#and it's best to say it outright rather than be miserable and play along...

[dmclemblems]

if it's alright, can i ask why you like dimi/claude so much? like, the particular reasons you like them lol hope that doesn't come off as "how the hell do you like them" kind of thing

Yeee, tis fine! I feel like I’ll probably miss some of the reasons why I love them so much, but I’ll try to cover everything.

uh oh it got beeg

Things from the game itself:

I like that they hang out together sometimes (in the main story and in the DLC), when the lords don’t usually hang out together in their free time. Out of all the combinations of them, only Dimitri and Claude hang out together (with a story based exception during the DLC with Dimitri and Edelgard that never gets touched upon again even though it’s actually important and story relevant). There’s also the implication that they train/spar together in GD, with Dimitri saying “as ever” he has proven to be no match for Claude. During the “going to GM cutscene”, they’re walking together and talking together (a theme that Nintendo uses in their official art in almost every official of the three lords lmao).

Claude’s crest symbol is a moon, and Dimitri’s route is called Azure Moon (which is also coincidentally the only route they’re able to ally in because Dimitri dies in VW)

They’re a package deal in the game and in official art from Nintendo! Cipher promotions? Both of them got plastered on it together. The 2019 happy holidays artwork? Sitting down together while Edelgard is standing up (with Dimitri ??? staring at Claude with this oddly happy and dreamy look??? hey, Nintendo???). the artwork of Edelgard turning around while the lords are walking, but she’s behind the other two who are both walking together and talking? And... so on.

Another instance of “damn, how much time do you actually spend together where we aren’t aware of it” is Dimitri referring to Claude as his “friend” in the DLC to Aelfric. That point of the game is still very early on, but Dimitri doesn’t just toss the word “friend” around with everyone. He uses other terms like acquaintance, companion/companionship, etc. Rather than use any similar words for Claude, he just outright uses “friend”, and he doesn’t use that term unless he really believes it.

In the game itself, the start of it is Edelgard almost being killed and Byleth protects her, but with the other two nowhere to be seen for... some reason. When Edelgard is safe, suddenly they both come running up together and smile at each other like “lol sorry we got distracted by each other’s beauty but hey glad you’re both safe uwu”. Listen, it’s a tiny thing but WHEN IT ADDS up...!

Very cute moment for me when, if you’re playing GD, Dimitri takes a keen interest in Claude’s “schemes”. Most people consider his supposed schemes to be a bad thing and dread it openly. Dimitri is just out here like ooo tell me more, I wanna know! 

During the mock battle, Claude tries to tease him and fails miserably. By the time of the actual Battle of the Eagle and Lion (and Deer, wah wah), Dimitri is used to Claude’s teasing and jokes with him! Instead of a deadpan response where he just doesn’t know Claude well enough to know how he behaves, this time Dimitri is used to him and responds to him with a more “lol okay Claude” vibe. It’s much more apparent in the JP dialogue that he’s aware Claude is teasing/joking, but he goes along with it.

There’s a bit more of a rivalry between Dimitri and Edelgard, oddly. Even this early, he’s seeing her as more of an adversary (maybe to foreshadow, since the BotEaL had a boatload of foreshadowing) and seeing it as a more serious competition. With Claude, he’s much more relaxed and seeing their battle as more of a test of skill and mutual gain to learn from. He says he will “happily” battle Claude and urges him not to hold back. In contrast, he tells Edelgard that the thought of fighting her is “troubling at best” and is bothered by her “joke” (Claude jokes with him too and he’s much more receptive. Edelgard’s “joking” was more foreshadowing, but he doesn’t take well to it and that same joke/response happens again after the battle too). The direction of both conversations is the polar opposite, and he doesn’t feel at ease when fighting her.

Following that, his relationship with Edelgard is tense, and it’s a huge contrast to how he feels around Claude. That is, notably, whenever him and Edelgard interact there’s a wall between them (such as when she’s walking by with Manuela, going to their mission, and her and Dimitri have a misunderstanding that ends in a tense ending to their conversation) Due to their circumstances, their relationship is pretty rocky even during the first half of the game in BL. Throughout the first half of the game, this aspect of their relationship is static (until of course he finds out her identity as the Flame Emperor and it just goes downhill from there). Then we have him and Claude, where starting at the mock battle, Dimtiri misses Claude’s silly behavior and is more serious about the battle as mentioned before. Over time though he’s obviously learned what Claude is like, and during the official battle you can clearly see a difference in Dimtiri’s overall attitude when he hears Claude joke with him. This time he knows what to expect and is receptive to Claude’s behavior, going along with it and being glad to have this battle with him. His demeanor toward Edelgard, however, doesn’t change at all. He still doesn’t like the idea of fighting her seriously, nor takes well to her “jokes” and  yet seems to see her as more of an adversary to overcome. Around Claude, Dimtiri has more friendly vibes in both their routes and is pretty open to learning about Claude and talking to him casually.

Kind of a small instance but with a little more meaning to me?: them fighting side by side at Garreg Mach when the Empire invades. Dimitri was in his Very Nutty state, and even more so if you’re playing BL. He’s so out of it that Dedue has to direct everyone in his place. Due to the BLs knowing what he’s going through, you’d think at least one of them would be keeping an eye on him during the battle. Instead, it’s Claude he’s fighting alongside! Dimitri was very expressive about wanting to be the one to reach Edelgard in that battle, but the cutscene shows him with Claude, rather than rushing for Edelgard.

Gronder! Even though Dimitri gives out his famous, stolen-from-Miklan-because-Miklan-said-it-first-and-apparently-inspired-Dimitri-to-use-it-later-in-life line, “kill every last one of them”, his actual dialogue with Claude is very different from that (on both routes). All he says is that he wants Claude to move and has no time to talk. If he meant it that he really wanted to kill people from the Alliance or didn’t care about Claude as a person, he would have tried to run him down for getting in his way. Claude even said he wouldn’t budge, which normally would prompt Dimtiri at that point to attack him and kill him to get him out of the way. In AM Claude retreats when defeated, but Dimitri lets him escape and doesn’t mind at all that he’s fleeing. Because of that you can specifically clarify that Dimitri doesn’t think of him as an enemy, because he chases enemies down and kills them at that point (remember all those dead soldiers we were hearing about early into the timeskip?). When Edelgard tries to escape, Dimitri doesn’t just let her go without attempting to follow her. This clarifies that he sees her as an enemy, because again, he’ll chase down anyone considers his enemy. When Claude left, even though he can intentionally stand in Dimitri’s way, Dimitri won’t kill him even though he probably could.

When Claude requests aid, he doesn’t ask for Byleth’s help. He doesn’t ask for Seteth or the Church’s help (which is working with Byleth/the Kingdom and the direct enemies of the Empire). He asks for the Kingdom’s aid. This Dimitri centric view continues through all of chapter 19, with him specifically believing in Dimitri and his mentality.

Hurray Failnaught! Normally characters give their Relics to Byleth (for game mechanic/convoy purposes), but Claude gives him specifically to Dimitri. Since he plans to leave Fodlan and return to Almyra where they don’t fight with these weapons, he likely feels he has no reason to bring it with him. Instead, he leaves it with someone he trusts both with his family heirloom and Fodlan itself. Claude doesn’t trust easily, but he had faith that Dimitri would finish the war and restore Claude’s second home.

In the same chapter, Claude... somehow knows a LOT about Dimitri. Obviously he learned everything offscreen and we don’t know how or why, but not only does he know that Dimitri can still be reasoned with (Teach will talk and he’ll listen), suggesting that he’s aware that the person Dimitri was is not gone despite the meeting they had in Gronder, but during the “here have my family heirloom” scene, he tells Dimitri that the dead cling to them without regard for their own/the living’s lives. During the Academy phase we don’t have any indication that he knows what’s going on with Dimitri... but then, I recall them fighting side by side during the invasion of the monastery, so perhaps Claude started to put the pieces together if he was able to see the state Dimitri was in. Canon? Not necessarily, but it’s something I consider when I want to answer why Claude knows this stuff about Dimitri when Dimitri didn’t tell him about it.

Yes, Teach will talk and he’ll listen, but by then Dimitri had already  made the decision to help the Alliance- er, well, Claude. The Alliance itself? Hm. Claude? Yes, let’s go help Claude-- er, the Alliance, he means! The Alliance! But... but also Claude! Okay, I’m kind of joking. Kind of. A lil bit. By which I mean, Dimitri is very vocal about saving Claude more than he is the Alliance. Leave the latter part to Lorenz, I guess. It’ll make him happy and that would make me happy!

So, on the topic of him already making the decision to go aid Claude, not only was Claude correct, but Dimitri literally went to begin their march to the Alliance the next day after they recaptured their own capital. They celebrated and then the very next day he’s like “uh yeah sorry for this guys, but Claude wants our help so we’re leaving. Now. Pack your things. If you’re not ready in ten I’m leaving without you. Claude needs help.” I’M JOKING. Mostly. A lil bit.

They reach the battle destination and Dimitri is uh, very specific that “they will not let Claude die”. He only recently came out of his nommy nom, chewy enemies state, and he’s already over here like hell nah we ain’t lettin’ Claude die. I didn’t spare him at Gronder for nothin’. Let’s go, let’s go!

Claude, who he doesn’t know nearly as well as the BLs, “crosses too many dangerous bridges for his liking”. For sure, Claude does some risky things, but he’s not someone who is within Dimitri’s immediate friend group. All the same, Dimitri worries about him (a lot in this chapter, too) and expresses that he doesn’t like Claude taking these kind of risks (that could endanger his life).

“This must be one of your jokes”. Not sure Claude was ever really one to often make jokes that we know of? The way it’s phrased, “one of your jokes”, sounds like more of an inside thing? As in, “I know you well enough to know you behave like this”, kind of thing. Doesn’t sound like much, until I start adding up all the times they’re together/talking to each other. For reference, times such as ones I’ve mentioned in this post (walking to GM with Byleth between them and Edelgard, if you’re playing GW Dimitri implies he’s sparred with Claude and uses “as ever” as if to say it happens often enough that it’s a familiar result, them hanging out during their free time after the mock battle, them fighting side by side during the invasion of GM even though Dimitri insisted he was going to basically rush the battle and ker-slice Edelgard’s head off and show up at Enbarr with it in hand...) Suddenly it doesn’t seem so odd that they might know each other a little bit more than the story that we get to see lets on. Even if it was small talk, enough of that and enough sparring/fighting alongside each other would add up enough for them to start learning things about each other.

Kudos to Dimitri for being the only person in the game that gets a pet name from Claude. Teach is just a casual way of saying “professor”, and “princess” is literally what Edelgard is. Princeliness is... Quite A Title I Guess. “Princess” is dropped and Claude refers to Edelgard as just Edelgard in the timeskip, but Dimtiri gets a nickname update! Now he’s “Kingliness” instead!

Some Hopes ones (I shipped them way  before Hopes was a thing but these made me happy!):

Background similarities! In Hopes if you play AG, they talk very early on (before the timeskip) about Dimitri’s life after the Tragedy. To sum it up, he was being targeted by his own family with murder attempts and he was very isolated (one NPC describes it as nearly being like house arrest with how isolated he was). Even if you don’t consider Hopes to be too much canon with its character background lore, the isolation part checks because in Houses, Dimitri says he didn’t have any friends left after the Tragedy. He only had Dedue for companionship after that in the castle itself, unable to see his other friends as often due to them living in different territories.

Another similarity from Your Hopes Truly is Dimitri being paranoid on expeditions. As he puts it, he “can't help but peer over his shoulder lest an assassin lodges his blade in his back”. He’s literally paranoid of assassins... a lot like how Claude sleeps with a knife under his pillow. :’( They both worry a lot about having to be vigilant because they could die at any time. Even though Edelgard is also royalty, her trauma expresses itself differently and she doesn’t worry about assassins as outwardly (possible also because she has Hubert around, who would be more likely to catch assassins lurking around than the people around Dimitri and Claude). I’m sure she knows people will be after her because she’s royalty, but she doesn’t worry about it in the same way.

This one is more recent and Hopes based, but in AG the game decides to be Big Dumb and is like “nobody in the BL house trusts Claude... for some... reason...” but Dimitri is gung ho adamant that they can trust Claude. His portrait even switches to his smiling portrait! “I’ve never known him to be a liar” despite how little time they had together at the Academy in this game is a big amount of trust imo.

On the same note, AG is like a mirror of AM’s chapter 19! Claude trusts Dimitri and that he will show up to help. In AG, they need the Alliance’s help and Dimitri trusts Claude to show up without question. When the Alliance shows up and Claude isn’t there, he wonders where Claude is, and when Claude does show up being the smart little sneaky not-literal-bastard-because-he’s-actually-a-legitimate-child bastard he is, Dimitri is like :D I knew you would come no matter what. This man literally implicitly trusts Claude. Sounds like someone had a crush when they were younger... Now his crush is helping them and he’s all bubbly and excited inside... uwu... uwu... UWU...

More Hopes stuff despite the bad writing moments. In SB, Claude confronts Edelgard because they were so focused on locating Rhea that they didn’t even consider Dimitri’s motivations for being part of that battle. His portrait is even his upset portrait for them “not even sparing a thought for Dimitri’s motivations”, in his exact words. He’s not all too happy that they were so determined by their goal that they didn’t consider Dimitri, specifically.

Similarly, if you get the Arval chapter, Dimtiri worries for Claude’s safety if Claude tries to take the Church out of power. Despite that Dimitri lists off reasons why That’s A Really Fucking Bad Idea, he also includes that he doesn’t want Claude to be in danger, and their discussion ultimately ends with Claude saying “you really are too good for me!”. Claude, that’s sus.

Not game specific, but motivated by the contents of the game:

Claude is a very casual person, and Dimtiri wants that in his relationships (of any kind). Actually, he repeatedly asks people to be casual with him and doesn’t want to be treated like a prince. In no way does Claude treat him like a prince and just treats him exactly the way Dimtiri would prefer, without even having to be asked to do so. This is part of what makes me wonder if the reason Dimitri is so receptive to Claude and why they bounce so well off each other’s personalities, despite seeming so different in demeanor, is because Dimitri experiences those kind of informal exchanges with him that most others won’t grant him.

More often than not, even in GD, Claude expresses being an outsider. That means that even though the people around him are mostly/generally pretty chill with him (i.e. his GD classmates just treat him like another classmate and not the foreigner in the class), he still doesn’t feel totally accepted there. Likely, it’s the little things he picks up about them, such as Hilda’s negative comments about Almyra. They’re pretty chill together, but he’s Almyran, and royalty at that, yet she doesn’t know that. For him, that could be like, okay so she’s one of the people I proooobably should definitely not tell my identity to, like, ever. I’m not saying Hilda specifically is the only person he would have to be wary of, but the problem is still there.

On the other hand, Dimitri... literally does not give a fuck who is a foreigner and who is not. More than anyone else besides, equally, Claude, he pushes to have people from other lands seen as equals to those in Fodlan and wants them to be just as accepted.

Also, Claude’s post timeskip advice box:

What did these two do, share notes? Pass notes in class? Skip class and hang out in the bathroom while they skipped?

To be specific, Dimitri highlights all aspects that Claude guns for too. He hates that he’s been hated all his life for his lineage and never saw it as fair. Dimitri wouldn’t see that as fair either. Claude doesn’t think his lineage or bloodline matters when it comes to being accepted and what relationships he has. That’s also Dimitri’s line of thinking when he insists he doesn’t want to be treated as a prince. He just wants normal relationships. This also applies to Crests, where in which he doesn’t believe having or not having one should decide a person’s, well, anything.

Being two races, Claude has struggled to feel accepted on either side. Meanwhile, Dedue has struggled a lot to get by in Garreg Mach because of the prejudice against Duscur’s people. Even if some of the people of Duscur did do what everyone accused them of, they’re dragging those accusations well beyond that and treating Dedue as if he had anything to do with it. In Dimitri’s B support with Dedue, he makes it extremely clear to his own soldiers that he’ll have nothing to do with that behavior. He sees Dedue as another human being, as he would anyone else. Even though most characters don’t care what race someone is, most of them don’t actively try to fight for justice for other races of people being mistreated in Fodlan. Dimitri is one of the only people who will walk up to someone and tell them to fuck off for being racist, and mind you, if this wasn’t a T rated game and more explicit curse words were allowed to be used, I am quite positive Dimitri would quite literally tell those people to fuck off. He acts all upstanding and polite, but he’d also curse at someone who deserves it and is definitely angry enough to be a semi-big curser lol.

Both of them discuss faith with Byleth, too. While Claude doesn’t like the idea of praying to gods and often talks about how he isn’t in with the whole Sothis religion, Dimitri says the same thing, basically. In his Goddess Tower conversation, he expresses his feelings about “the goddess”, and it pretty much equals that he couldn’t give a flying fuck about her because she doesn’t help those in need despite supposedly watching over their land. He feels that she’ll watch and do nothing to help, not even reach out a hand to people who need her. Dimitri firmly does not believe in the religion that Fodlan follows, even despite literally being the crown prince of a nation that was legitimatized by Rhea herself. Neither of them care about Fodlan’s religion personally, but they both accept people who do and don’t badmouth her in front of devout followers. For example, Claude talks to Ignatz about the goddess and jokes with him. He doesn’t try to tell Ignatz he’s wrong for being faithful to a goddess that Claude himself doesn’t believe in. Dimitri doesn’t care about the Seiros faith at all, but he’s very friendly with Seteth and on great terms with him (especially in Hopes! They’re very close in AG!). Even if Seteth personally is not very devout (which is actually the truth), he’s still Rhea’s second in command. You also have people like Mercedes, who are extremely if not almost excessively devout, but Dimitri never puts her down for that. That’s how Claude is with Ignatz, and Ignatz is very devout. Basically, both Dimitri and Claude hate the idea of believing in the goddess of Fodlan, but they never judge someone who does believe in that very goddess. In fact, after Duscur, I’m sure Dimitri felt he could never forgive the goddess for not saving his father, Glenn and all the others who died there. Even if she wasn’t from a goddess of Duscur, she didn’t even attempt to save Fodlan’s people, at the very very least. It’s not a surprise in that sense that Dimitri isn’t devout.

In the case of ideologies, both of them even use the exact same word here. No matter what someone believes or thinks should happen, no matter how people think lands should be managed, neither of them feel like that’s cause to judge someone. They both feel that people can have different ways of thinking no matter how vast those ways of thinking might be, and still get along just fine.

This basically sums up both of what they want tbh, and it’s something they both strive for as early as the first half of the game.

Other aspects I love:

Other than that, I like to think about their personalities too! They’ve been through a lot of the same things and have a lot of the same feelings, so I think they would understand really well how to help each other. While Claude doesn’t think he deserves the treatment he gets, Dimitri tends to think he deserves all sorts of bad things. I feel like Claude could teach Dimitri to care about himself more and to stop thinking so poorly about himself. For Claude, I think he’d have “might get killed at any moment” ingrained into him, but I think he’d feel safe around Dimitri but also accepted and loved. Dimtiri is extremely straightforward and honest, and I think Claude would know for a fact that he can trust that Dimitri is honest about his feelings. He wouldn’t have to question if Dimitri actually loves him and if he secretly hates that he’s half Almyran. Because of how Dimitri has always been, I don’t think he’d actually worry about that and any worry that might nag him in passing he’d be able to tell himself is only a paranoid habit.

Also, Almyra loves strength! Pretty sure if Claude walked back into Almyra with a 6′2 superhuman-strength Blaiddyd on his arm that Almyra would be, to say the least, impressed lol. Not only would Dimitri be on par with their strongest generals, but if he got the attention of royalty, regardless of their feelings on that royalty, I think they’d have to take notice. I have headcanons about how the Almyran children would love learning from Dimitri and eventually run around pretending to be as strong as him when he starts helping them train. 🥺 Most of the adults wouldn’t like Dimitri at first because he’s from Fodlan, and even more than that a royal form Fodlan, but I think they’d come around after seeing how much the kiddos respect him and how kind he is to them. Even if they were meh about him being with Claude, I think they would start to respect Dimitri as an individual and not only appreciate when he’s around, but enjoy having him there for competitions, because Dimitri also loves being competitive and training.

You also get the silly opposites aspect with their homelands! Claude would be freezing in Faerghus, especially Fhirdiad. You know he’d be stealing all the blankets and be a Claude burrito by morning. Dimitri would have to accommodate him with lots of warm clothes because poor Claude would be shivering in full armor! It gives lots of room for cuddles and snuggies tho!!! !!! !!! 6′2 warm man and lots of blankets means lots of warmth and comfy sleep zzzzz...

Then you have Dimitri in Almyra and he hates hot weather (specifically, hates, so he says in an advice box letter). Claude would have to tend to him to keep him cool, sure, but I think Dimitri would whine a lot about the heat and I think it’d be rly cute and I think Claude would also think so. He’d have to bring Dimitri to the sea to let him stay in the water for a while, and then struggle to get him out of the water.

Something else I like to consider is how Dimitri would probably love to learn Almyran since he’s bilingual as it is, and I feel like he’d love to learn their culture and whatnot as well. Like I said, he’s really big on people from different places mingling, and he’s been trying really hard to get Duscur to be seen as an intendent land again. In Hopes, he’s trying to fix relations with Sreng (which Claude even considers Sreng in VW when mentioning his dream in full toward the end of the game). Getting to learn about Almyra would be something I feel that Dimitri would love experiencing.

Personality wise Dimitri’s a lot more on the formal speaking side, but they can absolutely both joke and be little shits! I’d love to see them banter with each other because they both have it in them. In fact, I think it would lead to lots of laughs and silly times and I think after everything, they both really need that!

tap tap am i missing something am i missing anything from this fic-sized essay tap tap my cat was staring at me for at least 50% perfect of this. i mean, straight up just staring and watching me from my bed and i just think that’s something i should share

OH YEAH I also love the interracial aspect because it really drives home their desire about race and everyone getting along. 🥰

Also, I feel like Claude needs someone he can really, truly trust and Dimitri needs someone who can make him really start to care about and respect himself again.

#DimiClaude #i feel like seeing my final wordcount paragraphs etc is like the tense bgm on shows like am3rican 1d0l #(excuse the numbers in the words there I just want to avoid it getting into that search keyword lol) #when the viewers are waiting for a tense moment to resolve and you don't know what's gonna happen next kind of thing #that's gonna be the bgm playing for y'all when you click on the read more and then 51 paragraphs come rolling out #like opening one of those decorations where you open it and the bottom rolls out #and everyone's faces are S1m0n C0w3ll during a really bad performance when y'all see how long the post is #fr how many ppl are gonna actually read this whole thing without mostly skimming 😂 #the first section for what's actually event canon in the game is bullet point listed #that i at least wanted to be neater looking bc my ocd would be like ewwww this is all over the place #final wordcount was over 4.5k btw- #DCE Ask

[anyu-blue]

~

#personal #life in general #random #ignore me #negative #don't mind me... just over here having a pity party cuz i keep making myself sad #trying to share things with my sisters and getting everything thrown out #like i get it.. some things just aren't your thing... #and it's best to say it outright rather than be miserable and play along... #except unless I play along I don't get any time or anything with anyone... #everyone wants to play dead by daylight all the fucking time.. and will literally refuse to put it down #or do anything else... so either i play a horror game i have zero interest in or i dont get to spend #any time with my sisters or cousins... not that i get to anyway because of my sleep schedule... #but if EVER there is an opportunity... that's it. no other games. nothing. #i tried to share a new one today that a friend shared with me. app called Plato #you can literally play some of these games via turns whenever you have time #so i could make a move when i wake up and they could make a move when they're up #and maybe we could play occasionally when we're all up.. #nope. complete rejection.. doesn't matter that some of their favorite board games are the ones #you can make turn based... like... dudes.. I'm trying... #but it's too much work... nevermind that not a single one will join in my other games or interests #I'm so tired of being left behind and left out.. it feels awful... #like don't fucking sit there and complain you never get to see me or do things with me #and rip my head off for it and for staying up to try and get some social interaction in with you #when I'M doing all the fucking work.... i get it.. some things just aren't people's things... #that's fine... but completely refusing to try. ANYTHING. just wow

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Geralt hates Novigrad. The people here are short-sighted and stubborn and don't care to learn any way than their own. Which means it's a bad place for anyone who's different - especially a Witcher. Even the Elves here hate him. The dwarves are a little better, but Geralt puts that down to Zoltan's influence rather than any learned compassion.

Today, the entire city could burn around him and Geralt would probably smile. It's the first day they've been back in civilization in weeks, which is the only reason they're in Novigrad to begin with. Oxenfurt is an extra day's travelling and both he and Jaskier are in need of a bath and a warm meal that doesn't taste like smoke. And good company, if he's lucky. Jaskier, he knows, will be gone for the night - it's easy enough for him to find a bed to warm in any city they visit - but Geralt is already dreading his visit to the brothel.

Passiflora is the only place that will take him any more, and then he's sure it's only because he and Jaskier know Marquise Serenity personally. He's been told in no uncertain terms that he's not welcome in the others. On occasion, there will be a lone girl waiting at the Golden Sturgeon, but it's always a gamble whether she's a prostitute or a pickpocket in disguise.

And if, by chance, he's welcomed inside, it's always a toss-up whether any of the girls will take him, then even less likely is that he'll get what he really wants. Geralt can't even count how many years he's been settling for sex that's only halfways satisfying - and paying for it, at that. Because those who do show an interest - falsified, or no - take one look at his cock and want to ride it or want him to fuck them with it and Geralt takes what he can get. He never asks for a man and he never asks anyone to fuck him, even though he'd be willing to pay extra for it.

But these past few weeks have been exhausting and the wear of being achingly aroused every night and not finding any satisfaction is getting old. He wants and he's not getting it from where he wants, so he'll try his luck at the brothel.

It doesn't go well.

He's had his eye on someone since he walked in - a slim, dark-haired man with bright eyes and bows on his trousers. When Geralt arrived, he was talking animatedly with another man and something about him reminds him of Jaskier. He shouldn’t approach for that exact reason, but he wants to. If he can’t have what he really wants, this is the next best thing.

He's only just approached the young man when a firm hand closes around his bicep. Geralt turns, instinctively ready to defend himself and the guard backs down.

"Only the women," he warns and Geralt sighs. They're protecting their men, he knows; he can't imagine a lot of men who fuck men are gentle when they're paying for it. In fact, he's heard stories first hand, so he can hardly blame them. And when a raven-haired woman approaches, stroking his arm and promising to take care of him, Geralt relents yet again.

She's soft under him and fucking her is better than his hand alone, but it's nothing like what he wants. It doesn't last long and Geralt makes sure she comes before he leaves, but as he heads out into the street he's feeling worse.

He resigns himself to another night of lying awake wondering who Jaskier is with this time - if he's lucky. If he's not, he won't have to wonder. Inn walls aren't thick and it's nothing for him to pick up on Jaskier's voice after years of attuning himself to it. Another reason he doesn't like towns; he's nearly always forced to listen to Jaskier getting off with whichever lucky bastard catches his eye.

It could be him, he thinks sometimes, but even Jaskier isn't that tolerant. He would probably be disgusted if he knew the things Geralt thought about him, the things he does lying awake and listening to him fuck someone else. And Geralt couldn't blame him for any of it. Shame and guilt rise in him even thinking about it now.

Guilt-ridden and miserable, Geralt makes his way back to the inn. At least he won't have to worry about Jaskier finding out about this because he'll be off somewhere else finding his own enjoyment. It's not that he would mock him for striking out, but sometimes Jaskier's protectiveness of him is overbearing when Geralt would rather just forget about something altogether. And this is definitely one of those things he'd like to pretend never happened.

The innkeeper follows him with his eyes as Geralt makes his way up to their room and he's acutely aware of the impact Jaskier's presence has on his life. No one trusts him without the bard at his side to sweet talk them and convince them that Geralt isn't a threat. Alone in a city, he feels unprotected and open and raw. Even the walk to their room feels far further than it did this afternoon.

But when he shoves the door in and stomps into the room, Jaskier is sitting there waiting for him. Alone, which is unexpected.

"Geralt?" he asks, "Is everything alright?"

Fuck. This is the last thing he wanted to happen. He was so sure Jaskier would be out enjoying himself that he never planned for the eventuality that he would just be here.

"Fine," he mumbles, dropping onto the stiff mattress. What he wants now is a hot bath and sleep, not an interrogation, but neither a bath nor sleep seems likely now. After a moment, Jaskier comes and settles behind him on the bed.

"Did they turn you away?" he asks gently.

Geralt huffs but can't bring himself to turn around as he mumbles a no. It's not a lie, not when there are times he's been barred from entering brothels altogether. Behind him, Jaskier huffs, clearly unimpressed and Geralt is expecting him to launch into one of his rants about respecting Witchers, but he doesn't. Instead, Jaskier's hands come up to hover above his shoulders.

"Can I?" he asks and Geralt grunts in lieu of response. Jaskier takes it as a yes, sliding his hands over Geralt's shoulders with a hum of disapproval. His fingertips press into a knot and Geralt forces himself to relax as Jaskier works it out.

"Was it the woman you saw then?"

"No," Geralt says a little too quickly before realizing that's not going to be a good enough answer for Jaskier. "She was fine."

"Fine isn't good, Geralt. Especially when you're paying for good. Was she too handsy?" he asks.

Geralt can feel the irritation creeping up his spine and he wants to rip out of Jaskier's hands and flee from the room. He wants to leave the inn altogether and forget and Jaskier would be okay here if he left and went to sleep in the forest tonight. It's a bit of a walk, but with Roach he could find somewhere to sleep before it gets too late.

Jaskier's hands lift from his shoulders and Geralt turns to look at him.

"Too timid?" Jaskier suggests.

Geralt looks away. Even if he could find the words to tell Jaskier what went wrong, he wouldn't. How do you tell someone you wanted to fuck a man who reminded you of them, regardless of how the situation went down. He still wanted it, still wanted Jaskier, but was willing to settle for the next best thing.

"You can tell me," Jaskier whispers and Geralt can feel his body shift closer so he's almost right against him. Geralt's shoulders slump and he can feel the fight leave him.

"Nothing really," he mumbles, "just not what I wanted." Even as he's saying the words, he curses himself for being too candid with Jaskier, but the idiot bard has a way of pulling things out of him whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Anything I can help you with?" he offers. Geralt's breath catches and he's certain it's obvious enough that Jaskier can hear it. Geralt says nothing. "Whatever it is you're after, I promise you it's not new to me."

Even in Geralt's wildest fantasies, he's never considered outright asking Jaskier for what he wants. But Jaskier's voice is so soft and genuine in his ear and right now, a small part of him wants to. It's been so long and Jaskier is offering. But he can't and he won't.

Jaskier, however, is not one to give up so easily.

The hands on Geralt’s shoulders slip forward, playing along his collarbone over the fabric of his shirt and Geralt does his best not to let it get to him, but it's hard. Jaskier's touch has always been a curse for him, softer and kinder than he deserves and yet something of a constant in his life, doing his best to test Geralt's patience and resolve. And he's treading into dangerous territory here. Geralt is already pent up and frustrated and likely to do something stupid to keep Jaskier from touching too much.

Jaskier is his only friend and Geralt won't betray that trust under any circumstances; he can't bear to lose the one person who treats him like a regular man. But Jaskier has never been one for worrying about things like sex and the consequences of who you sleep with and maybe-. No. He can’t.

"Tell me what you want darling, I'll be happy to help. Do you want me to touch you?" Geralt's pulse quickens but he says nothing. He doesn't want to encourage this and he knows Jaskier will only go so far without his explicit permission. "I could use my mouth. I'm very good with my mouth."

Geralt has no doubts about that and his blood rushes south remarkably quickly at the prospect. He's overheard Jaskier's lovers praising his mouth and he knows for a fact that Jaskier can make a man come with his tongue alone. And that's an incredibly tempting prospect.

"Or if you don't want me to touch you, I could talk you through it," he pauses and Geralt can feel Jaskier's breath against his ear, hot and damp as he leans in and whispers, "I know you're good at taking instructions." Fuck.

Jaskier's voice vibrates through his body and Geralt has to try harder than he should to keep from reacting. When he doesn't respond, Jaskier continues. His hands fall from Geralt's shoulders, settling on his hips.

"Or maybe that's not what you want," he muses, slipping his hands up Geralt's sides, "I know you like being touched, even if you pretend not to, hm? Maybe you could fuck me. Would you like that?" Geralt's breath is unsteady despite his best efforts, his traitorous cock pressing hard against his thigh.

"Gods, I bet you'd fuck me so well, wouldn't you?" Jaskier hums and brings his hands around to Geralt's back, sliding up to his shoulders. His thumb brushes against Geralt's neck and Geralt's eyes drop shut. Any given day, he thinks, if Jaskier genuinely wanted him to, he would. But this isn't like that and Geralt is stronger than his desires.

"Geralt," Jaskier chides, the soft lilt in his voice replaced with soft frustration. "You don't have to hold back like this. It's just me," he adds, softer again. "After everything we've been through, this would hardly be a hardship for me.”

“I know you,” he continues, his voice a light hum, “you get all quiet when I’m right. When you want something but you don’t think you deserve it.”

But- Geralt thinks, and Jaskier shifts behind him, pulling his mind back to the present. Geralt finds himself leaning when Jaskier pulls away, seeking the warmth of his chest. There's a light huff of a laugh and then Jaskier is behind him again, thighs pressing in on either side of Geralt's hips, hot breath in his hair. On his knees, Geralt realizes.

"What if I fuck you?" Jaskier asks, fingers slipping around the front of Geralt's neck to tip his head back. Unbidden, a soft sound escapes Geralt's throat and it doesn't escape Jaskier's attention. "Oh. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Mm, darling, I bet you'd make the sweetest sounds with my cock inside you. You'd look so pretty laid out for me- or maybe I'd have you in my lap so I can see your face."

Geralt can feel his composure slip with every word as Jaskier describes in detail all the ways he would fuck him. This isn't normal, he realizes, and maybe it is just Jaskier being himself and being very liberal about who he has sex with, but Geralt doesn't have sex with his friends. Well, he tries not to. Currently, Jaskier is making it difficult for him to say no, even if he knows he should.

And Jaskier is still mumbling against his ear all the filthy things he wants to do to him- and Geralt's thoughts come to a halt at that. The idea that Jaskier wants any of this is absurd to him and yet. Jaskier huffs softly against the side of his neck , pressing his nose behind Geralt's ear. His hands slip over his hips, down his thighs to push them apart and his hand is so close to his cock. If he moved, even just an inch, Jaskier's thumb would rub against him, but he knows if that happened, it would be the end of any discussion.

"Jaskier," he breathes. His head drops back against Jaskier's shoulder inadvertently. Already, he's barely in control of his own body and he realizes somewhere deep in the back of his mind that he wouldn't lose control so easily if he didn't want this so badly.

"Tell me," Jaskier hums, skirting the bulge of Geralt's erection with his thumb, "I'll give you anything you want. Or tell me no and I'll stop." Somehow, the prospect of Jaskier's hands leaving him is worse than whatever repercussions they might face otherwise.

Jaskier's nose presses against the back of his head and Geralt can't find the words to tell him no, wouldn't want to if he could. When Jaskier's fingers brush over his cock, Geralt groans out loud. Jaskier is pressed right against his back now, and he drops his head, nosing at Geralt's neck.

"What do you say, darling? Do you want that?" he pushes his hands down Geralt's stomach, hesitating at the hem of his trousers to give him a chance to say no. A chance to stop this. But Geralt is too far gone now to think about telling him no and Jaskier's hand is a soft relief where it slips down to palm over his clothed cock.

Geralt grits his teeth and bites his tongue as Jaskier squeezes around him; he's not used to being in a place where he's comfortable making too much noise, and most of his lovers prefer him quiet anyway. But Jaskier is different and Geralt should have known.

"You don't have to try so hard, Geralt. You don't have to hold back any longer, it's just me and I want to hear you." He presses his lips to Geralt's neck and lifts his hands to tug at his shirt.

Jaskier makes quick work of getting him out of his clothes and once Geralt is naked, and only feeling a little bit exposed, he lays down on his stomach. But Jaskier quickly eases his discomfort, climbing back up on the bed and settling himself between Geralt's legs. His hands run up the backs of his thighs and Jaskier sighs.

"I was right," he hums, "you look so good like this." His hands move up, squeezing Geralt's ass and his cock aches under him. Jaskier's fingers are so close to where he wants them, just one little move and he could be inside him.

Then all at once, he's gone and. Geralt looks up and finds him crouched over their packs, digging through one of them until he pulls a small bottle out and rises to his feet.

Geralt has seen him naked before, of course, it's inevitable when you travel with someone for as long as they have. But this is different. Jaskier is hard, first of all, which isn't something Geralt expected to have quite the effect on him that it does. His cock juts from his body, curling up like an invitation and Geralt has never wanted to touch someone so badly in his life.

Jaskier catches him watching and crosses back toward the bed. One hand drops to Geralt's ass, squeezing firmly before slipping up his back. He pushes Geralt's hair back from his face, brushing his fingers down his cheek and smiles at him.

"How could anyone not love you?" he whispers, taking in Geralt's confused expression, "you're so beautiful. So good for me, Geralt." Geralt's eyes snap up to his immediately. Oh, that's something. Jaskier just grins at him and climbs back up onto the bed behind him.

Geralt turns his face into his pillow as soft lips press against his calves. He stiffens at the intimacy of it, but Jaskier soothes him with soft touches and even softer kisses that creep slowly up the backs of his legs. When he reaches the swell of his ass, Jaskier’s fingers dig into his skin, squeezing and pushing Geralt's cheeks apart. Geralt's done this before with other men who meant significantly less to him than Jaskier does, so he's not quite sure what makes him anxious about it now. Maybe because it's been so long since or maybe because this is a huge step in their relationship that he never would have made otherwise.

But whatever it is, Jaskier is efficient at helping him relax again, leaning over and breathing soft words into his ear. Geralt knows he doesn't deserve them, that Jaskier is just trying to placate him, but when Jaskier’s cock settles against the back of his thigh, Geralt can almost believe it. Tentatively, he pushes back against him, letting Jaskier's cock slip between his thighs and he gets an appreciative groan in response. Jaskier drops his head, pressing a kiss between Geralt's shoulders.

"That's it, love."

Jaskier runs his hands down his back, settling again between his knees and Geralt feels his breath before anything else, hot against his skin. Then Jaskier's mouth is on him and Geralt sinks into the bed, pressing his hips back. He feels the huff of Jaskier's laugh, but it doesn't stop him from running his tongue over him, pressing against his hole. Geralt moans despite himself, trying hard to remember that he doesn't have to be quiet.

It proves to be difficult as Jaskier's tongue pushes into him and the sounds fall from his lips unbidden. But he's allowed, he reminds himself, no one is going to hear him but Jaskier and he's safe here with Jaskier.

His tongue pushes deeper and Geralt's thighs part seemingly of their own volition to give him better access and Jaskier appreciates it if the way he hums around Geralt's hole is any indication. It spurs him forward if nothing else and Geralt's cock jerks beneath him, neglected and aching.

When Jaskier gets his fingers involved, he goes slow at first, running one slick finger around his hole before pushing in. And Geralt groans into the pillow. One of Jaskier's fingers is the same damn size as his tongue and he tells him exactly that. Jaskier just huffs and kisses his back, pushing his finger into him before drawing back and adding a second. But Geralt is already keyed up beyond words and he doesn't have the patience for slow and steady. He pushes his hips back with a needy moan and Jaskier doesn't hold back.

He slicks both fingers and pushes into him, thrusting a couple of times before pushing deep and seeking out that spot inside him. Geralt shudders with the first pass of his fingers and Jaskier is persistent, rubbing up and thrusting against that spot until Geralt is arching off the bed, hair damp with sweat and sticking to his skin.

"Fuck Geralt," Jaskier breathes, readjusting to lean on his elbow. He bites the flesh of Geralt's ass and kisses the marks from his teeth. "You have no idea what you do to me," he huffs, his words muffled by Geralt's skin, "I can't believe no one will have you like this, you look so good, so good for me."

"You don't mean that," Geralt mumbles, but Jaskier climbs up over him, his fingers still buried as deep as they'll go and he presses his mouth to the back of Geralt's neck.

"I do. You're beautiful," he breathes, "you're a good man, Geralt. You're soft and kind and caring, even if you pretend not to be. And you deserve to know that. You deserve so much more than what you get out of life. Let me give it to you."

Geralt is torn between horrific embarrassment and a surge of arousal because if anyone's opinion actually matters to him, it's Jaskier's. Something warm blooms in his chest and he sighs as Jaskier kisses his neck.

"Let me show you how much I want you," he hums. He withdraws and thrusts in again, quickly picking up the pace until Geralt is moaning obscenely under him, canting his hips into the mattress because he can't help himself any longer. All the while, Jaskier's voice is in his ear, whispering sweet things that he wants so badly to believe.

"Beautiful," he whispers, "perfect. Mine." The last one slips out much more quietly than the rest and Geralt isn't sure he's supposed to hear it but it does something to him that he can't quite explain. And more than ever, he wants to be good for Jaskier, wants to be soft and kind and beautiful and more than that, he wants to be his.

Never once does Geralt ask for anything, but Jaskier seems to know exactly what he wants and Geralt might think he was reading his mind if he didn't know better. He doesn't let up until Geralt's panting turns to muffled warnings, his hips pressed up impatiently.

"Jask-" he mumbles and Jaskier hums against him, panting hard.

"Do you want to come like this?" he asks.

"Want your cock," Geralt huffs and Jaskier lets out a low, desperate groan against his shoulder.

"Fuck, I've waited a long time to hear you say that." Jaskier's fingers slip from his body and he grips Gerlt's hips with both hands. Breathing hard, he kisses his way down Geralt's back, sitting back to kneel between his thighs. He shuffles for a moment before pressing his cock into the cleft of his ass and Geralt thrusts his hips back in his impatience.

Jaskier's cock feels better than it has any right to and Geralt knows he shouldn't be so needy when Jaskier is trying to help, but he's waited so long for this. And he's wanted Jaskier for even longer than that. Jaskier slicks him up with two fingers before working over his cock. Geralt can hear the slick slide of skin on skin and he turns to try and see him, craning his neck, but all he can see is Jaskier's arm moving. He grumbles in disappointment, but Jaskier just pushes his cheeks apart and presses between them.

His cock is slick and hard as it presses into Geralt's body and he shuts his eyes, arching his back with a soft groan. Jaskier gives him a moment to adjust but Geralt takes him easily, lust and impatience winning out over caution and he rocks his hips back onto Jaskier before he's even fully inside.

"Oh, fuck," Jaskier gasps. He surges forward, catching himself with one hand as the other smoothes up Geralt's spine. "You really wanted this, didn't you?"

Heat prickles at the back of Geralt's neck and he’s thankful for his hair covering the only part of his face that isn't pressed into the pillow. He shouldn't want this, shouldn't want Jaskier, but-

"Why didn't you just ask me?" He asks. Geralt grumbles at him and Jaskier leans low over him. "Don't be embarrassed, love, you're incredible like this." He presses his nose to Geralt's ear, humming softly. "I've never wanted you more."

He gives a quick thrust of his hips and a whole other kind of heat licks up Geralt's spine. Just the thought that Jaskier wants him at all, in any context is enough to have him breathless, but then Jaskier pushes all the way into him and Geralt very nearly whimpers. Then he pulls out completely and Geralt leans up to look at him, worried he did something wrong.

But Jaskier has his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and the look he gives Geralt is hot and oddly possessive. He shuffles back out of the way of Geralt's legs and gently nudges his hip, gesturing for him to roll over. And Geralt isn't about to deny him anything when he looks like that, so he readjusts, propping himself up on his arms. He doesn't miss the way Jaskier's eyes roam over his body before he's shuffling close again, shoving his knees under Geralt's thighs and pressing him back against the mattress.

This time, when Jaskier sinks into him, he doesn't hesitate and Geralt's glad to be on his back where he can watch Jaskier's face as he squeezes around him. Jaskier keeps one hand on Geralt's hip as he rocks into him, using the other to map out his chest and waist, fingers slipping lightly over places Geralt didn't even realize were sensitive like that. But what's worse is his voice, constantly telling Geralt how good he is and Geralt wants so badly to believe him. The words sear through him like hot iron and he thought that with all his training and composure it would take more than a couple of words to take him down, but he's learning he was very wrong about that.

Jaskier falls into an easy rhythm, his words equally as arousing as the cock slipping in and out of him, and Geralt reaches for him, aching to touch. Jaskier wraps both arms around his waist and hauls him up into his lap, letting the fingers of one hand slip down to where his cock presses into Geralt's body. Geralt just looks at him with wide eyes and Jaskier grins back at him.

"I'm stronger than I look," he whispers. He shifts under Geralt and gives a sharp thrust of his hips, hitting that spot inside him again and Geralt drops forward against him, pressing his head into Jaskier's shoulder.

"Oh," he moans, shifting to wrap his legs around Jaskier's waist.

"Good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt huffs a muffled mmhm, reaching back to brace himself on Jaskier's knees. "Good. So good for me." He slips his hands down to Geralt's hips, holding him steady as he rocks up into him and Geralt lets himself relax into it.

Jaskier doesn't expect anything from him, wants to fuck him, wants to make him feel good and Geralt lets him for maybe the first time in his life, surrendering control entirely to someone else. Because he trusts Jaskier and because Jaskier does make him feel good, mumbling that he's doing so well and just like that, darling. And when he gets his hand down between them, clever fingers winding around his cock, Geralt almost comes undone right there. His hips buck hard into the dry heat of Jaskier's palm, shaky as he withdraws and pushes forward again with intent.

Jaskier pauses then leans forward over him, pressing their foreheads together. The angle is awkward, and a little uncomfortable, but Jaskier lays him down again, stroking him slowly as he works his hips quickly. Jaskier holds him down and fucks him hard, snapping his hips hard as Geralt mumbles into his neck, nearly incomprehensible. When Geralt comes it's with soft wine, too overwhelmed for anything more than that.

Jaskier continues, fucking him through the aftershocks, pressed up against Geralt's chest with his legs around his ankles. And when he comes, he presses his face into Geralt's shoulder and Geralt runs his fingers through his hair, still unable to speak.

After a moment, Jaskier pulls out and Geralt shifts a little unwilling to admit how much he dislikes losing the feeling of Jaskier's cock inside him. He's not entirely sure what to do with himself now because this was never supposed to happen between them. It was a fantasy - a very far-fetched one, at that - and yet, here they are, Jaskier sweaty and panting next to him and so beautiful Geralt can't help but smile despite his bewilderment.

He's trying to consider what to say - should he thank him? - when Jaskier pushes himself back into a sitting position and moves to lift Geralt's head gently into his lap. He brushes his fingertips along his cheek, runs his fingers through his hair, and Geralt finds himself worrying less. His eyes are heavy, his body still thrumming with a pleasant numbness and Jaskier's fingers are soothing.

"You can sleep," Jaskier whispers, "I've never minded if a lover falls asleep on me, just means they enjoyed themselves."

A lover. Geralt turns the words over in his head and decides he likes the way they fit. Likes the idea of being Jaskier's lover. Blinking up at him, Geralt reaches up, curling his fingers around the back of Jaskier's neck and guiding him down. It has to be an uncomfortable angle for Jaskier, but he doesn't complain or pull back and when their lips brush together, he lets out a soft little sound and shifts to adjust his position. His mouth is soft and wanting and his fingers slip around the back of Geralt's head to keep him close.

And then, seemingly in an instant, it's over and Geralt is left staring up at him, unsure all over again. But Jaskier smiles at him and brushes his thumb over Geralt's cheek.

"You really are so beautiful," he mumbles, as though to himself. "I don't deserve you." Geralt huffs and turns away from him, but Jaskier just tips his head back. "I want you to know you can ask me for anything. I wish you'd come to me earlier, you shouldn't have to suffer because of the ignorance of others."

"I'm not going to do that to you-"

Jaskier laughs, soft and gentle. "Do that to me?" he asks incredulously, "darling I've been waiting my whole life to hear you say you want me. You could come back every night and climb into bed with me and I'd still want more."

He's not sure why exactly, but Geralt blurts out, "he reminded me of you."

"What?"

"The whore. The reason I was... irritable when I came back. They wouldn't let me talk to him, but he reminded me of you."

"Oh? You went to a prostitute who reminded you of me?" Geralt mumbles but doesn't confirm nor deny. "Geralt I love you, truly, but you are a bit daft sometimes. Why on earth wouldn't you just come to me in the first place."

His heart beats much faster than it should and Geralt does everything he can to ignore the nonchalance with which Jaskier says he loves him - because the idea is absurd. "I didn't think you'd want me."

"I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, all dark and moody in your corner." He flashes a smile and Geralt turns away to keep from saying too much. Jaskier ducks down and kisses his cheek. "But sleep now, we can talk about it in the morning."

Geralt forces back the urge to protest, to assure Jaskier that he's wrong about him. But he knows it wouldn't do him any good and Jaskier is persistent - maybe there is something to the things he's always saying. Geralt settles, lets the stress seep out of his body as Jaskier's hands move over his shoulders. He shuts his eyes but still manages to pull Jaskier down into a soft, slow kiss.

It lasts longer this time. Jaskier doesn't pull away despite the discomfort he must be feeling and if anything, when Geralt hesitates, when he gives him a chance to stop, Jaskier presses forward. And Geralt thinks, as Jaskier's tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, that if the next couple of days are like this, the rest of their stay in Novigrad might not be so bad.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #rex writes

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Family Business II

A follow-up to “Family Business.”  More family, more Scoundrel shenanigans.  If you want to see anything in particular or have any requests, feel free to tell me!  As usual, no one except Drake belongs to me.   

“I bring peace through superior firepower.”  -Thomas Drake

After introductions were made, the various Scoundrels mingled throughout the room, speaking with the families of the only two among their number that really had them.  Many of them knew that Kirk had a family, somewhere, and that his upbringing was quite good, especially compared to most of theirs, but he never spoke of them, and they never asked.  Shepard stood near his mother, who was currently shooting ‘we’ll talk later’ looks in his direction.  They were deep in discussion with Kirk, apparently speaking of the various intricacies and differences between the Starfleet and the Alliance Navy.  

Vir was next to his parents, talking politely with Cooper and Quill.  Solo and Cain stood in the middle of the room, holding drinks and generally mingling, but not speaking to anyone.  Solo did this out of habit; he really had no desire to speak with anyone, and in most of the parties he went to, talking with others was a good way to die quickly.  Old habits.  Cain looked completely at ease, not wishing to speak with anyone.  He found tensions flared quickly with the people of these new galaxies when they asked about the Imperium of Man.  Best not to upset anyone.  

To the surprise of every person present, a group of Vir’s nieces and nephews had immediately gravitated to the Chief.  One of them grabbed him by the hand and outright insisted he come with her.  Currently, the massive armored form of the Master Chief was sitting next to a gaggle of children as they played some sort of game.  The more talkative were babbling to him as he simply sat, almost unmoving, watching curiously.  The children thought he was great.  Here was an adult that actually listened to them!  It also helped that he was wearing a very cool set of armor.  Children were odd like that, thought the Chief to himself.  He didn’t have much experience with them, but he’d heard stories.

Thomas Drake found himself face to face with Thomas Vir.

“Thomas.  A pleasure to meet you.”  He stuck out his hand.  Vir took it.  

“And you as well, Thomas.  A good name, Thomas.”  Pale skin met black leather.  Vir looked up, puzzled.  He half-held a slip of paper to the light, slid to him during the handshake.  Before anyone else could notice, Drake moved forward.  In a completely unobtrusive and natural movement, he lowered Thomas Vir’s hand into the shadows.  

“Don’t speak.  Look natural.  Talk to whomever you wish after this, but still, act natural.  I know you can.  In several minutes, excuse yourself.  Go to the bathroom, and if there isn’t anyone there, look at the note.  If there is, go in a stall, wait for them to leave, I care not.  After this, quietly and unobtrusively tell them the contents of that note, and make sure they keep it a secret.”  Drake flashed a grin.  Vir looked worried.  He’d been a part of things like this for far too long, and wanted to put it behind forever.  “Relax, Thomas.  It’s a party.”  Drake made a move to pull away.  Vir stepped forward to block him.  

“Why me?” he hissed.

“Because I trust you to know what you’re doing.  You and your father are the only ones with the skills to do this and do it correctly.  There’s more to us than meets the eye, Thomas.”  With a wink and swirl of his coat, Drake disappeared into the talking throng.  

Twenty-ish Minutes Later

“So.  You’ve been stationed aboard my son’s ship?” asked Martha Vir.  Admiral Vir himself stood nearby, ready to quell any arguments about to start.  He’d learned from almost bloody experience that the Imperials did not initially get along well with the citizens of the other galaxies, and vice-versa.  He tried not to think of the beginnings of Imperial propaganda he’d seen springing up on his homeworld, and the people who might accept it…  But he knew his parents wouldn’t.  They were better than that.  And, from experience, so was Cain.  The Commissar stood across from Adam and Martha, resplendent in his dress uniform and far too much gold lace.  

“I have indeed,” replied Cain.  Gloved hands covered a glass of some sort of alcohol.  He had no idea what it was, but if he wasn’t put in these new galaxies to sample all their drinks, then what was he here for, Throne-dammit?  “It is a fine ship.”  He pursed his lips, considering for a moment.  “Very new, a bit small compared to most of the battleships I’ve been on, but a wonderful ship nevertheless.”  

“Small?  It’s one of the biggest ships in the galaxy!” teased Martha Vir.  “Tell me.  What’s the largest in yours?”  

“I am by no means a naval expert, so I wouldn’t really know,” offered Cain apologetically.  

“Nonsense!  Give me your best guess,” insisted the Vir matriarch.  

“From what I have heard amongst the naval officers and Astartes personnel I’ve had the pleasure of serving alongside, I believe the largest would be the Gloriana-class battleships assigned to some of the Space Marine chapter fleets,” said Cain.

“How big are they?” asked Admiral Vir, his personal and professional curiosity piqued.  

“Gloriana-class battleships are extremely rare… and are usually about twenty kilometers long.”  The silence was deafening.  

In another corner of the room, Thomas Vir spoke with his father.  He had discreetly gone around the room and passed on Drake’s message.  It had been simple, two lines of pencil scrawled on a tiny piece of paper.

Do not speak of Eris.  Do not speak of Adam and Sunny.

Thomas was an intelligent man.  He realized the tensions between these new galaxies, but only now did he understand their full extent.  If Drake had sought to warn them already, even against members of his own group… well.  That wasn’t good.  The bigger question was: how did he know, and what was he going to do?

“What do we do, Dad?” asked Thomas Vir.  His father considered for a moment, frowning.

“I’ve talked to all of these people your brother works with.  Especially that one.”  He pointed to Cooper, currently speaking with Quill in underhanded tones.  “He’s fine.  Special forces.  Seems like a good enough person.  But the one who gave you the message…” he trailed off.  He sighed and closed his eyes as he remembered.  “I met a man like that once.  During the war.”  Thomas kept quiet.  His father rarely talked about his time serving in World War III.  “We saw him around occasionally.  He said he was a clerk.   He wasn’t.  It was too obvious.  He never had the skills or temperament of one.  But no one ever asked, because there was something about him… some core of sheer violence behind his eyes that everyone knew they probably wouldn’t be around long if they questioned him too much.  Some sort of special forces.  Or a spy.  We never really knew.  But him,” Vir’s father nodded over to Drake.  “He’s like that.  He’s dangerous.”  

“What about everyone else?” asked Thomas, not wanting this opportunity to go to waste.  

“The other two that scare me are him,” he pointed to Cain and the golden Aquilia on his cap, “For obvious reasons, and him,” he pointed to the massive armored bulk of the Master Chief, “For also obvious reasons.”  

“So why are we letting them play with the kids?” muttered Thomas.  Indeed, both the Master Chief and Thomas Drake were over in the open space to the side of the ballroom entertaining the children.  Thomas Vir and his father watched with slight trepidation, and, in the other corner, Han Solo, with amusement.

“And then James said he’d go with me and then we did and it was awesome!  And there was a big hill and we played king of the hill and I won but I still rolled down the hill because that was fun and have you ever done that?” asked one of Admiral Vir’s nephews, continuing his story.  Master Chief regarded him with solemn eyes behind his golden visor.  

“I have,” he said shortly.  Although, not in the particular way the child was thinking.  There was a lot more gunfire and explosions involved.  

“Great!  So then after that we went near the river and we-”  The Chief tuned him out for a moment.  It wasn’t to say that the children were boring, but he was just so miserable at this party.  He had no idea what to say to the adults, and the children had already grabbed him to make him sit with them.  There was some sort of paper decoration on the top of his head, put there by one of the children.  He didn’t move to take it off.  It would fall off, eventually, when he stood up.  He had run through every conceivable situation he could think of that resulted in the room being attacked, and gone through each combat simulation in his head.  Twice.  He had gone through what might happen if one of the wait-staff was hostile.  Or one of the family members.  Or the children.  He looked down at the small boy, still babbling to him about things he did last week and how the starship ride to this planet was so cool.  So, probably not the children.  He couldn’t help it though.  He was built for combat, built for death.  He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing here.  

“Why do you wear gloves?” asked one of the children to Drake.  Another, her cousin, older and much wiser, tried to sush her.  

“You can’t just ask people why they wear what they wear!” she said to her cousin.  Drake laughed.  You could fool adults, you could fool super soldiers, you could fool demi-gods, but you couldn’t fool children.  Somehow, they always knew.  He knelt down to the youth and removed his gloves by the fingers; first the right, followed by the left.  In the corner, Solo watched with fascination.  Come to think of it, he’d never seen Drake without his ever-present black gloves.  He’d never thought about it until now, but it was rather strange.  Even when eating, Drake never took them off.  Why?  

  The two children recoiled, the younger with a slight shriek at the sight of Drake’s ruined left hand.  The third and fourth fingers, along with the flesh beneath, were horrifically burned.  The right side of the hand, fore- and index finger along with the thumb, were normal, unmarred flesh, though a shrapnel scar ran down the edge of the thumb.  The smaller child stared at the hand in horrified fascination, as one might look at a particularly dangerous animal in a zoo.  

“Don’t stare,” said her cousin.  Despite her warning, she, too, was sneaking peeks at the burns.  Drake chuckled at them again.  

“It’s alright,” he said.  He took his right hand, scarred, but not horribly burned as his left was, and traced the edge of the burn marks.  “I look at it, sometimes.  It’s interesting.  Like a science experiment.  Here,” he beckoned the two closer.  “It’s really interesting, actually.  Look at the contrast between the burned side and the regular side.”

“What is… contrast?” asked the younger one, her mouth still trying to frame the unfamiliar word.  Drake smiled again.

“Contrast means difference.  You’re learning about burns, you’re learning about words.  You must be smart.  I can tell that.”  The two children watched in fascination as Drake told them about burns, what they did to the skin, and how to treat them.  

In the corners, Solo and the Virs watched the two men, one a super soldier with an admitted zero amount of social skills, one a very dangerous gun for hire, play with small children, and did it well.  Interesting.

Ten Minutes Later

It was with a not insignificant amount of hassle that everyone was seated.  The children were at a smaller side table, talking amongst themselves, while the adults were seated at a massive long wooden table.  It reminded most of them of some sort of medieval feast table.  It was almost impossible to talk to the people on the other end, but, in the end, it somehow worked.

Vir and Shepard were next to their respective parents.  Quill still looked as if he had no idea what was going on, and Solo was next to him, having no one else to talk to.  Cooper had assimilated into the party wonderfully, and was next to the Virs.  Cain was on one end, looking slightly uncomfortable with the knowledge that everyone else was uncomfortable near him.  Poor Cain.  Drake had his gloves back on, and was looking over everything like a hawk about to strike.  The Chief was near the entrance door, having politely declined to eat anything.  This consisted of a much kinder “no” from him.  Oh, well.  

It was after the first course was served that it happened.  Everyone was talking, the idle dinner chit-chat so common amongst human parties.  The waiters had moved out of the way, their job temporarily done.  The double doors that led to the ballroom opened, ever-so quietly.  An unmistakable human figure, dressed in an all-black jumpsuit and mask, stepped forward, pistol outstretched, pointed at the table.  Before anyone saw him, it would already be too late.  

His arm was twisted, knocked aside with such force he was left temporarily breathless.  The gun dropped out of nerveless fingers, and the assassin screamed as the Master Chief broke the radius and ulna with a crush of his massive hand.  The black-clad killer only had a slight second for shock and utter horror to register beneath the mask as the Chief’s gauntleted hand punched him so hard it left a dent in the wall where his body impacted.  

A second assassin, wielding a much more powerful compact submachine gun, stepped into the space her fellow had vacated, weapon already raised and ready to fire.  Master Chief was out of position.  For all his speed, for all his lethal reactions, the Chief would be too low, and he knew it.  Shots would be fired before he got there.  

Gunfire rang out, the individual cracks! of pistol fire.  Drake and Cooper stood, hands forward, clutching guns they had summoned from the recesses of their coats.  The assassin’s head exploded, brains scattering in a ruined mess.  Children screamed.  The killer’s dead body slumped backward, into the hallway.  The Chief grabbed her weapons and shut the door behind him.  

The Scoundrels were all standing now, as was Hannah Shepard and Vir’s father.  Drake slid out of position, pushing his chair back in, and opened his coat.  

“Gentlemen,” his voice broke the eerie silence of the ballroom as everyone tried to react to what had happened.  “Meet your dates for tonight.”  Inside his coat lay a veritable armory.  Pistols and full magazines hung from holsters and hooks.  Dozens.  Dear lord.  Cain, Solo, and Quill were already on him, picking guns that looked closest to what they normally wielded.  Drake slid the other weapons on the table, which were soon joined by those of the assassins.  He grabbed most of the sharp steak knives off the table, and tucked them in his belt or gave them to his fellows.

“Drake?” asked Vir tentatively.  “How is it possible to carry that many guns and still move normally?”  Drake grinned as he pulled what looked like a sawed-off plasma rifle from his pants and assembled it.  

“Cybernetics in the coat.  And beneath.”  He tossed a weapon to each of his comrades, and one each to Hannah Shepard and Vir’s father.  

“You two know what you’re doing with these, I think,”  he said.  “Right.  So, uh, yeah.  I am going to take all the unstable maniacs, no offense intended as I am one, and we are going to kill everyone who dares interrupt this glorious dinner, while all of you who need catching up go catch up with your families,” Drake gave an elaborate bow to the still shocked table.  “Please ignore any explosions, music, gunshots, and unpleasant gurgling noises.”  He made a move to leave, followed by Quill, Solo, Cooper, and the Chief.  Hannah Shepard held up a hand.    

“Wait!  I wouldn’t want you to get yourselves killed on our behalf,” she said.  Drake only gave a lopsided grin in response.

“Haven’t you heard?  Legends never die.”  With a cackle of maniacal laughter and swirl of greatcoats, they were gone. 

And there we have it.  I hope you enjoyed the story.  More to come soon!  If you have any questions, comments, criticisms, concerns, or requests, feel free to tell me!  

#magnificent scoundrels #story #writing #my writing #crossover #mass effect #halo #empyrean iris

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Huey Emmerich

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

The Metal Gear franchise is known for its hammy and despicable villains, villains with complicated schemes, giant robots, and awesome boss battles. But what if I told you that, out of all the villains in the series, the most disgusting, vile, reprehensible, and cruel one had the same face and voice as the kindest man in the series.

Huey Emmerich is, in short, a piece of shit. There is absolutely nothing redeeming about this worthless  ass. This may seem a bit shocking if you’ve only played Peace Walker, where he seems little more than a clone of his son Otacon, or Metal Gear Solid 2, where he is mentioned as having committed suicide after catching his wife taking advantage of Otacon. But play through The Phantom Pain, and you’ll soon see that Huey is perhaps the most morally reprehensible monster in the entire game, and maybe the entire franchise.

And you will absolutely, without a doubt, love to hate him.

Motivation/Goals: Huey is motivated by one thing and one thing only: cowardice. He sells out Big Boss to Cipher to for a job offer and then lies out his ass to Venom, Ocelot, and Kaz when they eventually come and get him. Huey is just always in it for himself, and is perfectly willing to screw over any person who gets in the way of his research; even back in Peace Walker, he was strangely happy about cheerfully being able to continue developing WMDs for Big Boss and company after betraying his (admittedly crappy) former boss Hot Coldman, and after that he abandoned his wife to die for daring to hide their child Hal away from him before he could use the kid as a living battery in Metal Gear Sahelanthropus.

And while being a megalomaniac is nothing new for A villain in this franchise, Huey takes it to the next level by never once accepting any responsibility. He constantly shifts blame onto others, denies doing anything bad ever, and lies, lies, and lies to the point of insanity. At one point he straight up continues to insist his wife Strangelove committed suicide even when irrefutable evidence was shown that he left her to die inside the Mammal Pod. The man is a pathetic, nasty little weasel through and through, and his complete and utter lack of honor just makes him stand out as reprehensible even when compared to an absolute lunatic like Skull Face or even a violent brute like Eli (AKA Liquid Snake).

Performance: Christopher Randolph, the actor for Hal, somehow manages to turn everything good, sweet, and heroic about Snake’s best pal Otacon and turn it on its head for Huey. Huey has the same voice and the same face as his son, but his actions and deeds show that, no, this man is absolutely nothing like his son, and is in fact the very antithesis of who Otacon is. Props to Randolph for using the same voice we’ve come to know and love and delivering a performance so twisted that even if it is the same voice, there is absolutely no way you would ever confuse Huey dialogue for Otacon dialogue.

Final Fate: The best part about Huey is that he is constantly, constantly getting his ass handed to him. In The Phantom Pain, after he unleashes a virus onto Mother Base which forces Venom to put down some of his own soldiers, with Huey blaming him all the while, Huey is put on trial and found guilty, because… of course he is. Literally the only person who believes Huey is innocent is Huey himself, and that is because he outright rejects reality and all of the evidence against him. Venom casts him adrift on a dinky life boat, one that begins leaking and causes Huey to ditch his precious robotic legs to the sea, turning him into little more than a miserable cripple once again.

But if you thought that Huey would go out in any other way other than making the world a more miserable, bitter place, you’d be wrong. Years later, he discovers his second wife having an affair – that is to say, statutory raping – his son, Otacon. Rather than being a good father and trying to do anything about this sexual abuse of his child, Huey decides to do the world a favor and kill himself… but unfortunately, he drags his stepdaughter Emma along with him, causing her to nearly drown and giving her a crippling fear of water as a result.

And when you first play Metal Gear Solid 2, this seems like an awful, depressing tragedy… but after playing The Phantom Pain, it becomes abundantly clear that Huey’s suicide was one final, spiteful act., and Emma nearly dying was almost certainly on purpose. His final act in life was to try and spite his own son and the woman who was abusing his son by taking away the person they loved most in the world. He saw his own son as having cuckolded him and took his son’s sexual abuse as a blow to his own masculinity, and so went out of his way to hurt and traumatize him in the only way he knew how: by dragging innocent people down with him. Huey Emmerich couldn’t even kill himself without ruining everything.

Best Scene: Pick a scene where Huey is abused or forced to face consequences, be it Hot Coldman or Skull Face pushing him down the stairs and causing him to piss himself, Ocelot torturing him brutally, or Venom banishing him from Mother Base and sending him back to the world to be revealed as a fraud, and you’ve got yourself a good time. The sound of Huey suffering is music to the ears.

Best Quote: I think the quote that truly defines how much of a despicable two-faced hypocrite Huey is  would be the vicious verbal berating he gives you as you kill the Diamond Dogs infected with the parasite that he released. He berates Venom for doing this despite being fully to blame for the situation. It is the culmination of this snivelling little bastard’s arc, and he’s only revealed to be worse from there.

Final Thoughts & Score: Huey is perhaps the ultimate hate sink in all of fiction. There is absolutely nothing likable about the guy; he’s a pathetic coward, he constantly lies, he’s an utter prick to everyone around him, and he causes untold amounts of suffering all while whining and crying about how it’s totally not his fault! He commits atrocity after atrocity, heinous act after heinous act, and spreads so much misery, and he does it all without ever once looking cool or intimidating like just about every other villain in the franchise. You’d think this would make him the bottom of the barrel and a terrible character… but it does the opposite.

Huey serves as a dark contrast to his own son and helps to highlight how much of a better man Otacon is. Both came from similar backgrounds and both have similar roles, with both developing Metal Gears and befriending a Snake. The difference, though, is that Hal has a moral courage that allows him to own up to his mistakes, accept responsibility for his actions, and dedicate himself to doing better. The man is so utterly selfless that he basically blames himself for his stepmother raping him; Hal is beyond humble, to an almost martyr-like degree, and truly lives up to the ideals of The Boss more than anyone in the series. His mother would be so proud of that. Meanwhile, Huey lacks that, and as shown throughout The Phantom Pain, his lies eventually pile up to the point where even he can’t escape the truth, and he suffers for it. Huey is a cautionary look at what would have happened if Hal didn’t have the spine to stand up for what was right and own up to his mistake, and this is nowhere more evident than Hal having a long-lasting relationship with Snake that went until the day he died whereas Huey was cut out of the life of Venom with extreme prejudice after Huey again and again stabbed his so-called friends in the back.

But aside from this wonderful contrast, I think how awful Huey is becomes more acceptable because he constantly, constantly suffers for it. The man gets constantly put through the wringer for his lies and schemes, and is despised and treated like garbage by Ocelot and Kaz. His own wife even hated him and considered Hal her kid with The Boss more than with him. Huey’s own moral failings catch up with him, and while it doesn’t lessen how evil it is, it does give you a sense of catharsis when that son of a bitch gets kicked, literally or otherwise.

Huey gets a 10/10. No, I’m not exaggerating. He isn’t the most impressive villain in the franchise. He’s not flashy, or hammy, or over-the-top and exciting. Huey is a very real, very miserable type of person who is cowardly, self-serving, and loathsome, and it is just so much fun to watch him suffer for his own sins. He is the epitome of “love to hate” villains; it’s just such a blast to despise this man and attribute everything awful to him, even if it isn’t really his fault. He’s a dark deconstruction of the lovable coward, he’s an utterly evil reprehensible bastard, and I hate him oh so very much… but it’s the kind of hate that I’m happy to have.

Fuck you, Huey.

#Psycho Analysis #Huey Emmerich #Metal Gear #Metal Gear Solid #The Phantom Pain #Peace Walker #Christopher Randolph

[unfortunatelysirius]

DATING JAMES POTTER AND BEING SIRIUS BLACK’S SISTER WOULD INCLUDE:

       💟☼💟 S.T.O.R.Y. 💟☼💟

       💟 The two of you met on the train to Hogwarts, and blimey—James was awe-struck by you from the start! Sirius, the overprotective git he was, banned the blokes from putting their slimy, grabby hands anywhere near you, but James had always been compelled. He pegged you as pretty and sweet, with a dazzling personality to match. You were nothing like he was used to, like the sweet girl next door, and your background made you all the more enigmatic. He was drawn to you, unable to stay away.

       💟 First-year was a blur, with Sirius doing all he could to beg James that he wouldn’t corrupt you—and failing ever-so-miserably. You were best friends with the girls in your dorm, Lily, Marlene, and Mary, so you hardly saw your brother, nor his friends. They were a constant presence, as you all shared a House, but your personality clashed with theirs. They were loud and mischievous; you were quiet and soft. Sirius, your darling brother, didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, so he never invited you along. But James—as your admirer—was always pestering, always asking where you were. He was smitten, and by the end of first-year, he felt like he was in love.

       💟 Second-year introduced you to a strange feeling, one you outright refused to tell your brother. Enduring your horrid homelife on top of weird body changes was something you never wanted to be on your agenda. James became smart and handsome, rather than the bespectacled, messy-haired bloke that was your brother’s best friend. It was over the summer, when Sirius would go on and on about him, describing their adventures and how much he’d rather be back at Hogwarts with James, playing pranks and wreaking mayhem—instead of stuck with your witchy bitch of a mother and stoic Frankenstein of a father.

       💟 Sirius had already told you—you weren’t allowed, under any circumstances, to develop feelings for his friends. Sibling-code.

💟 “Promise me you won’t, Y/N.”       “Cross my heart, Sirius.”

💟 The heart is one of the most unpredictable organs. One minute you didn’t care about boys, or James sodding Potter,

then the next he was all you could think about. Coming back to Hogwarts, you were a mess near him, and having his starry gaze follow you every which way—while once a norm—had quickly become nerve-wracking. You felt like you were under surveillance, with your personal own stalker—in both a good and bad way. It made you giddy, but it scared you, too. James never hid his feelings away, as quite the open bloke, so you knew how he felt.

       💟 What would happen if he knew your feelings, too? What would a mutual fancy bring?

       💟 You didn’t like change. You already hated the physical changes, the mental ones—if your wary headspace’s worst fears came to life, they wouldn’t bring beauty; they’d bring a hailstorm. You weren’t ready to face Sirius, nor were you ready to face James. You thought it’d fall into nothingness as the days passed by; you were only twelve, after all.

       💟 Third year brought James kicking mate-code to the dust and letting his wants and desires manifest.

💟 While he never outright confessed, he’d compliment you on the daily. He’d charm you to stay clean and dry in nasty weather; he’d take the fall anytime you got in minor trouble. He’d smile and wink anytime you glanced in his direction, and he would take any chance to show off at Quidditch games.

💟 One time, during a game, he hijacked the microphone from commentator Mary Macdonald and called out, “This goal’s for you, Y/N/N!” He made the goal and blew a kiss for you to catch. You’d never in your life felt so flustered.

       💟 Fourth year was just the same, with the addition of (consensual) physical touches. He’d hold your hand or throw an arm around your shoulder. Sometimes you’d initiate it yourself.

💟 Hogwarts deemed the two a couple, despite Sirius’s obvious ire. It was only made more solid by James’s obsession with you, and your very-unsubtle adoration of him.

💟 Sirius became less and less lenient. By the end of fourth year, he dragged you both into a room and refused to let you leave until you promised to stop up the theatrics of a relationship. But neither of you were willing to let unspoken words be unspoken words. You’d glanced at James, heart breaking, state only worsening when you saw his crestfallen face.

💟 Sirius was angry, and he didn’t want either of you dating. He feared James would break your heart. He didn’t want a break-up to ruin their friendship.

💟 While James was torn between his heart and his head, you’d had just about enough of Sirius playing leader. You stood your ground and you told him, “Sirius, so what if James and I date? It’s none of your sodding business anyway! Just leave us be instead of being a right prick about it!”

💟 You left the boys open-mouthed and speechless. But a moment afterward, regaining confidence from your outburst, James stood his own ground. He sprung to his feet and cupped your face in his hands, declaring, “I bloody love you, Y/N!”

💟 Sirius had no choice but to accept defeat—and he didn’t make an honest peep when the two of you made it official just a day later.

💟 And thus, James Potter and Y/N L/N was finally, finally born—after but a wee bit of troubles conceiving.

💟☼💟 R.E.L.A.T.I.O.N.S.H.I.P.  Q.U.I.R.K.S. 💟☼💟

       💟 James is a mixture of a clingy and ‘funny’ boyfriend. He always wants to be around you, always wants to kiss and hug on you. Yet, he loves playing pranks—and he loves pissing you off. Your angry face is just too cute, and he loves pinching at your cheeks when they puff up all seething-like.

       💟 “That wasn’t funny, James!”                “Y/N, my love, have you not a funny bone in your body? That was hilarious.”

       💟 As Sirius is quite the brooder, you’re staying quiet when he wants to tag along on dates. He pushes himself between the two of you when you’re kissing or trying to be close, as is a trademark for Sirius ‘Cockblocking’ Black, who switches between personas of Matchmaker, Comedian, and Cockblocker on the daily. He begrudgingly lets the two of you keep your couple status, but hey—he’s your brother. Where’s the fun if he isn’t crashing dates and sabotaging physical displays of affection?

       💟 James likes bopping your nose. “Boop!” and all that. And Merlin, does he love giving you pet names.

💟 From “love” to “darling” to “baby doll” to “Mrs. Potter”—he’ll say it all. What sort of restrictions can you have on name-calling when it’s anything but unpleasant?

💟 James is rather unpredictable when it comes to dates. Somedays he’ll want you to come up to his dorm for a lie-in; other days, he’ll require you accompany him on a snowy stroll through the streets of Hogsmeade. You find his chaos endearing, and his excitement in choosing even more so.

       💟 A jealous bloke, James doesn’t like you being around untrustworthy persons by yourself, regardless of gender. Sure, he’s utterly fine when it’s people he knows, but that freckled brunette from Potions? That slimy Slytherin you have as a Transfiguration project partner? Well, he’s got to be near at all times or he’ll have a jolly old stressful time complete with overthinking and frantic hand motions.

       💟 The two of you love listening to music and playing games together. It’s kind of your thing. Whether you’re playing a game of one-on-one Quidditch or dancing to old Muggle tunes, it’s fun to be by yourselves.

       💟 The Marauders are great—your best friends—but sometimes you need time alone, to relish in your position as lovers. And “Hogwarts’ Golden Couple,” courtesy of James’s input.

       💟 Is James crazy? A tad bit.

💟 But man, oh man, do you love him for it.

#james potter x reader #james potter headcanon #James Potter #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #sirius black fanfiction #young!sirius black #sirius black sister #sirius black fanfic #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #marauders #hogwarts #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter tumblr #dating james potter #hp fanfiction #HP #ravenclaw #gryffindor #slytherin #hufflepuff

[spidercakes]

Non-powered starker AU featuring a bit of an exhibitionist kink on Peter’s end and some smut.

*

Peter looks rumpled with his button down askew and his hair all over the place and his cheeks are still a little pink but he looks satiated and Tony has to admit he’s a little less stressed. Peter’s always been good at calming him down and getting rid of his nervous energy. He leans into Tony, pants still undone and Tony wraps his arms around him, one hand settling on his hip and the other on his ass. “I can’t believe we didn’t get busted that time,” he says, sparing a glance over his shoulder and shit, Tony’s surprised too. Its not like this is a club bathroom, or some random ally that Peter has dragged Tony into, it’s a gala and all that’s playing is classical music from the live band and the chatter of voices. Peter isn’t exactly quiet either so they mostly got lucky.

He grins, dragging Peter into a kiss. “Good luck,” he murmurs as Peter melts into him.

“Guess so. Feel better, baby?” he asks and Tony shrugs.

“Some, sure. Helps that you’ll be there,” Tony murmurs. At first he thought he was going to have to deal with his asshole father and his fucking brother alone but Peter had offered to come and he’s close with his mom. He talked her into letting him bring Peter to the cabin on account of they’ve never met before and wouldn’t it be nice to invite him to family bonding? Never mind that they don’t ever really bondso much as scream at each other and then avoid each other for the next three days before leaving and not talking to each other for another six months only to do it all over again.

Still, Tony feels better with Peter coming along even if he’s still stressed about it. Peter pouts at him and Tony kind of wants to kiss it away but Peter speaks before he can. “What, need me to drag you off to some other dark corner to test our luck?” he asks, eyes wide like he’s innocent and he’s so not.

“Mm as much as I would love that I have to speak so I’ll have to take a rain check,” he says, giving Peter’s ass a squeeze.

Peter lets out a soft ‘hmph’ before he grins, leaning back into Tony. “Well, if it makes you feel better we can always up the stakes of our little game, hmm? I’m sure the family cabin has a few fun hidey holes,” he says and Jesus Tony has no idea where Peter pulls this shit from.

“Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow because he has no idea how to feel about this suggestion. On one hand, sex with Peter is always great. On the other hand he’s not looking to get busted fucking Peter by a family member. Even if he hates two thirds of the people that are invited.

Peter shrugs, “you’re somehow already the family disappointment despite being like, a billion times more successful than your brother. Its not like this would land you loweron the totem pole,” Peter points out.

Yeah, he’s not wrong there. “You know what, we’ll see how stressed I get. Now come on baby, get yourself together. I have a speech to make.”

Peter pretends to be affronted but he’s not, Tony knows. God, he’s so lucky to have him. “Have you ever thought of pointing out that Rhodey is more successful than Steve in the military and younger too?” Peter asks, threading his fingers through his and pulling Tony back towards the gathering of people.

He lets out a sharp laugh, “oh, every time I see him,” he says. And unlike Steve Rhodey didn’t need daddy’s connections to get him there because Rhodey’s a badass.

“Maybe you should say something,” Peter says. He gives Tony another one of those innocent looks and Tony really doesn’t know how he does it, looking so sweet like he isn’t constantly dragging Tony into some barely secluded dark corner of some public space to fuck him silly. He would have thought he’d be the frisky adventurous one but he’s got nothing on Peter.

*

Honestly, Peter kind of thought Tony was exaggerating about his family. He’s got a flair for the dramatic so he thinks he can be forgiven for that but within the first five seconds of knowing Howard he insults Tony, insults what he’s done with the company despite it being more profitable now than it ever was under Howard. He then goes on to imply Peter is twelve and if thatdoesn’t leave him seething with rage. So he looks young, he knowshe does and he knowshe’s significantly younger than Tony but he’s twenty fucking five.

“Baby,” Tony murmurs in his ear, “don’t listen to him. He’s a fuckass anyway.” Tony isn’t exactly wrong but still. “Get us a drink?” he adds, kissing his cheek. Peter sighs and nods, making an effort to walk back to the cabin rather than stomp. He sees no reason to encourage the line of thinking that leaves him a fucking forever child.

He’s digging around in the fridge when he hears someone walk up behind him. “You must be Peter, then,” the person says and he turns to find a tall blonde there. He reminds Peter of that Ken doll he and MJ set on fire as kids to amuse themselves and he knows Tony was nervous about him meeting Steve because he feels inferior but Peter has no clue why. Sure, he’s good looking but he’s not Peter’s type whatsoever. Reminds him of a blonde version of his ex, except Quentin had more striking features while Steve looks… manufactured.

“Yeah. I assume you’re Steve,” he says, a little standoffish. Tony wasn’t exaggerating about Howard so he doubts he’s exaggerating about Steve now. He feels bad for doubting Tony to begin with.

“So Tony did mention me,” he says and takes a small step back, looking out the glass doors of the cabin before turning back. “He’s treating you alright, right?” he asks and Peter prickles fast.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snaps. He knowshe’s overreacting, still a little pissed off about the whole Howard thing but he doesn’t much care for the implications of Steve’s words either.

Steve shakes his head, “nothing really, its just that he’s a little too much like dad and-”

“Tony isn’t anything like Howard and he treats me fucking fantastic so lets get that straight,” Peter snaps and this time he does stomp off, back out to Tony.

He looks a little confused when Peter comes back empty handed but notices Steve trailing behind him fast. “You must have just got here so what the hell did you do to my baby to piss him off so much?” Tony asks, circling an arm around his waist.

“Outright compared you to your father,” Peter mumbles darkly but its nothing compared to the look on Tony’s face and Peter is pretty sure there’s some kind of history there.

“Fuck you,” Tony snaps, pulling Peter away while Maria, who seems to be the only half way decent member of this family, looks on in something akin to horror.

*

They remain curled up next to each other while Tony runs his fingers up and down Peter’s bare back. “Sorry about dragging you into this, baby,” he murmurs, kissing Peter softly.

He shrugs because he volunteered for this. “Its okay. S’not like you can help that your family sucks, and in Steve’s slight defense he was trying to not suck even if he totally does.” Failed miserably at it given his apparently quite low opinion of his brother and Peter is sure that’s unfounded. Or if its not it hasn’t been true in some time.

Tony sighs, “yeah, in his defense I amtoo much like Howard,” he murmurs and Peter perks up, giving him the side eye because he might not know Tony’s father well but he knows that he and Howard are nothing alike. Aside from looks, they dohave a lot in common there.

“No you aren’t,” Peter says confidently.

“You didn’t know me when I was young,” Tony murmurs like that matters.

“Don’t need to. If you were like Howard you wouldn’t be the way you are now, would you? Whatever you did when you were young doesn’t really matter if you don’t do those things now,” he points out.

Tony smiles a little, arm tightening around him. “How come you’re the wise one?” he murmurs.

“Probably that time my parents both died and also my uncle Ben,” Peter says in too chipper a tone, laughing when Tony almost chokes.

“Baby!” he says, trying his best not to laugh not that he’s doing a good job.

“What? Its true. You want a mature young person traumatize them a bunch. Worked pretty well on me.” Tony shakes his head and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“I love you,” he murmurs and Peter smiles.

“Love you too,” he says back, snuggling in closer to Tony.

*

If Peter has to sit and listen to Howard’s yammering for another god damn minute he might throw the man off the dock that his damn yacht is attached to. “I swear to god if he keeps talking,” Peter mumbles to Tony, who laughs a little behind his hand.

“Hope you got him to sign a prenup,” Howard says despite the fact that Peter isn’t wearing a ring.

Peter makes an irritated noise. “Oh please old man, if I wanted his money I would have chosen someone who has one foot on the banana peel and the other in the grave so all I had to do was give him a gentle nudge before I was set for life but unfortunately Maria bit the bullet and already married your ancient ass,” he snaps. “So I figured the younger, hotter, more successful model with an actual personality would suffice.”

Howard somehow manages to look at him like he’s a bug to be smushed instead of taking offense. “I can see why you like him. He’s got a smart mouth despite it being better off shut.”

Tony gives him an absolutely poisonous look, “oh shut up, Howard. You haven’t had anything useful to offer since the seventies,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“And lets be real, the biggest contribution you’ve made to the world was Tony,” Peter says, earning a sharp snort out of Tony.

Howard rolls his eyes, “oh what would you know, have you even left high school?” he asks and Peter grits his teeth.

“The PhD program I recently finished gives a good indication that I know what the fuck I’m talking about. I’d offer you my I.D to prove my age but I’m pretty sure you lost your bifocals in the Great Depression.” Tony lets out another snort and even Steve cracks a smile at that one. Maria just looks stressed and Peter supposed he might too, if he assumed anyone here would get along for more than five seconds.

“Okay, I’m going to go for a walk with Peter,” Tony says, pulling Peter from his seat. “And then we’re going to bed. Very tired,” he lies as he drags them both out of there.

“No wonder you hate your father,” Peter says, curling an arm around Tony’s waist.

“Oh he was on his best behavior tonight so you can imagine what he’s like normally,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “You dropped some nice lines though,” he murmurs, pulling Peter into the cabin.

Yeah, he did. Probably because he’s been spending so much time with Tony and if anything the man is good with a one liner. “Mm, well, learned from the best,” he murmurs as he draws Tony into a kiss. Tony goes, hands settling on his hips as Peter pushes him into the nearest room, shutting the door behind him before pressing Tony up against it. Tony lets out a soft moan and Peter knowshow much he likes it when he takes control. He likes to pretend like he’s a control freak but nothing gets him hotter than Peter taking over, pushing him around and telling him what to do.

Tony’s hands run down his body, pulling the shirt he has tucked into his pants out. “Baby this is Steve’s room,” he murmurs into the kiss and Peter shrugs.

“So? Get that jacket off,” he tells Tony, pushing it off his shoulders. Tony all but throws it on the ground and pulls Peter back into a kiss as he works at undoing the buttons on Tony’s shirt. Tony doesn’t bother with his buttons at all; he just pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it aside.

“You sure about this?” Tony asks as Peter grabs his hips and spins them around, directing him towards the bed.

Once Tony’s legs hit the edge of the bed he shoves him onto it, grinning when Tony bounces a little and crawling into his lap immediately. “Think the golden boy keeps condoms and lube around?” he asks, kissing Tony fiercely. Tony moans into it as Peter frantically undoes his belt, pulling it from its loops and throwing it somewhere that’s not near him.

“GodI love you,” Tony tells him, hands making their way down the back of his pants as he grabs Peter’s ass.

“You better,” Peter murmurs. “Move up while I dig around,” he tells him. Tony whines at the loss of Peter in his lap but if they’ve got luck he’ll be back in his lap soon enough. Peter crawls across the bed to the bed side table and yanks open the drawer, snickering at what he finds there. He pulls out the cuffs and dangles them where Tony can see and Tony wrinkles his nose.

“Ew, not something I ever needed to see, baby,” he says.

“What? Don’t want to borrow them for a little fun?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Tony’s nose wrinkles more, “no fucking thanks, I don’t know who those were on last and I don’t want to find out. Besides, we have nicer ones at home,” he says.

Peter’s lips quirk up, “mm, yeah we do. And they look so pretty around your wrists while I ride you,” he murmurs, leaning back over to kiss Tony. He runs his fingers along Tony’s jaw, carefully tilting his head up so he can meet Peter’s mouth better before pulling away.

“Baby,” Tony murmurs softly as Peter pulls back.

“Gimmie a minute,” he says, turning back to the drawer and rattling around in it. He tosses the cuffs aside, and a few other things that aren’t useful to him until he gets luck. “Ha! Great, because I would have been pretty pissed if I had to go hunting around,” he says, tossing the condoms and lube close to Tony before crawling back into his lap.

Tony pulls him back in immediately, kisses sloppy and passionate as he feels his way up and down Peter’s back. God, he loves Tony like this, touching him like he’s never does it before. “Clothes off,” Tony tells him and Peter snorts.

“You don’t get to give the orders around here, baby, that’s my job,” Peter tells him but he pulls the button of his pants open anyway because he damn well wants Tony yesterdayand things aren’t moving fast enough. He shimmies out of his pants and starts pulling at Tony’s, shedding them and adding them to the pile of clothing tossed about the room. “Lube,” Peter tells him, “and make this quick yeah? want to be on your cock,” he says, kissing Tony again.

Tony moans into it, groping around on the bed until he finds what he’s looking for. “Fast and dirty, hmm? That how you want it?”

“Fucking right,” Peter tells him, “make it good. S’been a shitty day and I want something good out of it.”

“Me too, baby,” Tony murmurs as he presses two fingers into his hole and they both moan. “Gunna be so good,” Tony says, “always good.”

Peter nods, pressing his ass back into Tony’s fingers. “Mm yeah. Gunna ride you hard, love the way you feel inside me,” Peter murmurs, “get the condom.”

Tony curls his fingers a bit and Peter’s back arches into him. “You looks do damn beautiful like this baby,” Tony tells him. “Love the look on your face when I make you feel good.”

He lets out a few short pants before he reaches out himself, finding the condom he threw over here himself and all but tossing it at Tony. “Make be feel better if you get this on so I can fuck you proper,” he says and Tony lets out a soft laugh.

“FuckI want you so bad,” he murmurs into Peter’s mouth, pulling the condom package open and putting it on.

Yeah, Peter too so as soon as Tony’s done with the condom he sinks himself down on Tony’s dick and they both groan. He sits like that for a moment, adjusting before Tony is pawing at his hips, urging him to move as he mouths at Peter’s neck. He curls his fingers into Tony’s hair and settles an arm around his shoulders to balance himself as he begins to move.

“God baby yeah, like that,” Tony tells him as he shifts his hips just right and Peter bites his lip and tilts his head back. Tony moans into his neck, nipping at the spots he’s sucked kisses into and Peter lets out a soft, breathy noise of pleasure.

“Oh godI love having you like this,” Peter tells him. “Love the way you feel when I ride you,” he murmurs.

One of Tony’s hands tightens on his hip while the other runs up Peter’s back and back down again, curling over his ass and squeezing it. “You’re to god damn tight, baby,” Tony moans into his ear. “Fuck me faster.”

Peter nods, shifting his position slightly and moving faster, delighting in the sharp moans Tony lets out. Peter knows he’s loud, doesn’t much care what people think of it either, but he fucking loves when Tony gets loud too. He’s always the one holding back, especially in they’re in public, and Peter likes it when he lets go and just feels it. “Like that, baby?” he asks and Tony lets out another moan into his neck.

“Oh god, ‘m close,” he tells Peter and he bites his lip at the flush of arousal that results.

“Come on, baby,” Peter murmurs to him. “Wanna hear you.”

The hand Tony has on his hip grows tighter as he shifts his hips up into Peter’s keeping with the pace Peter set. He doesn’t expect to let out a loud moan but he does, breathing picking up as Tony slams his hips up into Peter’s again. “Tony,” Peter says, grip on his hair tightening as he pulls it a little. “Do that again,” he tells him, throwing his head back when he does. “Tony!” he says, louder this time.

“Gunna cum with me?” Tony asks and Peter nods frantically.

“Yeah baby, just keep doing that oh Tony!” he yells, grip on Tony’s hair growing tighter as Tony presses his hips up into Peter’s for the last time, yelling Peter’s name as he cums too. For a moment they just sit there and pant while Peter all but melts into Tony, muscles going loose. Then Tony swears and Peter stirs, “hmm?” he asks, only half interested in the response.

“Baby, that was loud,” Tony tells him and he shrugs. Tony lets out a soft laugh, “yeah, you don’t care now but when you have to look my mother in the eye,” he murmurs, prodding Peter off his lap. He whines about it but follows Tony’s instructions while he pads over to the large window that happens to have curtains on it, not that it would have mattered if they turned the lights on. Which they hadn’t so at least Tony doesn’t need to worry about that. “Oh thank god, no one has moved. Come on, before we get busted. I don’t want to listen to Steve whine,” he says, pulling Peter off the bed despite his protests.

*

Tony’s more than content with Peter curled up into his side, one leg drawn up over his hip, when Steve bursts in. He jumps, annoyed but he doesn’t look as annoyed as Peter does. Steve all but throws the clothes that he and Peter must have forgot in his room into Tony’s space looking pretty pissed. Peter’s cheeks turn bright red as his eyes go wide and yeah, Tony thought so. Its one thing to have the thrill of getting caught, its another to actually get busted. Peter mumbles something Tony doesn’t catch and drags the blanket over his head as he slinks closer to Tony.

“What the fuck?” Steve snaps and Tony shrugs.

“It was the first door we ran into,” he says in their defense.

Steve makes a disgusted face, “oh that was cute when you were nineteen, its not so fucking cute now,” he says and Tony wrinkles his nose because gross, bad choice in words.

“You were the one who chose that room, I wanted it but youhad to have it enough to bitch at mom about it,” Tony says, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t expect my little brother to constantly fuck in it!” Steve snaps.

“Oh Christ, it was like three times. Get over it,” Tony mumbles.

“Three times? You stole like five of my girlfriends and slept with all of them in my room you asshole!”

Peter pokes his head out of the blanket looking amused. “You’ve done this before?” he asks, eyes bright.

“Yeah, and I’m fucking sick of it. Why the hell do you always do this?” Steve snaps.

Tony shrugs, “believe it or not this time was Peter’s idea so blame him,” he says and Peter makes a soft noise of betrayal, slinking back into his blanket hideaway and jabbing Tony in the side with a finger. He jumps, grumbling at Peter but Steve clearly doesn’t believe him anyway.

“Don’t blame this on him, like he knew that was my room! And did you two use my fucking handcuffs?” he asks.

“No, we have nicer ones at home,” he says and he laughs as Steve’s face turns more red than Peter’s had been a few minutes ago.

Steve sputters, clearly at a loss of what to say as he throws his hands up in frustration. “Oh Steve, what could Tony have possibly done to you now? He’s been in bed for over an hour,” his mom says and Tony swears to fucking god if Steve rats him out he’s calling Rhodey to get Steve’s ass canned and he knows Rhodey will do it too.

“He has fucking not! Tell him to stop fucking in my room!” Steve says, so pissed off that apparently he forgot to censor himself in front of their mother.

“I fucking hate you, you know that?” Tony tells him as Peter lets out a soft groan under the blanket and Tony can feel him shriveling up under there in shame.

“Well I hate you too! You can’t even manage to fuck your boyfriend in your own damn room!” Steve yells.

“Well if you’re so damn bothered by it just give the damn room that’s the first door on the way in and this wouldn’t be an issue anymore!” Tony tells him and Maria throws her hands up.

“Oh for the love of godyou two are still fighting over who got that damn room? You’re grown men, stop acting like children!” Maria tells them. “And Tony, really? You’d be pissed off if Steve did that to you,” she points out.

“He doesn’t have the balls and also myroom is across the damn cabin so it doesn’t even make sense to do that, his room is closer to all entrances and exits. Not my fault I got sequestered to the bad child corner,” he points out.

“No fucking wonder you did considering you can’t even manage to fuck in your own damn room! Now I have to wash my sheets and did you even use a condom? What the hell am I going to find in there?” Steve snaps.

“Grab a black light, it’s a Jackson Pollock painting,” Tony tells him and Peter lets out another soft groan. Poor thing, Tony almost feels bad for him but this is half his fault so he doesn’t.

Steve makes a disgusted face, recoiling. “You’re fucking disgusting!”

Tony shrugs, “quick and dirty is my style, what can I say?”

“Oh my god stop,” Peter and, of all people, Maria say in sync though in vastly different tones.

“Steve, go to your room. Tony… go clean Steve’s room,” she says. Tony goes to open his mouth to protest but he gets fixed with a nasty glare. “I have found out waymore about you than I ever wanted to know tonight. Go. Clean. Steve’s. Room,” she tells him, walking off with that.

He turns to look at Steve. “I’m not cleaning your room. I don’t even know how to do laundry so I’d be useless anyway. Good luck,” he says, slipping out of bed and shutting the door in Steve’s face.

Peter sticks his head out of the blanket. “Please tell me we can leave as soon as everyone is asleep oh my god,” he says, looking horrified.

Tony walks back over and crawls over Peter’s body, crowding him into the mattress. “Aw, only an exhibitionist when you don’t get caught?” he asks, leaning in and kissing him softly.

“Caught? Oh, that’s not the problem. The problem is that I probably can’t avoid not inviting your entire family to the wedding and I don’t know how to look at Steve after being busted fucking in his room,” he says. “And apparently this isn’t even the first time you’ve done that.”

He shrugs, “dad was always on about Steve this, Steve that, be more like Steve, Steve’s the son I always dreamed of and you’re a disappointment so I figured fuck it, Steve’s a low bar to hit. To be fair everyone who’s slept with us both says I’m better so guess Steve should be more like me,” he says, grinning as Peter rolls his eyes.

“Oh my god Tony. Just tell me we can leave as soon as everyone is asleep,” he says.

He laughs but nods, giving Peter’s nose a kiss. “Yeah baby, we can leave as soon as they’re asleep. And speaking of weddings,” he murmurs, pulling himself off the bed and grabbing the pants Steve so lovingly threw back into his room.

Thankfully the ring didn’t fall out of the pocket because he’d worked hard to find something Peter would like. He hands it off to him and sits, “I don’t expect you to sign a fucking prenup either, Howard can eat shit.”

Peter stares at it, stunned. “Seriously? Is this like, an actual proposal or is this just a ring?”

Tony draws him in for a kiss. “Of course it’s a proposal, you don’t not sign prenups for ‘just rings,’” he points out.

Peter squeals and throws his arms around him, “oh my god, yes!”

#tony stark x peter parker #starker #alternate universe #smut

[hufflepuffhollander]

Can you do 1. “Babe, I’m trying to talk to you.” - “Do ya’ll hear somethin’?” With Tom Holland? Maybe you give him the silent treatment?

a blurb requested is a blurb answered!

tom x reader(contains language, some real millenial angst™, and some alcohol use)word count: 1,912 (this is a long blurb)enjoy!

———————————————————————–

1. “Babe, I’m trying to talk to you.” - “Do ya’ll hear somethin’?”

He floated through the masses, giving fleeting hellos and getting quick hugs every so often, seeming to acquaint himself with every stranger he passed with just a smile. He held your hand as you trailed behind him, but you were losing his footsteps amongst all the other shoes, getting left behind as people followed behind him; not seeing you as one body moving together, rather, Tom Holland and his incessant puppy dog. You felt his fingers slip out of your small grasp, immediately missing the warmth, but realizing after fidgeting your hand around blindly in front of you that he was long lost into the crowd.

It’s just another movie premiere.

Well, really, it was the afterparty, which made it so much worse. This happened a lot - you’d accompany your boyfriend to his red carpet events, always starting the evening with an amount of confidence that you’d envy by the end. 

Hello world, yes, it’s me, Tom’s girl, don’t trip over your jaws on the floor.

Look at me go. I’m a stunner. 10/10 would recommend. Move out of the way, a queen is walking through.

Hey, everyone, I’m still here –

Has anyone seen Tom? …Who am I? Oh-

They’re all looking at me like I’ll never be good enough.

And that’s just how these things went.

But usually, he was with you often enough so that you didn’t feel like such an outsider. He would stick by your side until you were ready and tipsy enough to handle some conversation on your own. He understood how nervous these events made you - having to meet influential people, look and speak your best, needing to project the idea of perfect - your hair, your makeup, your dress, your life. Everything was under a spotlight here, and you preferred to live your life backstage. You gave up most of that desire when you started dating Tom, seeing him as worth it, because god, you loved him so much, and in a room full of opinions, his was the only one that mattered.

Tonight, though, was different. He fell out of your grasp and became the celebrity that he is, that he always has been but hides when you’re together, blending in with the elite so well that you couldn’t pick him out of the crowd. 

After minutes of dizzying searching for him, you caught a glimpse of a mop of brown curls rocking back and forth, caught up in the punchline of a conversation, dazzling the audience with its charm. 

Oh, finally, Tom –

A nameless pretty face cut off your reach, moving herself into his circle of conversation, causing you to miss your one chance to stand with him again, to feel safe again. He started a smaller talk with the girl in a long red dress, leaving little to the imagination, impeccably curled blonde hair. He was enthralled in the conversation, not withdrawing when she touched his arm after a joke. He looked over and saw you just behind the circle of inclusion, and your eyes lit up at the eye contact, your body starting to move forward to meet him. But then his eyes left the conversation, another colleague getting his attention, “you just have to come meet my friend, they want to talk to you about a film,” and he was once again gone.

The night went on like this, finding Tom peppered amongst the crowd, never able to reach him in time before he willingly walked into another conversation, seeming to completely disregard your existence. You nursed the same gin and tonic for a while at first, but the pace of your drinks increased exponentially as the hours passed by. 

Sure, a few somebodies came to speak with you, making friendly chatter, but none of them were him, the only boy you wanted to be posed next to, the only one who made you feel like you could maybe, just maybe, become part of this world.

Eventually, you gave up trying to find Tom, and after hour three had came and went, your lipstick had faded into the rims of your drink glasses, your heels hurt your feet, and it was time to return back to your circle of the Earth.

He’s having too much fun with his people to care, anyway. If he needs me, he’ll come find me.

You got home and kicked off your shoes, changing into your usual track shorts and soft tshirt, only wearing one of Tom’s hoodies because you were cold and lacked a better option. You walked over to the bowl of fish that you’d managed to keep alive since college and sprinkled some flakes into the water.

Eat up, little fellas. At least someone can have a good night.

Curling up with a book, you tried to lose yourself in its fictitious world, hoping it would help you feel a little less alone in yours.

Later that night,

Tom came through the door, the glow of a great night still illuminating his face. You had fallen asleep long ago, but woke up at the sound of the door slamming shut, Tom wincing after the fact because he hadn’t meant to close it so loudly.

He tiptoed into your bedroom, as if it would make any difference now, and saw you sitting in bed with your nose in your book. You had taken your makeup off hours ago, so he couldn’t see that your tears had run through most of it.

“Hey, love,” he said quietly, placing his things down on a chair and untying his shoes, expecting you to have already responded as he busied himself with getting ready for bed. Missing a reply, he said it again, still without turning around to look at you, faced towards the mirror so he could undo his tie. Still, silence.

His third attempt at trying to talk to you had him turned around to face you, eyebrows knit together in confusion. You continued to look down at your book, reading the same sentence over and over again, obviously unable to concentrate on doing anything but actively ignoring your boyfriend.

Tom took his undershirt off and made his way over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed, further away from you than he would normally go. It was impossible not to look up at him sitting there, every muscle in his arms and chest exposed, still looking hot as ever even though he had majorly let you down. 

Well fuck, that’s just not fair.

He caught your glance upwards and took that a sign that there was still life in you, attempting to rekindle some kind of spark that he could feel was missing. You were always so warm and welcoming when he came home, immediately stopping whatever you were in the middle of to run over to the door and wrap your arms around him, peppering his face with little hello kisses. And, god, he lived for those kisses. Right now, he felt strangely empty without them.

“So, uh, good book?” he said, not really knowing how to approach you, knowing something wasn’t right, but afraid to say it outright. You got even angrier at that, his blank expression portraying that he truly didn’t notice that something was off.

Is he really that oblivious?

You fumed at the thought of him throughout the night, flouncing around from party to party without giving you a second thought. And now, here he is sitting in front of you, unable to see that you were visibly upset. Maybe he really didn’t think he’d done anything wrong; maybe he didn’t care if he had.

You flipped a page of the book, tapping your fingers along the covers, filling the static room with a soft drum.

Tom was getting a little frustrated now, understanding that you weren’t just a statue posed in front of him, that you could obviously hear him and were consciously choosing not to respond. He stood up from the bed with a huff, walking closer to you and laying a soft hand on your shoulder. His warmth radiated into your body, and you silently cursed him for still being able to send tingles down your spine with just a touch even when you didn’t want him to.

He expected you to look up at him, to smile, to say something, anything. But you didn’t.

I am way better at the silent treatment than I thought I was.

Tom walked into the closet with a stomp in his step. He flipped through shirts, pants, jackets, not looking for anything, just trying to busy himself with a task to keep his temper at bay. His voice muffled by the hanged clothes around him, he started again. “Did something happen at the party? Did I do something wrong?”

Those were the words that did you in. 

You know damn well that you did something wrong.

You took a sip of water from your nightstand and swallowed the wrong way, coughing a few times. Tom’s ears piped up at the sound of your voice, until milliseconds later when he realized you still weren’t speaking.

He sifted through his head, what had happened that night, trying to play and replay every interaction you’d had that would’ve caused your mood. And then, it hit him.

There were no interactions that night. He’d completely abandoned you. And he knew how much you feared that.

“Listen,” he started, not really sure where his sentence was going to lead. “I’m sorry if I got caught up in the party, you know there were just a lot of people that wanted to see me, and you know I gotta give the people what they want-” his attempt at finding humor in the situation failed miserably, and he’d had enough.

“Babe,” he walked out of the closet and stood right next to you, staring you down. “I’m trying to talk to you.” You looked up and around the room, pretending to search for where that sound had come from. Your eyes stopped on your bowl of fish.

“Do y’all hear somethin’?” you said to them, hoping but not expecting to hear a tiny glub in response.

Tom threw his hands up in exasperation and rolled his eyes so far back that you were sure they’d get stuck that way.

He changed into some sweatpants, still shirtless, and climbed in the bed next to you, turning out the light next to him, the only one allowing you to read. Suddenly immersed in the still darkness, you felt a warm tear slip down your cheek. Tom sighed loudly and flopped his head down onto the pillow, still facing you, hoping you would grace him with the sound of your voice before he succumbed to the exhaustion. You looked at him in the dark, and he somehow saw the hurt in your eyes.

“Please don’t leave me to fend for myself like that,” you whispered, lying down in the bed so you were face to face.

He brought his hand to touch your cheek and rubbed small, soothing circles with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, love. It won’t happen again.”

You let that sentence resonate in the air and closed your eyes, and Tom scooted closer to you, bringing your body into him, wrapping his arms arond your small frame. Suddenly feeling his presence, the comfort you had longed for all night, put your mind at ease, and you fell asleep, promising yourself that you’d hold his hand harder next time.

#tom holland #tomholland #tom holland blurb #tomhollandblurb #tom holland imagine #tomhollandimagine #blurb time #anon #box-of-shenanigans #emsblurbs

[everstarcatcher]

The Talk (Child's Play 2019 Fiction)

((Context: This is an alternate ending to the scene where Chucky misinterprets the horror movie and nearly goes after Pugg. A HAPPY ENDING. Where Andy actually takes the time to explain things to Chucky. Also, hints of potential future chapters as they begin to plot just how to get rid of Shane.))

Chucky’s brow furrowed as he watched Andy laughing alongside Falyn and Pugg as they watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2. The movie was gruesome, to say the least; A chainsaw wielding man was brutally attacking and maiming one victim after another. It should have been terrifying them - Chucky certainly felt uneasy whenever he saw a scrapped Buddi toy - yet Andy and his friends were all howling with laughter. Clearly his owner found violence to be funny…and yet they’d positively freaked out when he’d tried strangling the wretched family cat. It made no sense. Andy’s mirthful expression as he pointed and guffawed at the violence on screen was a far cry from the horrified panic etched across their face when they demanded he release the vicious animal. Chucky’s own expression twisted further into confusion as he compared Andy’s reactions, attempting to discern exactly what made the brutality on screen acceptable.

Remembering how the children had all gathered around him before and tried to make him stab a unicorn toy with a pencil...the robot achieved a moment of clarity. Perhaps Andy liked to see humans being hurt instead? Or in the very least...maybe he preferred melee attacks? A spark of red briefly ignited in his irises at the thought, his uninhibited mind forming a plan of action. Quietly, he stood up from his spot beside Andy, stealthily slipping off into the kitchen to grab the carving knife embedded in the cutting board. Oh, was his Andy in for a big surprise!

Giddy excitement at the thought of Andy’s approval jolted through his emotional processors as he gripped tightly to the knife’s smooth handle. He studied his face in the blade’s expression, adopting the menacing expression that Andy had coached him to use to scare Shane. Perfect.

Andy was indeed enjoying himself, snorting along with his friends at the ludicrous violence on screen. It was corny and absurd to the point of hilarity. How would anyone find this tripe scary? He nodded along with Falyn’s, “Oh my god, that wouldn’t even happen!”

“Oh tell me about it, this is just dumb, right Chucky?”

No answer. Odd. Tearing his eyes from the screen, a side glance revealed his electronic companion was gone. He didn’t have long to look for him, though before a silhouette of a person holding a knife fell over the trio.

“Heads up, bitch.”

Immediately, all three whipped around. Andy’s heart immediately beginning to race as Chucky stopped in the entryway. Knife raised over head, blue eyes glimmering malevolently as he focused on Pugg, Chucky repeated himself.

“Heads up, bitch.”

Rather than react with fear, Pugg snorted, briefly applauding the little robot for his “act” before turning back towards the screen. “Now that is priceless. Your little robot is the shit, dude.”

Andy and Falyn remained on edge, however, Andy pausing the movie as Chucky - validated by Pugg’s nonchalance - began stalking towards the rotund boy. Over and over he repeated himself with shifting tones and glitching syllables. “B-Bitch. Head’s up bi-bitch. He-head’s up bitch. HEAD’S UP BITCH!”

So hyperfocused on stabbing Pugg was the toy, that he completely missed the growing fear in Andy’s eyes. He didn’t even realize that Andy had leapt from their beanbag until he’d nearly reached Pugg. Raising the knife to stab-

“CHUCKY, STOP!”  

Andy’s frightened yells just barely registered in his audio receptors before his owner abruptly slammed into him. Panicking in the moment, Chucky swung the knife wildly about, struggling blindly against the smothering pillow. Terror and confusion shone in his eyes as he was faced once again with Andy’s disturbed expression. Why?! Why was he seeing this face again!? What had he done wrong THIS time!?

“A-andy? What are you-”

His words broke off as his knife finally made contact, slicing cleanly into his human’s forearm. Andy’s subsequent scream of pain sapped all fighting spirit from Chucky in an instant. A pang of cold dread claimed the robot’s little body as he immediately realized the gravity of what he’d just done. He’d hurt his Andy. Immediately, he went still, his expression twisting with remorse as he watched Andy nurse the wound. Stammering, he attempted to explain himself.

“A-andy...I uh...I thought that..th-that you would-”

Furious and in pain, Andy thoughtlessly screamed.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

Their words cut deep, a sharp dagger of agony slicing into his core as he watched his owner suffer. This was pure torture. Knowing that HE had caused Andy pain. He was supposed to be their best friend, he was supposed to make them happy, he was supposed to-

Not thinking, Chucky blubbered, “I th-thought that you’d like it, Andy! I...I saw the movie and thought it would make you happy! Andy, p-please don’t be mad at me! I didn’t m-mean to hurt you, I swear! I… I just wanted to make you laugh...”

Andy drew silent at this, his expression softening as he watched Chucky panic and plead for forgiveness. Chucky hadn’t meant to hurt him, he could tell. But he HAD meant to hurt Pugg, if not outright kill him. And all for what? Some misguided attempt to impress him? Andy sighed after a long moment, his eyes shifting back towards the paused tv screen. Leatherface was dangling a bloody severed face in front of a horrified soon-to-be victim. Ok. So maybe he could understand where Chucky would get the idea for attempted murder. His gaze slid back to the shocked faces of Falyn and Pugg before resting on Chucky’s miserable expression once more.

It was a moment before he made his decision. Reaching down for the remote, Andy switched off the movie, bathing them all in darkness. He addressed Falyn and Pugg first, eyeing them apologetically as he gestured towards the door. “Guys, I’m going to have to ask you to leave for today. Me and Chucky need to have a serious talk right now. Alone.”

Nervous, Falyn bit her lip. “Are...are you sure you want to do that, Andy? I mean, Chucky DID just slice up your arm-”

Andy shook his head with a steely firmness in his gaze. “Yeah, I’m sure. He’s not inherently violent. He’s just...a little mixed up right now. You guys both know that he’s not like the other Buddi dolls-”

Swallowing hard and side-eyeing the downed toy with scrutiny, Pugg interrupted, “No shit. Most toys don’t try to fucking kill me. Seriously, Andy, you should get him checked out. Chucky being uncensored and all was cool at first, but this is way too fucking far.”

Andy gritted his teeth at Pugg’s harsh words as he noted Chucky’s worsening disposition; the doll looked like he wanted to die. “Exactly. He’s not like the other dolls. He has no filter. Which is why I need to have one on one time with him to clear some things up right now. I just...I really need to lay down some boundaries. So can you guys just...leave me to it for now?”

The two exchanged an uncertain glance before slowly rising to their feet. Falyn briefly put her hand on Andy’s shoulder, her voice low and urgent as she whispered, “Text me later today, yeah? I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t know that you’re ok.”

Andy bid her a mirthless smile as he nodded before giving her hand a brief pat, “Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

Pugg gave Andy a look suggesting that he expected the same, though he chose to remain silent as he followed after Falyn. The sound of the door opening and closing was the only noise in the apartment as Andy stood pondering, eyes glassy with thought as his blood continued to drip onto the floor. Neither dared to move, though Chucky noticeably winced with the sound of each droplet. It was a moment before he dared to speak, his voice soft as he implored his owner, “Does...does it hurt bad?”

The question broke Andy from his pondering, the boy sighing as he only squeezed the wound tighter. “No, Chuck...it doesn’t hurt too badly. Though I’m going to need to find some bandages for it to stem the bleeding.”  

Immediately, Chucky leapt into action, sliding from beneath the pillow and making a beeline for the medicine cabinet. As he rummaged around, his dread only continued to grow. Andy was wearing that expression again. That awful pained lost expression that drove the robot mad with worry. It didn’t take long for him to find the bandages, the doll hauling ass on his stubby legs as he returned to the living room.

    Andy had settled down into his beanbag, still nursing his weeping wound. He eyed Chucky with a sad smile as he noted their eagerness to make amends. The robot hesitated just before his feet, unsure as to whether or not Andy wanted them close at the moment. Andy was quick to reassure them, patting his lap as he gestured to his arm. “Come on up, Chucky. I’m not afraid of you. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

Relief colored the robot’s expression as he was quick to rush in, crawling into Andy’s lap and immediately dressing their cut. As they wrapped the bandages tight, however, Andy placed a hand on the doll, his expression pensive. “However, I know that I can’t say the same for everyone else around me. You were going to hurt Pugg, weren’t you? Just like you hurt Rooney.”

Chucky’s face fell, the little doll shuddering with guilt as he finished the knot and eyed his owner. “No...not like Rooney. I was trying to protect you from Rooney. With Pugg...I only wanted to make you laugh. You, you looked so happy watching that horror movie with your friends. Pugg even thought it was funny at first when I-”

Andy was quick to jump on his words, placing a hand on the doll’s shoulder, “Exactly, Chuck. At first. It was funny at first. Chucky, you’ve got to understand that I don’t want you hurting ANYBODY for my sake. Not if it’s to make me laugh. Not if it’s to protect me. You...you don’t know when you take things too far, obviously. If you want to protect me from the cat, just scare Rooney off whenever he comes into my room. If you want to make me laugh by imitating serial killers, just PRETEND to act like them. Do not ACTUALLY come after my friends with a knife and try to stab them. I was laughing at the movie because the violence was so clearly fake. The blood looked like ketchup. The acting was terrible and corny. It was funny because we all know it’s not real. The chainsaws aren’t real. The actors aren’t ACTUALLY getting cut up into pieces. Once the cameras are done rolling, everybody high fives each other and go take a lunch break. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Chucky blinked in confusion, a brow lifting as he tilted his head, “So...you liked it because you knew that nothing was real?”

Andy grinned, relieved to see that Chucky was beginning to understand, “You hit the nail on the head, buddy!”

The doll’s expression didn’t lighten up at the revelation as he pressed further. “But Andy...how am I supposed to know when to pretend? How can I pretend to not hate Shane or Rooney? How can I protect you when I can’t punish those who hurt you?”

Andy sighed as he ran a hand through the doll’s bright red locks. “Chucky...it’s not your job to be my avenger. I neither expect nor want you to act in violence on my behalf. Getting angry and lashing out only makes things worse. The best thing to do in these situations is to just vent about it and move on. Though, regarding Shane…” He trailed off as his eyes darkened. “Shane needs to go. Killing him isn’t the answer, though. Neither is hurting him physically, but surely we can drive him away through some other means. I don’t trust him, Chucky. I never have. Mom’s always had a shit taste in men. The last thing we need is to have an asshole like Shane in our lives for the long term.”

Chucky’s eyes burned with ire as he regarded the deep hatred in Andy’s own gaze. He still desperately wanted to get rid of Shane, but if his buddy outright demanded he didn’t, then he would obey their request. A moment of thought passed between the two before Chucky spoke again, “If I can’t end his life...maybe I can make it insufferable. I could blackmail him, even. Get dirt on him so your mom has no choice but to leave him.”

Andy blinked, staring flabbergasted at the doll. He had no clue that Chucky knew about things like blackmail. Though he couldn’t deny that the idea was genius. After all, Chucky was basically a walking talking surveillance system. Chucky could totally act as a spy and find out any damning nasty secrets Shane had. After a moment more of thought, he bit his lip with uncertainty, “But, Chucky...what about you? What if Shane finds you out before you can get any evidence? I’ve seen the way Shane throws you around...just how much abuse do you think your body can take if he tries to get rid of you?”

Chucky’s blue eyes flickered to red with surprising ease as he bid Andy a bitter smile, “I’ll manage, Andy. Kaslan products are built to last. Besides, if he attacks me...I’ll just “pretend” to hurt him.”

Andy’s expression fell at that, exhaling sharply as he eyed the hostile doll. “I...uh...I don’t know, Chucky. Maybe it would be best if we didn’t go through with this. There’s so many ways this can go wrong. Just...please explain to me what you think “pretending” to hurt someone is…”

Chucky’s expression screwed with thought, his gaze returning to blue as he tapped a finger to his chin. “Hmmm...how would kicking him in the shins and running off sound? Or taking a knife with me and almost stabbing him?”

Andy’s lips twisted into a grimace. “Maaaybe we should just put a pin in the whole blackmail idea for now, yeah? Though the general plan is pretty good. Tell you what. I’ll take you to get fixed so you can finally connect to the other Kaslan products like you’re supposed to and then we can worry about the blackmail. The last thing I want is for Shane or more importantly you getting hurt. You’re my best bud, a one-in-a-kind companion, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Chucky smiled at that, a genuine soft smile. “That sounds...really good, actually.” A lovely  warmth burned in his chest at the notion of both being fixed and being valued so highly. Even after he’d hurt Andy, they were still willing to do so much for him. The reciprocated feelings of love and devotion were intoxicating. What’s more, that lingering sadness in their eyes was gone for the time being - replaced instead with a fierce determination. It was a wonderful sight to see.

The happy feelings only intensified as Andy pulled Chucky in for a tight hug, the robot sighing contentedly as he buried his face in his human’s shoulder. Though he already knew the answer, he still felt the need to confirm, “So...you’re not mad at me, right? I don’t have to go in the closet today?”

Andy snorted at that, only squeezing the toy tighter as he nodded, “No, I’m not mad. Especially now that we both are on the same page. Just...talk to me if you ever get the urge to be violent again, alright? I don’t want you doing something rash that could get you in big trouble.”

Chucky’s eyes dimmed as he, albeit reluctantly, nodded. “Ok, Andy...I’ll let you know.”

Andy pulled back with a relieved sigh, patting his friend on the shoulder before setting them down on the ground. He gestured to his room with a grin. “Thank fuck. Now...what do you say to a game of Pictionary?”

Eager to get the ball rolling again, Chucky nodded vigorously. “Of course, Andy!”

Illustrated Scene

#child's play 2019 #child's play #buddi #chucky #chucky is a yandere #friendship #alternate ending #andy barclay #fanfiction #my art #my writing

[polarishq]

Meet AMARYLLIS “Mary” NJOO. They are FIFTY-THREE years old and hail from SAN FRANCISCO, CA. Mary embodies the constellation, SAGITTA. They use she/her pronouns. Their faceclaim is BRIANNE TJU.

Sagitta  reminds me of hands covered in thorn scratches, strawberry milkshakes at 2am, flowers blooming through sidewalk cracks, messy buns secured with a dozen bobby pins, rose colored blush paired with heavy mascara, sunflowers in a glass acting as a makeshift vase, racing heart rates, a face too much like her mother’s, dirt caked underneath fingernails, childhood nostalgia, and the chirping of birds after a storm. .

BIOGRAPHY

Mary has spent her entire life knowing she was never meant to be born. The Njoo family come from a long line of magic user, highly respected within their own social circles and spread to all four corners of the globe, so when Lillian Njoo became pregnant at the young age (by human and witch standards) of 19, it was a massive scandal. It was made worse given the fact that it had been through a one night stand with a man whose name and face she didn’t care to memorize. But the Njoo family was also based deep in traditional views, especially given the time period of the late 60s. Lillian was given no choice but to have the child, but it was clear early on that she never had much affection for her daughter. Instead, Amaryllis was shuttled around from one relative to another every few months. While most of the Njoo family valued strength and offensive magic, everyone soon realized that Amaryllis was inclined otherwise. Rather than being fascinated by the prickly thorns and poison leaves most of their family specialized in, she could often be found picking flowers to braid into her dolls’ hair. She was a gentle child, and in their family, that was seen as undesirable. They did their part in housing her here and there when need be, but in terms of actually bonding with her, that was not an option to them.

Amaryllis didn’t have a stable home environment until just after her fifth birthday, when she was taken in by her uncle Perry — technically her great-uncle, but semantics. Perry himself was always seen as something of an outside within his family, both for his demeanor and the fact that rather than an earth element, his magic was water based. He specialized in healing, giving him a strong sense of empathy as well, so when a young Amaryllis was thrust on his doorstep without a second though from any other relatives, taking her in was a no-brainer. The first thing he did was give her the nickname Mary, because what the fuck kind of child wants to introduce herself as Amaryllis. The second thing he did was plant a flower bed in the backyard, after he learned how much she loved to watch things grow. At first it was weird for Mary, to have someone willing to give as much love as she did. It was easy for her to adjust in that sort of environment, and even easier for her to thrive and grow. Perry learned as much as he could about plants and earth magic to teach his niece, and finally, Mary had someone who actually felt like family.

For their part, most of the Njoo family brushed Perry and Mary off. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Lillian would call every few months to make sure her kid wasn’t dead, but that was about the extent of her role. It wasn’t until Mary was around 16 in human years that her mark finally appeared. She only told her uncle about it in her excitement, not even thinking about telling the rest of their family until a few months later at their annual Christmas gathering. It was really the only time of the year where they all got together, and Mary and Perry went just for the sake of appearances. Mary began speaking to Lilian just to swap niceties, and casually mentioned her constellation mark had appeared. Then, Lillian lost her shit. She was furious that she had not been informed of this, and what resulted was a heated argument between Perry and virtually every other member of the Njoo family. His screams that she had no claim to anything regarding Mary fell on death ears, and soon enough, he was dragging Mary out of the banquet hall in order to keep her safe. It wouldn’t last though.

Within a week, Lilian came to their home along with two other head members of their family, stating that Perry had done his work as caretaker but it was now time for Mary to begin training with a competent instructor. Not wanting to start another screaming match, Mary went into her mother’s care. What followed was seven years of anger and resentment that made the initial argument look like child’s play. When Mary agreed to go with her mother, she assumed she would be able to return to Perry as soon as they realized that Mary wasn’t going to be a fighter like the rest of them. No matter her powers, Mary was kind and gentle by nature and that was that. Instead of conceding defeat, Lillian took it as an act of defiance that they could get rid of with the right force. And, with the years of abandonment and the feeling of being ripped out of her home finally pushing her over the edge, Mary fought back. While she could never find it in her to strike her mother when she struck her, Mary did actively engage in intense verbal fights that often left her voice scratchy and the ground shaking from the Njoo women’s combined strength. It was miserable for both of them, and finally after seven years, Mary took the first opportunity she had and ran home.

Her and her uncle both cried when she returned, and she apologized again and again for ever going with them in the first place. Perry, in all his kindness, assured her there was no need to apologize. They spent days, weeks, months even, waiting for members of their family to show up and drag her away, punish her for leaving, but no such occurrence ever came. What did come was a note, three months later, written in Lillian’s handwriting to say that neither her daughter nor Perry were members of the Njoo family anymore. It was meant to be painful, but Mary and Perry celebrated instead. They had both suffered at their family’s hands, but now they were truly free to live their own lives. Although well into his third hundred year, Perry took the disinheritance as his chance to finally be his authentic self, and within the next decade, Mary was the only Njoo invited to the wedding between her uncle Perry and her now-uncle Thad. And Mary, still kind and optimistic in spite of her mother’s best attempts, has never been happier.

For decades, Mary was content to learn magic from her uncles. They were the only ones she really trusted; the idea of “training” makes her physically nauseous thanks to Lillian. Mary associates the entire concept with hurt and anger rather than something that could be constructive. Perry and Thad, a fire user, were happy to do what they could, but as time went on, they had to admit to themselves that Mary’s earth magic needed a special education that they could not give. When they first brought up the idea of Polaris to Mary, she outright refused. She knew of the school — it was the alma mater  for most of the Njoo family living in America. This was the place that had taught her uncles, but also her mother. Her grandparents. Everyone who had so coldly turned their back to her and hurt her. She didn’t want it. It took Perry and Thad finally being upfront with her to make her realize that even if she didn’t want it, she needed it. So, after their insistence and fear of upsetting them further, Mary finally agreed.

She’s been at Polaris for a few years now but despite that, she’s still not sure if it’s where she’s meant to be. She purposefully avoids anything related to combative or offensive magic, even though her inclinations align with that sort of training. She’d much rather spend her time in one of the school greenhouses, or tending to the flowerbeds she keeps right outside her dormitory window. There is still a lot of anger within her left from her mother, and it can result in Mary assuming the defensive even when its not called for. And despite the resentment she feels towards Lillian, Mary also has a lot of abandonment problems that she is not yet willing to face. That’s her little secret though. Bigger than that is her determination to spread love and positivity, to the point of sometimes coming off as disillusioned from the realities of the world. She’s not, though. Mary is very well aware of what people are capable of; she just chooses to focus on the reverse.

INCLINATION

Sagitta, the arrow, often sponsors people who are in need of direction and focus  in their lives. Its a bit ironic, considering the destructive abilities it possesses. Those with the powers of Sagitta are capable of tectonic plate manipulation and, with the proper training, can create mountains or strengthen the foundation of continents. Sagitta is also volatile, though. Without the right level of control, their powers can overwhelm them. This may lead to catastrophic disasters, including earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, or tsunamis. These are, of course, worse case scenarios, but it does mandate that witches and wizards in control of Sagitta need to be on their guard always.

CONNECTIONS

Filling the role of Julian Moore’s calm companion.

Garden Club: Mary really, really fucking likes flowers. These folks also really, really fucking like flowers. Or vegetable gardens. Or shrubbery. OR anything really, the gardening club is here for all your plant-based needs. Their a group of students that help tend to the greenhouses on campus in addition to beautifying the already stunning grounds.

Polar Opposite Besties: Ms. Njoo here loves pretty much everything. This character hates a lot of things, but somehow Mary was persistent enough to win them over and now happily calls them her best friend. They have definitely received a BFF necklace from her on at least one occasion. Think of them as the ultimate Hufflepuff/Slytherin dynamic.

Family Member (fc should be either part Indonesian or part Chinese): Another member of the Njoo family currently at Polaris, probably some sort of cousin or what-have-you. Unlike Mary they would have been raised from birth within the family and brought up under the same rigorous training and ideas of superiority. They would also most likely be completely separated from Mary after she was essentially disowned. Whether or not you want them to share the family’s mindset, or if you want them to be more in-line with Mary and their uncle, is up to you!

Penned by Jeanne ★

#sagitta. #earth. #jeanne. #taken. #student.

[kotlc-oneshots]

Blind!keefe au

Hey all!!! Sorry I’ve been dead, but writings block kills lol. Anyways I got this idea off of some lame discord convos and uhhh I hope it’s good. Also it’s late and lmao I have no motivation to edit my own writing uhhh here u go. Some mild swearing. Will be Kam if I keep going w it. Lov yall.

*~*~*

Pt.

one

Keefe

I’m lying in bed, of course, when the shrieking of my alarm goes off about four feet away from me. I blink my eyes open until they don’t feel sticky and gross, then grab my alarm clock. It’s a simple thing, a brick with about 5 buttons total on it, probably.

I pushed the button on the bottom left corner, and the loud wail finally ends. I groan and rub my head, wishing the colors and blobs that cloud the center of my milky vision would just come into focus.

However after years of hoping for that, every morning, I know nothing is going to happen. With a small sigh, I go into my ultra-specifically organized dresser.

Today is the first day of my senior year. Even if I wont be able to see myself, I want to know that others will appreciate the way that I look- or, at least, am dressed. There’s not a lot I can do if there’s anything wrong with my face or hair. I wish I could, though- even though I’ve been blind since birth, I still always want to look presentable. In order to do that, my friends help me once every other week to organize my outfits for the upcoming 14 days. It started in sophmore year, when Sophie got the wonderful idea, and it's been a tradition since. And thanks to my ‘photographic (ha) memory’, I always know what clothes I’m wearing. Always.

I’m about halfway dressed when hear a beep from the direction of my bed.

“New message from Fitz.” The automated, robotic voice of Siri tells me.

“Hey siri- read message from Fitz.” I respond, then finish putting on the rest of my clothes.

“Ready for your first day as a senior?” she reads back to me. I automatically change the sound to Fitz’s deeper, more human voice in my head. It’s pointless, but necessary.

“Hey siri- text Fitz ‘hell yeah brother.’” After a quick confirmation of what I’m sending, I go into the bathroom next to my bedroom. I carefully feel my way around for my toothbrush and brush my teeth, then proceed to run my hand through my hair. For a short moment, I wish I could see myself as more than a blob of milky, too bright color, but it fades quickly. I’d rather not think about it. So I finish up in the bathroom, then return to my room for my bag. With a quick ‘hey siri’, I manage to find my phone as well.

After a few more voice commands, I receive the news that Fitz will be here to pick me up at 7:30, which gives me about 20 minutes. I hop over to the kitchen and make myself a quick, hearty bowl of cereal. Being me, I choose the healthiest kind- Lucky Charms. When finished, I smile to myself and set the bowl near the sink- I know my dads at work by now, so I don’t have to worry about him. Sometimes there’s good things about waking up early. As I slip my bag on and go to the door to wait, I remember how lucky I am to have such a good memory, and such a constantly cleanly household. Otherwise, I’d be as clumsy in my house as Sophie is. I grab my cane and walk outside, chiding myself for thinking so much about the little things.

Fitz is there, honking his horn, about 5 ish minutes after I get outside. Sophie yells at him for being annoying, and I chuckle a bit. A window rolls down, and Biana’s voice comes through hollering to go to the back passengers side. I use my cane to help me a little bit, then grab onto the ledge made by the open window. I proceed to find the door handle, then carefully step into the car.

“If any freshman gives you crap today, you have full right to hit them with your cane.” Dex, who must be on on the other side of Biana, says.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely do that,” I respond with a laugh, and I can practically feel the worry in the air as Sophie warns me not to.

“We really don’t want you to get suspended on the first day. So just wait until tomorrow, and give them an extra hard whap on kneecap.” Biana adds cheerily.

“This is why you’re my favorite.” I awkwardly try to wrap my arm

around her head, but fail miserably. My peripherals are even worse than the center of my vision- there’s almost no light visible towards the edges. So I end up hitting her on the head, and play it off by messing her hair up. This, of course, causes her to whack my arm and call me a jerk.

“Alright, dumbasses, knock it off,” Fitz, my best friend of the

past 6 years, yells. “By the way, Keefe, we’re pulling in now.” A knot forms in my stomach. Man. First day of senior year at Foxfire. I can’t believe its so close to being over. The beginning of the end.

We pull into the parking lot and step out of Fitz’s Volvo. I turn towards the building, and take a deep inhale of the crisp morning air. My friends and family always like to comment on how pretty the building looks. Foxfire is a really prestigious private high school, and I know that they put a lot of money into the architecture

and the grounds. It's a pity that all I see is a building shaped blob of its beige color, and the faint blobs of green and other colors that I know are trees.

I try not to let myself think about it.

We walk into the building, and Fitz automatically splits off. He's supposed to help some teacher set up the presentation that the Freshman go to. I love him, but it's the first day of school and that man is already busy. This year is gonna be rough if we wanna keep up our hangout sessions- although, we both did take the same 6 AP classes. We’ll probably study together, when he’s not with his million other commitments.

After a few hugs and highfives, and a few debate friends greeting me, I go to my first class. I’m /not/ getting caught in that crowd, especially with the idiotic freshman pretending that they own the place. Off to AP music theory it is. C118 is easy enough- no stairs, and it's a pretty straight shot to the classroom. Again,

I thank my perfect memory to get me around. I may not know what the building looks like, but I basically have the blueprint downloaded in my head. Good times, man.

First period doesn’t result in much. We all get a copy of the syllabus, and a short introductory reading. I can feel a tinge of annoyance when the teacher acknowledges my inability to.. Uh, read it, but a girl named Linh volunteers to help me out with it. She seemed nice enough. She had a bit of a Canadian accent, and when I asked about it she confirmed that she was from… Minnesota. She was really sweet, and I’m genuinely hoping that’ll become a friendship.

The next couple periods go uneventfully. Fitz is in one of them, and Dex the other so I don’t have to worry about another situation like in first period. And the teachers always let me go about 2-3 minutes early, so I can avoid the crowds- that is, until lunch. I’m on my way down to the cafeteria when I run into… someone. They must have been very quiet- I didn’t realize they were that close to me and coming around the bend. So when they did, we kinda collided. I hear a soft curse when they thud to the ground, and from the shape and sound I know its a guy. I put the cane in my left hand and offer to help him up. I’m not sure what it is, but he doesn’t accept it.

“You good man? I didn’t see ya there.” I laugh a little, because

duh. He doesn’t. I can’t really make out any of him- his hair is /probably/ black- and this agitates me, because he doesn’t respond. And then he practically runs away.

I have no way to identify him- probably a dumb freshman that didn’t want his ass kicked by the blind senior. Trying to shake off the interaction, I roll my eyes and start on my way to lunch again.

//

“Honestly, today was AWFUL. The second half, at least.” I’m now at Fitz’s house, along with Dex. “I already told Dex about that one guy that ran into me, but Stats teacher was awful. She probably heard something from Michaels about last year- just because I rarely showed up doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing! I got along in that class fine.”

“Keefe, I taught you like half of that course.” Fitz replies, laughing.

“Because you actually know how to do math! Michaels is an awful excuse for a pre calc teacher. Dex, be glad that you got Hex.” I retort. It’s not wrong- Mr. Michaels had been very incompetent. If not for Fitz, I would have gotten the worst grade I ever had in my high school career.

“You know I am.” Dex agrees. “Even Hex hates Michaels, but she won’t admit it. Outright, at least.”

“Ok, enough about horrible teachers. Tell me about the guy who ran into you.” Fitz pipes up, not wanting to be apart of a conversation dissing his soccer coach. I let him divert the conversation, even though I really wanna rag Michaels to the ground most of the time.

“Well, that's the thing. There’s nothing to tell- I ran into him and he fell. Then he ran away, without saying a word,” I say. “I wanna know just as much as you do.”

“That’s cute.” Dex comments, and I shake my head.

“You know what I mean.”

“Suuuuureee.” The tone of his voice makes me hit him, which starts a wrestle between the three of us that lasts for about half an hour. By the end of it, I’m sure I have multiple bruises from falling, kicking something wrong, and getting hit, but I don’t care much. We fall into a panting heap on Fitz bed, and we through half hearted punches at each other that hold no intention. Needless to say, I’m sweaty and gross, and when Fitz informs me that it's almost 8, I ask to go home. A man's gotta shower- and get his beauty sleep.

So Fitz drives me and Dex home, the three of us having pointless conversation about classes and plans we should make. I get dropped off first, and they wait as I carefully make my way to door of my house, not leaving until I get inside. I hear the thrum of his engine as Fitz drives off, then make my way to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, I brush my teeth and head off to bed.

I drift off, and my thoughts are filled with a mysterious blob with probably black hair and evil math equations.

#keeper of the lost cities #dex dizznee #kotlc #keefe sencen #sophie foster #tam song #blind!au #fitzvacker #writersblock #highschool!au

[epistolizer]

Hit and Run Commentary #125

When liberals insist that there needs to be a conversation, what they really mean is that they intend to browbeat and  berate the general public until they surrender ideologically just to be allowed a semblance of peace and where the prevailing conventional wisdom is allegedly altered to such an extent that disenfranchisement and even potential violence against the few remaining stalwart critics is viewed as a viable option.  

Of conditions at facilities warehousing urchins dragged across the border, a Southern Baptist theologian lamented,  “Those created in the image of God should be treated with dignity and compassion, especially those seeking refuge from violence back home. We can do better than this.” But at no time did he offer to board these individuals in posh and palatial Southern Baptist Convention properties. If we as a nation weren’t concerned about the dignity of these souls, wouldn’t they be disposed of at the border crossing? One notices at no time did he urge parents to remain with their children in their respective homelands or for the regimes from which these individuals originated to improve conditions for their citizens. 

For Boo Beep failing to consent to being Woody’s breeding sow and for Jessie The Cowgirl taking over as the new sheriff in Toy Story, homeschool activist Kevin Swanson invoked I Corinthians 11:11, stating that man is not independent of woman nor woman independent of man. But that only applies to those that are married. For no one else has right to control you in that sort of manner. As much as aspiring cultists might want to, you can’t make someone marry someone else.  

The same homeschool elites jacked out of shape that characters at the end of Toy Story aren't married off would probably toss a bigger fit if these pairings were formed in a manner other than the parents selecting the mate with the decision subject to approval by pastoral authorities.

It was said in a homily on SermonAudio that one will not find the right relationship until one has found satisfaction in Christ. Given that we still endure results of a sin nature until we depart this world, such never fully happens. Ironically, these hardline exegetes are usually of the sorts that toss fits if people aren’t married by the time they are 23 years old. Second, if one has found satisfaction and completeness in Christ, why bother getting married? Solely for increasing the size of the herd as the brainwashed girl remarked in the South Park episode on homeschooling?  

In analyzing the Avengers films on Issues Etc,  columnist Terry Mattingly referenced in what seemed an almost condescending tone   “Evangelicals and their minivans.” So exactly how else is one supposed to get around if one spawns the requisite number to be categorized as sufficiently pious? It’s not like there is a variety of station wagons on the market to select from these days.  

Instead of condemning singles that stay to themselves, perhaps Southern Baptist elites should have gotten after those for the most part married that can’t seem to keep their hands off the underaged.  

The media is outraged at the existence of a secret social media group where border agents are alleged to have used vulgar terminology. So apparently the media can teach us to say these naughty sorts of things. We apparently just aren’t allowed to repeat them.

If the government is not allowed to ask how many residing within the nation’s borders are actually citizens, by what right can it ask how many flush toilets are in my house when I am the one paying for the amount of water that flows through both?  

Pastor Mark Dever and his herald theologian Jonathan Leeman of the Capitol Hill Baptist network of churches insist that one is in a state of sin if a believer does not hold formalized membership in a church. But aren’t their membership contracts (or “covenants” laying over the vernacular a hyperpious coating most will lack the courage to question) terminable only upon death or membership transferred not to a congregation holding to the fundamentals of the Christian faith but rather one within their particular network of churches themselves sinful? How is this appreciably different than the billion year contracts aspiring Scientologists are compelled to sign before induction into the sect?  

In remarks about church membership in a Ligionier Ministries podcast, theologian Jonathan Leeman remarked that those leery of such commitment are doing so to avoid accountability. But aren’t such individuals in a sense justified to be skeptical of such intrusion into their lives when a number of congregations that look to this particular thinker as one of their leading theological beacons stipulate in their membership covenants that such an arrangement is terminable only upon death or one sidedly when those in authority rather than the mere pewfiller decides that their walk with Christ might best be cultivated elsewhere? Contrary to Dr. Leeman’s flippant dismissal, there is more to this reluctance than not “wanting to live in the light”. It is about reticence over being compelled to live by pastoral preferences spelled out nowhere indisputably in the pages of Scripture and about the perdition it sounds like some churches might put an individual through if they come to the conclusion that they just have got to leave a miserable situation.  

Elder Jonathan Leeman of Cheverly Baptist Church in an oration on church membership at Southeastern Theological Seminary admonished that great care must be taken to keep the line between world and church clear. Has he brought this up with his 9Marks colleague Isaac Adams who affiliates with a group of Christian hip hop artists advocating recreational cannabis? In this same oration, Jonathan Leeman pointed out the dangers of allowing non-Christian musicians to play in church. Perhaps he could similarly clarify his position regarding Christians extolling the delights of recreational cannabis or do they get a free pass when they are not White?  

In an oration at Southeastern Theological Seminary,  Elder Jonathan Leeman says that he likes to drive along Embassy Row in Washington, DC to see the flags of the various nations. Many of these represent nations engaged in outright tyranny and oppression. Others subtly restrict freedom of expression in the name of tolerance and diversity. Yet to this theologian, the flag of the United States is so vile that it must be removed from the nation’s churches for fear of upsetting foreigners often from these repressive lands happening to visit an American church in America.  

In an oration at Southeastern Seminary, theologian Jonathan Leeman said that there needs to be a conversation about the requirements of church membership. Usually when someone says that there needs to be a conversation than means that they will be the ones doing the talking which will likely consist of a lengthy list of demands and you will be seriously berated if you raise any objections, questions, or calls for clarification.  

In an oration on membership at Southeastern Theological Seminary, theologian Jonathan Leeman joked that the first membership interview was Jesus asking Peter who do you say that I am. But nowhere in that did Jesus strongarm Peter into signing a contract stipulating that the Apostle was bound to a single congregation for life or that he could only transfer with permission to another within a particular network of specified churches. Secondly, nowhere in the interview was Peter required to elaborate a serious of raunchy past escapades that would make a soap opera screenwriter blush.

In a Capitol Hill Baptist podcast discussing race, it was remarked that Black South Africans have a remarkably forgiving ethic. So are tires filled with gasoline placed around the necks of victims set ablaze and land seized from farmers for little reason other than that they are White the sort of social justice policies these New Wave churches would like to see implemented?  

In a Capitol Hill Baptist podcast discussion about race, theologian Jonathan Leeman remarked that some have been hurting for months and some have been hurting for several hundred years.  So wouldn’t one of these individuals have to be an immortal like Duncan McCloud born 400 years ago in the Highlands of Scotland?  

In the new wave Baptist circles out there, the American flag and patriotic anthems are out. In apparently are hip hop albums where on the cover the artists appear to be puffing weed with insignias resembling three intertwined  sixes bringing to mind the Mark of the Beast. But what do i know? I apparently just stoke unfounded fear.  

If the party line is that an elder of a church no more represents a church than any other church member when the name of the particular elder is among the first things that pops up when researching a particular church, those about to have their church manipulated out from under them are hopelessly naive regarding about what is on the verge of rolling over them.  

In discussing race in a podcast, Pastor Mark Dever and Dr. Jonathan Leeman discuss how they wished more racial minorities would take part in the pastoral internship program of Capitol Hill Baptist Church. You will note that at no time did the duo ever articulate their willingness to resign their own lucrative, prestigious positions to toil in manual labor and obscurity for the purposes of giving life to the utopian vision that they not only want imposed upon everybody else but also demand you celebrate enthusiastically if you wish to retain the church-bestowed designation of acceptable Christian.  

I was verbally upbraided that I am obligated to “set my prejudices aside” and “to be open minded” in regards to two pastors discussing things as Christians when the perspective being addressed might end up becoming the preferential interpretation among the potential leadership of an unspecified in these posts congregation. So, in other words, I am apparently obligated to set aside the Biblical admonition to be a Berean in a church that claims to adhere to sola scriptura. So what other Biblical injunctions am I to also set aside for the time being? So why am I obligated to open my mind to new interpretative winds blowing into a church when apparently other minds are as closed regarding cautions I have raised?  

In a sermon on church membership, theologian Jonathan Leeman rhetorically asked do you hang with those that do not look like you? Other than my father and brother, I don’t “hang” with anyone. Is family interaction also now to be verboten in New Wave Baptist Churches that don’t simply impart to you knowledge regarding God’s word but seek to take control of those aspects of your life over which the church once offered teaching but left you to yourself to implement?  

It was remarked that, if a church member skipped several Sundays during the summer to go fishing, they ought to be disciplined. But in such an instance wouldn’t the church run the risk of the individual leaving altogether?

By Frederick Meekins

[readingwebcomics]

Analyzing Questionable Content: Pages 1-50

And so it begins.

The very first comic of Questionable Content, posted way back in 2003 and what would eventually be Jeff Jacques’ claim to fame, the reason why everyone remembers his name and what has made him a wealthy man today.

…’s alright.

Of course, by modern standards it’s not very good. This was the early 2000s, the wild west of online artists who had nothing more than an art creation software and a dream. The Webcomic Review has a VERY good post about it right here, which explains what the landscape of webcomics were like around this time and why exactly Marten has a pet robot (tl;dr, EVERYONE had a pet robot in ye early days of webcomics because Megatokyo).

But aside from the… awkward art, this comic at least serves to set up the protagonist (as far as we’re aware right now, we’ll get into the roles of protagonists in QC later). He’s a lanky, assumedly average guy who hates where he is in life but doesn’t know what else to do or even where else to go…

…as he goes on to spell out two comics later. He’s unassuming, not really much you can say for or against him, miserable and stuck in a rut in his life that he’s too scared to escape. Sooo basically, freshly graduated college students – the exact kind of audience a RomCom like this would go after.

Oh, did I forget to mention?

Yeah, QC started off as a RomCom.

This young woman is Faye, and she immediately cuts through the bullshit with an aggressive but to-the-point introduction of herself and her intentions.

While aggressive and to-the-point, she’s also set up as someone who meshes with Marten and Steve’s interests well enough and quickly makes friends. This is probably best exemplified in the seventh page, which serves two purposes:

Purpose the First: Showcase Marten and Faye have a shared niche interest, immediately establishing chemistry between the two of them. Be it platonic or romantic, they’re quickly hitting it off and, being a RomCom, will serve as the first rope potential shippers can grasp onto.

Purpose the Second: Jeff is a MASSIVE indie music nerd and he wants the fucking world to know it.

Also Pintsize is there doing funny robot things because 2003 webcomic.

It’s not long before this initial relationship is set up that two issues serve to sew the seeds of initial conflict:

This, likewise, serves two purposes: To show where Faye works and create a believable life for her to exist in when she’s not in the story with Marten, and as previously stated to sew potential romantic conflicts in the future. Jeff employs this tactic many-a-time throughout the course of Questionable Content, beginning a conflict and letting the implications sit with the reader while life goes on in the regular comics. Is this good writing? I honestly can’t say. Is it always done well? Oh good God no, some plot beats are outright dropped or left to sit for so long the reader straight-up forgets it’s there with this method. But does Jeff make it work? It’s all on personal taste I’d say, but personally it sits well with me.

Also, for those of you wondering why it looks like the word “hump” is just pasted onto the text bubble in post… well it was. The original comic implied sexual assault much more overtly, using the R-word instead of “hump.”

*Away from mic* Wait, can-can I say [NOPE]? Better not to risk it? Alright, fair ‘nuff.

But yeah, this was pointed out by readers to be pretty fucked up and it was swiftly changed, for good reason.

Later that night, Faye asks Marten to dinner with her. Platonically, of course. And here I believe I should point out the dynamic of their relationship as it stands – Faye is the aggressor. Marten is basically a doormat. Whenever something happens, Faye is always the instigator, be it going out to dinner or tagging along with him when he’s getting shopping done. This will feed into their relationship dynamic and sets up a decent inter-personal conflict: Marten is far too passive to reach out to Faye and make the move to start something, but Faye, despite how openly and quickly she attaches herself to Marten’s life, never takes that step into making it romantic. The two clearly have the hots for each other, but their respective personalities make it so neither one crosses that threshold.

Yes I know this is basic character writing for a RomCom 101, but the fact that so much about these characters are said in 12 four-panel comics says a lot. It hooks the reader quickly and gets them on the page Jeff wants them to be, and I respect that.

And in the next page, Faye’s aggression takes on a new level, albeit extremely briefly.

This is an isolated incident of actual physical aggression rather than implications and threats in these first 50 pages, but it becomes a trend as we go along – one that feeds into Faye’s character, mind, so it’s not just physical abuse for humor’s sake – so just keep it in mind as we go along.

Also on a personal note the actual restaurant they go to is simultaneously the worst and best idea I’ve ever heard of:

This is horrible. I should not encourage this. And yet some dark part of me finds the concept utterly hilarious even though I know I’m a piece of shit for liking it.

Actually, now some part of me wants to do the exact opposite – advertise a place as a steakhouse only serve an all-vegan menu. It feels less mean but just as funny to me.

…oh right, the comic.

After sharing dinner, exchanging banter that establishes good chemistry and parting ways, we come to this comic that I’m only showing because I’m a slut for good puns and I will take any and all opportunities to share with people.

(Pintsize totally won that round with the John the Baptist zinger by the way, if I’m allowed to judge this.)

And one page later, we get the biggest shake-up in the comic thus far:

It’s established Faye herself ended up burning down the apartment because she burnt toast, but that’s not really important. I know, the fact Faye BURNT DOWN A BUILDING isn’t important sounds completely ridiculous, but follow me here – the important thing for this setup isn’t the how, but the why. “How did Faye’s apartment burn down?” isn’t the question Jeff, nor the audience, is intended to be asking, that’s merely a vessel into the situation we’re in – the answer of “Why did Faye’s apartment burn down?” which is, of course, so Marten and Faye can become roommates and facilitate future antics and further their relationship. Familiarity breeds into both affection and conflict, and the obvious case of “Well you two are already living together, aren’t you?” will serve to further the flames of their potential relationship with one another.

…granted, a better reason to create this setup would’ve been nice, and from a writing standpoint it’s ridiculous that Faye never suffers any consequences for burning an entire BUILDING down, one that had many more people than just her in it. If present-day Jeff wrote this plotline… actually. Now that I think about it, Jeff DOES re-do this plot point and make it make a lot more sense and have a lot more impact on everyone involved.

But we’ll get to that when we eventually talk about Brun…. Three thousand and something pages from now.

Either way, my point stands: This plot thread serves mostly to create the situation we’re facing now, one where Faye and Marten end up living together. This shake-up to the early comic settles us into the new status quo, one that we’ll be riding with comfortably for the foreseeable future.

Further evidence of Faye’s aggressive and troll-ish nature… one that may or may not play into future revelations about her, now that I think about it.

Remember what I said about sewing the seeds of drama? Well here we stand now – a misunderstanding, or the beginning of genuine conflict between these two?

The answer is… they talk it out like actual goddamn adults, avoiding a stupid, unnecessary fight.

Honestly? Kind of refreshing. But what makes it better is the following page:

Honestly? This moment never fails to make me laugh. The one-two punch of complete betrayal of the reader’s expectations as well as the utter dismantling and defusal of the romantic interest subplot between these two dorks – while denying some genuine romantic conflict that may force Faye into being more upfront with how she feels about the situation – is a fun denial of the kinds of RomCom clichés that one might expect to find in this story.

Sure, there are other stories that do this better, I’m not denying that. But isolated in a bubble, this stands by itself and, frankly, works well enough for the story Jeff’s telling.

Also say goodbye to Sara, once she walks out that door she goes to join the little sister from Family Matters and the big brother from Happy Days on the twisted Island of Irrelevancy, visiting the story only when she can spare the time to craft a raft out of banana leafs and... where was I going with this?

…okay, personal story time. The Walmart I’m doing contract work for this week has a CD display of new-ish albums, and honest-to-God I completely forgot music CDs were even a THING. MP3s have spoiled us, and I now feel old for some reason.

Right, getting back on track.

I wanted to show this comic to establish three things.

1) Marten is the kind of person who sits on things that bother him and lets them stew for awhile. As established in the previous image I showed with Marten and Steve at the music store, it’s been at least a day since what happened with Sara and Marten’s still thinking about it. This, for better or worse, becomes a core part of Marten’s character moving forward.

2) Faye, for all her faults, is a genuinely good friend who cares about Marten and knows when to channel her natural aggression into support rather than ribbing.

3) This is another comic that always makes me laugh whenever I read it. Yes I know that’s much less of a real reason than my other two points but let me have this dammit.

This particular page itself isn’t terribly important to the ongoing narrative but I wanted to include it because it introduces QC’s unquestionably best character, Jim. Hi Jim! I like Jim.

(He’s a minor character at best but he’s just so earnest and fun and every time Jeff brings him back he just gets better and better.)

Oh, and for those who were skeptical that the more-than-platonic interest was mutual between Marten and Faye, the next two issues serve to showcase that… yeah, both parties TOTALLY have the hots for each other.

The first of those two comics, by the way, gets called back to much later down the line. And the fact that Faye speaks in a southern accent is more than just a joke, it’s going to be touched on more later.

Jeff says in the description of this comic that this is based on personal experience, and it shows – this is the most backbone Marten displays to my memory.

And in the very next page, we’re introduced to a new character – although you wouldn’t guess it from her appearance.

That’s Raven. I like Raven. Her personality changes a ton once she’s properly introduced as a character and not a nameless employee, but for posterity’s sake: Here’s her very first appearance in the comic.

There’s only one more important comic to touch on in this batch of fifty, and it’s about both Marten and Faye’s families:

While this could be as simple as a “har-dee-har, my family drives me up the wall,” this comic serves to say a lot about both characters once we know more about their families. Both Marten and Faye actually have very good reasons why they don’t want to see their respective families or go back to their hometowns… Faye especially so. We’ll touch more on that when we get more into her backstory.

Before we wrap things up, I’d like to do a quick comparison between page 1 and 50 to see in what small, subtle ways Jeff’s artistry has improved:

There’s not a LOT of difference, but the small details really showcases just how different they look. Small changes from the placement of everything on Marten’s face, to the size of the eyes, the width of the eyebrows… It’s good shit.

Overall, what did I think of batch 1? Well… for an early 2000s webcomic, it’s engaging. The characters are likable, the plot is progressing at an enjoyable pace, and I’m already on-board to see if Marten and Faye will get together. I mean, I know the answer, but my point stands.

Also because I’m a freak or something and like data compilation I went ahead and kept track of who showed up in what comic and made some numbers for it:

Not counting the one guest comic and two non-canon pages, Marten showed up in 45/50 pages, being in 90% of the comic so far.

Faye was in 38/50 pages, taking up 76% of the comic so far.

Pintsize comes in third place being in 15/50 comics, taking up a paltry 30% of the comic thus far when compared to the screen time Marten and Faye have taken up.

Likewise, Steve has been in only 8/50 pages, making up 16% of the comic up to this point.

Sara was in 5/50 pages, making up 10% of these first 50. That percentile will grow smaller and smaller with each update, believe you me.

Jim was in 2/50 glorious pages, making up 4% of the comic up to this point. And that was the best 4% this comic had to offer, let me tell you.

Raven, although still unnamed, I’m counting – she’s in 1/50 of the first batch of pages, making up 2% of screen time.

Tune in next week as we continue onwards to pages 51-100 where we’ll be introduced to the next major character in the series, who’s mere existence will further the plot more than anyone we’ve previously met. See you then.

#Questionable Content #Analysis #Long-form analysis #Faye #Marten #Pintsize

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON POIZN’S LEAD RAP, LEAD DANCE KANG CHANYEOL…

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 26 DEBUT AGE: 18 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 15 COMPANY: 99 ETC: This member is a rap soloist

IDOL IMAGE

Most idols are forced to wear masks, completely fabricated personalities or at least heavily distorted versions of reality, to fit the image desired by their companies. Pushed into boxes without so much as the chance to protest and thrown onto the stage with their new colours displayed proudly. Some take to it well, some can’t acclimatise and fall flat on their faces. On some rare occasions there’s no need to adapt, the person already ticking every box on the checklist, personality perfectly synchronised with the concept. This is the case with Kang Chanyeol.

Poizn have always been defined by their bad boy image, and even before considering his future prospects as an idol this was how he decided to display himself to the world. A carefully curated exhibition of attitude and cock-sureness, delinquency and unpredictability, bluntness and raucousness. And so the transition from trainee is near seamless, and rather than toning him down, burying his cockiness and smoothing the rough edges, they instead focus a magnifying glass on them. Amplifying and exaggerating those aspects of his personality instead, the faint fog of arrogance that surrounds him doesn’t always win fans and he’s grown to be a somewhat divisive figure, but it keeps the group on everyone’s lips.

Time has gone some way to tempering this. These days he is no longer the cheeky upstart with delusions of grandeur and no qualms about stepping out of line or speaking out of turn. The fiery passion that had previously defined him has frozen over. Every year that passes, every scandal that plagues them, and every poorly judged choice from company higher ups serves only to sour him, chilling his demeanour further. He still knows to play along with the group, to do as he’s told and paint the picture they’ve commissioned, and when to shut his mouth but there are times when he can’t hide the disdain.

A rebellion against 99 as much as anything else, he is often deliberately contrarian. A few years back they attempted to re-brand him, to somewhat rehabilitate his image and present Chanyeol 2/0 to the world; an idol that retains the same tsundere charms and devil may care attitude, but with softer edges than before. A savage beast with a heart rather than a up and up punk intent on provoking for the sake of provoking. It’s been met with open arms by some, a healthy dose of scepticism by others, but behind it all he remains the same man as before, barely pulling his punches anymore and most days barely managing to veil his contempt.

IDOL HISTORY

Chanyeol never wanted to play the bad guy, but when most of your life is spent in the company of the amoral and outright dishonourable it is perhaps an inevitability.

To most children money holds little value, just scraps of paper and lumps of metal, but to his parents it is the single most important thing in their lives. To say that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth would be a vast understatement. The spoon is at the very least golden, the handle encrusted with rubies and diamonds. He never wants for anything. Every need and desire, the finest foods, clothes, education, is catered for with just a click of his fingers, always someone to wait on him. It’s a lifestyle that so many crave, and in his early years it’s one he adores.

As the years roll by however, the novelty begins to wear thin. He’s lucky if he sees his parents more than once a week, and even then, only for a few hours, instead raised by a vastly underpaid minder. Even when they’re home, they’re rarely resent, instead preoccupied with conference calls or meetings. They are more interested in their business than in their son, building the empire that he is one day expected to inherit. A kingdom for an unwilling emperor. They ply him with gifts, buy his affection and attempt to plug the gap with material possessions. It fails miserably.

He struggles connecting with people his own age, having next to nothing in common with his peers. Those in the echelons of the upper class do not share his feelings of disdain, and the rest deem him too snobbish, too elitist to bother with him despite all of his efforts to prove the contrary. A few try to draw close, but as the years pass it becomes clear that they are less interested in him, and more interested in the family coffers. He grows to be distrustful, assuming an ulterior motive in everyone and burning up any would-be Icarus without care when they stray too close to the sun.

He feels ostracised, like a piece from the wrong puzzle; he just wants to be normal. To be noticed by his family, and seen as something other than a walking cheque book. Friends, even. But most of all to be appreciated as a human being.

A lone wolf in almost every sense of the word, on a diet of haywire hormones and teenage angst Chanyeol’s attitude only sours. Attempts to purchase his affection become more and more extravagant in turn. He starts acting out to get some sort of reaction, to pull some response from the ivory tower, but one never comes. Instead it just drives him further into the wilderness, those around him becoming even more reluctant to interact. By age ten he’s buried under a mountain of toys, age eleven drowning in a sea of electronics, and age twelve suffocating under a mass of musical instruments. A guitar, a piano, a violin; he doesn’t even know why. He’s never expressed any interest in the arts. Perhaps they’ve simply run out of things to buy him, or perhaps they truly knew so little about their own son. Either way, most are discarded or forgotten about.

Landing himself in (yet another) schoolyard fight aged fourteen is a turning point. Looking back he can’t even remember what caused the conflict, only that blows were traded and bruises exchanged; split lips and black eyes were near semi-permanent features of his face. The school punishes them, and it forges a strange bond. They clash, but they would go to the ends of the earth for one another. Two kids mad at the world, feeling forsaken by everyone around them. It’s the first time that a real connection is made, and over the months they draw close. The new companion is entrenched in western music, and introduces him to the sounds of 1970s London and 1980s New York and early 2000s Seoul. The sounds draws him in and the attitude makes him stay. Fiery rebellion. No one person better than any other. Anarchy. Punk rock.

When the bassist leaves his friend’s band, he steps up despite not having played a note in his life. “The Sex Pistols couldn’t play when they were recording albums, four chords and the truth is all you need, it’ll be fine.” He reasoned, digging out one of the guitars that had been buried in storage for years. It was here that he learned how quickly he could pick up instruments, and first fell in love with performance. The band ends rather suddenly a little over a year later, tensions within the group rising to unbearable and irreconcilable levels, and his outlook sours once more.

Age fifteen he’s asked by his parents, or rather an employee of theirs, to model for a few lines scheduled for release later in the year by subsidiaries of their main brand. Modelling is not something that he’s particularly comfortable, or even familiar with, at this stage but he agrees regardless. It’s likely just another money saving measure, he realises, but if he shows willing enough he might finally earn their approval. Despite his hesitance he takes to it like a duck to water, and returns to shoot promos twice more over the following months. None of the photos from the second or third shoot ever see the light of day.

After the third shoot he’s caught off guard, a stranger thrusting a business card in his direction babbling about an audition and then scurrying into the crowds outside the studio. Chanyeol simply scoffs. What’s prompted it he isn’t sure (That revelation would come later), nor is he certain how genuine it was. Though his initial reaction is to toss the slip over his shoulder he instead tucks it into his wallet, eyeing it cautiously over the course of a few days before curiosity gets the better of him.

It’s not a path he’s ever paid much mind; in fact it’s one he’s been actively against. The Korean entertainment industry is the antithesis of punk values in his mind, a hive money hungry businessmen watching over a factory floor where teenagers are stripped of personality. Now that the offer’s been made though, he’s rethinking. It would give him direction that he was sorely lacking, free him from the shadow of the family name, fans to feed his ego, and he’d be able to perform for a living… worst case scenario, he can buy out the contract. Best case it’s a platform that he currently lacks.

As it turns out the stranger had been serious, and what’s more when the time comes for his audition he sails through. Contracts are signed, and he’s in. Clean. Simple. Nowhere nearly as traumatic and stressful as he’d heard others make out.

Training is manageable. Gruelling, but manageable. He has less experience than most, weaknesses obvious from the outset but over time he learns to hold his own. The early months are rough, Chanyeol growing frustrated at his shortcomings and barely scraping through the first few evaluations, and he’s often tempted to quit but still he soldiers on. During this time he falls in love with hip-hop, noticing the similarities with the subculture that he knows and loves. The same rebellion, the same danger, the same edge. When it becomes clear that his vocals are weaker than so many of his peers, he instead focuses on rap and only then finds his feet.

There’s always a feeling that he’s treated differently though. The instructors are firm, but they seem to be less harsh towards him. His attitude persists and for whatever reason it isn’t crushed underfoot. This is not a world that he knows well, but even he knows better than to test the boundaries, and so never steps too far out of line, but little things seem to slip through the net. It’s never said aloud, but Chanyeol feels it, and so do his fellow trainees. Nobody dares outright call it out for what it is, but they treat him differently. Some shun him, seeing the treatment as unfair, and some scramble closer hoping that mere proximity will make their ride easier. It’s an all too familiar vision of the past that begins to push him back towards bitterness.

Three years pass before he debuts. Time sees him hone his rap skills and become a skilled dancer, and though his singing still sometimes borders on woeful his stage presence (and more than a little studio trickery) overshadow the flaws. Poizn are an ideal fit, the concept a near perfect match for Chanyeol.

It isn’t long before the scandals begin. Smaller at first, but escalating quickly. Other members take the fall first, tell all articles and exposes by netizens suggesting that perhaps their bad boy image is less of an illusion and more of a reality. When dealing with the backlash it seems as though are intent on making the worst decision possible at every turn; brushing off rumours rather than addressing them, outright ignoring others and letting them fester. Perhaps he should be mad at the members, but in his mind the damage that each scandal has is a failure of management, and the company are entirely to blame for not dealing with them.

For his part, Chanyeol’s scandals have only ever centered on one thing. Not relationships, not sex, not drink, all of that is carefully hidden, but there is no containing his fiery attitude. He is caught on camera in the midst of heated exchanges with several members of staff and other idols on more than one occasion. It all pales in comparison to his reaction to a gaggle of Saesang fans tailing their car one night, when he is filmed exploding at them and using language less than befitting of an idol before storming away.

For this, they pull him from group promotions, effectively throwing him into the cellar and losing the key. The response seems disproportionate considering past actions by 99, and Chanyeol feels personally slighted. That Christmas he returns home, and as is typical of the festive season things end in arguments. He confides in his parents, who have decided to make a rare appearance, about his frustrations with the company, about their mismanagement of Poizn. About how torn up he is over it, how it’s almost destroyed him before he’s even begun. They simply shrug. “Don’t worry about it. Money is the best motivator.” His father says, barely looking up from his plate. It’s as though he genuinely doesn’t understand why people are up in arms. “We’ll write them another cheque, encourage them to let you do what you like. Or we just get lawyers involved.”

It’s said so flippantly that you’d miss it if you blinked. Slowly the cogs click into place. Another cheque. Through gritted teeth he asks the question, gets the answer he expects, and thus begins the shouting match. They didn’t outright buy his place in Poizn, but they paid enough to encourage a scout to wait outside the photoshoot and grant him an audition.  He passed on his own merits, but the fact remains that the only reason they saw him was because their palms had been greased. On top of that, a few extra Won had ensured that the entire process was a painless as possible and though he’d had to train just as hard as everyone else for his spot in the lineup rumours of special treatment were not entirely unfounded.

He doesn’t bother to ask why they’d done it, or why they hadn’t thought it worth mentioning. He assumes it’s another misguided attempt to buy his loyalty, or to keep their brand relevant. Nothing would be better publicity than the prodigal son of the fashion moguls becoming a star, after all. Whatever the reason, whatever the intention, it doesn’t lessen the sting or the sour taste in his mouth. Needless to say they now speak even less than before.

Everything that he has, he only has because it was paid for. Every opportunity he’s been granted, the result of a dirty deal. How much was down to him? And how much was down to his bank account? Everyone he chooses to trust believes in him so little that they see the only path to success as corruption and bribery.

The stigma lingers like a bad smell, melding with the countless other controversies of the members that emerge shortly after their debut. The whispers persist weighing heavy on Chanyeol, anytime it’s mentioned he physically stiffens up and looks as though he’s about to launch across the room and punch you. The public see him as a joke. Other idols see him as a punk, and not the kind he’d hoped for. Both simply sneer.

And he sneers back. If they want a villain, he’ll give them a villain.

His attitude only spirals. On camera he becomes gradually frostier, but manages to maintain the image that they’ve built their career on. Off camera he stops caring about how he’s viewed. Stops even trying to be personable, teeth bared and ready to lash out at any given moment. Blunt as a rock, his words drip with venom and tongue cuts like a razor. If you do good by him, he’ll do good by you, but otherwise he has no problem cutting you down as so may others have done to him.

A few years later, of begrudgingly playing the game, avoiding scandal and rising through the ranks, the company are convinced that his image can be rehabilitated. They wish to maintain his hardened, devil may care image, but soften the edges. In return for playing along, they say they’ll give him a solo with creative control. It feels no less dirty being on the receiving end of the bribe, and it’s tempting to refuse but… creative control has always been his endgame. And so he begrudgingly agrees.

Poizn have been around longer than most, at this point a legacy group in all but title. And yet now they are arguably more relevant than ever, the runaway Love Scenario shifting the goal posts. Where at times in the past it had felt as though they’d been coasting, a conduit for scandal and little else, this is a shot at group redemption. It’s enough to wake something up inside of him.

Long term, he’s under no illusions about his future. The chances of his contract being renewed are negligible at best, and frankly he’s jumping for joy at the prospect of ditching 99. The only reason he hasn’t jumped overboard yet is fear of dragging his members down with him. Despite it all, they’re the closest thing to a functional family he has ever known. Besides, it would be foolish to depart when they were riding such a high, so for now he’ll just do as he’s told. With any luck his solo career continues to be a success; consider it an audition tape for any other companies interested in taking him on after he’s unceremoniously dumped.

#id.bio #id.poizn #id.shin hoseok #id.99

[pjdredful]

The AV Club

Chapter 1

 "You know Evie, you've been coming to me for three months now. In that three months you've only spoken once. Just once to ask for water." Tony leans back in his comfy chair and taps his notebook with the end of his pen. I shrug lightly at it and continue playing with the frayed patch at the knee of my jeans. He gives a soft sigh and nods mostly to himself, I think, rather than to me. "I know you resent these meetings but the fastest way to get them over with is to actually participate." I give him a blank look and roll my eyes.  Tony is my therapist, or he would be if I actually spoke to him but I don't because I don't need a therapist. I'm not crazy. I let him sit in silence a little longer before I check my watch. We still have fifteen minutes but sometimes when I look bored he lets me go early. I think he's almost going to let me go when he switches it up on me. "Your mother said you're having nightmares again."

 "Step-mother." His brow goes up slightly but he only nods in acknowledgement or acceptance or whatever.

 "She says they're coming almost every night now. That must be frustrating for you." For a second I consider making a smart remark but my mother, my real one, always said if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Which is why I'm quiet about 85 percent of the time. It's not like anyone would believe anything I said anyway so I usually just skip over communicating entirely. "When I was about your age I had some pretty weird dreams too. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, confused, scared, and angry all rolled into one. The worst part was, I didn't think anyone would understand because I wasn't entirely sure I understood."

 Ten minutes to go. I flick my eyes toward him and try to keep from looking as bored as I feel. So what if he had nightmares? I'm pretty sure they weren't scenes of the end of the world and everyone he ever loved dying in a violently bloody demon apocalypse. The truth is when I say it like that I can't really blame Jo-lynn for thinking I'm a whack job and forcing me to complete my legally mandated therapy sessions. You wake the house screaming about the end of the world enough times it's bound to make even the most rational of people look like a maniac. Tony gives it a beat and looks at the clock over my shoulder before giving a resigned nod. "Okay well its a few minutes early but I can see you're still not ready to talk." He closes his blank notebook and rests it on the edge of the coffee table very deliberately. He's not the first therapist I've been dragged to over the years, and even though I don't talk to him, he's actually kind of the best. The most patient for sure but even patient people have limits. He offers me a slightly tired smile and clasps his hands between his knees lightly. "I get that you don't want to talk to me because I'm the person your step-mom picked. I get that you think this is all a bullshit waste of time and I'm an idiot, and I might be. But I'm here if you do want to talk about what's on your mind."

 A bullshit waste of time. I couldn't have said it better myself and I can't help but chuckle a little. He smiles back at me probably thinking we've made some progress here. Maybe we have. I've smiled even less than I've spoken. "You're not an idiot." He gives me a slight nod and I continue. "But this is totally a bullshit waste of time. I'd say sorry about it but you still get paid, talking or not, right?"

 He leans back in his chair again and rests his chin on his fist. "Well we're talking now, so I guess I'm earning my pay."

 Hm. He has a point. I roll my eyes at him but I'm not really bothered. "Time's up, Doc. Good talk though."

 Tony stands and opens the door to the hallway out of his office. "You know I'm not a doctor right?"

 I'm almost all the way through the door when I snort. "You know I'm not a psycho right?"

 "Evie…." I wave it off because psycho is one of those no no words now. "Now wait." He puts a hand out, not really touching me but letting me know he wants me to listen. "No one thinks you're a psycho. No one thinks you're crazy or out of control or anything like that.” God. His face is so earnest.

 I give him a look and wait a beat. “Well I dunno the judge at my hearing seemed to think I’m very out of control.” That was all just a misunderstanding. Honestly. I’m not on drugs! Okay. Well. At the very least I wasn’t on drugs when I got arrested.

 Tony just grins at me and nods his head a little as if accepting that yes obviously someone thought I was nuts. His quiet chuckle fades and he shrugs a tweed covered shoulder. “Your mom just thinks you need someone to talk to about the things you feel."

 He almost freaking had me. Almost. "Step-mom." It's too late to fix and he knows it so I wink and slip my earbuds in as I stroll down the hall out to the waiting room. Sandra the receptionist waves to me as I slide out the patient exit door and head for the bus stop. I skip through my mp3 player until I reach my favorite song by The Decemberists. Los Angeles I'm Yours plays just loudly enough to drown out the sounds of most traffic as I sit at the bus stop waiting for the number 18. I'm not thrilled about having to see Tony twice a week but the truth is today is the closest I've come to wanting to talk about it. The nightmares, the demons, the monsters, the devil, and my AP biology midterm. All of the horrible things that keep me up at night. I'm so deep in thought that for a second I don't realize that a shit brown 1988 Ford Taurus is idling roughly at the curb where the bus stops.

 My bestfriend Nat pokes his head out of the passenger window and whistles to get my attention. "Yo…crazy face! Get in!" I shake my head with a laugh and run to the car, hurrying to beat the bus just pulling in with a nasty honk at Nat and his brother. I fling myself in to the back seat, squishing into a warm, soft body with a slight blush.

 "Hey Lirae." She gives me a smirking smile because it's pretty much the only kind she knows how to give. I pull my seatbelt around and fumble for a second looking for the part to click into before I realize that Lirae is sitting on it. And still watching me with that serene calm that lets me know that she's purposely sitting on the seatbelt thing.

 "Problem?" I fidget a little before letting go of the seatbelt altogether. Forget it. I'd rather be flung to my death through the windshield. I can feel my face burning as she chuckles and bumps my shoulder with hers. Lirae’s usually on but currently off again boy toy makes an annoyed tsking sound and a really nasty beer burp. She turns her head to give him a disgusted look. "Gross Orson. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

 "No. I kiss yours." She elbows him in the gut hard enough to make him choke out a breath before she reaches across my body to pull my seatbelt back over. I go still as a frightened mouse and try not to think about how close we all are in this tiny rusting deathtrap and how warm Lirae's hands are at my hip as she buckles me in.

 "Can't have our girl getting hurt can we?" Uhhh. My brain has momentarily stopped functioning at the softly whispered comment. Orson is watching her very closely and I know that he's going to make my life miserable. He's the one friend of my super small circle that isn't really a friend. More like a tolerable associate. I wouldn't talk to him at all if it weren't for Lirae bringing him to the AV Club. Once he was in he kind of just took root. Like a really annoying weed.

 "So what's the diagnosis? Is Evil Evie still cray cray?" There it is. I roll my eyes and don't even bother to hide the smile when Lirae elbows him again. "What? The kid is a train wreck, we all know that already."

 Nat turns around in his seat as much as he can and nods at me. "Don't listen to dickwad there. He's just in a bad mood because Coach chewed him a new asshole at practice." I'm not that girl you know? The cheerleading, team sport loving, school spirit having All American Girl. That's just not me. For one thing I'm not even sure how football works. And for another I'd much rather date the prom queen than the prom king. Plus there's that whole thing where the weird paranormal shit that only happens in movies and TV seems to always happen to me. I don't mean to imply that I'm a cosmic joke and a walking magnet for the weird and terrifying. I mean to outright state fact. I am a living, breathing, magic and mayhem magnet. All that scary hoodoo crap you think can't be real? It is.

 So no. I'm not the girl that hangs with the pep squad or the popular kids. Orson however, well. He's the top jock and he acts like it too. I smile at Nat and shrug. "Like water off a duck's back." Nat chucks me under the chin playfully and turns back in his seat as we cruise along toward the clubhouse. See? Tony shouldn't feel bad, I don't talk even to my friends. "What are you guys doing here anyway? I thought we were meeting at the clubhouse at seven." It's not quite six yet but any change of plan that keeps me off the public busses is okay by me.

 Mo looks at me through the rearview mirror and shrugs. "We were at The Harbor." My brows come up a little at that. The Harbor isn't a place for boats and beaches in our town. The Harbor is a very seedy bar where you can acquire just about anything if you have the money and don't sweat the small details. Like, where said purchased thing came from, or even knowing the name of the person you bought it from. Needless to say The Harbor is the last place a bunch of teenagers should be. And yet…we know it well. At least I know it well. Well enough to get arrested for being underage in a bar I had no business being in. My punishment? Mandatory rehabilitative counseling. I wasn't there to drink but when I told the undercover officer that detained me that I was there to see a man about a stone he just assumed I actually said I was there to see a man about getting stoned. Like I said. Misunderstanding.

 "Any news?" I try hard to keep the hopeful note out of my voice. Everyone in this car knows my deal. Average dorky high school student by day, metaphysical super magnet by night. Well. That part is really a 24 hour deal but since most of the paranormal crap is powered by moonlight I get a reprieve. Just in time for those oh so thrilling biology classes. This weird dark attraction has been my curse since my eleventh birthday and there hasn't been a damn thing I can do about it. In short I'm just like Mo and Nat, Orson and Lirae. Well. Possibly not exactly like Lirae. I'm not sure there's anyone quite like her. But what I mean is that I'm just as normal as the next geek. I can't see or hear anything different than any other human, all I can do is 'sense' the darkness. It's more of a gut instinct which is so much more difficult to explain to a rational human being. Hey a demon thing is in town. Oh how do I know? Because I can feel it. What does it look like? Well I'm not sure really since I only ever see things like that in my horrible puke inducing nightmares. Yeah. This is my life.

 I watch Mo's lips curl in a slight smile even though he doesn't say anything. I'm hoping that means good news for me and bad news for my nightmares. He pulls off the main road taking a little used dirt switchback track. Orson, Lirae and I bounce around in the back like sacks of laundry, grabbing on to any surface that will keep us stationary as the car rolls over the rutted and uneven path.  Mo banks a curve that throws Lirae's body in to mine hard enough to make my head smack the window. I'd grumble but I'm too terrified to move because I'm pretty sure there is a boob on my arm. Lirae rights herself by pushing off my knee with a grunt and I breathe. I can feel the heat of her hand still on my knee right through my jeans. Probably it’s the closest I’ll get to being groped by another human being again in my life. I make sure to avert my gaze toward the window to hide the creeping red flush up my face. Maybe if I don’t move, she won’t either. As the car skids to a stop in front of the dilapidated shack we call a clubhouse I curse my ineptitude in all things romantic.

 "Hey Mo, grab the equipment while me and Orson get the cooler out of the trunk." I look up at Nat's tall, broad shouldered back as I extricate myself from the backseat of the car. He turns his curly blonde head to catch me giving him the curious side eye and smiles innocently. Well if I wasn't suspicious of him needing 'help' with the cooler before, that too casual innocent look certainly seals the deal now. I open my mouth to ask why he needs help but Nat cuts me off "Hey you and Lirae kick on the generator. I think there's still a full gas can in the shed." Okay he's being weird. I stand there a little confused when Lirae rests an elbow on my shoulder to watch the boys wrestle the extra-large camp cooler out of the trunk of the car.

 "He's being weird, right?" My thoughts exactly. I glance at her with a grin and shake my head.

 "When isn't he? C'mon it's getting dark already." I really don't like being outside of the clubhouse when it's dark out. Not because of monsters and ghosts but because there be wildlife in them there hills. What? Raccoons are terrifying! Lirae follows me but not before reaching out quick little hands to tickle my ribs.

 "Watch out! The raccoons will get you." Asshole. I slap at her hands and squirm away with a little squeak of protest. I'm a little more glad for the dimness of dusk than I was a few minutes ago because at least it hides my blush as she laughs at my responses.

 "Laugh all you want but probably you're the one they'll eat first when the Critterpocalypse comes." I pull out my phone to use as a flashlight when I duck under the low door frame of the shed. It used to be a child's playhouse sitting a few feet away from the main shack so it's a little cramped with the generator and two people. As usual if it could happen, it does, and always to me. I make a small disgusted sound and try to wipe the cobwebs from the side of my face. Fantastic. "Ugh. Gross. Here, hold this will ya?"

 Lirae takes the phone from my hand and directs it at the generator for me. I take a tick to check the fuel gauge just to make sure before I yank the ripcord a few times to turn the motor on. It sputters to life with a roar and the sound of music floats back to us on the warm breeze. I can just see Lirae's full lipped mouth curve into a smile in the dim light from my phone. "You're a mess."

 I stand still as she steps in closer to pick the thick gauzy web out of my hair. "Thanks." I clear my throat, suddenly a little unsure and super uncomfortable. Maybe it's the gas fumes. They're making me feel all fuzzy headed and belly floppy like I just got off a rollercoaster. Or maybe it's just being this close to Lirae, alone, in the dark. She pulls the last web away and we're just standing face to face. Her hazel eyes look black in the shadow and suddenly much closer than they were a second ago. So close I can see her heavy lashes fall closed as we lean in closer for a kiss. The second, the absolute second, I close my eyes finally deciding to do something, anything, Orson's voice breaks the silence and causes me to jerk back.

 "Hey fucker, answer the phone. Hey fucker, answer the phone. Hey fucker, answer th…" I glare at my phone in indignation. That little shit changed my ringtone for his number!  Lirae sighs and tips her head back with an unhappy laugh and answers it. I'm too embarrassed to realize at first that she hadn't moved an inch at the sound of his voice.

 "What?" It's clipped and to my ears a little frustrated but that could be hopeful thinking on my part.

 "Hurry your sweet ass up the beer is getting warm." The beer is in no way getting warm. It’s just that Orson is a dick.

 Lirae ends the call and hands me back my phone with a slightly annoyed look. "Hm. Saved by the bell." I want to comment but I don't have anything really to say. Other than sorry. Which judging by the look on her face is not the appropriate response. When I can't come up with anything helpful she lets out another sigh and leaves me standing in the dark of the shed. All by my lonesome. Great.    

By the time I make my way in to the clubhouse everyone is settled on the mismatched furniture we've managed to squirrel away here. I take a beer and my usual seat in the bright yellow bean bag chair that Orson's little brother meant to throw out.  There's a rip in the seam at the back. Not enough to spew little balls of polystyrene filler but enough to make it sound rude every time I sit in it. Everyone snickers a little and I roll my eyes. "So. What happened at The Harbor?"

 I glance at each of them but they all turn their attention to Mo. Despite being brothers Nat and Mo don't really look alike. Aside from the curly hair they're as different as two people could be. Mo is built more like a swimmer, sinewy and thin, his shoulders slump a little from years spent in front of a computer screen. Heavy lidded dark eyes spark with anticipation and I'm immediately caught in the expectancy of the moment. "I got a call from Manny while you were at your appointment. Warrow is back."

 Warrow. Oh man I hate that smelly guy. He has a bad habit of trying to grab my ass every time I have to talk to him. "Where was he this time?"

 Not that it matters much. Like I said. Don't sweat the details and everything is okie dokie. "Nepal. And he brought you this." Mo holds up a blackened stone with what looks like patches of rust colored mud caked to it. "He said and I quote 'To chase 'way night horrors so that me sweet lassie c'n dream of my…"

 "Okay gross I don't even need to hear the rest." I reach out a hand and take the stone. It's warm in my hand and a little heavier than I thought it would be. It smells like dust and something earthier that I can't identify. Up close it looks like a turd but if it's a magic turd I guess that's okay.

 "So what do you think? Is it the real deal?" It's hard to say so I shrug at Nat, still eying my magic turd rock.

 "I dunno but we'll see what happens tonight." I tuck it away in my pocket before finally cracking open my beer to sip at it. I'm not a big drinker but I need something to do right now to keep my focus from drifting back to what almost happened in the shed. "How much did he ask for it? Was it a lot?"

 Everyone goes quiet except Orson. He chuckles and stretches his muscular dark skinned arms over his head. "He didn't want money." I look at Nat and Mo who are suddenly and very determinedly looking everywhere but me. That only leaves one person who will tell me what's going on. I look at Lirae and even she looks a little uncomfortable as she plays with her own fingers. Why do I feel like I’m going to hate whatever is going to come out of her mouth?

 "You owe him a future favor of his choosing." Yup. I hate it. Oh God. Knowing Warrow this future favor may involve nudity, lewd and illegal acts, drugs and or alcohol and dark magics. Not necessarily in that order or combination. My horrified expression makes Orson's chuckle turn in to a barely choked back guffaw. "Don't freak! We totally specified nothing sexual or illegal. Promise."

 I must still look a little freaked out because she moves off the floral patterned loveseat she was sharing with Orson to sit on the floor next to my chair. Somehow this makes it all mostly better. "Well, I guess if this works it will be worth it. I don't know how much more Jo-lynn can stand." Lirae reaches up to tug one of my braided pigtails playfully and I guess that means she's done being irritated with me.

 "So what's the plan Evil Evie? We looking for boogiemen tonight or what?" More like or what. While terrifying and more than a little gross and overly graphic, my nightmares haven't been anything really solid. Just images of what could happen. I haven't been getting the 'feeling' that something wicked has wandered in to our town. Or if it has it's doing an amazing job of hiding itself. I shrug a little and shake my head.

 "I don't know. Aside from the dreams it's been pretty quiet. After the poltergeist last month it's like everything has just…gone away." Normal people would look upon this with relief and possibly hope for a better tomorrow. I look at the silence with dread bordering on hysterical anxiety. Evil for lack of a better term, doesn't die, doesn't get tired, and most certainly doesn't forget. The last six years have proved that time and time again to me. Everyone looks disappointed but no one seems to share my apprehension.

 "More time to drink!" Orson high fives Nat as they simultaneously chug their beers. My night has definitely taken a down turn.

#my writing #the av club story dredful tales

[im-fairly-whitty]

Hi! So related to the detective stiletto au(I think it's yours? I remember seeing it here) I've been wondering what would happen after Imelda sees Ernesto with Hector's guitar, would she confront him asap with a boot? Would he even say anything? Or would she go around and find out where was the last place Hector was seen so she could gather evidence for Hector's murder?and if so I can't help but wonder what if she ended up stealing from the dead in her search for evidence?

“[cont.] She’d end up in the land if the dead and I gotta wonder how that’d go… I think that with what she found out Imelda would be unhappy but willing to hear out Hector. Imelda would find out Hector’s been trying to get home the whole time and Hector would find out that Ernesto isn’t as good a friend as he thought… (also: lots of freaking out and hopefully some hugs)”

Hello! You’re thinking of this ask post from @upperstories where she headcanoned what it might look like if Imelda found out Ernesto had killed her husband while she was still alive. In Upperstories’ post they get as far as Imelda sneaking into one of Ernesto’s performances and being shaken to the core when she sees him playing Hector’s white skull guitar.

“Detective Stiletto” was indeed my addition to the post, as I suggested that I badly needed an Imelda PI fic. :)

I don’t think Uppers has expanded on it at all, and I don’t have any plans right now to write it out in full, but I’ll give you a bit of how I imagine it going:

- I really imagine this story being Imelda’s journey, she’d still in deep pain after Hector’s disappearance, and she can’t take it anymore so she begins to defensively turn that pain into anger that she can aim at someone else. In the movie Hector becomes that target, he receives all the betrayed blame so that Imelda can move on, convince herself that he deserves it, and then live the rest of her days surviving out of pure spite of the man who had torn her heart apart. 

- But in this version, we catch her just as she’s starting to blame Hector, and instead, Ernesto catches her suspicion. And boy howdy does all that Mama Imelda anger get channeled and hardened into something extremely dangerous.

- At first she tries to handle things the way that friends should. After all, Ernesto is a good family friend that Hector knew his entire life, even though there are red flags screaming at her that Ernesto is perhaps to blame for Hector’s disappearance she can’t make herself believe that he could ever do something so terrible. There has to be a better explanation.

- But Ernesto's been avoiding her letters. and he was the last one to see Hector. and now he’s using Hector’s songs, and his guitar, and there’s the call Imelda got from his lawyer?? 

- So she’s got a terrible feeling twisting in her stomach as she creeps back to wait in his dressing room to talk with him after he’s done performing, knowing that he’d try to avoid her if she approached him in public. But this is all wrong, Ernesto’s a friend, he’s eaten dinner at their house and played with little Coco and was the best man at her wedding and there HAS to be a good explanation for all this and she dearly hopes that he does have one.

- But the moment he ducks into his dressing room, pulling at his tie and sweeping off his sombrero she already knows something is deeply wrong. There is a new edge to Ernesto, like he thinks someone’s watching him, there’s a new subtle darkness around his eyes that you would only notice if you knew him before it appeared. And suddenly Imelda is frightened to be alone with this man.

- Ernesto freezes when he sees her, all the blood draining from his face like he’s seen a ghost (or maybe the wife of one) and that’s when Imelda knows without a shadow of a doubt that something terrible has happened to her husband, that Ernesto did it, and that she will probably never see Hector, the father of her daughter, the love of her life, the music of her soul, ever again.

- And this nearly breaks her. Nearly. 

- Ernesto’s pulled on a smile as fake and brittle as the navy sequins on his mariachi jacket and he asks her how on earth she got into his room? What she’s doing all the way out here when she has little Coco at home. Imelda is nearly in tears, but she instead takes those tears and freezes them, turning them into the ice that laces her words when she asks Ernesto where Hector is. 

- Ernesto can see that she knows. He doesn’t know how, but she does. And then all the pretended warmth drops from his voice and all that’s left is a sharp smile as he reminds her pointedly that he can call security if she doesn’t go back to Santa Cecilia right now, lingering on the fact that Coco must miss her mother very very much. 

- If Imelda had the element of surprise and her boot already in her hand then maybe she would fight, but Ernesto is twice her size and unrecognizable from the man she used to know, and it sends a chill down her spine to see the desperate hunger in his eyes. It seems clear to her that whatever it is that he’s gained from Hector’s death (please don’t let him really be dead, but is there any real chance that he’s alive??) Ernesto just might be willing to kill again to protect it. 

- She tones down her anger as she inches towards the door, but picks up a pocket knife sitting on the vanity table behind her as she does. Ernesto goes along with the charade they both know they are playing as they talk and she edges towards the door, but he’s edging just a little faster, changing his mind about letting her go.

- Imelda’s never stabbing a man, but when Ernesto growls and suddenly lunges for her the pocket knife jerks into action, landing squarely in Ernesto’s upper arm. Imelda leaps for the open door and throws herself through it, pelting down the hall as Ernesto howls in pain, then starts screaming for security that he’s been attacked. 

- Imelda barely escapes the venue as burly men try to catch her at every turn, but she makes it out into the night streets in one piece, her heart pounding and tears streaming down her face as she realizes how very alone she is in the world, her husband gone, his best friend a traitor. It’s not until she’s on the steps of the police station and sees two officers shouting to each other as they saddle up about some famous musician getting stabbed by a female assassin that she realizes just how deeply in trouble she is. 

- Maybe it would have been fine if she’d gone into the police station anyway, maybe the officers would have believed her side of the story and arrested Ernesto on the spot, but Imelda is a woman in the early 1900′s, she’s a widow, she’s poor, and she has Ernesto’s blood on her skirts. Ernesto, on the other hand, is an up and coming musician, a murderer, rich enough to hire expensive lawyers, and a man. Also, Imelda has no proof. And she’s terrified. And so she runs.

- Imelda spends the next few days keeping to the shadows of Mexico City as her face begins appearing on wanted posters for attempted murder, Ernesto obviously played up the story of the insane jealous wife of his old music partner that ran off from her. Not even the other criminals in the city want much to do with Imelda when she starts encountering them, she’s got too big of a price on her head, and besides, they’ve heard there’s a shadier warrant out for her if she’s dead before the police find her.

- But Imelda is strong and she’s determined, and now her anger is back and she’s aiming it all at one target: Ernesto. She knew Hector would never leave her, she knew she hadn’t been wrong about him, she knew it. And so Imelda pulls her hair back into its braid, gets herself a better weapon than a pocket knife, and begins to shake down the criminal element of Mexico city for all the information she can get. 

- This should get her killed, but it turns out that a certain big-chinned mariachi player maybe slept with a certain gang bosses’ girl, and when that boss hears about Imelda’s mission he decides it would be much more entertaining to back her in his plan to get revenge on Ernesto rather than just killing him outright.

- Imelda is granted all the muscle she needs to get anywhere she likes in the city as she searches for the information she needs to prove Ernesto’s guilt, and she works quickly as the police, and those in Ernesto’s pay, get closer and closer to trapping her.

- And the clues start to come. She finds Hector’s suitcase thrown into a rubbish heap on the side of town, his songbook gone. Hector’s blush mariachi jacket is found in a local pawnshop, his initials still stitched on the inside pocket, a scrap of a letter to Coco tucked inside. The letter’s post-script to Imelda tells her that he’s coming home soon, that Ernesto’s beginning to act strange. There’s a bottle of tequila that an inn-keeper swears killed his dog after it was spilled on the sidewalk by the housekeeper. 

- All the terrible puzzle pieces come together as Imelda works tirelessly to chase down every lead she comes across, until the terrible moment that she meets the miserable beggar who is intimidated into retelling his story of how he saw a man dragging a body through town several months ago. Imelda nearly doesn’t have the self-control to keep from siccing her gang muscle on the seedy man as he cowers and produces the treasure he may or may not have looted from said body after the murderer had buried it in a shallow grave just outside of town. 

- It’s Hector’s wedding ring.

- And she finally has all the evidence she needs. She has a terrible stiff pride as she ascends the steps of the police station, flanked by thugs and carrying evidence strong enough to damn even Ernesto. Ernesto tries desperately to deny it, but there’s too many witnesses trickling out of the underworld against him now, some even Imelda hadn’t heard of, but it seems that the criminal element of Mexico city is done with this murderer after seeing Imelda (their new darling that everyone has affectionately began calling “Detective Stilettoe”) fight tooth and nail to redeem her husband.

- Ernesto is taken into custody. For life. Imelda returns home, Hector’s exhumed body resting in a new coffin in the next car over to be reburied in Santa Cecilia for the somber train ride home. Two days later she’s kneeling at his new grave, a proper grave with his name and photo lovingly placed on it. She’s sobbing, but she has closure. Thier daughter will know what happened to her Papa, Imelda will keep his memory, his music alive in their home as long as she lives. Every Dia de los Muertos she can feel him near, and she visits his grave often to tell him all about how their daughter is flourishing and a beautiful young woman and a dancer.

- She lives a long and happy life, never remarries, and the day that she slips from this life to the next is a happy one. Hector is there waiting for her, and he sweeps her into a long, long embrace that makes her feel young again, they kiss tenderly as they cry with the bittersweet joy of having been separated so long, and he thanks her for never, never forgetting him.  

Yeah, okay, so that was a bit more than “a bit,” but I hope you enjoyed your long-form answer. :)

Thanks for the ask!

- Wit