom. I was stupid for even laying my eyes on her in the first place. Didn’t know she was older than me by that much.” He said, wanting to run out of the shop and never look back.

“Well, a little brotherly advice Finn. If you’re going to send a girl roses, make sure they’re you’re age and make sure you only send one bouquet alright? 10 were a bit....” Tommy said trailing off.

“Desperate.” John said, Tommy smirking and pointing at him.

“Aye, desperate.” He said, blowing a puff of smoke from his lips.

“So is this meeting over then? Am I free to go? I’d say we solved the fucking case.” Finn said.

“Yes it is. Everyone can go. Except you Finn. I want to talk to ya.” He said.

Finn rolled his eyes and stayed seated as everyone got up to leave. The shop soon turning eerily silent.

“You gonna shoot me or just laugh like all the others?” Finn asked.

“Neither. I would’ve done the same thing at your age.” He said.

“I don’t buy it. You just can’t stand the fact I did something about her before you could, right?” He asked.

Thomas pulled a chair up near him, his blue eyes staring into his.

“You did beat me to it I give you that. I just wouldn’t have sent her a hundred of them.” He said.

“She obviously likes you more though Tommy....I’ve seen the way she looked at ya when the flowers came in. I should’ve known then I guess.” He said, growing done with the conversation. Wanting to desperately run to the comforts of the Garrison.

Thomas sighed as he sat back in his chair, the sadness in his little brothers eyes reminiscent of his own many moons ago.

“Look, brother. I’m not mad alright? I’ve eyed the wrong people before and it hurt almost as much as being stabbed. You’ll find someone though alright? I’ll see to that if need fucking be.” He said.

“I’m just embarrassed I even liked her.” Finn said, fiddling with the bandages on his hands.

“We can’t always help who we like or who we love Finn. But we can always find someone for us. You’ll find her. I promise.” He said.

“You never make promises Tommy.” He said, looking at the floor.

“I only makes ones that I know will be true. With a mug like yours you’ll find someone. I bet tomorrow someone will walk in and you’ll be picking roses for them for the rest of your life.” He said with a small smile.

Finn chuckled as he got up, adjusting his cap.

“So she likes you then?” He asked.

“I think so. I’ll understand if you hate me.” Tommy said, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Just don’t break her heart. I can see she has one at least.” Finn said.

“I won’t. But I may need help with a bouquet soon.” Tommy said.

Finn smirked and shook his head.

“No. My work is done. That’s up to you now Tommy. Good luck with Y/N though alright? I’ll come by tomorrow and pick all of them up before she comes in. Save myself the embarrassment.” He said.

“I got it brother. Just tell her tomorrow.” He said.

“You mean you won’t?” Finn asked.

“No, that’s your business.” He said.

“Alright.” He said, heading towards the door.

“Where are you going this late Finn?” Tommy asked.

“To the Garrison, I need a drink.” He said.

“Take one of the these fucking roses will ya. Who knows, you may need it.” He said.

Finn plucked one from a vase nearby, tipping his cap to him on the way out.

With a long sigh Thomas looked around at all the vases, there seemed to be almost as many as there were in his nightmare, but at least this part had a somewhat happy ending, even if in the end it was Finn who got stabbed in the heart with rose stems. But it was only a matter of time before something worked out for the youngest Shelby.

The next morning Y/N made her way in to the shop, the thought of seeing another bouquet making her cringe as she opened the door. To her surprise the shop was empty, all except for one bouquet on her desk.

“Morning Y/N.” Finn said quietly, startling her slightly.

“Oh hi Finn! How are you love?” She asked.

“Good...I uh...wanted to tell you something.” He said, nervously putting his hands in his pockets.

“Of course, what is it?” She asked, leaning against her desk. Thomas was eyeing their interaction from his office, smirking to himself as he watched Finn doing one of the hardest things he’s had to do since taking a bullet to the arm.

“I uh...sent you all those roses. Tommy thought it would be best if I told you, seeing as it worried you. I-I liked you for a while and didn’t really know what to do about it and so I may have went overboard on the flowers. I’m sorry.” He said quickly, Y/N looking at the floor with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Finn...” she said quietly.

“I appreciate them. So so much alright? I just....my heart is somewhere else and I’m also older. Don’t get me wrong you’re very charming. I think all the Shelby’s can learn something from you. But just know I don’t feel the same way. I do appreciate them though, it’s probably the sweetest thing that I’ve ever gotten. So thank you.” She said, giving him a small hug.

“I figured that...but it’s fine. I’m happy they made you happy. It’s alright though. I uh, may have met someone else anyway.” He said, his cheeks flushing.

“Oh really? Who’s the lucky lady?” She asked.

“Someone I met last night. I went to the Garrison.” He said.

“I’m happy for you. You’ll have to tell Tommy.” She said, eyeing his office.

“Oh no it’s fine I’m sure he won’t-“ Finn started to say as Tommy walked out.

“Aye Finn! How’d the Garrison go?” He asked, walking near Y/N and holding her hand. He never did that in public really but with the shop being almost empty on a Saturday he figured why not. To his surprise she actually did it back, making his heart race slightly.

“It-it was good. I told Y/N about my attempt at trying to win her over.” He said chuckling at his efforts.

“I see. Did you manage meet anyone last night?” He asked.

“Actually yeah....she’s nice...kind of like Y/N. She’s a florist matter of fact. Turns out she eyed me at the shop when I’d bought some last week. I’m going to see her today, if that’s okay with you and Pol.” He said nervously.

“Of course. Don’t get into too much trouble though, I really don’t want to pull a bullet out your arm later.” He said.

“Finn, wait!” Y/N said, breaking free from Tommy’s hand to hand Finn the roses that were left.

“Take these. She’ll love them.” She said.

“Alright. Thanks you two. Don’t you both go getting into trouble either. I’d rather not have to come back in to work today.” He said.

“Oh I can’t promise that.” Tommy said, smirking at Y/N.

“Oh fuck off Tom.” He said, chuckling and quickly leaving the shop. His heart racing as he ran to the girl meant for him. Finally healing from the past with each step he took.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx,

@lovemissyhoneybee @thomashelbyswhore​, @xxbeckybeexx-blog​

Finn Shelby Tag List:

@ajwantstohavefun​, @inglourious-imagines, @reveparade, @ta-ka-shi-ma

If you’d like to be added/removed just send an ask or message! :)

#msbzowy #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #thomas shelby #finn shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #finn shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x female!reader #finn shelby x female!reader #katiesrequests

[bagadew]

The Great Ace Attorney Playthrough: The Adventure of the Great Departure (Part 1)

So it’s finally here, The Great Ace Attorney! I know practically nothing about this game, except that it’s a) set in Victorian London, b) has the themes of racism and xenophobia you’d expect from a game where you play a Japanese immigrant in Victorian London, and c) features Herlock Sholmes the himbo detective! (Also I think there might be a cereal killer plot, but I’m not too sure.)

Right away I’m being given a lot of very useful information regarding the historical setting for this game. Unfortunately I’m unable to fully process it because two seconds in and I’ve already been accused of murder!

Oh Ace Attorney how I’ve missed you.

Hello Kazuma! I like the way your headband billows even though there’s no wind, and I hope you have a much longer and fuller life than my last Ace Attorney mentor.

Ok so it seems like we’re both students at the same university, but Kazuma is the protégé golden boy, who’s about to be sent abroad because he’s just That Good. Fortunately I (Ryunosuke) am his beloved best friend, and will therefore be allowed to tag along (which is a really damn good job because I’m the one front and centre of the box).

Say what you will about incredible aura, but I’m pretty sure Kazuma’s just set up some sort of fan mechanism under there.

Hello Pink Lady from the box!

As a seasoned Ace Attorney player I am immediately suspicious of anyone from the first case who isn’t a main character. I’m watching you professor!

Ok so from what I can gather from our exchange the Professor Mikotoba is the forensics pathology professor at the university (I wonder if his daughter, or whoever the pink lady is, will be our Ema Skye), and if Kazuma the golden boy takes our case an loses he won’t get to go fulfill his dream of studying abroad.

Frankly, from all their idealistic chatter about jolly old Britain, I feel like these boys might be in for a bit of a rude awakening once they actually make it to London. And I’m not sure Ryunosuke, with all his beautiful naïve innocence, is going to do too well.

And speaking of beautiful naïve innocence...

No Ryunosuke! Don’t agree to things like that!

I’m beginning to suspect Ryunosuke’s just being used as bait for Kazuma. Like someone out there really doesn’t want Kazuma to go abroad for some reason, and so they’re using his less good best friend to trap him in the country.

Oh Ryunosuke...

In all my years playing Ace Attorney I have never been more torn by a suggestion box. On one hand, the first time I play an Ace Attorney game, I try and play it in the way it should be played. And so, even though this is an UNBELIEVABLY STUPID DECISION, I feel like Ryunosuke, a man who doesn’t seem to have the words ‘Set Up’ in his dictionary, would not even hesitate to bellow I do because Professor Mikiller told him to.

On the other hand this is an UNBELIEVABLY STUPID DECISION and Kazuma should clearly be in charge.

Ok, I’ve decided I’m going to press it (partly because I think the game might punish me if I don’t) but I will have my head in my hands as I do so.

See Kazuma agrees with me.

Oh fuck, the victims John Watson Wilson!!!

Ok, so I’m re-evaluating my assumption that I (Ryunosuke) was simply bait for Kazuma, it looks like I was instead the poor expendable mug who can be pinned with causing an international incident. Is it bad that I feel like I’ve been promoted?

My god, everyone must have had a heart attack when Kazuma the Golden Boy stepped up to defend me. No wonder they didn’t want him involved!

Ok let’s bring out Professor Mikotoba the witness, so he can explain how he’s played us like a damn fiddle-

WHO THE HELL IS THAT!?!

I would like to take this opportunity to apologies to Professor Mikotoba, who is I can only assume a beloved recurring character. I’m very sorry sir but I did not see you on the box. Yes I understand that, as someone who’s favorite character is Gumshoe, this was no excuse. Please forgive me.

Side note though: Satoru’s whole *hacks up blood* ‘It’s nothing, this just happens sometimes, please ignore it and continue’ thing is the most relatable thing I’ve seen so far. As someone with a chest condition whose lungs sometimes just bleed, this is literally the response you develop. I know this guys probably a murderer and that’s probably Crime Related Blood, but for now the two of us understand each other.

Ok, so from that cross examination we’ve got one mysterious lady the waiter says he never saw, one unwillingly received Buisness card from Satoru Hosonaga, and one coughing fit my lungs started after watching Satoru wheezing away.

WHAT IS THIS!!??!!

MORE WITNESSES!!??!!

ON A FIRST CASE??!!!

DO THE SACRED LAWS OF FIRST ACE ATTORNEY CASES MEAN NOTHING TO THIS GAME!?!??

This is a neat mechanic though, and one I’ve been hoping would make it to a cannon Ace Attorney game since the Professor Layton crossover. It seems like we’re just sticking to standard testimony listening for now, rather than checking between reactions, but I’m very happy to see it’s return.

GET HIS ASS KAZUMA!!!

(Kazuma’s quickly becoming my favourite, it’s a lot of fun to have the Edgeworth over your side of the courtroom for once)

Ok, so Kazuma (who’s name my iPad now autocorrects into all caps) has shown me how to examine evidence, meaning that if I had, shall we say, a receipt with the word Maya written on it, I could turn it over to see what was written on the other side.

So, while I now know that Dr Watson Wilson wasn’t able to have tucked into that big juicy steak behind him, I just want to check that business card Satoru was so unhappy to give away...

Interesting...

I don’t know what this means, but it sure is interesting...

Now back to slamming an old man with a stolen coin (that was probably taken by the penniless guy next to him)

I’m not sure how he’s managed it, but Auchi has somehow become the most slapable of the Pains.

GET THEIR ASS RYUNOSUKE!!!

(I like how his desk slam’s changed as he gets more confident)

DAMN STRAIGHT WE’D TAKE ON THE GOVERNMENT!!!

So there’s been a coverup! Well that explains the detective posing as a waiter, but it still leaves a huge question mark over the identity of the woman in question. Other than possibly Satoru, who I can’t see as having any reason to dress up, I don’t feel like any of the current witnesses could fit the bill. Whoever she is, though, it must be someone who’s involvement could cause more problems if she was found out, which would mean that she’s either someone with a lot of political influence in Japan, or she’s someone who followed the good Dr from England (and might well have a lot of influence there).

Either way I’m beginning to suspect that, in great break from Ace Attorney tradition, NONE OF THE WITNESSES COMMITTED THE CRIME!!! (Or at least not this one.)

Don’t worry Kazuma, I turned the receipt business card over this time!

Screenshots don’t do this justice.

I don’t know what makes this better, Ryunosuke’s cheerful mile wide supposition, or the speed at which Satoru cut him off.

...are they Satoru? Are they really?

At this point I would apologies to Satoru Hosonaga, however I feel like he might have been using me as the scape goat for this murder, so I’m going to say that I’m not sorry. (We still have a weird blood related understanding though, and for that reason I am not as hostile as I might have been)

Yeah, that’s fair Ryunosuke.

WAIT WHAT!?!

Oh, it’s just a flash back gunshot. I thought someone had just whipped out a gun and shot the detective before he could say another word!

Oh dear, this goes all the way to the top doesn’t it?

Poor Ryunosuke though, he’s not even made it to the stinky rainy streets of London and already his illusions about justice are being shattered. Given that this is effectively the prologue case, I dread to see what comes next.

HELL YEAH JUGE, WERE GETTING THE KILLER LADS!!!

SATURO HOSONAGA YOU’RE BACK ON THE CHRISTMAS CARD LIST (but on thin ice)

‘So it won’t be a problem?’ Ryunosuke, weren’t you listening, it’s going to be a massive problem! Fortunately everyone else in this courtroom has just decided that you know what fuck the government actually, and so we’re doing it anyway!

Hosonaga’s trying really hard to win me back over folks, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t working.

I like this hardass judge! I’ll send him a Christmas card too.

MADE IT TO THE FIRST HALF!

#tgaa #the great ace attorney #the adventure of the great departure #tgaa spoilers #ryunosuke naruhodo #kazuma asougi #john wilson #satoru hosonaga #japan judge #yuujin mikotoba #again I'm very sorry for wildly accusing you professor

[sorcererinthestars]

That Which Lurks in the Dark [FAHC]

My contribution to the @rtwritingcommunity‘s Secret Santa fic exchange. I love this exchange because it forces me to write and this year, I got a delight because I got to write something for one of my very best friends, @shadeofazmeinya! I hope you enjoy, my love! <3 

Everyone else, enjoy as well.

WC:  4583 Summary:  Sent out to Boston in the middle of the winter to make relations with a new gun-running squad, the Lads don't realize how badly this could go. Furious, bleeding, and cold, they take shelter in a shitty motel room and are forced to confront the reason they're in this mess... and the feelings that lurk in their hearts.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073598

-

It was that kind of storm that stole breath away, tore the sight from your eyes and made you weep with the fear of it. The storm howled around their little car, made every mile treacherous and dangerous, the potential of it stopping seemed to diminish with every passing second.

Inside the car it was no less dangerous. Three men sat hunched and breathless, trying to flee where they came from and yet make it to their destination unharmed. While they were out of the storm, the atmosphere inside the car was tense, able to be cut with a knife.

Michael, in the back, is bleeding. It slips crimson red down his side, across his pants, and stains the car seat. There’s no way they could return this rental — yet another thing Gavin had to deal with when they got somewhere safe. But the road almost unpassable now, not yet plowed, and the wind continued to howl its rage into the skies around them.

Gavin shifts, gritting his teeth as he tries his best to keep his hands on Michael’s wound. “How’re you doing, boi?”

The resulting wince is enough of an answer, but Michael wasn’t one to stay silent. He huffs an angry grumble. “Fine,” he snorts. Obviously untrue, but what was he supposed to do? The blood flow was thankfully stopping, but stab wounds needed treatment — none he was going to get here. “Or, fine enough.”

“We need to fuckin’ get back to the hotel,” Jeremy growls. His whole body is fixated on the road and not on the two men in the back seat. “If you had just listened to me…”

“Don’t fucking start!” Michael snaps back, his fury igniting like a piece of ripcord. If Gavin hadn’t quickly ducked out of the way, he would have been clipped by Michael’s head as the man straightens up quickly to throw his words at Jeremy like missiles. “Don’t you dare.”

“I knew it was a trap from the moment we walked in!” Jeremy hisses. “But no, you said we still had to go like you’re the fuckin’ leader or something…”

“I AM the fucking leader of the Lads!” Michael shoots back before Gavin wrestles him back down. “Boys, boys, you’re both pretty!” he snaps. “But Michael, you’re gonna bleed out if you continue to fight like this. Sit back, damn it. And Jeremy, you’re gonna crash the damn car. We need to find a place to stop.”

Stop? Jeremy turns to look at him owlishly before having to skid to avoid an ice patch in the center of the road. “This is Boston,” he retorts. “It’s what it’s like in the winter.”

“Doesn’t stop us from havin’ a half-dead guy in the back,” Gavin shoots back. “We need to stop and deal with Michael’s wounds. And look at it! You can’t see.”

It was true. The wind was just getting worse, threatening to toss the car off the road. A full out blizzard. They would need to ditch off for fear of losing everything in a crash. The money in the back seat wasn’t remotely how much they were supposed to get, but it was something, and Geoff would be upset if it didn’t make it home.

Not to mention, probably upset if three of his best crewmates didn’t return home either. Jeremy sighs. “Fine. Google a hotel or a motel closer to here then. Somewhere that won’t ask a lot of questions if we stain shit red with Michael’s blood.”

Gavin nods, pushing Michael’s hand over so he would keep pressure on his own wound. The other shifts, leaning against the car door and pressing firmly down on the stab wound. It wasn’t critical - they wouldn’t have made it out of that damn warehouse if it was. But it was fucking painful as hell and would need stitches for sure. Michael wasn’t quite looking forward to that procedure.

With hands covered in blood, Gavin pokes at his phone, grimacing at the stains that get all over the screen. “Looks like there’s a ... Motel 6 about ten...ten-ish miles down the road. Take the next right.”

Jeremy does, the car skittering and causing them all to grab on tight with shouts of alarm. “Sorry, sorry...,” Jeremy mutters, focusing again on the road and getting traction. He had forgotten how to drive in the snow after so long away.

Michael grunts under his breath and with Gavin’s directions and Jeremy’s partially safe driving, they manage to navigate towards the motel. Its lights barely puncture the maelstrom, providing a somewhat sickly flush of yellow light against the howling winds. But it’s shelter and warmth and a bed, and right now that’s all they need.

Pulling in, Jeremy takes stock of the situation. He’s probably the least bloody of the three of them, just a few stains on his jacket that he wipes off with the back of his hand. “Look. I’m gonna go in and see if I can get a fuckin’ room or two for us. You just... wait here.”

Michael glares at him from the back seat. “Like I’m g-gonna go anywhere,” he winces sarcastically. Jeremy just grunts. He knows he looks ridiculous in his purple and orange getup, but at least he has a big black parka to throw on over it. He snatches it, shouldering the heavy material, and stomps off towards the main building.

As they watch him disappear into the storm, Michael leans back against the leather. Maybe he shouldn’t be so frustrated - it certainly wasn’t Jeremy’s fault they were stood up and attacked during what should have been a simple gun-running meeting - but the sickening feeling that he failed... failed Geoff, failed them, failed himself... still twists in his stomach.

The assignment was simple. They were meeting some east coast gunrunners who were looking to start making shipments across the USA. These guys were cheap and would be a great addition to the Fake portfolio, so Geoff had Gavin research them and then sent his Lads to Boston. They’d meet with the dealers, Gavin would negotiate a deal, and then they’d fly home with money and deal secured.

But shit went tit’s up, and well...

Gavin knocks Michael out of his train of thought by adjusting his pressure on the wound, sending another wave of pain through Michael’s abdomen. He grunts. “Just ... just climb in the back and get some bandages or some shit,” he says forcefully, shoving on Gavin’s shoulder.

Glancing out the back window, Gavin frowns. “I - uh. It’s ... well, Micoo, it’s snowing, and I don’t really want -”

“Baby,” he shoots back, but before he could make another quip, Jeremy comes stomping back. His nose and ears are bright red and his eyes are shining under the hood, which is caked in snow. He hops back into the car and hovers over the heating vent for a few breathless moments, shivering. “FUCK.”

“Cold?” Michael says dryly. “Never would’ve guessed.”

He shoots him the bird and shakes himself off. “They’ve only got one room left,” he announces. “With a King bed. Which means some of us are sleepin’ on the fucking floor. But there’s heat. And a roof.”

“Good enough,” Gavin says quietly, glancing between the two of them with a somewhat uneasy expression. Jeremy starts the car and with a bit of slipping and sliding in the snow that gathered, they make it to the space outside their hotel room. A deliberate effort between all three of them manages to get Michael out of the car, Gavin gagging a bit at the bloodstain on the seat. They hobble Michael to the door and Gavin stands, shivering and supporting Michael’s dead weight as Jeremy fumbles with the lock.

The door opens with a whoosh of warm air and they stagger inside, frantically throwing the door shut behind them with finality. It’s a basic motel room, certainly nothing fancy, but thankfully warm and clean enough. Michael sags onto the bed, holding his side with a grunt. “...ugh.”

“Ugh indeed,” Jeremy shoots back. “Gav, can you stay with him? I’m going to unload the car.” He adjusts his parka. “See if you can get some hot water going, we’re all gonna need a shower.”

The room turns into a flurry of activity with Michael as an oasis of calm. Jeremy drags their few things inside - a black duffel bag full of cash, a few guns, and that’s it. All their clothes and supplies are back in the five-star hotel they had booked, a twenty-five minute drive back into the city. It may as well be sixty miles, based on how fast they could drive and as much as they could see.

Gavin, in the bathroom, fiddles with the old pipes. He cranks the hot water on as high as it would go and waits, hearing the rattle and hiss as the pipes pull the water and tries to heat it. The first blast is ice cold, sending him skittering away like a kicked puppy as he almost gets a blast of the artic against his already cold skin. The pipes rattle and groan and the water turns very slightly less miserable.

He frowns at it and leaves the bathroom. “...gonna take a while,” he announces, “if it ever gets there at all.” Then he immediately gags and almost runs back into the bathroom to vom, as Jeremy has Michael’s shirt off and is probing the wound that weeps miserably down his side.

“I can do it,” Michael grits. “I’ve dressed my own wounds before.”

“Alone, in the middle of a heist, maybe - and I’ve seen the results of your self-stitching in all the bubbled scars on your skin,” Jeremy retorts. “Just shut up and let me help you, you whiny baby.”

Michael squeezes his eyes closed as Jeremy probes the edges of the wound before digging into his first aid kit. Thankfully, they had brought it along, figuring their meeting may involve a bit of a scuffle but never realizing it would devolve as much as it had. Controlling his stomach as best he could, Gavin pads over to sit next to Michael and watch owlishly as Jeremy starts doing what he can for the wound.

First he cleans it with strong antiseptic, to the point where Michael has to bite on the side of his sweatshirt to stop from howling and alerting all their neighbors to something nefarious going on in the next room. Then he sterilizes a needle as best he can and lays Michael back.

“No fuckin’ booze?” he grunts. “Just going to have you stitch me up stone cold sober?”

“This kind of place doesn’t have a fuckin’ minibar,” Jeremy retorts. “Just shut up and let me do this.”

Gavin elects to go check on the water as Jeremy works to clean and stitch Michael up. Despite the apparent frustration between the two, Jeremy’s stitches are neat and clean and as painless as he can make them. At least until Michael mutters a rude comment under his breath, making Jeremy tug the sutures harder than necessary. Michael gasps in agony. “Bitch!”

“Don’t be a dick when someone’s got a needle in your flesh,” Jeremy retorts calmly, tying off the string. He cleans the wound again and wraps it in clean, bright white bandages. “There. You won’t die.”

“Glad for that,” Michael says stiffly, moving so he could kind of lean against the top of the bed. Jeremy glances over to the shower when Gavin pops back out. “So...,” he says hesitantly. “There’s - uh. Really no hot water.”

Jeremy groans and goes to put his face in his hands but stops when he sees the blood all over them. Gavin weakly tries to smile. “Enough for a quick one?” he says hesitantly and then squawks as Jeremy shoulders him aside to claim the stall. He tries to close the door but Gavin shoves his arm in the way to block it.

“.... we’re both covered in sweat and blood,” he retorts. “Just share, yeah? I won’t look if you won’t.”

Both try to ignore the blooming red on their cheeks, but it’s kind of a hard thing. But what is Jeremy going to say? Neither of them could bathe in ice cold water, not tonight when it was only nominally warmer inside than it was outside. They’d get sick. And they needed enough hot water to bring Michael a cloth to sponge himself off. So reluctantly - with Michael making joking noises in the other room - Jeremy opens the door for Gavin to follow.

They undress quietly, trying not to look. It’s hard not to. Jeremy’s eyes keep flicking to Gavin’s long, lithe figure. He’s got scars, they all do, but they seem to work on him more than they do on the two brawlers. They’re smooth and slight white lines instead of bubbled, dark little things. Gavin’s skin is still tanned despite the winter cold and he’s got hair all over. Tasteful hair, though. Hair Jeremy really has to stop himself from wanting to run his hands through.

For fuck’s sake, J. Get yourself together. He frantically tears his eyes away and focuses on trying not to be caught looking. It had been a stressful night, he just was aching for a quick tug that he would have got if Gav wasn’t sharing the fucking shower with him. He just had to focus solely on not giving himself away with any ... unsavory uncontrollable actions in his nether regions.

For Gavin, he hadn’t ever really hid his attraction in Jeremy and tonight was no different. He gazes long at Jeremy’s back and the curve where it swelled into his ass. But he was too cold and tired to dwell on his thoughts for too long, instead jumping under the lukewarm spray and huddling there until Jeremy viciously shoves him out of the way.

They wrestle for the prime spot under the water for a bit before starting to focus on cleaning themselves off. Thankfully the stall was big enough that they weren’t chest to chest - this would be impossible otherwise. They dance around each other enough to get all the grime and blood and sweat off. Jeremy even offers to clean Gavin’s back of anything he can’t reach.

“.... are you and Michael gonna bitch at each other all night?” Gavin asks reluctantly as they shut the water off and climb out, starting to towel down and change back into the only clothes they got. Jeremy elects to stay in his boxers and throws his ruined bloodstained pants into the tub to try to wash them out. He shrugs a bit. “Guy’s an ass.”

“You know he’s not. You know he’s just scared.” Gavin shifts, glancing over at Jeremy where he’s pulling his tshirt back on, grimacing at how dirty it feels on his clean form. “He got stabbed to save you, y’know.”

Jeremy jerks a bit, straightening quickly. “I know,” he shoots back. “But if he had listened to me, we would never have be --”

“Are you two fuckin’ done in there? I gotta pee!” Michael slams his hand on the door and Jeremy frantically opens it to find Michael holding himself up against the wall sluggishly, having hauled his own ass off the bed and hobbled over to the bathroom.

Jeremy sighs and helps Michael to the toilet, where he braces himself on the side of the sink and gives Jeremy a baleful look. “I can do this part myself, thanks,” he says coldly, and Jeremy holds up his hands. “Fine, fine. We’ll let you pee. If it’s bloody let me know.”

They clamber out of the bathroom and Jeremy and Gavin are left considering the big elephant - or rather, bed - in the room. One bed. Three angry men. Jeremy runs an exasperated hand over his face. “I - who’s taking the floor?”

“I can,” Michael says, opening the door and hobbling forward. “You dicks can take the bed.”

“No way,” Jeremy retorts. “You’re still bleeding. You take the bed, I don’t want to risk anything getting worse. I can sleep on the floor.”

“Can’t we all just share the bed?” Gavin asks with a raised eyebrow. “It’s a King. There’s more than enough room if we squish.”

Jeremy glances over at Michael, who groans and throws his hands up in the air as best he can without toppling over. “I don’t -”

“I’ll just take the floor then,” Gavin shoots back. “You two work out your issues.” They can all hear the exasperation in his voice as he grabs a pillow and one of the spare blankets out of the cabinet and makes a small nest on the floor. “Go to bed,” he snaps. “It’s late.”

Jeremy stands a bit dumbfounded, staring owlishly at the now pile of Gavin that was laying among the blanket on the ground. “I - Gav...”

“Just fucking stop being kids!” he snaps. “Michael, you should have listened to Jeremy when he said it’s probably a trap. Jeremy, you should have left your gun inside because that’s what tipped them off and made them start shooting. But me!” Gavin’s face contorts and he sits up a bit. “Me? I should have fucking researched this team a bit more and saw a setup when one was right in front of me. But I didn’t! None of us did. But we’re alive and for the moment safe, so can you stop being such mongs and just drop it?!”

Michael’s mouth had sort of ... dropped open. Gavin normally didn’t give such impassioned speeches, particularly ones that ended with him curling back up with his back to them on the floor in a somewhat dirty looking fleece blanket. His eyes flick to Jeremy, who is looking back at him.

“I’m sor--”

“Michael, I - “

They blink. Michael turns a bit red. “Look, I should’ve listened to you, okay...”

“No,” Jeremy shoots back. “I never should have brought my gun. If you didn’t shove me out of the way, that knife that guy threw probably would have blinded me, or worse. So uh.... thanks.”

Michael nods a bit. “I - yeah. Come on. If Gav is so comfortable on the floor with all the jizz or whatever the fuck else is down there on that shit carpet, you can take the spot next to me.” He pats the bed and, chuckling slightly, Jeremy climbs in. Gavin, meanwhile, squawks a bit at the thought and shifts, grumbling. “Micoo, why’d you have to remind me....?!”

Before he could reply, there’s a big snapping sound, what sounds like a mini explosion which makes them all jump partially to their feet, and the room plunges into darkness. And cold. “.... shit,” Michael retorts, holding his side and easing back down with a pained gasp. “Transformer blew. No power.”

It’s quiet for a few moments as the cool air starts winning the battle against the now useless heating system. They wouldn’t freeze to death in their sheltered room, but it was going to get a lot colder. Gavin whimpers a bit and pulls his blanket closer to him as Michael adjusts and pulls the covers up and over him and Jeremy.

“....guys?” Gavin’s voice is small. “I ... I know I just yelled at you, but... it’s cold...”

“Oh, get up here,” Michael sighs. Jeremy nods and moves to make a small warm place for Gavin to slip into. He leaps to his feet and clambers over Jeremy to nuzzle between the two of them, dragging his blanket over them all.

For a moment, they just lay there, squished into one bed and breathing into the cool, dark room. Under the covers, Gavin shivers a bit and his hand finds Jeremy’s, latching onto it. Surprisingly, Jeremy squeezes it and holds it close.

“...you guys okay now?” Gavin asks softly. A beat and then two communal noises of affirmation from the other two boys. Michael moves a bit to get himself upright, hissing in pain, but pulls Gavin a bit closer to him. There’s something a bit possessive in the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the room, to the faces he can’t really see. “I - I almost lost you both because... because of my stupid fuckin’ decision and I...”

“Micoo,” Gavin purrs a bit, stroking his face with a blundering hand, as he could just see shadows and shapes in the dark room. But Michael’s eyes still close at the caress, loving the touch of Gavin’s hand against his skin.

“Me too,” Jeremy admits, turning. His eyes glint in the bit of light they had through the window and Michael meets his eyes. The silent apology is obvious. He snuggles closer to Gavin and they all hunch a bit tighter. More for skin contact and touch than for warmth.

Gavin’s the one, in the end, that starts it. He squirms a bit, sandwiched between the two, and holds them close - his two burly boys. One hand drifts a bit too far over and brushes against Jeremy’s crotch. Clothed in only his boxers, Jeremy gasps and shivers at the sensation, unable to stop himself.

No one can see the smirk that arrives on Gavin’s face, but he turns and Jeremy knows the expression despite not being able to see it. “Just sleep, Gav,” he retorts, a bit strained, but no chance now. “Michael... Jeremy likes being in the bed with us, Michael.”

“Shut up, Gav.”

“I think he’s just being grumpy because he secretly loves us and doesn’t like it when we all fight,” Gavin whispers conspiratorially, playfully, to Michael, who chuckles. “Don’t tease him, Gav.”

He grins down at Jeremy, squirming closer to him, but doesn’t realize when a spark kind of ... ignites behind Jeremy’s eyes. He grabs him and yanks him closer, so Gavin’s kind of on top of him and looks down at him breathlessly. “You’re a little shit, aren’t you?”

Gavin giggles a bit. “Mm. Maybe. You’re just a very pretty boy, Jeremy.” He just likes to see the smile on Jeremy’s face, despite the fact that it was almost too dark to see. Michael next to them just watches with an amused look ... that turns into shock as Jeremy yanks Gavin down and seals their lips together.

If Michael was shocked, that was nothing like what Gavin felt. He tugs back for half a second in surprise and Jeremy immediately goes to let him go before he’s surging back down to kiss him deeper. Gavin had wanted this from the very first time Jeremy appeared on the doorsteps to the Fakes, a bag in one hand and a gun in the other, demanding a job.

“Shit,” Michael grins, face red. He wants to turn more but can’t, gasping again in pain. “Don’t... ah! Don’t leave me out of the fun.”

Two heads pop up, just shadows. “You?” Gavin says brightly. “Michael?” Jeremy whispers. “Are - I mean... we just...”

“You don’t think I take a stab wound for just anyone, do you?” Michael says dryly. “Now give me kisses, you dicks, before I have to demand more. I’m currently the invalid, you have to help me feel better you know.”

Gavin’s squeal of pleasure is all he needs, clambering as safely as he can over Michael so they could get the man comfortably between them. Gavin’s lips are very soft. Michael had always imagined them to be so, but it was one thing to use his imagination and another thing to taste them for himself. He tries to pull Gavin closer, but the move hurts and he gasps into the kiss making Gavin pull back.

As soon as he does so, Jeremy is stealing a kiss. It’s rougher than Gavin’s. As if Jeremy’s trying to apologize or make him apologize through a simple kiss. Michael does what he can to push back into it without much control of his ab muscles, meeting rough lips with rough lips.

What he doesn’t expect is Gavin’s hands on his hips. Wrapping around him and jerking. Michael’s eyes fly open with surprise and he jolts, pain and pleasure combining in a spasm. “Jesus, Gavin!”

“No good?” Gavin says quickly, retracting his hand. “I thought - it’s been a stressful night and Jeremy... and you.... “

“No, no, no...,” Michael gasps against Jeremy’s lips before he pulls away. “Very good. Very good. Just - are you sure you...”

“Before we go down this road too much, I need to remind you two that Michael fucking has a hole in his side,” Jeremy cuts in. “Nothing too crazy, please.” But he says it so easily and its so dark Michael can’t really see faces but there’s just such quiet longing in Gavin’s tone, in Jeremy’s, that he can just fall back on the bed and gasp a bit. “We’re idiots.”

“Hmm?” Jeremy asks, chuckling. “How so?”

“Yelling at each other when we were worried instead of doing this,” Michael mutters. “This is much more fun.”

Jeremy laughs. “Sure is.” Then he bends back down to kiss Michael again as Gavin kisses above his wound and gently runs his hand up and down Michael’s length.

In the end, it doesn’t take long before Michael is bucking into Gavin’s hand and gasping. Jeremy and Gavin follow him through to the end and curl up next to him, pressing kisses on both cheeks. Michael closes his eyes, a sleepy breathless mess, pain still intense but more manageable with two warm bodies next to him.

They may be lost in a hotel room in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of thousands of miles from home. They may have no power and not be able to see each other’s faces, and maybe thats’ why things escalated the way that it did. Maybe. But all Michael can think about now was that he had his Lads in his arms. And they were safe, at the end of the day, despite all the fear he held that made him lash out.

He’s hurt, but they’re with him. And they’ll stay with him until the bitter end.

And that’s all he needs.

#fahc #ragehappy #jeremavin #rt community secret santa #my writing #a gift for shade! #OH NO THERE'S ONLY ONE BED!

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong: Chapter 13 Grave Robber

Chapter 12

Read on AO3

The crisp October air filled Claire’s lungs as she worked at her garden. Her little garden faery had been much too invested in her doll to join her outside this morning, which was probably for the best, seeing as it was perhaps the coldest day of the month so far. Fergus had left about half an hour ago to check his traps. Jenny was working beside her in the vegetable garden, and they were quietly chatting about this or that. Claire was vaguely aware of the dull ache in her lower back that would occasionally escalate to a sharp pinch, but she didn’t think much of it. Her entire body had been throbbing lately with one month to go in her pregnancy.

“Everything will freeze over soon, don’t you think?” Claire asked.

“Oh, aye,” Jenny said. “This’ll likely be the last of the turnips fer the year.”

Claire exhaled sharply through a particularly searing pain in her back, clutching it hastily. Jenny opened her mouth to say something in concern, when suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats started coming toward them, loud and urgent. Claire looked up from her work to see Fergus, flying on his horse faster than she’d ever seen him go. She watched him get closer, bewildered, not even knowing he could go that fast on horseback.

“Maman!” he called as he crossed beneath the archway. He stopped the horse and jumped off, breathless. “Redcoats, coming up the road.”

Jenny and Claire exchanged a panicked look.

“Ye must be hidden,” Jenny said, snatching Claire by the arm and pulling her inside. “Fergus, take a blanket from Kitty’s old cot and wrap potatoes in it.”

“Whatever for?” Claire asked, bewildered, as Fergus flew past them to do as he was told.

“I told them last time they were here that I was wi’ child.”

“You’re going to hold a bundle of potatoes and pretend it’s a baby?” Claire sputtered in disbelief as Jenny opened the priest hole.

“Dinna have a choice,” Jenny said. “I canna tell them I lost the child. If they come back after the bairn is born they’ll be suspicious.”

Fergus appeared with the lumpy bundle, and Jenny struggled frantically to arrange it well enough.

“Does it look like a bairn?” she said. Fergus and Claire exchanged a look.

“Perhaps another blanket, Milady,” Fergus said.

“Hurry!” Jenny cried. “Get inside now, Claire. Dinna make a sound.”

Claire descended the ladder and Jenny sealed up the hole above her. It was dark and damp. She could not see more than half a foot in front of her. She sat herself in the middle of the floor (struggling greatly due to the enormity of her size). “This would be easier if you really were a sack of potatoes,” Claire whispered wryly to her baby.

Fergus came back with another, thicker blanket. Jenny pulled him into the parlor, sat them both down on the sofa, and she wrapped the bundle in the new blanket. “That’s better, no?”

“Oui, Milady,”

“What’s happening, Mistress?” Mrs. Crook appeared.

“Redcoats coming. Keep the children in the nursery.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Mrs. Crook said dutifully, her voice slightly tinged with panic.

“Dinna say a word about yer mam or about Jamie. D’ye understand?” Jenny said firmly to Fergus.

“Yes, of course.”

“This is my bairn. If they ask about his size, he came early.”

“He?” Fergus said. “What if Maman has a girl? And they come back later and it has changed?”

“Oh, Father help us.” Jenny threw a look up. There was no time to contemplate, however, as the door burst open.

The sound of boots echoed through the house. Jenny began bouncing the little bundle, and she nudged Fergus. He took the hint and started cupping the “head,” smiling at it as if it were a real baby.

“Ah! There you are.”

Jenny and Fergus looked up from the bundle, Jenny still bouncing it, Fergus still caressing it. The same officer stood in the entrance to the parlor, flanked by the very same men that had burned their tartans and their books.

“Good morning to ye, officer,” Jenny said.

“I understand congratulations are in order?” He took a few steps into the room.

“Yes.” Jenny stood to prevent him from peering down into the blankets. She pressed the potatoes into her chest. “Born just five days ago.”

“What a joyful occasion.” His smile made her stomach turn. “Early, was it not?”

“Oh, aye, just a bit.” Jenny bounced decoy and smiled down at it. “Gave us quite a scare, did ye no’, mo chridhe?” She chose her words very carefully, deliberately not revealing a gender, her heart pounding in her ears.

“I dare say, it is quite a great deal quieter than it was during our last visit.” The officer gave a sweeping glance around the room. “Where is the rest of the household?”

“In the fields,” Jenny said. “Harvest season, ye ken.”

“Ah yes. The humble potato.”

Jenny’s heart leapt into her throat. Was he suspecting?

“Such a…hardy crop, is it not?”

“Indeed, sir.” Jenny bounced her own potatoes nervously.

The officer turned to his men. “Retrieve the man of the house.”

“Yes sir.”

“I’ll remain here with the bundle of joy.” He smiled again, slimy as ever.

Jenny’s breathing was becoming shallow. What did they want with Ian? How much longer would he believe that this still, lumpy bundle was anything more than a sack of potatoes? If he even believed it at all?”

“Care to have a seat?” Jenny said, gesturing with her head to one of the armchairs. “I could have the lad fetch ye a dram.”

The officer took the invitation to sit. “A drink would be fine.”

Fergus sprang up, but Jenny stopped him.

“Take the bairn to Mrs. Crook, will ye lad?” She carefully handed the bundle to Fergus. “Fetch the finest glass for our distinguished guest.” She turned to the officer with a smile. “And make sure Mrs. Crook holds the bairn close.” She gave Fergus a hard look, praying her meaning wasn’t lost on him: make sure Mrs. Crook holds the bairn close if they search the room so they willna see.

“Bairns need as much body heat as they can get when they come early,” she said, emphasizing as much as she could without raising the officer’s suspicions.

“Yes, Milady.” Fergus nodded deliberately.

He knows. Clever lad.

“Whatever is a French boy doing in your employ, Mistress Murray?” the officer said with a chuckle as Fergus went up the stairs.

“My husband employed him during a long stay in France and couldna bear to part wi’ him when it came time to leave. He’s like one of our own now. Very dear to us.”

“Charming.”

His dripping sarcasm was not lost on Jenny as she sat down on the sofa, smoothing her skirt uncomfortably.

“What can we help ye with today, Captain?”

“Where is the other woman?” he said suddenly, ignoring her question. “She was with you when you celebrated your being with child.” Jenny blanched for a moment. “Curly hair?”

“Oh, aye. She is my cousin,” Jenny said quickly. “She was visiting then, but she’s returned home since.”

“Cousin,” he said thoughtfully. “And would her home happen to be in England?”

“Beg pardon?” Jenny asked.

“Forgive me. Perhaps I was not clear.” He leaned forward in his seat. “This cousin of yours. Is she English?”

“Of course no’,” Jenny said, feigning confusion. “She’s my blood cousin, Scottish through and through.”

“I see.”

Fergus returned with the whisky and a glass. He poured it out and handed him the glass.

“Merci,” the officer said to him with deliberate condescension. Fergus’s eyes narrowed. He gave a mocking bow before joining Jenny on the sofa.

“You mean to tell me, Mistress Murray,” he continued after sipping the whisky. “That none in your family have ever…tainted your Scottish blood?”

Jenny could feel Fergus tense beside her, and it took everything in her not to tense up herself. “I’m afraid I dinna quite understand.”

“No one in your family married a sassenach, as you’d call it?” He took another sip of his whisky. “Your…brother, for example?”

Jenny swallowed thickly. “Oh, aye. A sassenach witch,” she said firmly. “Forgive me fer no’ saying it myself. He is a brother to me no longer. We dinna discuss traitors to the crown in this home.”

“A fine example, indeed.” He raised his glass to her before taking another sip. “I’m sure you know Red Jamie was killed in battle.” He raised an eyebrow from behind his glass.

Jenny’s heart stung, but she nodded curtly. “Makes no difference. He was dead to me the moment he joined that bloody cause.”

“Of course, of course,” he mused. “But his wife…this ‘sassenach witch’ as you say…do you know what’s become of her?”

“I always thought she was killed as well,” Jenny said dismissively, despite how saying it made her sick to her stomach. “Wished it, almost. Good riddance, ye ken.”

“Indeed,” he affirmed, nodding. “This uh…cousin of yours…no relation at all to the sassenach witch?”

“None at all,” Jenny said, feigning confusion once more. “She’s my blood cousin. No’ a drop of English blood.”

He opened his mouth to continue, but the back door opened and the stomping of boots started again, this time accompanied by the sound of wood dragging on the floor.

Ian’s leg.

Jenny’s throat went dry.

The officer put down the glass and stood. Jenny and Fergus stood as well. The three soldiers appeared, two of them each holding one of Ian’s arms, dragging him along.

“Ian Murray, sir,” one of the soldiers boomed. “Man of the house.”

“Ah, yes!” The officer beamed. “If it isn't the infamous Pegleg Grave Robber of Culloden Moor!”

——

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

Claire’s heart leapt into her throat. She’d been listening as intently as possible, unable to hear very clearly until now.

How on Earth did they track Ian here? And why on Earth did it take them so long to decide to reprimand him for something that happened months ago?

“I’m sure I don’t know what yer talking about — ”

Ian’s voice was cut off by the sound of a blow, to the stomach most likely, based on the noise he made. Claire heard Jenny gasp.

“We want nothing to do with that bloody moor! Nor any Jacobites that were on it!” she heard Jenny cry out.

“Not even your darling brother? Was it not his body you were looking for?”

“I dinna have a brother any longer! Please, we are loyal subjects to the crown.”

“I have the word of a fellow soldier that he shot a man with a pegleg on the moor about three months ago.”

“Surely there are others — ”

“Others specifically having lost the right leg?”

A blinding pain suddenly surged through Claire, causing her to cry out softly, involuntarily. She immediately clamped her hand over her mouth. The shouting above her hadn’t stopped, thank God; they hadn’t heard her.

She began breathing heavily in panic.

It’s too soon…it’s too soon…

Another wave of pain came, and she clamped down on her hand, her teeth digging painfully into her flesh.

It’s too soon! It’s too soon!

“If he is indeed innocent, surely you wouldn’t mind if we took him in for questioning.”

“But the harvest!” A new voice. A young boy.

Fergus, don't you say another damn word.

“Milord is needed in the fields to finish the harvest!”

“Do they teach you to talk back to your superiors in France, then?”

The crisp sound of a hand on soft flesh sounded.

Claire bit down on her hand again, this time to stop herself from crying out to her son. Then another wave came. She clamped her other hand over her mouth as well, this time moans were audible, even through her hands. She pinched her nose in attempt to stop this as well.

God, please…not again…it’s too soon…

“The graveyard,” Ian’s voice panted. “There’s a grave wi’ his name, but it’s empty.”

No.

“We did it to honor him wi’out his body. If ye must, ye may unearth the grave. Why would we bury an empty casket if I’d taken his body from the moor?”

“To my recollection, you were shot before you could retrieve a body. This empty grave proves nothing.”

“Ask the mason in the village, and the carpenter. The date the stone and the casket was made will pre-date the night this other pegleg was on the moor. I swear it.”

Claire was trying to breathe evenly and yet quietly as possible, but she was interrupted by another contraction.

No. It can’t be that. It’s too soon.

She bit down on her hand, drawing blood now.

But what else could it be?

“Very well. We will question the mason and the carpenter of Broch Mordha. Until then, you’ll be taken into custody.”

The sound of Ian’s wooden leg dragging on the floor started again, along with the clomping of boots. Claire was seeing stars now, and whatever vision she had in the dark hole was becoming hazy.

“Oh…and we’ll be back to inspect this empty grave.” Even through the floor and walls, Claire could hear the slime in his voice. “We must be sure everything…lines up.”

“Connard!”

“Fergus, don’t!” Jenny cried. Claire prayed she was holding him back. “Hold yer whisht, lad. It’ll be alright.”

“You are the grave robbers!” Fergus spat. “You will go to hell!”

“Silence that frog at once!” the Captain barked. “Or I will drag him away as well, child or not.”

Claire could picture him, yanking against Jenny’s strong grip like a bull ready to charge. And then blinding white pain surged through her again, and she squeezed her hand over her mouth, her nose. Air was blocked from any entrance into her body, her throat burned with the need to cry out, her chest begged for air.

She felt consciousness slipping away from her.

Perhaps that would be for the best…

——

Jenny watched from the porch as Ian disappeared in the cart, tears blurring her vision. She fiercely bit her lip as he vanished from her sight.

“I will kill them,” Fergus said bitterly.

“That’s enough,” Jenny said firmly. “If ye mouth off like that to them again ye may get Ian killed. No’ to mention yerself.”

Fergus sighed in frustration. “They will see Milord’s tartan when they return.”

“Aye. They will.”

“We must move it!”

“No, Fergus. They’ll know we’ve unearthed it ourselves and then they’ll know we’re hiding something.” Jenny sighed. “Best to let them find it and tell them we buried it before they came to take them away.”

“It is not fair!” Fergus exploded. “They take everything away!”

“I ken, lad…I ken.” Jenny wiped her eyes. “Best go check on yer mam.”

She put an arm around his shoulders and ushered him to the priest hole.

“Claire,” she called, opening it up. “D’ye need anything, sister?”

She didn’t answer.

“It is alright, Maman. They are gone for now.”

Still no answer.

“Claire?” Jenny descended the ladder, and her heart dropped. Even in the faint light she could see her limp form. “Claire!”

“What is wrong?”

“She’s fainted,” Jenny called up to him. “Claire?” Jenny gathered her into her arms. “Claire what’s happened?”

“What can I do?”

“A cold rag, she’s dripping wi’ sweat.”

Without another word, Fergus was off.

Claire uttered a pained groan, her eyes fluttering open.

“I’m here, sister.” Jenny clasped her hand. “Talk to me. Is it the bairn?”

“I’m…having contractions…” she panted, her eyes widening. “It’s too soon, Jenny…”

“I ken it is, but ye’ll be alright…” she assured her, despite the panic that was making itself known in the pit of her stomach.

“Here, Milady.” Fergus tossed the rag down the hole into Jenny’s hands.

“Fergus…?” Claire whimpered. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine.” Jenny patted down Claire’s sweaty face. “Despite his being a damned fool, he’s just fine.”

Claire let out a short, breathy laugh. “How is…the potato baby?”

Jenny laughed at that. “Oh, he’s braw. Redcoats never knew any better.”

Claire smiled, breathing heavily.

“Is yer hand bleeding?” Jenny asked, bewildered.

“I bit down on it,” Claire said. “So I wouldn't scream.”

“Ye poor thing.” Jenny tutted in sympathy. “It’ll be alright now. When was the last one?”

“Before I fainted.”

Jenny nodded. “Let me take a look.”

She peered beneath Claire’s skirts, and Claire opened her legs to allow inspection.

“It doesna seem like anything has changed.”

“No bleeding?” Claire said desperately.

“None at all.”

“Thank God,” she breathed in relief.

“No more pains?” Jenny asked, looking up at Claire.

“No…not since you woke me.”

Jenny smiled with a relieved sigh. “False labor.”

Claire, too, gave an enormous sigh of relief. “Of course. Braxton Hicks contractions.”

Jenny cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what you fancy healers call it, then?”

Claire gave a soft chuckle. “I suppose you could say that.”

Jenny returned Claire’s skirts to their proper place.

“So…they took Ian?”

“Aye,” Jenny said distantly. “And they’ll be back to desecrate Jamie’s grave.”

Rage bubbled in Claire’s chest, tears of white hot anger gathered in her eyes.

“What more can they possibly take away from me?” Claire spat.

Jenny put a hand on her shoulder. “I ken, sister. It’ll turn my stomach to see them do it. Be grateful at least ye willna have to see it.”

“They’ll take his tartan,” Claire said flatly.

“Aye, they will.”

An angry sob left her lips and she pounded her fists into the stone floor. “Damn them! Bloody fucking bastards!”

“Aye, that they are,” Jenny said, tears spilling out of her own eyes. “It’s alright mo ghràidh…” She wrapped her arms around Claire’s shuddering frame. “They canna take him away from yer heart, ye ken?”

“I know…it’s just…”

“I ken, sister. I ken.”

“Maman, Milady! They are coming back!”

They pulled apart. “Will ye be alright?”

“Yes…I’m fine.” Claire sniffled and wiped her eyes. “As long as my little potato doesn’t cause any more trouble.” She caressed her stomach.

Jenny chuckled in spite of her anguish. “Alright. I’ll come back fer ye when they’ve gone again.”

Jenny climbed the ladder and sealed the priest hole up again. The Redcoats didn’t bother coming into the house this time, so Fergus and Jenny made their way to the graveyard. They watched from a distance as a small handful of Redcoats dug up the long undisturbed earth. Jenny kept her hands firmly on Fergus’s shoulders even as he struggled to break free, though she wondered if she’d be able to stop herself once they removed the casket itself.

Remove it they did, and they simply tossed the lid off and threw it aside. She could hear them laughing as they dumped the tartan out of the casket. Jenny’s blood boiled. Fergus jerked in her grip again, but she clamped down harder.

Even from the distance, Jenny could see the officer shake his head and light another match.

“No!” Fergus cried.

“It willna help, lad!” Jenny said firmly, wrapping her arms around him from behind now. “It willna help.”

The bastard deliberately looked at them, as far away as they were, as he dropped the match into the casket.

Jenny bit her lip as the casket and the tartan went up in flames. Claire’s words echoed over and over in her head:

“What more can they possibly take away from me?”

Fergus finally stopped fighting her, and he burst into tears in her arms. Jenny laid her cheek atop his curly head and wept silently into his hair.

Forgive me, a bhràthair…I tried to honor ye properly…I’m sorry…I tried…

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #outlander au #claire fraser #jenny murray #ian murray #jenny fraser murray #fergus fraser #fergus claudel fraser #lallybroch

[randbwrite]

La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 5 Part 3

Art by @nae812​

Words: 1375

CW: Vampires

TW: Blood

R:

Cal and Derrick cleaned up nicely, though it was quite obvious that they needed custom clothes, especially the larger of the two. Message sent to Sebastian telepathically to have Derrick fitted for his own wardrobe in the coming days. Castle seamstresses were going to have a lot of work on their hands, as even Leonardo wasn’t this large of a man. 

<<Right! Famous lads from history, eh? If I’d have known the great Napoleon Bonaparte was on the battlefield, might’ve brought more darts! Course, I thought you’d be shorter an’ all. Inferno or not, you’re reasonably impressive!>>

Right, cause that was a bright move, Cal. Loud sigh came from Comtesse. There went all of the trouble she had gone to in order to hide which of them had harmed her personally. Were she not so controlled she would have done a full on facepalm. Guess this one was a stubborn one, or he wanted to save his friend from any animosity. Napoleon seemed less than amused, his lips pressed together, eyes flashing, especially at the short joke. Not something he enjoyed about the propaganda about him, during his time or even after. 

<<We are indebted to your graciousness for freeing us from that place and accepting us into your home. It may be a moment before I can formulate questions, in the meantime if I can answer anything for you?>> 

“You are welcome. I just could not leave you there, especially since you weren’t terrified of me. I have not run into many who know of me who are not. Well, that don’t live under this roof, I mean. I suppose there are a great many things that seem unique about you that made me decide to offer you a place here as well, not just Cal. I do have questions, but I’d rather ask them privately, especially since they concern where exactly you come from.” 

The other conversations being had did not escape her notice, but she thought it best to let them fight it out with words than to constantly intervene. Though she kept her remarks to Derrick short, what she said to him in his head was quite a different matter. 

‘Derrick, no one can hear this, but I am curious as to who your sire is. Why would they leave you in that horrible place to begin with? Most of my kind take siring someone as a great responsibility and do not treat it lightly, though I suppose some do. I find that I’m not fond of the idea of some blaggard of a pure blood leaving you in that horrible place.’ 

Cal interrupted to try to do something to clear his name, however unsuccessfully. <<Your Comtesse was another job. There was nothing more to it. Take it as personally as you like, she’s important to ya. All I’ve got to offer is my word I won’t be raising a hand against her from here out. Any of y’all either. Take it or leave it, that’s how it is.>> 

Yeah, that didn’t really do much to assuage any of their rage or fears. Chatter continued, this time they had decided to leave the poor man alone as he turned to speak to Comtesse, he wearing the smile of a man facing his own execution. 

<<However did you manage to wrangle a wormhole anyway, swee—Comtesse?>> 

......

The sound of a drop of water hitting a pool only he heard. He and Comtesse, suddenly alone in a room he had never seen, she standing before him.

“We are in your mind, before you ask. I figured it would be better to talk to you here than out loud.” She sighed and looked up at him, brows knitting together, eyes swimming as she looked his face over. “You need to eat or you’ll go feral. I can’t have you losing your mind and attacking one of the human residents in the castle. It is true that everyone that is presently in the room is a vampire, Sebastian included, but this is not true for the many that I employ on the grounds. 

I can tell what’s going on, it’s written all over your expression. The smell, what it’s meant to you before. It’s ok. This is different. Every single drop that we get here in this castle is humanely acquired, from the future. A blood bank, as you might be familiar with. I own a pharmaceutical research firm in that wormhole, as you asked about. This is how we eat, and how they get lifesaving medicine. I think it’s a good trade off. But I digress. 

I’m going to help you… might be a bit weird till you get used to it… but focus with me. It’s rouge, a type of wine. Delectably sweet, smells of honey and elder flowers with a tinge of the iron in the soil. Crimson in color, the red of it’s beautiful flower. Relax and let it nourish you. You won’t heal otherwise.” Her powers altered things, flooded his senses with her description, building an association in an instant, banishing his previous attachment to the smell, at least for now.

“Cal…” She floated up to his eye level, reaching out and tenderly touching his cheek. “You are safe here, despite the animosity you are experiencing now. It won’t last forever, that I can promise. I imagine soon they will start to become your friends, something it seems you haven’t had except for the man next to you. But more importantly….” 

Arms were wrapped around him, her voice wavering, a soft whisper, full of emotion, saltwater hitting his shoulder. “I forgive you….” 

Time stood still, her warmth enveloping him, till the ting of a bell heralded the return to the present, outside of his mind. 

….. 

“Good question, Cal. Before that, I’d like to address something. Gentlemen.” The sound of a chime echoed through the room, though there was none. Everyone stopped and looked at her expectantly. “I went to that citadel knowing full well that I would be bringing back with me the man who tried to take my life. While the situation is an ugly one, the truth behind it is far worse, and not his fault. When we entered the council room, I delved into a few of their minds, for just a moment. 

Cal was not meant to come back from his mission. They knew he was not going to succeed in killing me, as was the point. They just didn’t count on how good he was at the job they forced upon him. Listen carefully to me: I don’t blame him nor hold him responsible for what happened. He was simply doing the job of a soldier. Jean, Napoleon, each of you can relate I’m sure. The man who was responsible for the harm that came to me has been dealt with. 

All that being said, I forgive Cal.” 

Theo began to shake, his and others’ eyes shining with vampiric rage. “How can you forgive this klootzak of a man? Just like that? He hasn’t done anything to deserve your forgiveness.” 

“Mercy does not care for what is deserved, forgiveness cares not for penance, they simply are and move forward. I do not expect you all to join me in my decision to move forward at this time, but I do hope you each will consider it in your own time.” 

Eyes around the table widened. Silence only to be broken by her voice. Whether her words had the desired effects or not, time would tell. 

“Now, to answer your question, Cal. The wormhole or rather, wormholes are tied to a door that I created. I won’t get into the mechanics of it, only Isaac and Leonardo have gotten close to the proper understanding. Regardless, all you need to know is that I’ve traveled and have brought back quite a few things from various times and places. I believe that you’ll find the X-men movies, and other superhero movies you have mentioned knowing of, in one of the entertainment rooms only the vampire residents and staff are allowed in. We also have a plethora of video games, as I’m a big fan. My turn for a question for you. Where and when exactly are you from?”

#Ikemen Vampire #ikemen theo #OC #au #dark fantasy #cw: vampires #tw: blood #comtesse #Derrick #rapscallion

[bonesthebeloved]

Writing Master post

AN: Here is all mt Sanders Sides related fic and otherwise so it’s easier to find for all of you. Happy reading!

Non fics/ prompt/ headcanon posts:

Sad Roman headcanons Masterpost

Random Creativitwins headcanons

Fluffy Logince headcanons

Fanfics:

All of these link to AO3 for now, I will link the Tumblr versions soon aswell however that takes a bit more digging.

The absence of a necessity  Summary: When Thomas stops lying altogether, Deceit and the other dark sides are quick to notice the effects. But it’s only made clear what kind of effect it truly has when it’s already too late…-or- Deceit disappears and the dark sides all grief in different ways. None of them able to accept that he's really gone

Least favourite to myself  Summary: Based on this prompt by transformationloveb:Ok I thought of some extra sad Roman angst for you- Ok, what I’d there’s a video where Thomas has the sides shapeshift as their favorite of all the sides (or, currently revealed sides at least). And the situation goes like this: Thomas: “You all change to your favorite side…NOW!” None of the sides change, cause, their favorite side is themselves……Nobody but Roman. Who shapeshifts into a side of your choosing. Thomas is a bit confused at this, noticing what happened. And decides: “Ok, second favorite side.” Everyone changes this time. But roman doesn’t switch to himself, It’s a different side again. “Third favorite?” Different side. “Fourth favorite?!” Different side. “Fifth?!” Different side. “LEAST FAVORITE?!” And Roman goes back to himself. Enjoy.

Red and green makes royalty Summary: Remus and Roman are in the middle of an argument when suddenly, King creativity shows up. An odd thing. Seeing as the two sides needed for his creation were gawking at him from a few feet away.

4 days and 4 months  Summary: After a fight, Roman goes on another quest to the imagination. After four days, Patton goes after him. Just to find that the issues might lay deeper than a simple feud

Absolutely nothing Summary: Work based on the poem 'Absolutely nothing' which appears in 'the perks of being a wallflower'. A story about how somebody can lose their grip on happiness and how their friends don't notice

When showers are no longer helpful Summary:Remus and Patton are in a relationship. Not a happy one but that’s okay. Those only exist in fairytales right?

For even if I'm far away I'll hold you in my heart Summary: King creativity knows he doesn't have much time left and sings one final song for Deceit who's much too young to know what is going on.

You did to me what tsunamis do to homes Summary: Patton and Remus fuse for an experiment. Then they fuse again. Then they stay fused because Patton wants them to. When the others finally find out how bad the fusion is hurting Remus, the damage is already done and they have to deal with the aftermath.

I'll write you bloody murder - Intrulogical  Summary: "Did you kill him, Lo?" Remus would convince himself that he had been dreaming it. Starting on a new book and buying him and Logan a puppy for their anniversary. Throwing clothes with the tiniest of blood splatters in the washing machine while acting like he hadn't seen the red splash. Like his husband coming back from work a bit too late and a bit too happy while smelling of fresh blood as he kissed him hello was something normal. Like knowing exactly which veins to hit and how long it would take for the victim to bleed out was part of the job. "I killed all of them."

What I am to you- Platonic Dukeceit Summary: Remus and Dee have been friends for so long that becoming anything else seems absurd to them.

Edward Scissorhands - Platonic Dukexiety Summary: Virgil and Remus have never been close. Could barely be called friends even. Virge wished for them having nothing in common.But when he starts to miss their ranting sessions, he goes to Remus his room to find if they still had some shared interests that Remus hadn't ruined for him.He found out that a shared interest existed. Or, more like, shared coping mechanism. But even for all the times, he wished the other to be dead, he never meant to hope for the other to self-harm. And he never hoped for him to do it for the same reasons either.

The tv-stand - intrulogical Summary: Logan imitating Remus in the bloopers video but they're gay and in love.

Tipsy - Logince Summary: It had started out like all of their unofficial dates had up until now. But this ended up being so much better.-Or-Logan gets tipsy and clings to Roman like a koala bear.

Chasing squirrels and sunspots  Summary: Deceit has a sphynx cat. She's a queen and snek boy would die for her.

Sharp edges evened out  Summary: Remus gets bullied at school. But luckily he has a very caring brother and two rats to cheer him up.

The last bird flew towards the south - Roceit  Summary: Deceit is dead. And the last leaves fall off the trees as poison drips from his fangs and the wounds on his arm. And Roman just holds him. And watched the birds pass by as he weeps. And Deceit is dead.

Loud talking, mushy thoughts  Summary: Roman, after being wronged by his 'family' one too many times, goes to live with the dark sides. Que protective instincts firing in both Remus and Deceit.

Everything stays Summary: When Remus finds the weapon that belonged to the original creativity thought to be long lost, he asks his brother for help to retrieve it. Based on a lovely comic by chronophobica on Tumblr and the song everything stays from adventure time.

Loved- Roceit Summary: Roman and Dee are married, soft, and use the same pet names me and my partner use. Also, Dee really wants one of the puppies Remus rescued.

Humming and plush butterflies  Summary: Virgil does weird stuff and Deceit records itDeceit has endearing stuff and Virgil knows about it.Logan is very confused by both of these things.-OR-I was soft for the lads and felt like shit so have my very first crackfic.

Complicated- Creativitwins  Summary: The twins have a complicated relationship with their father and figure it out through the years. >Tumblr version<

The only member Summary: Roman thought Virgil was in the fuck-Janus club too but realises he is in fact the only member.

AN: I’ll try to keep this updated so my work is easier to find.  (Hey @lance-alt , It’s nearing 1:30 am BUT I made it cuz you asked. Hope this helps. :) Love ya bud)

#long post #master post #sander sides fic #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #sanders sides

[punkscowardschampions]

Ronnie & Joe

Ronnie: [is gonna rock up late despite literally living with Charlie so enjoy the entrance everybody]

Joe: [when you weren’t invited but still gonna show up like you have somewhere better to be, love that for you, the effort we’ve not gone to because we live here so it’s kinda okay but not really Joseph, also I imagine kinda shook she ended up showing]

Ronnie: [likewise in the sense that she dresses the same everywhere she goes unless it’s a job interview or court appearance lol but we know she looks good if you’re Joseph and into it, I imagine her zoning in on Jamie immediately like who the fuck is this and then oh I’ve heard nothing about you kinda energy soz gal]

Joe: [rude but not untrue in this case, at least Charlie can make it seem like you’re joking and Joe can go get you a drink like soz this is all we have energy ‘cos in jokes]

Ronnie: [I highly doubt they have enough seats around that table so I also imagine her dragging up something to sit on like yeah I’m here to stay bitches and drinking Joe’s drink while he’s gone as a throwback to when she did when they met at that gig and cos we’re obvs claiming him LOL]

Joe: [we know the food is gonna be studenty anyway so having smaller portions won’t kill any of us lmao, just dying at how shocked Sophie is having to conceal she is, host on queen, boring boyfriend having no opinions of course]

Ronnie: [don’t worry gal depending how much of a jealous rage we get into we probably won’t be eating it so you’ll still have brownies left, her face would be iconic and I totally picture Marc on his phone the entire time because Paul used to do that when he was with Trace]

Joe: [giving nothing to this bizarre situation, too real, Charlie and Sophie holding this together, soz guys, Joe jus amused af, do we sit opposite or next to hmm]

Ronnie: [read that as soz gays, ILY mum & dad, I think he needs to sit opposite Jamie so that she can accuse them of eye fucking each other or whatever so probably next to]

Joe: [okay yes gather ‘round everyone]

Ronnie: she lives here

Joe: yeah I told you, Silent Bob’s gf

Ronnie: you said he had a bitch not shes been chained to the radiator since youse lot moved in

Joe: maybe that’s his secret

Ronnie: whens he letting you have your go

Joe: got my own radiator you can have a go on when this is over

Joe: not to brag or nothing

Ronnie: wont be over til the fat flatmate sings & the other one sucking you off while her & mariah duet and the boyfriend pretends he aint watching youse instead is fuck all to brag about

Joe: be lucky if it got close to that level of mildly interesting

Joe: where are you in all this then

Ronnie: under the sink looking for drain cleaner or whatever else i can drink

Joe: why do you get to have all the fun?

Ronnie: i dont waste my time asking bullshit questions

Joe: how are we gonna waste our time

Ronnie: im gonna kill your shared girlfriend & youre gonna cry about it

Joe: I don’t think I am

Joe: no amount of tragedy is gonna breakthrough the chemical fog

Ronnie: you would if you could

Joe: [🙄 at her]

Ronnie: [tips however much is left of her drink into his lap not at all accidentally but we know Charlie and Soph will pretend it was]

Joe: [whip them off to go get changed boy]

Ronnie: [when you wanna follow him but you just gotta glare instead]

Joe: [probably taking whatever we’ve got in to make this go easier, ‘scuse us, so much missing out]

Ronnie: [you know she turned up already on something so do what you gotta do Joseph]

Joe: [Jamie should be talking to you about uni things thus alienating everyone else a lil ‘cos that is a bit rude and will annoy you gal]

Ronnie: [fully just opening up a wound over here literally cos she was already jealous but did not realise they had this much shit in common or anything in common actually so we’re just livid and bleeding]

Joe: [Sophie just running with the kitchen roll like omg do we have bandages guys like oh babe you truly only mean well, Charlie just giving the can you not looks of it all, Joe just jealous because we’ve obviously got our long sleeves]

Ronnie: [a spoken out loud fuck you at everyone but mainly Joe as we go to the bathroom to not deal with this but instead evoke the energy of when Mae downed that mouthwash because she definitely would and also go through the cabinets for anything sharp obvs]

Joe: [at least you can go under the guise of checking on her but really you’re just seeing what she’s doing]

Ronnie: [1000% have not locked the door because we wanted him to follow us but that won’t stop her telling him to get out because walking contradiction forever]

Joe: [locks it behind him in response]

Ronnie: [the most intense glare in response because could not be more livid rn]

Joe: [grabbing wherever the wound is like we’re gonna kiss it better or something like Soph for a casual bit of blood drinking]

Ronnie: [obviously have to push him away really hard because we’re obviously really into it and excuse you boy we’re trying to be angry and hate you, soz to all the flatmates when you hear that crashing about]

Joe: [lmao this tiny bathroom getting destroyed, steady yourself and her despite that clearly not being what she wants right now, roll up a sleeve ‘you never did the X’]

Ronnie: [the glorious visual of trying to get past him to leave/push him away again at the same time in a small space so you just end up pressed up against each other and the door making eye contact and it’s hot af ‘you never took me anywhere’]

Joe: [‘so let me’ do you mean let’s get out of here or in a saucy way either or you skinny as hell girl so if you not really trying to leave it’s easy not to let you]

Ronnie: [‘she’ll let you’ because we’re not just dropping this even if we want to]

Joe: [‘who?’ like an oblivious boy ‘cos clearly not where our head is]

Ronnie: [a really vicious read of Jamie based on what we’re learned this evening that I’m not gonna do because I am not that mean but it’s obvious it’s her and not Sophie we’re talking about, hope you don’t hear us gal]

Joe: [‘I’m not interested’ in every sense right now ‘and you know that, stop pissing about’]

Ronnie: [‘wasn’t any other cunt round the table hanging on her every fucking word, I know that’ because that was blatant Jamie]

Joe: [‘I can’t help it that her fella’s an accountant’ what do you do Marc, do any of us know lol, shrugs ‘we go to the same school, that’s it’ and a look like whatever the fuck this is is clearly more]

Ronnie: [she would wanna lol but we can’t because still mad ‘that’s it?’ not actually a question though more like you better be telling the truth boy ‘why the fuck have you never told me about her then?’]

Joe: [‘I thought I had when I said he had a girlfriend’ not not a lie ‘none of them are what I want to talk about, that’s it’]

Ronnie: [‘you were thinking with this’ grabbing his dick when we say so ‘that’s it’ cos even if that was true Joseph we shade the rest of the flatmates often and you know damn well we love doing it]

Joe: [shakes head even though we are very clearly into that ‘she’s no Soph’ like it wouldn’t be as funny soz]

Ronnie: [‘is right’ like yeah I know you actually seriously wanna get with her, and moving away but not to leave but to pick back up whatever implement we were gonna hurt ourselves with before he came in but didn’t get chance to because we’re genuinely upset]

Joe: [literally putting ourselves in front of it like no ‘Ronnie’ like I don’t know how you’re going to even put it into words boy so it’s mainly a !!! look]

Ronnie: [a look that starts out like don’t try and stop me/fuck you but turns into !! when his does like say something/do something if you mean it]

Joe: [got to go in and kiss you whilst making her push whatever she was gonna use on herself into him, now or never, enjoy the tension finally getting released]

Ronnie: [obviously we’re kissing you back so we all know what’s gonna happen next lol, soz flatmates I really hope you can’t hear anything, especially Charlie cos you actually know they’re related]

Joe: [it is not a big flat so keep quiet, just think he’s comforting her for all this time or what, god bless]

Ronnie: [she would be trying to keep quiet but not for y’all more so he thinks she’s unimpressed/not that into it but that would literally last all of a second because she’s obviously very into it]

Joe: [the levels you aren’t gonna wanna go back in but can’t be seen as being romantic lads]

Ronnie: [I could easily have her leave if we want though because it’s a fact that she doesn’t wanna be here and everyone would be relieved except Joseph]

Joe: [that probably makes sense, honestly, and you’ve freaked them all out, as was the point]

Ronnie: [and lbr you’ve freaked yourselves out with how good that hook up was too so]

Joe: [just go hide in your room like you’re very taxed by that in an acceptable way boy]

Ronnie: [god knows where you’re gonna go gal but please don’t OD again like you literally did in Margate no time ago]

Joe: [the headfuckery]

Ronnie: [poor Charlie just like UMMM WTF cos she must look bad even for her rn and we’ve behaved terribly and then literally legged it so]

Joe: [thank god you’re such a natural party go-er so you can make up some excuse to put them all at relative ease but yeah, for sure like excuse me]

Ronnie: [might be fun to do a convo between them when we’re done with this one]

Joe: [I’m down even though I really haven’t used him yet, I’ll give it a go]

Ronnie: [yeah it’s been forever since we did the group chats with them and Bronson and Bea it feels like another life, I can send you the convo we did where she told him she met Joe if you like cos I re-read that the other day and it was pretty good]

Ronnie: [but the real question is who’s gonna break first and start a convo and how long are we leaving it?]

Joe: [please do ‘cos did not realize we’d done that tbh]

Joe: [I could make a case for either of them, him to prove he meant it as he left it last time but her so she can’t automatically be on the ‘it meant nothing’ total defensive hmm]

Joe: [some hours later when the party is over, or could be]

Joe: Charlie was going pub, he’s left here though

Ronnie: [even later because whatever she’s doing she’s messy and can’t reply to the extent that she doesn’t need to because he won’t be expecting her to and yet here we are]

Ronnie: did whitney ask you to pass it on to us cos hes still disappointed like

Joe: couldn’t say

Joe: just letting you know that you’ll have a free gaff for a while longer

Ronnie: where have i chucked the other one for the sake of this free gaff in your mind mckenna

Joe: alright, free rooms better than fuck all

Ronnie: its his emmy oggie i aint there either

Joe: anywhere good?

Ronnie: compared to what

Joe: established it’s no brag compared to tonight

Ronnie: not gonna stop you comparing me & her

Joe: compare to what?

Joe: pleasantries over cocopops

Ronnie: youll be interested in eating her out now youve got what you wanted off me

Ronnie: 9 is easier to carve than an 8 and you wont look like youre trying to copy the infinity sign one of your other exes wouldve got inked on her

Joe: it’s not remotely the fucking same

Joe: if I was arsed about getting my numbers up there’s millions of girls in this city I could hit up before you

Ronnie: yeah youre not related to any of em and theyd have less clue how to shoot up than you do

Joe: even if the related bit was ringing 100% true, you’re the only user in town now?

Joe: you don’t have to pervert it when it already was

Ronnie: youre already romanticising it like a fucking 13 year old so yeah i do cause one of us has to get real

Joe: you reckon I’m so okay with it just because I can admit I wanted it

Joe: who do you reckon you’re lying to like I weren’t there

Ronnie: who do you reckon youre talking to like i didnt fucking leave you there for a reason

Joe: Fuck off

Ronnie: i did

Joe: for someone who reckons they’re so open, you chat so much shit

Ronnie: open to what soft lad infection

Joe: scars and trackmarks on your sleeve

Ronnie: yeah

Joe: you didn’t miss much

Ronnie: no shit you didnt just invite me cause you wanted to fuck me

Ronnie: can do that anywhere

Joe: yeah and you didn’t just wanna come to make Soph cry, like

Ronnie: i owed you

Joe: get it off your to-do list then

Joe: well done

Ronnie: stop crying youll never look as ugly as horse girl doing it or go for as long as her

Joe: you love her, we all 👀

Ronnie: i said shut up

Joe: no, you say something that’s not stupid

Ronnie: what for fucks sake

Ronnie: what did you reckon id say when you started chatting shit like nothing happened

Joe: alright, I don’t know

Joe: it happened, right

Ronnie: you werent hallucinating

Joe: nothing that makes that happen in the bathroom cupboard

Joe: I don’t regret it, I know that

Ronnie: meant to be made up to hear it am i

Joe: nah, probably not

Joe: but you wanted me to talk about it so I am

Ronnie: i wanted you to take the fucking hint when i legged it as soon as

Joe: you could’ve blocked me, so

Joe: pardon me for not taking it that seriously

Ronnie: not your crazy ex & i couldnt deny you your bullshit heroics

Ronnie: mary aint carrying me anywhere and i know how bad you wanna see me turn blue

Joe: you like having a stalker, is what you mean

Ronnie: block me and get your whore flatmate to tell you what she likes about you

Ronnie: weve established i aint got the talent to sing no cunts praises

Joe: we’ve established I’m not interested in that

Ronnie: cause you want me to tell you how smart you are at fucking me instead of beat the shit out of you

Ronnie: it wont last

Joe: familys forever, sis

Ronnie: not to your ma baby

Ronnie: did i look enough like her for you

Joe: what do you reckon

Joe: your theory, not mine

Ronnie: mustve youve still not fucked off

Joe: you’ve got room for another face tat or two

Ronnie: go do that then

Joe: you can leave out the yes sir

Joe: not my fantasy

Ronnie: no shit like youve been my bitch since you hit send on facebook

Joe: 😂

Joe: I’ve been worse

Ronnie: you trying to turn me on or what its a bit late for it

Joe: just the once, alright

Joe: bit cliche but probably for the best considering

Joe: very sensible of you

Ronnie: cliche that my da didnt stick around long enough for his side of the family to properly cut or sew me up so ive gotta regret not getting chance to put a razor blade inside me before you 💔

Ronnie: now youre gonna reckon i care youve said the once ll do when i just hate you & hate how you fuck even more

Joe: Could’ve said it was about as much fun as

Joe: it’s alright

Joe: both confused, clearly

Ronnie: youre not confused youre fucking smug

Joe: hardly another achievement for the fridge door

Joe: what’s to be smug about

Ronnie: probably for the best i dont answer that if thats how you feel

Joe: come on

Joe: aside from proving you were full of shit about not wanting to as well

Ronnie: fuck you

Joe: you don’t want me to say how I really feel

Ronnie: making me cum earlier dont mean you know what i want now

Joe: right, you want me to declare my love so you get more out of telling me to fuck off, that’s more like it

Ronnie: do i fuck

Joe: then what do you want

Ronnie: like you give the slightest shit

Joe: I do too

Ronnie: no you dont

Joe: I fucking do

Joe: [prove it in a way only y’all would, carve her name or something]

Ronnie: [send him your own pics of the bite marks you’re covered in which is a self harming thing you’ve not done since you were a kid because it’s been a headfuck every second since you two met and we’re not coping honey]

Joe: you hungry?

Joe: you didn’t eat fuck all, I mean

Joe: could get something not dubiously prepared by Soph

Ronnie: hungry as you are funny

Joe: I weren’t trying to be

Joe: on the spectrum, or whatever you said

Ronnie: you wish you had the excuse or the musical prodigy status

Joe: 💔 about that genuinely

Joe: just a dickhead

Ronnie: yeah

Joe: I don’t know what to say

Joe: there’s no point saying I’m sorry

Ronnie: no point is right youre not sorry

Joe: nah

Joe: it’d be lovely for you if I’d found you and you were fine

Joe: but like you said, it ain’t about me or her, it’s about loads of shit and you clearly weren’t so

Joe: just seems pointless

Ronnie: im made up you finally got your head round it

Joe: Yeah well, I didn’t tell you I was a good person

Joe: don’t mean I don’t give no fucks, just ‘cos I ain’t trying to save you

Ronnie: you keep telling me you aint like it matters to me who you are

Joe: yeah, it doesn’t in why you’re fucked

Joe: but what do you want from me

Ronnie: its your fucking fault im like this climbing the walls same as when i was a kid

Joe: yeah ‘cos you were doing really great before weren’t ya

Ronnie: all you give a fuck about is letting yourself off the fucking hook

Joe: Blame me then what does it change

Joe: do something about it other than fucking yourself up, I don’t care

Ronnie: stop lying that youre bothered if your only answer to me losing my mind is that i was before

Joe: I can’t help you

Joe: If you thought I could, though why the fuck you would

Joe: then I am sorry

Ronnie: 💔🖕

Joe: I’ve got my own problems

Joe: if I had any solutions, I’d light ‘em up and shoot them into myself first, naturally

Ronnie: youve got a solution i gave it to you

Ronnie: why the fuck would you make me feel something

Joe: Selfishness

Joe: pure and simple

Ronnie: on your way to a grown up habit im dead proud

Joe: what more could I want

Ronnie: that to scab over seeing as youve finally admitted its bullshit

Joe: I still think about you constantly

Joe: I still want to know everything about you

Joe: I’d rot with you

Ronnie: youve got your own problems to think about

Joe: yeah, and that’s hell

Joe: I’ve done plenty of that

Ronnie: yeah and youve got your escape

Joe: take yours

Joe: can have plan bs and cs even if a is the best

Ronnie: youre the kid who tells the rest to jump off a bridge

Ronnie: cute

Joe: you’re implying I wouldn’t and all

Ronnie: i dont give a shit what you do but i aint giving you the satisfaction of being the last fuck i ever had

Ronnie: youd cling to life long enough to write a pathetic song about it

Joe: that’s the nicest thing you’ve said

Joe: which is saying something ‘cos you’re so sweet, like

Ronnie: youre welcome

Joe: I’ll do a Dylan style ballad about all your 👼🏼 deeds

Ronnie: thats the biggest turn off out of everything youve ever said or done

Joe: thank god, you’re insatiable 😏

Ronnie: once you said

Joe: not for my benefit

Ronnie: its all only for your benefit remember

Joe: if that were true you’d still be here

Ronnie: if it was true i could be

Joe: come back

Ronnie: cant ive got a face tat to get done

Joe: I understand

Joe: my art isn’t there yet

Joe: won’t ruin your beauty

Ronnie: go ed and chuck yourself off a bridge you dont have to wait for me to boot your door in & do you in for chatting shit

Joe: well I am already devvo I’m not a prodigy so yeah, add lack of a steady hand to the list of failures

Joe: probably the meds

Joe: you know being poetic is all I do, why have we downgraded it to chatting shit 💔

Ronnie: why are you calling me beautiful when you could write it in your suicide note for your ma theres your downgrade

Joe: you’re too romantic for your own good

Joe: I wouldn’t be writing a note, sorry to dash your illusions

Ronnie: not me saying i get you mckenna thats your delusion

Ronnie: what are you gonna draw on me then

Joe: you do but it’s more fun to take the piss and pretend you don’t so

Joe: That is the question

Joe: won’t brand you, don’t worry

Ronnie: if i dont want it ill cut it out no pressure

Joe: it’s just skin right

Ronnie: yeah

Joe: how olds your oldest scar

Ronnie: older than you

Joe: what did you do

Ronnie: i used to take headbanging literally

Joe: ah, the floor never saw you coming, yeah

Joe: I have a head scar too [cos he either does or did on the stalker show idk but there we go with a photo like she probably knows hun]

Ronnie: [I just imagine her smiling to herself like yeah I know nerd]

Ronnie: cant both be poets had to express myself somehow before i pushed a safety pin through my cheek

Joe: that explains the permanent 😾

Joe: fucked the muscles, like

Ronnie: your shit jokes do

Joe: it was always easier to just start fights to get hurt

Joe: when I was a kid

Joe: though you work out ways to be sneaky fast, if you have to

Ronnie: they didnt wanna fight me

Joe: everyday sexism strikes again

Ronnie: fuck off not cos im a girl

Joe: why then

Ronnie: wouldnt be me getting hurt and if i was i didnt care

Ronnie: all those mental problems you told that call centre cunt about like

Joe: ‘course you were too proud to make it count

Joe: have to let them get some punches in or there was no point, yeah

Ronnie: no point in fitz flouncing in either fun though

Joe: true

Joe: I’ve got a brother and all, I remember what it’s like

Ronnie: scraps never went far enough

Joe: yeah

Joe: most kids aren’t that psycho

Ronnie: 💔

Joe: being misunderstood served me so well for the whole musician thing so whatever, I guess

Ronnie: i mightve bothered keeping some of my bastards about if they were guaranteed nutters thatd serve you well

Joe: you’d get your own room then, like

Joe: even if you had to pack them to the rafters

Ronnie: for a stalker youre dead concerned about my privacy

Joe: nah, ‘course not

Joe: I’d rather have a place to do the gear without the possibility of Soph or Charlie 🥺ing at us obvs, nothing but selfishness

Ronnie: theres loads of places

Joe: you can show me

Ronnie: is she there now she can let me in

Joe: no idea

Joe: their room is near the door, makes sense they’d be your first victims

Ronnie: youre too selfish to get off your arse and do it

Joe: if you’re coming I’ll carry you in myself, you know that

Ronnie: ill be there and youll still be going on about what youre gonna do

Ronnie: no wonder the other kids kept smacking you

Joe: yeah, all mouth me, deffo what I was known for

Joe: not a euphemism and I don’t think they were wishing it was but who knows

Ronnie: you sure you dont want charlie giving you the eye

Ronnie: how it sounds

Joe: I’m alright, tah

Joe: pretty sure he’s over it now I’m enabling you

Ronnie: hes over everything thats not horse girls from kent but reckons the fucking lost causes are us

Joe: He clearly just gives a shit about appearances

Joe: looking nice, polite

Joe: they’ll never speak again, like

Ronnie: forget him

Ronnie: open the door

Joe: [do that boy]

Ronnie: [boop his little head scar as you come in like oh there it is]

Joe: [‘s’not even a good story’ and producing some takeaway moment from the kitchen as you go through ‘cos the dinner party was not heavy on the dinner bit]

Ronnie: [a look like ffs because people caring in any way ew no but we are gonna eat it because probably haven't since that Margate moment]

Joe: [shrugging like bitch I’m hungry as we tuck in, obviously]

Ronnie: [kick him while you've still got your big boots on but playfully not aggressively]

Joe: [😏 but in a more genuine way than that cocky face looks, I am vibing Chinese not that that matters but there we go]

Ronnie: [weirdly I also thought that maybe because it's one of the grossest haha but yeah eat your food lads]

Joe: [greasy greasy goodness, love the subtle shade if any of them come out for a cuppa or whatever like oh hello again lol]

Ronnie: [I hope it's oblivious Marc just living his life]

Joe: [that’d be most amusing, unbothered, casually]

Ronnie: [I just imagine them doing stuff to try and make him notice like when people stack stuff on a sleeping person but idk what you could do in that little kitchen]

Joe: [for sure, just being subtly annoying/weird and he is just like does not compute ‘cos we mind our own business, so childish]

Ronnie: [love that for you two]

Joe: [we stan the regression for you]

[talesofealdancynedom]

Feon Seabryd in fairy robes, with storm staph.

Tale 19: Meriam Craweleoth: Mage Queen of The Grand West (chapter 4.1 -  Time Stands Still: Feon 4/10) part 4. Stories of Old

Maps

none

In spring, Meriam received a letter from the Northlands. The lord of Isfisceard, caught word of Meriam and her men wandering in and out of Celticia, to speak with Helrem in Algonquia. With Francia being hostile towards all three lands, Meriam had trespassed into Celticia to avoid death. However, The Northlands of Celticia had tightened its boarders, and was sending rangers and setting up outposts; The land was strained from battles from both Algonquia and Francia. The lord requested Meriam’s presence, to deal with a specific matter, in exchange for alliance with Anglia. Meriam was eager to accept, and make another ally at Francia’s boarders; and not get punished for trespassing. The courts would not let her leave however. They had a matter of special importance for her as well. Meriam was carrying their only heir to the throne, after Eatheltwein, making her even more valuable. They had forgotten Meriam didn’t take kindly to being treated like a fragile tool. She was being a royal brood mare for them against her wishes, and they still weren’t satisfied. Meriam left with her five loyal men, a doctor, and the Celtician lord’s letter on her pillow for the king to find.

           Celticia was temperate and wet. It smelled of rain, and upon its odd rock formation and cliffs, was the hum of the soothing low pressure. The scent of the sea embraced them, as Meriam and her party approached the docks. Crossing up the north isles was the last leg of the journey. Meriam was pampered by everyone; to her appreciation and disgust. It almost tarnished the wondrous experience of the Northland kingdom. The island of Isfisceard, was radiant. It was strewn with storm wildings, rain nymphs, ridge back drakes, hydra, and more. The most intriguing and enchanting things, aside from the beaches, sea walls, ferns and sequoia, was the voices that welled up from the depths; Fish children. There are no mermaids, sirens or selkies in Anglia, but there are many in Celticia. For there are many mariners and fishers, of whom a sixth would gladly wed a questionable, thirsty, hungry, and irresistible, maidens of the sea. While Meriam’s men were bewitched by lust, Meriam was overcome with awe and wonder. As a seer, her heart was a flutter with all fey before her. Meriam, as a mage, was drawn to magic. Thus, it was more fascination than lust, that seduced her to get a closer look. Not that the Fish King’s children weren’t to Meriam’s liking as well. As they docked at their destination village, the captain said they were lucky Anglian folk don’t sing. Cheerful tunes tend to attract less lovely daughters from the deep.

           Eager for a proper sleep, Meriam went directly to the lord’s house. But he would not let her rest; he held both her hands and bowed.

“Greeting Mage Queen Meriam. I am honoured you have accepted my invitation. I can tell you are weary, but a lady as precious and fine as you, needs to be kept safe; your men will remain with me, while you retire with Lady Feon Seabryd.” The lord smiled. His accent was both chipper and confusing. Like a thick Irish dialect. Meriam stepped back; what threat would be anticipated that would require her to sleep in a lighthouse, while her trusted knights became drunk lustful decoys.

“I am here to settle my debt, and forge alliances. Tell me your bargain; I am most short these days.” Meriam snapped. Then the lord, still bowing, noticed she was with child, and looked up at her grimace. The lord shivered in fear. Her khol, drawn like a hawk’s face, emphasizing her yellow eyes.

“My apologies your majesty. Let us make haste in signing the papers. You and your men must hear why I am so desperate to protect you, and improve our lands relations.” He said, leading them into a circular hall decorated in tapestries of fish fey and knots. The greens, teal, blues and bronzes complimenting the elaborately carved wooden stools and table.

“Sit, sit.” The lord prompted. Meriam’s men looked calmer then usual; they could handle a court room, after riding dragons. Magic, and their queen’s missions to make peace, was no longer confusing or dramatic.

“Alright, were all settled down now. So, what I need from this alliance, is an army to help this town. A messenger came from the east with a warning: In one season’s time, we will have the army of the Far North at our wall. Meanwhile, Francia is stalled by our land’s rangers and fey. Algonquia is slowly advancing, and occupying Celticia; We are weak. They come to finish their take over, by coming to Isfisceard for our lands only mage; the aforementioned Lady Feon. She sing’s storms and spells, and keeps balance between us and the magic of the sea. Each kingdom has a mage these days, and killing each other’s mages seems to be a common political strategy.” The lord explained.

“You want an army to protect your nations mage?” a knight asked.

“Aye. She is a kind charmer, with four beautiful children. Isfisceard would not be the same without her. But more then her death, I fear the mages of Algonquia. For the reason they are immune to our soldiers and fey, is because their prince and princess, the nephew and niece of the king, are both mages. Edmond Monabellen: The Wolf Prince of The North. He has walked through arrows, and cut cities in half. Him and his siter can control fey in battle, and their men and women are fearless in war. He is a paladin clad in violet and gold, with the eyes of a wolf, and riding his bear familiar. His sister, Luthid Geagwulf, is a witch that works from the camps, to manipulate the battle field. Their army has yet to lose a warrior. If they come for Feon, they will kill all of Celticia’s remaining armies, and take us before Francia does.” The Lord rambled. “I hear your power over time is great Meriam Craweleoth; between you and your kingdoms cavalry, I believe prince Edmond can be stopped. The Northland’s may be in your favour against Francia, if their wolf prince is defeated.” He concluded.

Meriam absorbed the information. Helrem had said nothing about the paladin prince in the Algonquian courts. Wolf kingdom mages, who could be advocating for magic, were being used like pawns in war. This is not how magic is supposed to be used. Their king is a coward for sending his only heir into battle, and a disappointment for abusing magic. Or worse, Edmond and Luthid were skirting their natures out of familial or patriotic obligation, and were in so deep, they can not escape war, despite their better judgment. If Meriam could resolve this, everyone would win.

“I agree to your terms. We will see who is willing to come to your aid by mid harvest. Hopefully my magic will prevent us from being tardy. May I rest now? Lord of Isfisceard?” Meriam said, signing the papers.

“Yes, you may; Feon will be waiting by the beach. There is a white stone of quartz she likes to sing from. Can’t miss it.”

           Merriam approached the fogged bay, that echoed of song, along with a closer voice. Upon a random tall stone of white quarts, was a freckled woman in teal fish kingdom fairy robes, holding a wooden staff set with a large emerald. Her long hair was red as blood, and her eyes like blue pine. She sang sweetly into the water, and its flat surface sang back. Her colours were unnatural; as if changed by magic from her going dark from tragedy. She looked like she was having so much fun, that she didn’t notice Merriam watching.

“Are you Feon Seabryd? I am Queen Meriam of Anglia; your lord said I was to stay with you and your family for safety.” Meriam said.

“Aye. Wait till you meet my family-” Feon said, gazing at Meriam. She looked like a ghost dressed in her black feather and crushed velvet fairy robes. “You’re going to have a baby! That’s so exciting! I know just the way to treat you; as a mother myself!” Feon chimed. She took Meriam’s hand and gently led her to a house at the bottom of a light tower, that was carved into the sea wall of the bay.

“I hate children. I don’t want to have a baby; that could kill a woman.”

“I love my children! All four of them! They were a pain, but they are like precious jewels. I smile everyday when I see them. Speaking of children, I have a son who is also a mage, though he don’t know it yet. Lyra is his name; a charmer just like me. Possibly even a storm breaker like me too! I have many notes about mages, and magic workings. You are a seer, right? Maybe reading or copying them would be restful for you?” Feon suggested. With magic on the table, Merriam was warming up to the idea of being in a peasant’s bungalow, surrounded by wild children. The only child she ever liked was Eatheltwein; and she was not responsible for his care.

           In the cabin, Feon had her children bring her and Meriam food to study. Feon was excited to pick the brain of a seer, and Meriam was happy to finally be sitting. Feon had many books and journals in her room; it was crowded in a hurricane of organized chaos, around the two beds she shared with her husband and children. Meriam was brought back to her childhood in Francia, sharing a bed with her friend Felin.

“What type of mage are you?” Feon asked, placing a teal leather journal on the table. “For example, I am a Storm breaker; we summon and control weather when magic moves through us, from being really happy. But if we don’t have a storm staph, we will lose control and go gray dark; causing natural disasters. I got my storm staph sent to me from a warlock in Sinonia, of the Grand East, who is also a storm breaker. In fact, the lad sent me many, requesting I place them in the Fish Kingdom in the shadow veil, because The Fish Gate is down the cliff of the lighthouse…” Feon said, handing the journal to Meriam and showing off her wood and emerald staph. Meriam examined it carefully, it was wonderfully crafted. She wondered how the parcel arrived through Francia, and then recalled that they took postage seriously there; you could mail one hundred mice to a foreign land and no one would stop you. A good package, is a delivered package. Feon knocked on the table Infront of Meriam to get her attention.

“Oh sorry, you reminded me of something… I guess I’m a Memoirium de Morte; a mage who can manipulate time. I didn’t realize we had types.” Meriam laughed, melting into the reclined chair covered in plaids.

“Do share! I want to complete that teal compodium, with details about all the mages for our ancestors!”

“Why do you write texts instead of poetry? I thought you were a charmer?”

“I am. But I am also a mother and avid hobbyist. Oh, thank you Lyra” Feon said, taking the kettle and pouring tea. An older boy with ginger hair and green eyes brought it. His long-curled hair was twisted in various strands and weaved into a knot; and he seemed to almost glow with joy while he hummed.

“Ah, one of your children. The Lyra of which you mentioned…” Meriam said.

“Aye, your majesty. I hope you enjoy the tea!” Lyra bowed before dashing off. Meriam gave a cough and returned her attention to Feon.

“You hate children? Why?”

“Hate is a strong word. I prefer the phrase: ‘I am opposed to.’ As too why, maybe it’s I don’t want a dependant human to keep me away from my adventures, or worry me. Or perhaps I don’t wish to put my life at risk to appease a court of men. The reason is irrelevant, and it is no one’s business what I choose to do with my life and body.” Meriam snarled, tossing back the staph. “Give me some of your journals to copy for my records, and tell me what you want to know about my abilities; or more why I don’t just use them to resurrect people or manipulate their memories.”

“I’m sorry. Just don’t understand is all. But as for your special magic, the question in these times isn’t why you don’t use your powers, but why Anglia doesn’t make you.” Feon said.

NEXT--->

<---PREVIOUS

#art #tales of ealdan cynedom #short stories #fantasy #story 19 #meriam #nihten #feon #lyra #sirulius #edmond #luthid

[clickforspoilers]

mad libs for a mad lad.

WHO: Stephanie @clickforspoilers and Jason @thatsjasonfkntodd WHERE: SCPD Jail WHEN: May 19th 2020 WHAT: Stephanie is the first to visit Jason in jail bc this isn’t her first rodeo. She’s surprised to find that she can actually relate to him on some level.

Steph: As soon as Steph heard that Jason was in jail, she assumed Dick or Bruce brought him in for what happened and the docks and she was filled with righteous indignation. Then she talked to Tim and got the backstory, which was somehow even worse.

Regardless, she was one of the first to fill out an application to be a visitor and even picked up a few extra for the others. The receptionist was new, but Steph got a wave in to Gordon. She practically grew up around the police department with how often her father was in and out of jail and prison.

As soon as Jason's commissary was up she made sure there was money in it. After having several Thanksgivings with prison food she couldn't imagine it was much better in jail. Probably worse, especially with how out of date the place was. She also brought a ton of books she knew would be approved, asking Alfred which were Jason's favorites since no one else seemed to know.

"Wow, you look... orange." Those were the first words out of her mouth. A bit of levity. Jason: Jason had known that people would show up. He wasn’t sure who or when, exactly. Steph being at the head of the line did genuinely surprise him a little, considering how much time recently he’d spent getting in her way. None of it had been malicious, exactly, but he still wouldn’t have figured she’d show up before the others.

“Yeah, well, I told them that red was more my color but nobody seemed to care.” She had something with her, some kind of package, and he nodded toward it. “That for me?” What kind of screening process had the SCPD managed to drum up when they could barely keep officers on streets? Steph: "No, I just figured I'd read all these books and do all these Mad Libs in front of you as my own personal brand of torture." Steph could never keep a straight face even when she was being sarcastic. "Oh, I also put some cash in your commissary so you can live off twinkies or Snickers bars. They had a whole episode on Dateline about where they get jail food and trust me, you don't wanna eat it."

Maybe she was a little annoyed about the whole patrol thing, but she knew what Jason was doing. Maybe part of her enjoyed the petty competition. It introduced a little chaos into the regimented NOVA patrol-watching she would otherwise be doing. Not that she would actually admit it. Jason: “You read books? Color me impressed. The Mad Libs I believe.” Not that one single part of him actually thought Steph was dumb. Nowhere close. She’d be dead again if that was the case. Ignorance as a vigilante was a death sentence more than any knife or gun.

He reached one hand through the bars, though they were too narrow to get far. The books would fit. “I ate out of the trash in Crime Alley for years. I’ll survive jail food.” But he wouldn’t turn down a Twinkie either. Steph: "Fuck you. I read all the time." Maybe not everything she read was a book, but still. Steph preferred the more hands on method. She learned better that way.

Smirking, she handed him a Mad Libs book even though she knew that wasn't what he wanted. "Why eat maggots when you don't have to? That's seriously what they found in some of the food, y'know." Jason: “Protein is protein.” He wasn’t being serious, and even his incredibly low standards were still standards. “Pretty sure Dick might slip me a burger or something if it gets that bad, but I’ll keep my eyes open for creepy crawlies in the oatmeal.”

Jason took the mad lib book with a barely suppressed sigh. What was he, eight? Who did Mad Libs? Had he ever actually done one? In his whole life? He was fairly sure the answer was no, because he barely remembered what they were supposed to be. Since she’d brought it, though, he opened it and started to flip through, only to find that words had already been filled in.

“Seriously? You brought me used Mad Libs?” Only as he asked did he catch ‘Tim’ as one of the words. He read the rest of it quickly and sighed. “Yeah, well, everybody is upset.” Steph: Steph made a face at the idea of maggots in oatmeal, but she didn't say anything. She was too distracted watching Jason go through the Mad Libs. Maybe writing a note in there was a little hokey, even for her, but at least he was reading it.

"Yeah, Tim told me everything. I'm caught up." She hoped there wasn't anything else to know, at least. Even though she hadn't been involved in the Deathstroke plan, she hovered behind Babs and watched the whole thing go down. The entire day had been more than a little tense. "I know, but I think we should all try to be on the same page. It'll make things easier, at least. You know?" Jason: “All of us on the same page? Did you get high before you came in here? Have you met all of us?” They were never going to be on the same page about anything, or at least not on the same line of the same page. Still, the last time he’d spoken to Tim in a non-official capacity hadn’t exactly gone well. He hadn’t been in the mood for more feelings and of course that was the exact time that Tim, of all people, had wanted to have some.

Jason dropped the Mad Lib book to his side and ran his free hand over his jaw. “It’s not like I’m ignoring him. I just didn’t want a fucking heart to heart when he tried to have it, alright?” Steph: "I mean about this whole thing, not about literally everything ever." That was never going to happen and Steph wasn't naive. She might be less strict than the others about procedures and whatnot, but she generally followed the same code. It was something she accepted and it was the antithesis of what her dad had been. Sometimes she wondered if Jason was trying to do the same thing, but... opposite. Sort of. "I know you wouldn't ignore him, I'm just saying, you could reach out. You get phone calls, right?" Jason: “Are you kidding me? Why do I have to call him when you’re going to see him probably as soon as you leave? I’ll write a note in the Mad Libs and you can take it back to him.” Did it have to be so dramatic? He was in jail. That was hardly a position to be coddling somebody else’s hurt feelings, especially when Tim had been more than willing to pop off that night, too. It hadn’t been all on one side. Steph: Steph gave an exaggerated sigh, but his offer was certainly better than nothing. There was a reason she asked for something big first. This seemed like a fair compromise, even though she knew Jason wasn't about to write anything touchy feely. "I might be okay with that. It depends. What are you gonna write?" “How about stop being a fucking nerd and come see me in jail. Does that hit the right note? It’s an invitation.” If Tim holding out for some kind of apology, though, that wasn’t going to show up in Mad Lib or any other form. Once in awhile Jason offered them, he’d even given one to Tim before, but he had to feel well and truly in the wrong before he did it. In this case, he didn’t. Tim hadn’t known when to quit, he’d pushed and then snapped when he didn’t get the kind of response he wanted. It was on him as much as it was on Jason. Steph: "Maybe don’t be an asshole and leave the first part out. Then it's -" Steph clicked her tongue. "Perfect." Leaning on her elbow, she watched him for a few seconds before saying anything. "Maybe it was the wrong time or whatever, but you know how he is about showing feelings. He's not good at it. He admires you, so... go easy on him." Jason: “But the first part is how he knows I really wrote it.” Not that he had anything to write with. Maybe Steph had a pencil stub stuck in her bag. Was that a weapon? Probably. He could’ve made it a weapon. All he needed it for was writing the dumb Mad Lib note, though. “Fine. I’ll be the bad guy.” As always. “Am I supposed to do this in blood or can the SCPD spare a crayon for me?” Steph: Steph waved a pen and handed it over. “Flexible ink well.” She was prepared. Her father had to have one of the bendy pens when he’d been in prison, or a really short pencil. “This is you being the good guy, Hoodie. Not to put a bad taste in your mouth or anything, but when you aren’t an asshole you actually are a pretty good guy.” Jason: “How dare you slander me right to my face.” He took the pen and held the Mad Lib book  against the wall to scribble his note to Tim. It said exactly what he told her that he was writing, minus the first part, though he did add “nerd” onto the end before signing his name as though Tim might suspect Steph had done it instead. Once he’d finished, he held it back through the bars to her and motioned for the rest of what she was holding. “Can I have the actual books now?” Steph: "I'll take my vengeance in small ways." Steph had a plan to get Jason back for the pizza incident, but then this happened. She reached for the Mad Libs and glanced at what he wrote. Sliding the box over, she took out one book at a time so she could pass them through the bars. "I got my information from Alfred. If it were up to me you might've ended up with the newest issues of Seventeen." Jason: “Your vengeance. For what? That crummy pizza? There’s twenty bucks in the nightstand by my bed. Buy another one.” Or he was pretty sure there was, anyway. There was probably something in there. He’d just bailed on the manor with his bag to stay with Dick for all of about a day before everything went down and couldn’t remember what he’d left or not left.

Jason rolled his eyes and started collecting the books one by one beneath his arm. Alfred, unsurprisingly, had given Steph his favorites and a few he hadn’t actually read before. It would keep him Bush for a little while. “Thanks for bringing these,” he said, suddenly serious as he took the last one. Steph: Rolling her eyes, Steph made a scoffing sound. "You're not getting off that easy." There was no way she planned all that for nothing. "I'll totally take the 20$ though," she added as an afterthought.

It was so rare that Jason was sincere that it sometimes took her a second to recognize when it was happening. She nodded, even though she still passing him various puzzles like Sudoku and a book of Crosswords. "Sure," she said once there was nothing more to hand over. Holding the empty box on her lap, she hesitated before asking, "Have you talked to Bruce yet?"

Jason: “You can always throw in some theft charges against me,” he offered, like that was going to make much difference alongside the murder and all.

His demeanor changed the instant that Steph brought up Bruce. He hadn’t laid eyes on him since Dick told him what had happened with Joker, and the mere thought of it gave him a whole fresh wave of anger. “No, and I don’t have a damn thing to say to him if he deigns to show up.” Steph: "Wow. Money, charges, and my own personal brand of revenge. Any more ideas?" Steph grinned, as if she fully intended to take every suggestion Jason was willing to throw her way.

The smile faded at the dramatic change in Jason's mood. "I know you hate him on principle, so don't bite my head off or anything, but what the fuck? Aren't you staying at the manor?" Jason was never on good terms with Bruce, but this went beyond their usual tension. Jason: “Fresh out, but those should keep you busy for awhile. They’re worth one pizza.” Not to mention that whole scenario had been hilarious, even if Steph had been unwilling to see it.

“On principle,” he repeated bitterly, like hating Bruce came as naturally as the properties of gravity or something. Any objects heavier than air will fall and Bruce Wayne is a bastard. Did any of the rest of them know what had happened with Joker? Someone did, surely. Dick had said Babs tried to stop him from going after him, Tim had been there. “I was. The day before we went after Deathstroke I started crashing with Dick,” he said, not immediately offering the explanation. Steph: "Best way I could think to describe it," said Steph with a sigh. Unlike Jason, she didn't hate Bruce despite his failings. Then again, she hadn't died and been resurrected in a Lazarus Pit.

No one told her about Jason leaving. She'd even stopped by his room to see if he were in the mood to spar in the gym. When she didn't get an answer, Steph just assumed he needed a break from the manor. She expected him to be elusive. "...Why? The whole reason you came to the manor is because Bruce has an amazing security system. I mean, Babs designed it." Jason: “Why? Because if I’d sooner punch him than look at him and I figured Alfred shouldn’t have to clean up the blood.” It had been a long time since Jason had truly entertained violent notions against Bruce, aside from an empty threat here or there that he made against practically everyone, but what Dick told him had stirred up something deep that Jason genuinely thought he was beyond.

“You don’t know, do you?” He didn’t owe Bruce enough to keep his secret, but maybe he owed Dick. It wasn’t like the story wholly belonged to Jason. He swiped a hand over his mouth and shook his head. “Ask Dick.” Steph: Surprised, Steph's eyes widened and she sat back in her seat. Even though the intention took her off guard, even if it wasn't a serious one (...she was pretty sure it was), her expression was more confused than horrified.

"Know what? Is it about the files? Because he has files on us?" That was the only thing she could think of that was at all related to recent events and might have pissed Jason off. It seemed like a small thing, considering it was Bruce and his obsessive information gathering wasn't new. "I'm not asking Dick, I'm asking you." Jason: “No, it’s not about the files, but it might be in Dick’s.” He’d realized that in retrospect, but they’d never made it past the line about Deathstroke and Jason hadn’t gone back to check.

Jason stared through the bars at some fixed point past Steph. “He brought Joker back to life,” his voice was low, not for privacy but because repeating it had added a threatening edge to his tone. “He brought him back because Dick killed him and Bruce...” suddenly his eyes were back on her, “Bruce places more value on the fucked up golden calf he’s made out of Dick than on our lives or anyone else’s.” How many people had Joker gone on to kill after that resurrection? Steph: Jesus. All this was making Steph really dread ever finding out what was in her file. Hopefully it was all stuff she already knew and not stuff she made a point to block out.

The news didn't elicit any shock from her. Her shoulders slumped and she nodded. "I know. I was there." She'd watched Bruce resuscitate Joker and witnessed the aftermath. Uncharacteristically quiet, her nails picked at the edges of the box on her lap. Even though she knew Bruce had been determined to get to the Joker before Dick killed him, she never expected it would end the way it did. "But why?" She finally whispered, meeting his eyes. Bruce's motivations weren't even something she'd venture to guess at. She'd always been wrong in the past. Jason: “You were there?” Did everybody fucking know except for him? Had they all just sat back for years and let him think that Joker had walked free and clear after killing him, when the truth of it was that Bruce refused to let him stay dead? Had they all known?

Jason clenched his hand and took a step back from the bars and away from Steph. “Why? Who cares? Why does it matter why? Would the answer make you feel better?” Because it wasn’t going to help Jason. Bruce’s explanation was never, ever going to be good enough. Steph: "Yeah. I got there at the same time as Bruce." Steph dug her fingernail into the box and watched it turn white. "He was dead by then."

She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. He didn't avenge me either, Jason. Maybe I wasn't dead, but he didn't know that, so I at least know how shitty it feels to know the guy who fucked your life up is still out there walking around and no one cares enough to make him pay for it. I'd be beyond pissed if he actually brought Sionis back to life." She swallowed hard. "But I'm not his kid. It's worse for you. I'll never say you should forgive him." Jason: Jason could have killed Black Mask. He’d meant to, eventually, at the end of all of it, except he hadn’t got the end that he’d been expecting and by then Roman had gone back underground to lick his wounds. Steph deserved better than that, even if Jason hadn’t been around or been part of things when she’d “died.” He’d been too preoccupied with his own revenge against Bruce to make Black Mask any kind of priority. He’d suffered at Red Hood’s hands, sure, but he shouldn’t have been drawing breath by the end of it. A loose end. He didn’t say any of that to Steph, but he put it somewhere in the back of his mind.

“I’m sick of his bullshit. I’m tired of hearing him defended. I won’t do it anymore.” Not after learning everything. It was worse, somehow, than Bruce refusing to kill Joker himself. “I’m not going back to the manor when I get out of here.” Steph: After Steph's return, she was shocked to find out so many people even knew she died. Her stint as Robin was so short that she would have believed it didn't even count, if it weren't for those words Bruce said to her in the hospital. They were still words she held onto, even now when she knew she shouldn't. His approval still meant something to her. He might not deserve her loyalty and maybe she should be as bitter and angry as Jason, but Steph just didn't have it in her. She'd wanted to be Robin. Her last act was her own doing.

But that didn't mean she didn't understand Jason's wrath just because she responded with hurt rather than rage. "Where are you going to go?" She asked with a frown, concerned. "I thought you didn't have a safehouse yet." Jason: "I'll figure it out. I have money," his own money. "It talks." Just because he did not burn through it as rapidly as Roy didn't mean it wasn't there. Jason had spent the last few years still working, even after the Red Hood & Arsenal venture had come to its end, and even though he didn't do everything for pay, he still did plenty. The accounts weren't in his name, and in all likelihood nobody knew about them but him. It was a rainy day fund, more or less, and suddenly it had started fucking pouring. Steph: "Too bad it doesn't walk," Steph quipped, even though her tone was dry. She didn't like seeing Jason in here. It didn't seem right, even if he killed people and all that. He wasn't a villain. "You didn't go to the manor because you didn't have money. You went because it was safe." She frowned suddenly, glancing around the jail as if her immediate surroundings might give some indication. "Are you safe here? I mean, I know it's jail and all, but that isn't saying much." Jason: "Yeah, and the manor was always supposed to be temporary." He'd never wanted to have to stay there, but it had been the best short term option at the time. Maybe leaving hadn't been in the best interest of his safety, but it was certainly in the best interest of everyone else's. He knew where his head had gone after that conversation with Dick, and whether Dick said it aloud or not he was fairly sure he knew it, too. Maybe that's why he'd been so quick to offer Jason a room at his place.

At the second question, he just scoffed. "Here? Probably not. If I actually wanted to get out of here, I've already thought of about four different ways, and if I can think of ways out that means it's a lot easier to get in." But he'd known that when he'd had the idea, not to mention how quickly both Roy and Dick had pointed it out. Steph: Steph winced. "And you just sitting in a cell with nothing but Mad Libs as a weapon. Fantastic." It was some comfort that Dick was there, but he wasn't there every second. Gordon could also hold his own even if he wasn't a vigilante. At least the officers were armed. "It's not likely to happen though, right? I mean, seems dumb to attack a jail even if it isn't as secure as you'd think." It was Jason's helplessness that was troubling. They could literally just shoot him through the bars.

A buzzing sound made her roll her eyes. "Time's almost up." Jason: "I'm not worried about it. If I was, I would've thought up something better than this." Maybe some of that was bravado, and a little more was for her benefit (and everyone else's) than his own, but still. He wasn't losing sleep over it. He'd played out a few different scenarios in his head, put together a little mental list of who (if anyone) was most likely to come for him there. "I've got good improv skills. I'll handle it."

He looked back down the hallway and nodded. "Yeah. Go buy a pizza and give Tim that dumb note. Thanks for the books."

#c: discord #jason todd #stephanie brown

[banashee]

Another square for my @badthingshappenbingo​ is done! :)

Prompt: “Attacked in their sleep”.

This one was a request from @mysterious-starlight​ by the way,

so thanks for sending that in, I hope you enjoy! :)

Please mind the trigger warnings:

- Homophobia and related hate crimes - Blood and violence, not too graphic - Hints to PTSD 

*+~

 Being careful is not enough

     Whenever they leave home, they are careful not to be too close to each other as to not give anyone the wrong idea.

 Well - technically they would be right to assume what they might, but as it is, being what they are is both dangerous and illegal in these times. It's sad really - why should love be illegal?

 But people talk and whisper and shake their heads in disapproval at those instances - it's "wrong" and "unnatural" they say. Some use stronger and much more insulting words and many heads nod in self righteous approval.

 The point is, Steve and Bucky are careful. They have to be, in order to survive.

 Them living together and sharing an apartment doesn't rise many questions - they're young and poor and living in one place saves money, which they don't have much of in the first place.

 Occasional double dates with nice gals in the area help to keep up that facade, too - as long as they keep their affections to themselves, when doors are locked and curtains drawn shut they should be fine for now.

 In the future, when they're older, it might get more and more difficult.

 "If I even make it that far." Steve shrugs one night while they discuss this, voice raw and scratchy from sickness - he's been sick for most of the winter, and Bucky had taken as many shifts at the docks as he could in order to afford the medication he needs.

 Bucky clenches his jaw. He doesn't like the nonchalant way in which Steve talks about his poor health, but he also knows that he is being realistic - and painfully so.

 Denying it wouldn't be of use for anyone.

 But it hurts still, thinking how he might lose his best friend, the love of his life.

 "We'll worry about this when the time comes. Right now, you're here and you're much better already."

 He says this as to convince himself, more than Steve - the stubborn bastard won't give up easily, he knows, whether it's the flu or a guy two times his size doing his best to bring him down.

 But Steve is realistic about his state, when he's in private and alone with Bucky - he needs to be or he wouldn't be alive still, even when Bucky claims its out of sheer stubbornness. Steve won't let any of it stop him - his health, his size or any obstacle that life throws at him because Steve Rogers doesn't give up - it's something that Bucky loves and fears equally in his boyfriend.

 "We'll find a way, Buck. Maybe, if we're lucky, the people will be smarter by then and realize they have been wrong all this time."

 Bucky laughs quietly, pulling Steve closer to himself and pushing his nose into the blond hair as he holds on.

 "Your confidence in humanity is truly inspiring. Doll."

 "Well, somebody's gotta believe in them huh?"

 Small, bony hands trail down Bucky's back, gently and ever moving.

 "Yes. And I think it's a good thing that you do. Lord knows I'm not too sure of it most of the time."

 Bucky leans into the touch, running a hand through Steve's light blond hair as the other man keeps drawing invisible patterns on his back with light fingers.

 Bucky loves his hands - they're smooth for a guy and often times covered in charcoal or graphite, from when Steve spent many hours of the day curled up somewhere by the window, sketching and creating beautiful landscapes, skylines and faces on the paper beneath. He's skilled with oil paints, too, but they're expensive and he refuses to let Bucky spend any money on them for him. Bucky would do it in a heartbeat any time he could - because he knows how happy art makes Steve. Because seeing him happy is what he loves most in the world.

 Steves hands are skilled with other things, too. Sewing and mending clothes, or in much more intimate situations where he is able to make Bucky melt away under his touch.

 They need to be careful and quiet even then - if anyone would hear what they're up to behind closed doors, they will be in big trouble.

 So yes, they are careful.

       But as it turns out, being careful just isn't enough. They never find out how this particular person got suspicious, but he must have heard or seen      something    .

 Neither Steve or Bucky ever sees it coming.

 It's a chilly night, despite it being early spring, so they sleep with their windows closed. The door is locked, as always, as are all curtains drawn shut. None of this makes them think of possible intruders - they feel safe and secure and are currently fast asleep.

 The two men are curled up tightly around each other, both out of necessity because the bed is small, and because they like holding each other, chest-to-back in a safe and comfortable embrace.

 Their day had been long and they're dead to the world. Neither of the two stirs as their front door slides open, lock carefully picked. The intruder moves almost soundlessly.

 Only when a figure with their face hidden in cloth looms over them, something starts to feel off, and Steve's eyes spring open before the cold blade of the knife even touches his throat.

 It's his yelling and violently launching at the attacker that wakes up Bucky, and he curses out loud, confused and scared in a haze, before he starts to fight, too.

 The stranger remains entirely silent, not saying a single word, but he slashes through the air with the knife he's holding , hitting either of the two men out of sheer luck as they plummet into him.

 Steve is about half as tall and half his weight, but it doesn't stop him from throwing punches, breathing hard as his lungs are protesting, wheezing in an desperate attempt to get more precious air as he fights for their lives, fights to keep this asshole from hurting the one person in this world he's got left.

 He’s too small and too sickly to be able to physically keep up with the stranger, but it sure as hell doesn’t stop him from trying. It doesn’t stop him from doing his damned best to keep the attacker away from Bucky.

 Meanwhile, Bucky is attempting to keep the attacker away from      Steve    , trying to get in between them and take whatever he has to in order to protect him - this is not something either of them is used to at all.

 Despite getting into fights and the occasional brawl in street corners or bars, none of it has ever come close to this. Bullies and drunks, looking for a way to let out some steam, jealous lads thinking either of them would be after their girls, sure. But they never had to fear for their lives, least of all in their own home.

 Two against one is what works in their favor, in the end.

 They're bleeding and there are heavy bruises developing but they're alive and that's all that counts right now.

 Together, they pin the attacker down on the floor.

 "You leave us alone and never come back! You understand?"

 Bucky has a hold of the knife and now holds it against the strange man's throat. He's decided on doing just that, the second he saw him doing the same to Steve - since that moment, he's seen red and now he's carefully calm in his seething anger. All fear and hurt is pushed far, far back in his mind, no place for it anywhere right now.

 The guy doesn't answer.

 Steve, still trying to catch his breath, pulls off the fabric from his head - recognition creeps up in his face, and then his blue eyes turn dark in anger. He promptly punches the middle aged man in the face again.

 "John, you son of a bitch! What did we ever do to you?" he hisses, and the man on the floor laughs, honest to God laughs, then he spits a clump of snot right into Steve's face.

 Bucky glares at John as he pushes the knife closer - close enough to draw blood.

 "Answer him."

 "You fuckin' fairies even need to ask, huh? Sick in the head is what you are! Disgusting!"

 He spits again, and Bucky increases the pressure just a bit - it seems to make John reconsider. He puts up his hands, and gruffly says,

 "Alright alright, I'm leaving. Just let me up."

 They do, reluctantly, watching closely as the man is leaving the apartment. Letting him go just like that is not what either of them is comfortable with, but what are they supposed to do?

 Calling the police is out of question, because what if they come to the same conclusion as John? What if they are both arrested or worse?

 If that happens, they’ll lose each other and the thought scares them more than knowing they’ll have to sleep with one eye open from now on.

 As soon as their attacker is out, they lock the door and shove a wooden chest in front of it from the inside.

 Once they're alone, drenched in sweat and blood, the adrenaline crashes.

 Steve is sitting on the floor right where he stood just a moment ago, breathing too heavy and too fast, trying to calm down again. His eyes are huge and filled with many different emotions, most of all anger, although Bucky knows that’s only because this part is easier to deal with than the rest.

 He sits down near Steve, putting one arm around him and resting his head on top of his blond hair. In Return, Steve grabs his hand and leans back into him as both of them hold on for dear life.

 All they have left is each other, and they have no idea who they can trust anymore.

 Neither of them sleeps anymore that night, or very much at all in the weeks that follow.

 The fear of another attack, of getting arrested for being queer or any other horrible thing keeps them up - life around them goes on as usual and they put up a facade of cockiness and bravery, but in truth, they are both afraid and in a state of tense alertness at all times.

 Nights are the hardest part of it all, when they’re alone in a dark, expecting the sound of a intruder breaking down their front door any time.

 They sleep in turns, always close to each other and keeping their ears and eyes open for any alarming signs.

 Those nights, more than ever before, they dream of a future where people are free to love, without having to fear for their lives, having to fear for the safety of loved ones.

 It will be a long way, until then.

 But they hope. They keep hoping, because right sometimes, it’s all they can do.

 *+~

 Square: "Attacked in their sleep"

#banashee writes #bad things happen bingo #marvel fanfiction #stucky #steve bucky #1940s stucky #pre-serum steve #tw homophobia #tw hate crime #tw blood and injury #tw violence

[kdtheghostwriter]

SNK 122 - Avalanche

Who would have thought when it happened that Eren kissing Historia’s hand would be THE moment of Shingeki no Kyojin. Imagine you’re picking up this lovely series for the first time. You see a fresh take on the survival-horror genre and think, “I could get into this.” A couple volumes in, you discover the zombie horde tale was a clever cover for a fleshy mecha gimmick. “Weird,” you think, “but ok.” Now it’s ten years and 130+ chapters later. We’re all reading a retelling of the Norse Myth of Creation wrapped in a cozy WWII disguise.

What do any of these words mean? Join me under the cut. It’s time for lore.

Thoughts on the chapter first. We finally get to see the life and times of Founder Ymir. Not surprisingly, she appears to be of vague Northern European origin in what appears to be the Middle Ages. The ancient Eldians were Vikings basically, but back then they weren’t even Eldian. They were human just like everyone else…until they weren’t.

Founder Ymir’s story eerily mirrors that of 104th Ymir. As a small child, she was nothing more than a scapegoat. Born a servant girl, she empathized with the group of pigs that had been captured. She released them, no doubt ruining someone’s feast in the process. A soldier asks who the offending party is and we see a great panel of Ymir surrounded by pointing fingers John Wick style.

Much like Mr. Wick, Ymir goes on the run only in a much different context. John Wick, in his universe, is the most prolific assassin alive. He’s on the run, but he’s not defenseless. Ymir is a child and is defenseless. The men (and I do emphasize the grown men) that chase after her never perceive her as a threat. They’re having a sporting time terrifying and slowly killing this innocent child. Running out of energy and time, Ymir happens across a humongous tree and decides an odd hiding spot is better than none at all. Entering the base of the tree, she falls down into an unseen hole – like Alice into the looking glass – and just as she’s about to lose consciousness, she comes in contact with what can only be described as…this.

A parasite? An alien lifeform? An ancient Eldridge manifestation? Maybe. Just like another old Myth there isn’t really a clear answer nor will there be. ‘Tis the Source of all Organic Matter and it was always there it was, lad.

We get several lessons here about how history can warp our perceptions of the individual players in both a positive and negative sense. Ymir never made a deal with the Devil to get her overwhelming power. She literally fell backwards into a divot and came out big as a mountain. On the other hand, the Founding Titan was not this ethereal being of divine beauty. The First Titan was grotesque to look at. It had no true face and its ribs were exposed, which I guess makes sense for a creature that large. Founder Ymir was a victim of circumstance and oppression. She has the power of nature and God at her fingertips but has only known servitude. That’s why there is no objection when she hears the following.

Not only is there CLEARLY no consent here, but I’m fairly sure Ymir is barely a teenager here so – Double Dose of Yikes!

Fittingly (or tragically, who can tell at this point), Ymir has three daughters: Maria, Rose and Sina. She raises her children while helping her nation conquer the lands around them with her unmatched power. However, thirteen years after her eldest child is born, a rogue soldier makes an attempt on the king’s life and Ymir leaps in front of the spear; one final act of indentured service.

Sort of. She is told correctly that she isn’t in danger. No doubt she has come back from far worse injuries than a spear to the collar. King Fritz tells her to get up and continue being a slave and Ymir says fuck you with her whole chest and gives up the ghost right there.

This shocking development leads to two things. First, we see the most graphic panel in a series full of gore and body horror as the children of Ymir are forced by Dear Old Dad to cannibalize their mother’s still-cooling corpse in order to obtain her power. Then, we see Ymir wake up in what we now know as the Paths dimension. Here she shall stay until a certain someone is able to receive and respond to her call for help.

That’s all for the backstory, now what about the source? It’s been documented well that Isayama loves myth and folklore especially of the Norse variety. Near the beginning of #122 we see Ymir fall into a tree that Momtaku and her co-host Luna succinctly describe as “both phallic and vulvic at the same time.” This seems like a clear reference to Yggdrasil, The World Tree. Yggdrasil is an interdimensional bridge with each branch connecting to a different realm, not unlike the branches we see in the PATHS dimension. Then we have the spine-like creature that latches on to Ymir like Symbiote under the tree. See if this looks familiar.

Nidhogg is a serpent that is known for eating away at the roots of the World Tree. It also has a famous rivalry with an unnamed eagle that sits atop Yggdrasil. A constant struggle between freedom and entrapment which is of course a central theme to this story. I’ve seen meta theorize that if the briny parasite represents the serpent of the Tree, that Eren Jaeger would represent the eagle the overlooks it and seeing how he’s spent most of this tale with wings on his back, that makes about as much sense as anything else.

It’s all a lead-up to Ragnarok: the End of the World.

Yup, that looks like the end to me.

When the First King lined up those Titans to form those walls, he couldn’t have known someone would find the one loophole to circumvent his failsafe. The reason the Coordinate Powers only fully activate for those of Royal Blood. It isn’t because of their genes alone. Ymir is a slave to the Royal Family, even centuries after her physical death. It isn’t until someone gives her a choice that she even thinks to take a different course of action.

What a charmer. This panel and the one that follows are both very important to me. Zeke, in his frenzy is a spitting image of King Fritz. Yes, the are directly related but also, I think there is something to be said of him taking on the form of Ymir’s greatest oppressor. After she hears Eren’s pitch to lend him her world-shattering power we see her eyes, full of tears, for the first time. Not an accident. It’s the first time in 2,000 years anyone has treated her like a person.

This is not an official theory or anything but it’s how I interpret this. The title of this chapter ‘From You, 2,000 Years Ago’ is of great significance outside of how it mirrors the title of the very first chapter. Ymir was sending a message and when we remember the Attack Titan’s special trait of moving (and looking) forward it’s clear who the messenger was. The question then becomes, was Eren the only one who was able to answer the call? Yes, just not for the reasons you would think.

 Technically, any of the Attack Titans (or any of them, I guess) could have unlocked the PATHS with enough work. The problem is, the only knowledge of Ymir’s story and the history of the Eldian people was with the Coordinate which, historically, was possessed by the Royal Line. It wasn’t until that fateful night when Grisha stole the Coordinate away that a very specific set of conditions could be met.

Once a single person of their own free will got even a glimpse of the tortured history and fate of Founder Ymir it was enough to set an incredibly complex series of events into motion. This is why the Attack Titan, even during the Great Titan War, can never listen to reason. They know what the end game is, thanks to Eren sending them snaps of that scenery.

Eren was special after all. Just not in the way we first thought. Funny that.

  Stray Thoughts

- Keep in mind that the final panel of Eren’s new Titan exploding out of his severed head happens the instant it lands in Zeke’s hand. How must Gabi be feeling right now? You think you’ve slain the Devil of the Earth and all you’ve done instead is give him immense power and an army of unstoppable giants. Someone get the Bart cake gif in the replys.

- The most impressive part of seeing Ymir’s backstory is that it was largely done with no dialogue. Almost felt like we were reading a scroll or ancient tome. Credit to the author for crafting such a deep, rich world to explore. Somehow, Shingeki no Kyojin isn’t the story he’s always wanted to tell but it will rightfully be the one he is best known for.

- Once again Zeke blows a 3-1 lead by being an entitled shithead. He and the rest of his family knew the story of Ymir and the fate she suffered and still saw fit to not only keep her imprisoned but to use her as a tool to subjugate their own people. No tears from me, muchacho.

#snk meta #shingeki no spoilers #snk 122 #eren jaeger #zeke jaeger #founder ymir #king fritz #congrats btw to the king #you have usurped capt gross for biggest heel in snk

[captainkurosolaire]

Royal Roast

 A regal touch captivated notes on a strung sharp violin as it played a classical melody throughout a Noble Estate held in Ishgard, each solitary note was played with impeccable accuracy a single beat wasn’t missed or left unjustified as the pace picked up and raced, it was majestically powerful the type that entranced scholars of the craft that split the conveyed emotions of man in control.

Though shortly it paused out of turn for only one, individual could prevent him from playing phenomenally, only one cretin could ruin his excellence rhythm. A being he reluctant on calling a Rival, but he held no other equal to counter-measure him. None were as stubborn to the task or drew out eye-roll inducing entertainment, not quite like the polar opposite face of the coin as him. He was everything the Noble hated, and this was the same for the Pirate as well, each of them brilliantly brought out simultaneously the worst and best out of one another. “It ceases to amaze me how you find ways-in pirate, I thought I held all the bases covered but still you exploit craftiness, why do you burden me?” The pure white-outfitted and cleanly tailored individual orderly set his instrument down and took over a stare, wishing to draw out the reason for the interruption. Studded boots landed behind and a flashing amber-hue in spectacle began looking over all the valuables and gave out a soundly loud whistle carrying a colored impressiveness. “Ahoy, mate. I came because I could use some help thought might interest you, something in relation with the Void, seems down your alley way and fits the hocus-pocus magic thing that I don’t really excel in. Kind of a bad dilemma, take it you got no clue on how to break a high-powered possession? As for how, I got in... Well, let’s just say you’ve got some quality maids who don’t get enough pay or pleasure in this overworked and clocked-place.” He swung around in his fingertips a chained key no doubt taken out of seduction.

The Keeper intelligently ignored the mention of the Void or his skills that far exceeded what was asked for his skills to assist in, this was a common theme that ran so he had little meaning to humor acceptance towards the pleader. "My aid, huh? Why should you require such? How about going to employ some pretenders at that atrocious hub called, what was it again? Quicksands, ah yes memory regains me. Perhaps you'll find a savior of Eorzea or better yet a Deity randomly leisuring in the cesspool for whatever minuscule reasoning they hold, I often hear several laughable claims each adventurer speaking foul of the fool. Then again, that explains your crew in sum..." A breathless Elezen who was recently informed of a spotted intrusion came running to his sire’s presence. Sir. Nathaelon rushed and gave an apologetic bow about to speak but the Lord gave a hand up to hold his breathe for how it was possible he snuck through, instead opting to play in the amusement of this known intruder.

The retorting turned Pirate Captain of the Seas now took his turn at the verbal showdown, "Correct me if I'm wrong matey, but... I do believe, I- my crew saved yer royal ass. Leviathan, we practically cleaned up your mess that would have never happened if you didn't thirst for power and simply called for help sooner. Instead you took the easy path, you went to murder all the competition and bark to orders, fitting seeing how, one thing you've always been is a spoiled bitc-."

"RE-FRAME FROM TONGUE, SWINE!" The highly esteemed Butler of Knighthood shouted in lit anger and drew forward.

"How about you shut yer, fluff-girl up would you so kindly fer me yer, Grace?" Turning a tilted head over directly with a verbal burn to the crowned retainer Nathaelon who was mere-moments close to drawing a blade in protection of his Excellency a snap blood-vessel popped for a devotee could not simply stand for heresy.

Responding in the first act to halt an unsavory act by allowing a sudden unrelenting cold to take in room to deliver silence to his underling as his faith was blinding and unwarranted. Shiro held a handle over the situation. Turning back to face the Captain directly, "You don't get it, every-time anything happens, YOU! Are the factor. You're a walking death bomb waiting to explode, I pity any of those who sail under your flag. We should go back through the list and see how many of your crew-mates are now seafood. How many turned their own coats and caused battles that didn't need to happen? I joined forces with your band and they destroyed our means of evidence. During the War of the Depths, your leading-engineer was in battle with one of your own... I played my part with perfection."

Searching back and drawing back his own quip, "Eh? I don't remember that cause if I recall... It was I, who picked and hauled your depleted carcass from being among tides, aye... ~ See, problem, ye got mate. Is that you've allowed the Ishgardian and prancy-fancy lifestyle mold you into a ABSOLUTE, prick. Constantly you thrive to prove to others to be an 'Elite' and you’re among this artificial ranking, Seven Hells, last I checked you had no fancy Knight accolades in yer reservoir. Rumor around is ye flunked out of the academy!” 

Talking slow and methodically his jawbones clenching up drawing in aggravation... "Listen here... Mongrel, I have no reason to explain my origins to you... Though let's unravel the point, you want my assistance. Well, let's play by the ol' pirate way. A parley... Except, you don't fight me the Cap'n, you'll fight..." His white gloved hand's would drift over pointing to the fuming Sir Nathaelon brooding between the two bitter rivals from the previous scoundrel's comment. "Beat him and you got it, I wouldn't want to make a mockery over you on such a dire request of time, not before our showdown already scheduled at the Budokai Tournament, though if you bite the dust or can't beat Nathaelon, well then you're a useless combatant for me."

Radiation of the prospect fueled the pirate and let out a joyous smirk as competition was never to be underappreciated it was a finer relish enjoyment, aside ~ From a woman strapped closely between heated flesh at bedside."Hope you can handle bigger packages lad, cause I'm a put yer Lord to shame when comes to fluffing me up... Whole-lot of man." Sizing up the suited Elezen who glowered in a fused of anger back down at the ruffian who held an ever sense of boldness, his taunt succeeding already in setting up nerves. A trick that swashbucklers attempted to win a fight before it even begun. Doesn’t take a whole lot to rile up a royal stuck-up who were fed special snowflakes as cereal .

"Then starting at dawn's new rise, we'll conclude this in a glorious duel. If you win, Solaire... I'll give you the help you desire, if you lose, never enter this Estate again uninvited or involve me in your chaotic affairs." The Noble Lord gave in his baritone addressment.

"Aye, we ave’’ a deal." The pirate signaled his agreement and took his tipped tricorne hat and delivered a bow more out of cockiness for the formality then shut audibly the door alongside his exit.

To be continued... Feat. @lordshiroelune Previous Chapters : Forever Destined Noble Trouble Steal the Moon, Pirate!

#Pirate #Noble #Duel #Parley INC #Shout out to the 500 Followers #Much love and appreciation #CKS #Tales of the Goldbrand #Roast #Flaming #Order #Freedom #Rivals #Captain Kuro Solaire #Lord Shiro Elune #Writing #Verbal Showdown #Where there is Yin there is Yang #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv #story #ffxiv balmung #RP #OC #Saving a Sol #Restoring a Moon

[imightbeapotatobutihavestandards]

He’s Hurting Me Pt 14

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15

Summary: It’s New Years Eve, Patton’s family are throwing a party to celebrate, inviting round all their family and friends

Warnings: Panic attack, also lots of Moulin Rouge references... I’m sorry okay, I love it too much, it’s becoming an issue.

Part 14

Virgil sat on the floor, curled into Roman’s side, watching Moulin Rouge as his taller boyfriend ran his hands through his hair. Behind him sat Logan and Patton on the couch, Patton had his head in the other’s lap. Logan petted him somewhat awkwardly, but was clearly endeared by the human incarnation of a kitten beside him. Virgil could hear the adults in the kitchen, he imagined his mother giggling shyly, eyes squeezed shut, glass of wine in hand. A smile crossed his face as he thought of his mom, truly happy, for the first time in too long.

The party was lively and energetic, everyone celebrating a better year to come; the Sanders always threw good parties, especially New Years. A collection of close family and friends gathered in the large, open-plan kitchen, picking at the surplus of food, chatting with everyone, attempting to dance, and essentially having a good time. Virgil knew them all, all the adults. They were like his family by this point, though a distant family, whose names you forget and aren’t entirely sure how you’re related, but still, he loved them. They treated him as family, they’d known him since he was young, and they supported him and accepted him through everything; what more could he ask for? A blood connection that meant nothing? His “real” family had shown him how easy it was to cut ties despite their similar DNA, but the Sanders had shown him compassion and love through everything. They were his family.  

And they all loved Roman, and Logan, but especially Roman, who fed off their attention. They had no issue with the fact that he and Roman were dating, Virgil (and Patton) had come out a while ago, and although they may not understand, they certainly respected them none the less. Besides, how could they miss this opportunity to tease Virgil?

“Oh, aren’t you a charmer. Virgil, you’ve got yourself a keeper.” Roman winked and Virgil groaned, covering his blushing face with his hands.

“Don’t break his heart now, will you lad? Otherwise you’ll have us to answer to.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” Roman responded.

“And he’s got manners too!” Another voice called and Roman flashed his signature smile.

“Stop everyone! You’re feeding his ego!” Virgil complained, but there was no stopping them, even his own mother joined in.

“Roman,” She suppressed a chuckle. “What are your intentions for my son?”

Meanwhile, Logan didn’t quite know how to handle all the attention, it was like he suddenly blue screened and froze.

“Oh, my, Patton! You have a boyfriend too!” Some sort of relative announced.

“What? No, I, er, we’re-“ Logan stammered, cheeks flushing as Patton giggled, not trying to help at all.

“Bless him. Sweetie, ignore her.”

“I… um…” How did he respond to that? Was it a trap?

“Not much of a talker, eh?” An entirely new relative asked. Logan shook his head.

“See! They’re perfect! Patton can talk enough for both of them. Talk you to death that one.”

“Hey!” Patton protested, indignantly.

It was good. It had been a good night. A few adults had wondered into the living room for a quick chat, a little relax, but didn’t stay long. It wasn’t that the living room was off limits, they just knew it was the “kids room.” But, Virgil was happy like that, it meant he was free to sit and cuddle his boyfriend, and watch his favourite film with his favourite people. But then, why would this feeling not go away? Why was he so lightheaded? Why was his chest tight and his heart trying to crash through his rib cage? 

Time.

Time was the answer. The passage of time. Changes were coming. He’d lose them. Logan and Patton. He’d never have this again. They’d leave him. He’d lose Roman. He’d lose what he’d only just got. He knew it was stupid, high school relationships rarely last, he only felt this way because it was new and exciting but, there was something about Roman. He didn’t want to lose this. He thought he could stay there, in Roman’s arms, forever. This had to be something real.

Virgil turned his head into Roman’s shoulder, savouring the warmth and security it offered. The taller noticed Virgil’s change in attitude, noticed the way he was shaking slightly. Roman tugged lightly at his boyfriend’s hair, pulling him up to make eye contact.

“Are you alright Storm Cloud?” He asked smoothly. He received a curt nod in response, but the honey hazel eyes told a different story.

Roman pouted, making his disbelief obvious, and moved his hand to cup Virgil’s face, stroking his cheek lovingly. Virgil could feel it; the warmth and care, it did something to him. Almost immediately he leant forward, eyes easily sliding shut, connecting their lips in a sudden surge of motion. He couldn’t help it. He was so desperate for that soft feeling of affection, of care, love, even though he knew it wouldn’t last. Roman would get bored of him. He’d hate him. Be disgusted by him. But now… now he was offering a distraction, the very best kind. The kiss was sweet, maybe a bit too short, but Virgil could still feel that warmth spread across his body. He leant their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and letting out a heavy sigh.

“Virge…” Roman breathed out carefully, clearly picking up on something. Virgil let out some sort of grunt, before burying his face in Roman’s neck, desperate to preserve the silence in his head a little bit longer.

It didn’t work.

His breathing was audibly quicker. His mind was racing. He couldn’t think. Images of his friends leaving him danced across his mind, taunting him. He balled his hands into fists, grabbing a tight hold on Roman’s shirt, clinging to it, as if it would keep him here. Roman tried running his hands through Virgil’s hair again, sending a desperate look to Patton, who sat bolt upright, eyes already filled with understanding. He knelt beside Virgil and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey Virge, can you come with me to get a drink?” Virgil nodded from his hidden position. He pushed himself backwards, kissing Roman again, only this time, it was almost apologetic.

I’m sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry I’m a burden. It won’t be long till you work this out.

Roman could practically sense the thoughts swimming through Virgil’s mind. He grabbed the other boy’s hands reassuringly, only letting go once he’d fully stood up and begun to follow Patton out.

However, once the pair were outside, Patton didn’t lead them to the lively kitchen, but instead the stairs. Patton plopped himself down on a step, tapping the space next to him. Virgil complied without questioning, tugging his hoody sleeves over his hands as he sat.

“You wanna talk, kiddo?”

Virgil considered it, but he wasn’t sure where to start. Besides, Patton had heard it all before. His fear for what was to come. Falling out of touch. Losing those closest to him. Just, the future in general. It had always terrified Virgil. Patton had reassured him countless times he’d never lose contact with him, that it was okay to not know what you wanted, or what the future held. But now… now it was different. Now there was more. More to lose.

“…I-I really do care about Roman, and Logan. I didn’t think I’d get to so close to them so quickly. But I am, and it’s scary Patton.” Virgil admitted, while Patton placed a firm, reassuring hand on his back.

“I know Virgil. I know it feels like you have so much more to lose now, but kiddo, how do you know you’re going to lose them? I mean, it’s a lot easier to stay in contact now. And I’m sure neither of them want to fall out of contact with you, I know I don’t. You’ll still have us, Virge. You’ll always have us.”

“But… what  if…” Virgil swallowed back his fear, forcing the words out. “What about when Roman and I break up?”

“Why does it have to be ‘when?’” Patton asked, calmly.

Virgil shrugged. “Because I’m me, and he’s him. We’re gonna grow up, he’s gonna move away, and realise how much better off he is without me. How he can get anyone 10 times better than me. I have to be realistic with myself; high school relationships don’t last. He’ll move on and forget about me.” He swallowed again, taking in a gulp of air. When did it become difficult to breathe? When did the air become so thick and heavy?

“It’s alright, you’re alright Virgil. Breathe for me, okay?” Patton’s voice was calming, almost melodic, grounding.

“Okay.” Virgil replied, forcing himself to focus on timing his breaths.

“First of all , there is no such thing as better than you, you’re perfect the way you are. Don’t make me fight you.” Virgil chuckled. “Secondly, you are right, realistically, not many high school relationships last. But, in my opinion, the very nature of love isn’t realistic. It’s idealistic, it’s fantastical, it defies all logic and sense entirely. You never know where it’ll lead you Virge, just be open to it, let yourself enjoy what you have. If you and Roman break up, it’ll be hard, but probably for the best, and you can move past it. It doesn’t have to be something you regret it.”

Virgil remained silently for a while, looking at the floor, before begrudgingly nodding. He tried to fight that small, fleeting feeling of hope that fluttered inside him.

“How’re you feeling?” Patton asked.

“Still a bit…” The younger boy held his hand up flat, shaking it slightly. “…meh.”

“You wanna stay here for a bit, kiddo?”

“Would we be able to, actually get a drink. I need some water.” He laughed sheepishly.

“Sure thing.” Patton smiled, standing and heading towards the noise of the kitchen.

The kitchen was alive with laughter, music and movement. Virgil stood near the sink, brain still buzzing, cradling his cool glass of water. As he waited for Patton to return from the table stacked with food, he caught sight of something that made him light up; his mother. She was stood with Patton’s mom and another woman, her face was painted a slight red, eyes scrunched together, with a smile so wide it was dazzling. Virgil felt something inside him soften, something unwound and let him breathe. It was okay. He was okay.

Once they returned, neither Logan nor Roman said anything, much to Virgil’s relief. They simply let them settle back into their positions, and allowed silence to fall… until that very familiar scene began to play. Roman gasped and leapt to his feet, grabbing one of Virgil’s cold hands.

“Never knew, I could feel like this,” Roman sang effortlessly, his beautiful voice flowing gently. Deep, soft, fluttering. “Like I’ve never seen the sky, before. Want to vanish inside your kiss.” Roman tugged at Virgil’s hand slightly, pulling him up onto his feet. Roman continued to serenade Virgil, who’s cheeks were tinted pink and was cursing himself for not wearing foundation this one time. Roman’s voice easily jumped note to note, filling the room… then they got to the chorus.

“Come what may,

Come what may

I will love you, until my dying days.”

For some reason, after all of Virgil’s worrying, the words and Roman’s honest expression, seemed to ease him. He knew it was stupid, they were words written for a musical, a musical that had nothing to do with his life, but when Roman sang them with such sincerity, coupled with his practically sparkling eyes… Virgil was helpless to stop himself as his defences crumbled before him, and he gave in entirely, opening his mouth and singing the next verse with Roman. Virgil may have had to strain his voice slightly to hit some of the notes, but he was complimented by Roman’s deeper voice joining him, and Virgil couldn’t help that smile on his face. Sure, his voice wasn’t as smooth of as powerful as Roman’s , maybe he was messing up the occasional note, but he really didn’t care. Roman could see the slight struggles so flawlessly raised his pitch, taking Satine’s part and allowing Virgil the notes that better suited his voice.  

Virgil giggled as Roman spun him slowly, Patton was practically screeching , shaking Logan while spouting about how cute it was… Logan looked ready to stab someone. Logan wasn’t really one for romance, or musicals, Moulin Rouge was certainly not his choice of film… though he would admit his friend’s did make a cute couple, now if Patton could stop-

Virgil and Roman continued to be entirely enveloped in the music, and each other’s presence. Their hearts felt so much lighter, airier. For one moment, the weights they’d be carrying with them, expectations, worries, rules, all seemed to melt away and fade into the background, because all that mattered was each other. It’s difficult to describe the feeling you get when singing with someone, getting so lost in the sound it can feel like sharing your soul through words that were never yours. It’s like writing a story with someone who knows exactly what you want to say, when you’re at a loss for words they can articulate it with exact care and precision. It’s like being entirely entwined with a person, only for a few a minutes, but in that moment you know each other so completely.

Eventually the song came to a close, leaving Roman and Virgil starring at each other, grinning brightly, despite what was on the screen behind them.

***

All the adults had filed into the living room, ad were currently crowding and squishing themselves into any possible space. People were on arms of couches, perched on windowsills, sat on the coffee table, while some adults simply stood. All eyes were fixed on the TV as the countdown began, at the very front of everyone were the four friend’, huddled together after being displaced from their previous seats.

“10, 9, 8, 7,6-“ Everyone was cheering, waiting and counting, confetti clutched in one hand and the other around someone’s shoulders.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1-“ The noise was so loud, Virgil found himself lost in it; fireworks, music, cheering, and confetti sprinkling over the room like explosions of colour. For once, he didn’t feel anxious in the noise and the mayhem, instead, he laughed at the familiar chaos.

Roman slug an around Virgil’s waist, pulling him closer, then cupped Virgil’s cheek with his other hand. That was the moment Virgil remembered; people typically kissed on New Years. Virgil’s arms immediately found their way to rest on Roman’s shoulders, as he leaned backwards slightly. Roman smiled, bringing his arm down to support his boyfriend, dipping him, before pressing their lips together in a soft kiss.

The energy around them was… mad, family members laughing, cheering, “aww”-ing, and toasting with the glasses of champagne that were being passed around.

Once the couple had pulled away, expectant eyes turned on the other pair, waiting with joking, daring grins. Patton shrugged, before grabbing an unsuspecting Logan’s shoulders, standing on tip-toes, and pecking the other boy’s cheek. The family cheered again, with other couples turning and following suit, more cheers and laughs breaking out. Patton giggled slightly, looking down innocently… Logan essentially blue screened again. Bright red painted the taller boys cheeks, but he smiled, looking endearingly at his friend.

Suddenly, two thin arms wrapped around Virgil, arms he recognised immediately. He turned towards his mother, giving her a tight hug back, rocking from foot to foot as she began talking to him in mere whispers. “I love you too, mom.” He’d murmur into her back every once and a while.

Thomas also appeared from seemingly nowhere, engulfing Patton in a hug. Fairly soon his parents were there too, and the whole family laughed as they shared a large group hug. In the commotion and hugs, people stepped between the friends, somehow causing Roman and Logan to get pushed towards the outside of everything. It was at that moment when it dawned on them, that they were surrounded by almost complete strangers. Kind strangers. But strangers none the less. This was the first time they weren’t with their families for New Years.

And their families didn’t care.

Roman’s parents were also hosting a party; an elaborate, formal party that was more like a colourful business meeting. They say they wanted Roman there, but he knew they were dying for a chance to get rid of him, so they wouldn’t have to mention their disappointment of a son. Wouldn’t have to cast him those dirty looks, cut in his speech, won’t have to keep a sharp eye out to stop him from making a mistake. As for Logan, well, Logan had been sleeping in Patton’s room on a spare mattress for a week or two by now. He hadn’t dared go home, he was too scared of what he might find. He knew he couldn’t burden the Sanders forever, but currently, he had no other home to go to.

Something dark temporarily set in, a longing for this to be their constant reality, a longing to forget what they had to return to. They both shared a glance, knowing each other’s thoughts.

But Roman couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have his friend feeling bad on New Years Day! A smug grin slowly found it’s way to his face, an idea sparking in his head. Logan was instantly able to follow his train of thought; eyes widening and holding up his hands.

“Don’t you dare.”

Roman answered by throwing his arms around the taller’s shoulders, dragging him down and planting a slight sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“Happy New Years, Specs!” Roman beamed, still holding the squirming boy in his arms.

Logan sighed begrudgingly, giving up his fight. “Happy New Years, Roman.”

Taglist:

@bunny222 @smedenn @beautifully-terribly @hellomusicalnerdhere @its-jambi-baby @rainbow-sides @awkwardangie410 @bluebloodstains @sopi-montezzz @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @toomuchandnotenough @angeredturtle @roman-is-a-dramatic-prince @madly-handsome @candisukas @hanramz-the-fander @beach-fan @average-everyday-sane-pyscho @inan-sanders @oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall @choppedexperbonkfire @pattonistooprecious @purpleshipper @the-life-ofa-troubled-ace @smileydog101 @daughterofsomnus @a-time-traveling-whovian @galaxygals @thatrandomautist @gay-glitter-bomb @amazable01 @blueeyedscorpion @anxious-huffle-puff @luarpice @biacetrash @astral-eclipse @fandoms-winkitywonk @her-royal-crayness @thefallendog @lionlickers05 @cochroachkappa-blog @ohwaitimtrash @impossiblepentagon

#thomas sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides au #highschool au #He's Hurting Me #prinxiety #logicality #eventually #Ish #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders

[phantasticlizzy]

One Hundred Ways To Say I Love You

in a relationship, there are 100 different ways to say ‘i love you’. here are some of them.

14. Can I have this dance?

thanks to @leblonde​ for sending a number!

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13208547/chapters/30415890

His mum is looking at him again from across the table and Dan finds himself, not for the first time that night, fixing his tie and combing his hair between his fingers, trying to soothe whatever her motherly concerns may be.

There is something observant about her look, and maybe a little judgmental, although that could be just him. Dan learned long ago not to count on his instincts when it comes to his parents (he always had trouble being neutral, but at least now he’s able to admit it).

They’re at a wedding. His cousin’s wedding to be exact. It was a small ceremony and he knows most of the people there and everyone knows him (even that one auntie that he’s pretty sure he’s never ever met before, but by the way she pinches his cheek and shoves a 10 pound bill into his pocket he’s probably wrong).

He’s there with his close family. His dad is sitting in front of him next to his mum, and he looks so bored Dan thinks he might actually fall asleep with his face in his plate of pudding and cause the new great pudding debacle of 2018. (after the great pudding debacle of 2011 when uncle George slipped and fell with a huge dish of pudding in his arms everybody were on their toes).

Dan’s mum, besides constantly shooting Dan glances, is busy making hushed comments to her indifferent looking husband about the aging of various relatives, while playing with the straps of her new navy blue dress (“I don’t look old like her, right?” “No dear,”).

Dan’s brother is sitting to his left. Or at least he was until about 15 minutes ago when he got up with a purpose and left the table to go flirt with the younger sister of the bride (not blood related, of course).

And then, there was Phil. Sitting to his right, wearing a black suit and hunched over a plate filled with different sweets, munching without a care in the world.

Phil. His boyfriend. His Partner. His Plus one.

It’s still feels weird for Dan bringing him along to these kind of events. Awakens old anxieties and defensiveness he hasn’t quite experienced in the last year or two.

Most of the people there know about the two of them, Dan knows that. (He personally made sure that his family knew exactly who that lad with the black hair Dan was always hanging around with was a few years ago while having a small nervous breakdown. Not the best way to come out, he knows, but it did do the job). And those who don't were instructed not to take any pictures without permission, so that Dan and Phil could enjoy themselves without having to overthink every move (Dan was assured that by his cousin, more than a few times, before agreeing to come with Phil).

And still, it is hard to stop his eyes from wandering. Looking for that camera flash or listening for that whisper or trying to catch a pointing finger directed his way (there are none, of course, like he was promised. It doesn't stop him from searching).

But they aren’t really hiding anymore, Dan reminds himself. Not actively, not like they used to. So what if he comes with his partner to a family gathering? He’s allowed to. Everyone in that room seemed happy for him when he and Phil entered together, and not even one person made an offensive comment (at least not to his face).

And he was promised, assured, that nothing will leave the wedding hall. That he is allowed, for once, to relax and enjoy his time with his family. His entire family.

So really, what is stopping him from letting go?

His thoughts are interrupted by the sight of a pale hand sneaking into his plate of sweets and grabbing the last butter cookie quickly, snatching it from under his nose before he has a chance to react.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He exclaims, shocked by the audacity.

Phil doesn’t even have the decency to swallow the stolen cookie before answering, covering his mouth with his hands. “I thought you weren’t eating that!” he defends, dropping his hands after swallowing loudly. “You were staring into space for quite some time. And the cookie was just lying there, all lonely and craving attention, I did you a favor.”

“Oh, did you now?”

There are a few crumbs on the corner of Phil’s mouth. That in itself is a regular occurrence. Phil is always a messy eater. Really, Dan can’t take him anywhere. And usually, when they were out in public, Dan would just simply hand him a napkin and say some offhand comment like “clean yourself up mate,” and Phil would giggle and wipe his entire face and ask “did I get it?” (He usually didn’t).

But they’re not really in public today. Not like they usually are, and there is a wedding going on around them and the bride and groom are dancing amongst all their loved once just a few meters away and his mum just shot him another unreadable look. And maybe, just maybe he’s feeling a little sentimental because he’s reaching his hand forward and wiping Phil’s mouth with his thumbs.

“This is just cruel. Stealing my cookie and then leaving all those crumbs smeared on your face to taunt me,” he says once he pulls away.

Phil’s face is neutral but his eyes flash surprise for the quickest second before he grins. Teeth and tongue poking out of his mouth and all. “Yeah that’s me, I’m savage like that.”

Dan crinkle his nose. “Don’t say savage Phil, it sounds wrong coming out of your mouth.”

In the background, he registers the DJ saying something about the last song of the night and he sees his mum from the corner of his eye pulling on his dad’s arm before they both get up and join the dance floor.

And he’s feeling a little bit careless and a little bit brave and probably a lot in love because he can’t think of one good reason not to join them.

“Can I have this dance?” he asks Phil and he can’t quite stop his voice from sounding sarcastic and mocking, but he knows Phil understands because he’s grinning again and shrugging his shoulders, reaching his hand out for Dan to take.

They make their way to the dance floor and Dan can feel his hand sweating around Phil’s because even though most of the people there don’t spare them a glance some people are looking, they are, but when Dan looks closer he sees that their looks are fond and encouraging and either way it shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t want it to.

Phil is squeezing his hand and then lets it go to wrap his arms around Dan’s neck, giving him a cheeky smirk.

They don’t do this a lot. Being who they are they don’t really get that many chances and except a few drunken nights in their apartment swaying in each other’s arms he can’t really remember the last time they did this. (Swaying is a generous word, he thinks. More giggling and trying to step on each other’s feet by “accident”). But the music is slow and nice and there’s not much he needs to do other than wrap his arms around Phil’s waist and move a bit from side to side. And really, even he can do that.

“Having a good day?” Phil asks him. He looks happy and a little bit pink in the cheeks and a strand of his hair falls from his neat fringe and lays against his eyebrows, and Dan just reaches out to tuck it back in place. Because he can. He’s allowed.

“It’s alright I guess,” he says with a shrug, but he’s smiling too as he keeps swaying them to the song from side to side.

Phil leans forward, not for a kiss because that might still be too much for them at this point, but he lays his head on Dan’s shoulder and presses their chests together, stepping on Dan’s foot in the proses.

“Oops,” he says, but there’s still a smile to his voice and Dan can’t help but laugh.

“You’re like a new born giraffe. Learn to use your bloody legs.” But he still wraps his arms tighter around Phil’s waist, not letting him take a step back.

He can see his mum looking at him again, dancing in a similar position with his dad not far away from them. This time she’s smiling at him proudly, gives him a small thumbs up.

He feels Phil’s fingers squeezing at the back of his head, turning his face a bit to hide in his neck. “I’m having a really good day,” Phil says quietly against his skin.

And really, that’s all Dan can ask for.

#phan #phanfiction #fluff #one hundred ways to say i love you

[eldritchsurveys]

o93.

I made a little survey based off the characters of Shameless. Contains spoilers. by foxandforest Fiona: Have you ever made one mistake that keeps coming back to haunt you? >> I’m contractually obliged to take this because I love this show. I’m glad Jimmy has finally disappeared, because I have no idea what this question is in actual reference to, but to me he is definitely one of Fiona’s biggest haunting mistakes. (Please don’t tell me his ass comes back at the end of s8 or some shit just to fuck with me.) Anyway, no, I don’t think so. Most of my bigger mistakes I only make a couple of times before I start wising up. Lip: Are you the first person in your family to do something? Or have you made a decision that surprised your loved ones? >> I’m sad Lip didn’t stay in college, but he’s a good lad. He did what he felt was right. I’m still proud of him. I don’t think I’m the first in my immediate family to do anything, except maybe commit to a lifelong astral roadtrip with bastard gods. Heh. Debbie: Name one wise and mature thing you have done, then name one foolish and immature thing you have done. >> Debbie need to let that man of hers go and stop treating him like a babysitter, but she does seem to be doing a rather okay job with Franny otherwise, even though she’s literally never home, lmfao? I don’t know what’s going on there. Anyway, I don’t really know how to measure my decisions like that. That’s an easier judgement call to make when you’re standing on the outside. Carl: Is there a person or cause that you care about, and you feel like you’re fighting for it all by yourself? >> I applaud Carl’s discipline and stick-to-it-tiveness, but like... the fuckin military, man. Anyway, no, I don’t feel that way about anything. Ian: Is there a commitment that you couldn’t handle and have given up on? >> I was really afraid Ian was going to lose that EMT job, but he’s doing good, it seems! Now, to fix the Trevor thing... Anyway, yeah, I had to renege on my commitment to a relationship that proceeded far more intensely and consumingly (shut up, I know that’s not a word, but it is one for my purposes right now) than I could have fathomed. I don’t regret the effort, but I did learn that I have more limits than I assumed I did. 

Frank: If you learned that your favorite activity would kill you if you continued, would you give it up? >> Y’all do realise that Frank is literally unkillable, right? Anyway, that depends on how it would kill me, and how long it would take. I know alcohol causes bodily harm, but I also know that there are a lot of variables that contribute to how much harm it causes and how long it takes for that harm to manifest as actual illness, and so on and so forth. So, yes -- drinking will definitely kill me. But with any luck, and with low consumption, maybe it’ll wait 25 or so years before it starts trying in earnest. The bottom line is that everything and anything on this planet or in this body is liable to kill me at any time, and my duty is to weigh the risks against the benefits and make the best decision I can make for the life I want to live. Monica: Have you ever apologized to someone and they rejected it? Did you try again? >> On the flip side, Monica never has to worry about trying to apologise to anyone ever again. *slaps knee* But yeah, I wouldn’t accept one from her, either. I get what her deal was but I sure as fuck wouldn’t have to like it. Anyway, I don’t think so. I mean, no one’s flat-out said to me “fuck your apology” or anything like that, unless it was in the heat of the moment literally right after the thing happened (in which case, I mean, fuck you too but also fair). Liam: Who took care of you when you were a baby/little kid? Are they still around? >> LOL remember when Liam got into that coke Anyway, I was raised by my father. Yeah, he’s still around. I should probably call him very soon. Mickey: Have you come to terms with something about yourself? When did you finally accept this fact? >> I do still miss Mickey’s ornery ass. He did come a long way in a short time. I mean, I come to terms with things about myself all the time. Life is an ongoing process of learning. It’s not even remarkable to me anymore. Mandy: If you wanted to booty-call any of your exes, would they oblige? >> I wouldn’t do that, though. That ain’t my style. I’m pretty much celibate in regards to actual humans anyway, thanks to a lot of factors (none of which have anything to do with anyone except me, so). Amanda: Have you ever dated or hung out with someone just to make someone else upset? >> Who was this again? LMAO Anyway, no. Sheila: Do you find it rewarding to take care of people? >> LOL FUCKIN SHEILA. Anyway, I don’t know. It wasn’t rewarding to take care of Tommy, and that’s all I know. Sammi: Even when it comes to extended family members, do you feel a certain obligation to your family? >> Here’s another character I’m glad I never have to see again (HOPEFULLY). I don’t feel a single iota of familial obligation. I honestly never have, not even to the man who raised me. I love and respect him because he actually dedicated his retired years to raising me instead of doing what my mother did, and that’s it -- I’d feel the same way even if we weren’t blood-related. But like, the sense of obligation towards people who share one’s DNA? I’ve never felt that a day in my life. (Which is good, because a lot of those people are fucking terrible.) Chuckie: What is something about you that might make it difficult for someone to become friends with you? >> I’m emotionally distant and not terribly invested in being liked by most people. Like, it’s nice, but I’m not necessarily going to work for it or jump through any hoops.  Kevin: Are you concerned about war or extreme violence in society? >> I LOVE KEV I’m only concerned about it in the sense that I don’t want to be caught in a situation of extreme violence, or be caught in a warzone. Otherwise, my concern regarding war and violence is of a pragmatic, “humans probably shouldn’t do this to each other” sort of sense -- but not necessarily an emotionally invested one. Veronica: When it comes to relationships, how important is marriage to you? What about having children? >> I LOVE V Marriage isn’t terribly important to me, but Sparrow seems pretty into it and I’m not against it, so, you know. Children are of shifting importance to me -- I do want to participate in a child’s life, but sometimes I think it’s a bad idea because of how emotionally distant I can be, or because of how easily overstimulated I am by stuff like noise and constant social contact. I don’t know. I guess every prospective parent suffers trepidation (I wouldn’t trust one that was overconfident, tbh), so it doesn’t necessarily mean I shouldn’t do it. It just means I should make sure I have help. (Sparrow only partially counts because she’d be the working parent.) Svetlana: Have you ever disliked a person because they dated someone you liked? >> I can’t believe V had to sic ICE on Putin’s Paradise, oh my god. (Like, fuck ICE to hell and back, but that was hilarious.) And no, I’ve never felt that way. Jimmy: Have you ever watched a show where a character unexpectedly came back from the dead? >> Jimmy, please stay gone this time, I beg thee. Anyway, yeah, that happens in media I watch all the time. Remember, if you don’t see an unmistakable corpse, there’s always a chance.

#surveys #survey #shameless survey