#and you might start to think their demands aren’t unreasonable

[eggy-tea]

I know that Disney not promoting Strange World pretty much at all is really frustrating. That it’s galling to feel like you’re always celebrating the barest scraps of representation. The people who are asking for more, for better, are not the real problem.

But also, several of the local elementary schools in my small hometown went to see this movie as a school field trip before Christmas break. (I use that term intentionally; this place is conservative/Christian enough that it is still very much “Christmas break,” and not “winter holidays.”)

I can’t even begin to imagine that happening when I was a kid. A movie with an openly gay protagonist being treated like a normal kids’ movie? That you just take a bunch of six-year-olds to see, and your biggest worry is whether the “danger” scenes might be too scary for them? That elementary schools would be willing to sign up for it without fearing mobs of angry parents at their doorsteps?

We can’t let the fact that we still have so far to go blind us to the progress that we have made. Keep pushing, keep fighting, but celebrate the victories, however small. They all pile up into something bigger.

#it’s discouraging to always focus on the distance from the goal and never the distance traveled #but it’s not just that: #when you lose sight of the little victories you also lose sight of the starting point #so it’s easier to miss the work of the people who came before you #it divorces your current efforts from their place in the community of people struggling together #and it lets the opposition obscure their real goal: to go all the way back to the bad old days - and further if they can #if you don’t know where you started you don’t know how bad it can get #and you might start to think their demands aren’t unreasonable #of course disney doesn’t give a shit about you #but the fact that they - infamously risk-averse - didn’t see green lighting this movie as too much of a risk #that *is* a victory in itself #because it’s a sign of the bigger quieter victory behind it

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapter 44: Five Will Ride Forth

Well we're reaching the end of the second book folks, so that's exciting! Soon my posts will only be unreasonably spoiling thirteen Wheel of Time books instead of fourteen - not that I don't spoil book one mind you, just that it's hardly fair to complain about spoilers for that in a post on book two. Is this sufficient warning not to keep reading for such folks or must I go on?

We get the Aes Sedai flame in this chapter because of Bornhald's delusions and Verin's machinations, though ironically the latter are much more about grabbing fate in the saidin-style I discussed a few chapters back.

Perrin decided it was not lack of interest in strangers on the villagers’ part; they were carefully avoiding looking at him and the others. These people had learned not to show curiosity about strangers, even strangers who were obviously not Seanchan. Strangers might be dangerous these days on Toman Head.

Not only that, but under the Seanchan regime, knowing about strangers can be dangerous. Much better to be able to say to the secret police that people came and went but you don't know anything about them than to risk conversations where you might learn just enough to seem like a person of interest.

“Who knows why they do anything?” Mat muttered. “Seanchan don’t seem to need a reason for killing people. None I can figure out, anyway.”

Mat will figure it out going forward and really I don't think he'll much like having the knowledge.

Perrin kept an even closer watch than the other two; he had his own reasons for not wanting to meet Whitecloaks. The axe in my hands. Light, what I wouldn’t give to change that.

And yet Perrin doesn't actually mean it yet. He could toss the axe away at any time after all, to at least change potential future atrocities and also the real one that'll happen in book ten. But he keeps it, knowing what he's capable of it with it, and it's not good that he does.

“They aren’t following,” he said. “How can you be sure?” Mat demanded. “I am!” he snapped, then more softly, “I just am.”

Since Mat has no context for understanding how Perrin might be able to know this without the obvious wrong guess, I wonder if he's worried that he's going to start channeling at any moment himself. They are all three of them connected after all.

Put the prisoners in the inn with as much food and water as they can carry, then nail all the doors and shutters closed. Make them think I am leaving some men to stand guard, yes?

The Whitecloaks might not have any a'dam of their own, but they still love committing what atrocities they can. Balefire the whole fucking peninsula and let the Wheel sort it out I say.

No wait that's an atrocity too. Dammit.

He was still not sure which of the two arrow-riddled women he had stared at afterwards had been the Aes Sedai.

Nice and subtle foreshadowing here.

Be sure he understands that we can no longer count on the Tar Valon witches being content with manipulating events from the shadows. If they fight openly for the Seanchan, we will surely face them elsewhere.

And here we see how damaging an irrational hatred is. For all the flaws of the White Tower, the women of Tar Valon will not engage in any battles for quite a long time. If Bornhald had been able to understand that the Seanchan had their own channelers and that they weren't aligned with the Tower, his warning might have been quite different. Hell, his whole approach might have changed.

“Whoever it was, he is not accounted for, no? And he may carry word of us to the Seanchan.” “A Darkfriend would surely do so, my Lord Captain.”

Wrong again! The Whitecloaks very impressively manage to live in a world with black, white, and occasional gray morality and still manage to oversimply the fuck out of it. They could have done so much more for the west if they'd been capable of critical thought.

Far above their heads, a huge, winged shape circled, unnoticed.

Thinking two dimensionally against a three dimensional enemy.

“Heron Wading in the Rushes,” Ingtar said. He sat with his back against a tree, sliding a sharpening stone along his sword and watching Rand. “You should not be bothering with that one. It leaves you completely open.”

Ingtar betrays his own character flaws here. Besides showing that he has no thought for sword forms except for how they can help him inflict violence upon others, he shows he doesn't understand the worth of self-sacrifice to get victory. It was this very short term thinking that led to his fall to the Shadow after all, and this is why he had to die to redeem himself.

“It’s only for balance, Ingtar.” Rand wavered on one foot, and had to put the other down to keep from falling.

Meanwhile Rand foreshadows his own issues metaphorically pretty well. He tries to spend all of his time in a sword form over the course of the story and it's only when he gets back to standing upright that he can succeed.

“With ta’veren, what happens is what was meant to happen. It may be the Pattern demanded these extra days. The Pattern puts everything in its place precisely, and when we try to alter it, especially if ta’veren are involved, the weaving changes to put us back into the Pattern as we were meant to be.”

Verin will be dealing with this one the hard way later!

“To help Mat find the dagger,” he said sharply, “and Ingtar find the Horn.” And Fain, he added to himself. I have to find Fain if it isn’t already too late.

Two outta three ain't bad, Rand.

“Five ride forth,” she murmured.

It's a good thing no one pays attention to Verin or they might get a lot more nervous.

No, Loial, you must stay behind, too. There are no Ogier on Toman Head. You would attract as many eyes as all the rest put together.

Thank goodness Verin is here to do the thinking for them. They probably would have ridden, all twenty of them, if she hadn't been.

Rand peered at the sketched wheel as Ingtar went on with his instructions. It was a broken wheel, now, with only four spokes. For some reason that made him shiver.

The Seanchan would probably say it was a bad omen to tally your soldiers before combat and then to partially destroy the tally too and the Pattern is about to demonstrate why that is.

Next time: Nynaeve and Rand become masters of terrible weapons.

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #perrin aybara #hurin #mat cauthon #geofram bornhald #jaret byar #rand al'thor #loial #uno nomesta #verin mathwin #ingtar shinowa

[rotworld]

This might sound like a weird question lol but how do you manage to write amazing stuff so quickly and consistently? Like you, ideas come so easily to me but I either don’t feel enough desire to actually write them down or there’s fear that I won’t be able to do the idea justice. In the end, I end up not writing at all.

I guess the answer is to just keep writing anyway but I was wondering if you had any advice or insight? I adore your writing and always look forward to this time of the year for your goretober prompts!!

i should start with the disclaimer that i’m not this productive most of the year, goretober is a special occasion lol but that’s probably also the answer. this is something i really struggle with too. you do have to just keep writing but i think a challenge like goretober is the perfect training exercise to tackle and overcome a lot of writing and confidence-related worries. having an extremely demanding deadline means you can’t get in your own way. 

not feeling confident? doesn’t matter, you have to finish and post this by the end of the day. concept isn’t exciting enough? come up with a new one immediately because you won’t be able to finish something you aren’t enjoying. not turning out the way you envisioned? it’s 9 pm and you probably want to do something else, so you’ll take what you can get at this point. during goretober, i can either get bent out of shape over flow and word economy and the minutiae of every sentence, or i can be done. 

of course this isn’t how i want to write the rest of the year lol and outside of goretober, i’ll have time to think things through and edit and really live with a work properly. but it’s like training with weights on. if you’re in the habit of paralyzing yourself in pursuit of perfection, a fast writing challenge is ideal because it doesn’t allow perfection. it’s a nice lesson to carry with you the rest of the time.

it also helps you become comfortable with creating raw, messy, imperfect work, which i think is essential. if you’re getting frustrated or mad at yourself for not churning out a polished masterpiece immediately, you’re being an unreasonable tyrant to yourself because that’s just not how writing works. let yourself suck. let yourself be disappointed sometimes. let your plans go wrong, and still finish a month’s worth of work despite everything. 

#rotpeach answers #rot on writing

[alarrytale]

I’m watching all these photos of Louis with fans after shows come in on twitter (X whatever) and something about it feels different from last tour… like he has a more lad type boisterous attitude he’s trying to portray, swearing even more than usual, calling fans ‘my girl’ which I know everyone freaked out about but I thought was kinda icky… you don’t know this person why are you calling them that if they weren’t a fan I doubt they’d swoon so much… anyway I’m just feeling like the connection we had with Louis that he loves to go on about is not there anymore, as much at least. I’m starting to see a more commercial side of him (I know I’m alone here) but it started with AOTV how he had a special screening where fans had to repurchase tickets if they wanted to watch extra scenes and the tickets were barely cheaper than Taylor’s who is in a league of her own… and as proud of him as I am for the 28 line I just don’t feel like it’s him? Before this I have never considered him as a fashion boy past looking good on a red carpet and now he has his own line?? And the prices aren’t exactly for the working class lad he goes on about all the time.

Maybe I’ve just grown tired and need a break but this is not the ‘faith in the future’ I imagined.

Putting every anons who's got feelings about Louis tour, and my answers, under the cut.

Hi, anon(s)!

I see the commercialisation of him too. But i think he's still got a good connection to fandom. Him going out to greet fans after the show is fan service and i appreciate that. I think the way he addresses his fans is sweet. There is no harm there as i see it. He's always been generous with pet names.

Not to be a larry defender but yall are unreasonable with criticising the tours here. "It's repetitive" NO SHIT??? It's a concert tour??? An artists gets on the stage, sings and leaves and it's been like that for decades and everyone was happy. Now when you watch concerts on instagram lives or can afford to go to 5 in the same tour yeah it gets boring. But that's not their fault??? Fans are too entitled, the only criticism I get is about sound/security but everything else is...yall have too much. Of course the speeches are same in every country. You aren't supposed to know them. Every artists, every band has more or less the same speech. Thanks for having me, good night, how are you, I love this country blah blah. I'm wondering how many concerts you've been to and what is a good concert to you. Imagine going to the cinema every day to see the same film and then saying it's repetitive and boring cuz that's what yall are doing. You need a reality check

Yes, social media has made it more difficult to entertain people. Attention span is shorter. People are more demanding and the entertainment industy is fighting for our attention. The competion is rife. There is so many artists, movies and shows to grab our attention. So to keep our attention and stop us from getting bored they need to make more of an effort than artists before them needed to. There are simple ways to do that, but they are not doing it. If you are not bored, or are happy with the way things are, then good for you.

The whole conga dancing thing originated at LOT and it works fine there but it just isn't suitable for Louis' indie music concerts. He'll never attract the male audience he wants with that kind of thing going on.

I love the conga line. I also don't want to attract a male audience if it's at the expense of existing fans and women...

About Louis not giving the fans everything they want and not playing to his pop/boyband strengths, we have to keep in mind that he might not enjoy those things as much as we do. I know a lot of us got on board with 1D, but he’s his own person with his own tastes and i don’t think it’s a slight against older fans that he wants to explore in a different direction. It happens all the time with artists who are around long enough.

Hi,

Both us and Louis knows it's give and take. He's happy we are allowing him to make the music he wants. He can't pull the rope towards him too much though, or else we let go. He needs his fans, but we also have a need for him to act a certain way and give us music we like. So it's give and take.

Do not compare them if you don’t know what you are comparing. They are not comparable at all. I happen to think Louis is a better songwriter and work out melodies better than Harry but each to their own.

But i guess that's the difference between Louis and Harry. Harry is an entertainer and Louis is a musician.///

And yet Louis has had no recognition at all for his musicianship whereas Harry has been given the top accolades in the industry, from many different countries. Harry can also play guitar competently and work out melodies whereas Louis admits he can only write lyrics.

“Louis claims to have a closeness and a bond to his fans unparallelled to other artists.” Every other artist claims some version of this. It’s just marketing.

I agree there is a marketing aspect to it. But i do believe that he's got a more special relationship with his fans than other artists. We are larries and he's closeted. He'd never be where he is now if we didn’t see through the bullshit. He wouldn't have a career and he knows that. So he gives us fan greetings after shows and signings to meet us and make a personal impact on us, and we on him.

@lenkagainstcity said:

"He is funny, got good banter, is charming, handsome, sexy, cheeky and loving towards his fans. He's the perfect pop star or boyband member."

*Anon who defended Louis first is back haha*

I totally agree that he has a huge potentional to give and oh god, I fell in love with him after my cousin invited me to see AOTV in the cinema with her because I´m a sucker for british accent, loved his vibe, charm and humour....so yes, there´s a lot he can give us and when I see his off stage presentance like how he interacts with fans, smiles, makes faces, the way he tells stories or how he dance, he can totally do this on stage but my first point in the previous ask was that this is his 2nd tour, 2nd year (comparing with H who basically has 4 years experience of solo touring) he´s touring SOLO and he´s just need to get more comfortable that noone is standing behind him to support him but it´s all on his chest - imo you can´t compare his solo tour with years of touring he´s done with 1D because 1D tours weren´t all about him. And we already saw a glimpse when he was more comfortable few shows in US when he danced a bit or talked a bit more than his common speech he says every show.

He has his own pace in finding this comfort to talk to thousands of people and to be more open. It feels to me like he already had to work a lot to even find his lost confidence - which he´s found. So now it´s all about to embrace his huge potentional to make every show special in his own way (not copying his former bandmates with ready signs or weird gender reveals). I can see the future in more unique shows that he´ll interact more with his band and tell some weird funny stories like Lewis Capaldi.

I think he will improve too, i'm just impatient as i said. I'm not sure the shows will change that much if he wants to continue being indie. It also depends on the size of his fandom. He can't use lots of money on huge stage shows if his fandom dosn't grow. I don't think he's a comedian like Lewis. I think things will change with his confidence if bg ends. I think that's holding him back.

#solo louis #louis image #i'm posting one last anon and then i have to go to another dinner

[jones-friend]

I just played Cult of the Lamb and it was a good time!

In Cult of the Lamb you are sacrificed by four evil bishops to keep an old god sealed. The old god returns you to slay the bishops and free them!

An important bit before we continue: this game has a fairly cynical sense of humor. You essentially force followers into your cult and you off them rather regularly or make bad things happen to them for your benefit. Its essentially evil animal crossing, and if you don’t like the idea of offing tiny cartoon creatures for Points you might wanna skip on this game.

Mechanically you dungeon delve a la Binding of Isaac then return to your cult where you play more of a farming sim. In between you give sermons to your cult, add tenets, perform rituals, sacrifices, and unlock better gear for each run. The bigger your cult the more Stuff(TM) you get to faster! But cultists age, or get murdered! So you have to manage recruitment and flow of cultists alongside leveling them for big value.

I enjoyed my time with Cult of the Lamb a good deal. Its got excellent Halloween moods, its tone is a delight, and it has a wonderful flow to it giving a “just one more turn” feel like any Civ game. Dungeons are bite sized clocking in at 5-15mins and letting a meter drain doesnt screw you over, its fairly easy to bounce back.

Dungeons are simple explorations with choices between boosting this run and giving your cult resources. Defeating one of the four dungeon’s bosses advances the story and replaces it with a new witness boss. The farming sim area is rather straightforward and focuses on upgrading for automation letting your plentiful cultists run the show more and more as you go.

I only have a few minor gripes about Cult of the Lamb. There aren’t too many ways to shape a build inside a run, most controls are set beforehand. Its mostly whatever weapon and spell you found at the start with one or two choices. Not terribly deep, but again they last 5-10mins. I do also think the “you took damage” and “crit damage” sounds are a touch too similar, esp when you have a crit dagger its hard to know when you’re taking damage with how close you need to get.

I do think there is an unhealthy, probably capitalist pressure to continue refining, improving, this demand to get bigger and better at an unreasonable pace. There’s also this polarizing motivation on the internet to complain games are awful or praise them as masterpieces. I think we need to get better at letting games be and enjoying them for what they give us. Cult of the Lamb gives us a wonderfully dark humor, a tasty system of upgrades and min/max strategies, and lovely flavor of those mechanics. That is more than enough for me to recommend Cult of the Lamb for the spooky season.

[inkmemes]

the  amazing  devil  lyric  sentence  starters ↪  taken  from  their  entire  discography  to  date.  trigger  warnings  for  religion,  depression,  alcohol,  war, sex,  &  more.  some  (  but  very  few  )  lyrics  have  been  tweaked  to  work  better  as  full  sentences.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡  this  is  a  long  post.

“i can’t do this.”

“never say how much you missed her, or that you kissed her sister.”

“fuck all your plans i’m bored.”

“i promise you i’ll be better.”

“i made a vow out to the gods.”

“wе didn’t talk. we made universеs out of bitten lips and broken hands.”

“she laughs as though she’s not heard the joke ten thousand times before.”

“we'll talk about this tomorrow.”

“you used to buy me scotch, but now too much is never enough.”

“these aren’t tears, it’s just the rain that wasn’t brave enough to fall.”

“don’t you realise? they’re just battle cries, dear.”

“stop asking why i'm sad; just know it's enough to know i'm sad.”

“stop listening to the smiths.”

“if you asked me, i would lose it all, like petals in a storm.”

“it's getting late.”

“you’re lying on some coats.”

“whatever you do, don't turn.”

“run until your lungs are numb.”

“run to show that love’s worth running to.”

“it cannot be a lie if no-one hears.”

“how unreasonably in love i am with everything you do.”

“they might laugh because you’re leaving, but know we’ll sing your name when you come home.”

“for christ's sake just say something.”

“our love is shown in the letting go.”

“this isn’t a break up, dear heart, it’s a season finale.”

“and i’ll withstand what’s written for the writer in you.”

“they're discussing champagne.”

“i pack what is needed for thе journey to come: all my books, all my bracken and booze.”

“who’ll save you when you fall?”

“sing me awake with a song about pirates.”

“i’m not lonely if i’m with you.”

“welcome to ruin.”

“i do my best to breathe, but they’re stealing all the air.”

“i’m dolled up, love.”

“remember today you’re enough.”

“know we’ll always love you, even though you’re leaving us behind.”

“so breathe, breathe, just breathe.”

“it's nought that rum won't solve.”

“every time we watch netflix we spend two hours deciding what to watch on netflix.”

“i’m between that ‘just one more’ and ‘drank too much again’.”

“this here is not singing, i’m just screaming in tune.”

“i don’t know what to do, how to help her, how to bring her home.”

“i can’t wait to show you how much i know you can be.”

“let’s wander, ‘til the fuckers demand an encore.”

“some fictions we took to mean fate.”

“the party swirls around me in a dress i can’t afford.”

“if by palace you mean that asbestos, and beans from a tin, and the gin that we brewed in the bathtub.”

“it’s not fair how much i love you.”

“it's what my heart just yearns to say in ways that can't be said.”

“a storm is coming on.”

“come on, love, please don’t start.”

“never really liked the pattern that much on the wallpaper so anyway.”

“you brought me through this darkness but you left me here behind.”

“i’ve got something in my eye.”

“they’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art.”

“i've seen enough.”

“you'll love the way i tell it.”

“for some reason you’ve painted the kitchen lime green.”

“you’re the words that i promise i don’t mean.”

“i surrender what was, what could have been.”

“got a headache that just won't shift.”

“it’s what my rotting bones will sing when the rest of me is dead.”

“i know the kindest thing is to leave you alone.”

“i wish that i could take his hand, but where i’m going is for me and me alone.”

“i chipped my teeth on every joke you cracked.”

“and when i think i’m fine, you’ll visit.”

“tell the truth to me, love, does my hair look as nice as it did when it once tangled up in your eyes?”

“i will bring you ruin in everything i do.”

“i might not make it tonight.”

“you angel heart. you monster, oh, some godforsaken prospero.”

“if you knew all that i'd done …”

“remember me i ask.”

“they're running out of things to hold.”

“back then you had hair and your smile was so sublime.”

“if you knew all that i'd done … the hearts i've broken.”

“write me well my love, write me weird, write me willing, write me well.”

“don't say anything.”

“you don't see daylight anymore.”

“don't you know that it's not all about you anyway?”

“i promise you i’ll try.”

“pray for me 'cause i won't pray for you.”

“let’s hide under the covers.”

“she sang, ‘do you think i’m sexy?’ and oh god i really did.”

“and for some godforsaken reason i'm still here, love, like i've always been before.”

“we’ll build a den out of pillows and get drunk again.”

“all that matters is that you're here.”

“just because i left doesn’t mean that i’m not still there.”

“i've waited oh so long for you to come.”

“it seems to me that you can’t sleep.”

“oh, if one more guy calls me darling then i swear to you and to god i will murder them all.”

“wе’re both unwanted daughters.”

“do you like my dress? it’s got pockets.”

“there's only faces of the unfamous dead; full of people just pretending to be brave.”

“i've run out of my words, my song, just let me die.”

“so one last time, love, come and rip my clothes off.”

“when you think about him, my wings start to flap.”

“don’t you think i look pretty curled up on this bathroom floor?”

“run for all the things you wished you’d done.”

“why are you wearing all that make up?”

“and now, even though you’re mad and these memories won’t stay, that's okay, 'cause then i get to meet you for the first time every single day.”

“i’m learning to be so much more than my tiredness.”

“gonna go home and show my cat some memes.”

“can't you see that i'm enough for you but you don't want me to be, 'cause that means you'll actually have to be content?”

“i don’t find this easy like you.”

“i loved him then, i love him still.”

“you can’t rehearse the chorus, but the verse is sweet.”

“i steal the hours and turn the night into day.”

“i don't know how to reach you when you get like this.”

“i’m the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shunned.”

“you’re not a coward 'cause you cower; you’re brave because they broke you, yet broken still you breathe.”

“i’m at the brink, don’t laugh.”

“i’d bruise you.”

“i'll run until i begin to understand what holy men really mean when they speak of sin.”

“i said ‘pour’ and forgot to say ‘when’.”

“​​champagne's the main course.”

“we’ll dance together so close we’re sharing breath.”

“i wish i’d known these stones were something i could save.”

“i love you less.”

“get a grip, we're grownups.”

“let’s take this outside 'cause we’re one and the same.”

“a broken pot can still hold water.”

“i spend my days so close to you 'cause if i'm standing here, maybe everyone will think i'm alright.”

“think of all the horrors that i promised you i’d bring.”

“can you pass me the lighter mate?”

“i'm fine, it's just a ‘sitting down in the shower’ day.”

“now take a good long look at what you’ve done to me.”

“with you, i could summon the gods and the stars.”

“gonna go home and dress my cat up like batman.”

“on that tree i’ll carve your name ‘cause in years to come we both know we won’t be the same.”

“we can both barely stand.”

“i can smell the smoke of hell.”

“if there was one place i could be right now, i'd be standing there between you and him.”

“ ‘cause darling, i was born to press my head between your shoulder blades.”

“i raged so much.”

“you are that space that’s in between every page, every chord and every screen.”

“i’m all yours.”

“i try so hard to make you laugh at me.”

“but like rubbing wine stains into rugs, it’s my curse to try and make it right, but by trying make it worse.”

“i’m so sorry, i’ve done it again.”

“it’s up to you now.”

“i get to watch you grow up now and make me proud, make all of those mistakes that make me laugh.”

“where’s the vodka?”

“something's sucking out your core.”

“what you see is not the dark, it’s just the gods upturning inkpots.”

“who died and made you king of it all?”

“it seems to me that you you can’t dance for shit.”

“there's no fucking way you're from [place].”

“we didn’t talk.”

“and the candle we lit, well we’ll use it to burn this whole place to the ground.”

“he said, hey, darling, hey, hey, darling, hey.”

“i know they think i’m nightmare.”

“take my hand, let us waltz for the dead.”

“for you, i would have gone so much blonder.”

“it’s not fair, 'cause you make me laugh when i'm actually really fucking cross at you for something.”

“go tell them how we failed you.”

“symphonies and sweat and sex mean nothing when you are obsessed with sin and soil and strength and song and all the words that came out wrong and him.”

“we don’t know what’s out there.”

“i look into the waters and see a face i don’t recognise.”

“let's try and fit into the same pair of stretchy old track pants and just roll around inside each other for three whole days.”

“we showed the world that we exist.”

“your smile tells me i’m safe.”

“it's like all the wallpaper inside my heart is slowly slowly peeling off and i'm showing all the stains and things they wrote on the wall before.”

“might you allow me to slip into something more comfortable then?”

“you stole the best years of my life.”

“all hell and its fire waits for us.”

“we'll make our christmas decorations out of toilet roll tubes and tinfoil.”

“how bold i was, could be - will be - still am, by god still am.”

“it's what i meant.”

“welcome to my table, bring your hunger.”

“you're the one who told me my hair looked better black.”

“i’ll sing silence, and ask my glass of wine for guidance.”

“what changed?”

“'then maybe you'd still be snuggled here in my bed watching netflix. and now i can't 'cause you changed the password when you left.”

“i wish that i’d been brave.”

“we callеd them all liars.”

“but you lack the conviction to look at me straight and say yes.”

“there’s something changed.”

“give me two damn minutes and i'll be fine.”

“you watch the stars hurl all their fundaments in wonderment.”

“get drunk for me, sing louder than you’ve sung for me.”

“what's that hold that the big dark king of nothing has got on you?”

“but i’ll stick up for you, even though you haven’t got a fucking clue.”

“i cannot sleep when all you do is cry.”

“i toast to their talents.”

“how wrong you were.”

“i tried, i really fucking tried.”

“'cause although you say good day to me, i know i don’t belong.”

“sweet nothings are screamed not spoken.”

“back then i was dauntless.”

“all the bastards applaud when i show that i’m flawed.”

“now my ink’s blood-red, not black.”

“it’s just sometimes nice to feel what it’s like to be in someone else’s coat.”

“you were raised by wolves and voices.”

“i mop up what is left of my lungs.”

“i could try to calm you down but i know you won't.”

“it’s my dad’s.”

“you were supposed to be my light and keep me safe against them all. how could you leave me here?”

“everyone knows how sex is better when you’re unemployed.”

“and i laugh, and i laugh ‘cause laughing right now, it’s all, it's all that i have.”

“farewell wanderlust, you’ve been oh so kind.”

“you’re not flawed darling, you’re just a little under-rehearsed.”

“it’s never my intention but it happens all the same.”

“your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep, but a place for crows to rest their feet.”

“i’m not going to scream, beat my chest at the wind. i’m doing fine.”

“you’ll never get your dinner if you don’t learn how to get along.”

“oh we, we’re gonna get on.”

“i make myself acquainted with the saint of never getting it right.”

“i would have stayed if you'd had asked.”

“fret not dear heart.”

“i'm here and i'm alive.”

“this is us, this is me, and this how we’re meant to be.”

“i cannot find the words to keep you.”

“come rest for the winter, wear my jumper all night long.”

“you look like i need a drink.”

“are you god or devil?”

“i’m the hardest goodbye that you’ll ever have to say.”

“i’ll play our song to see if the piano’s in tune.”

“come rip up the flesh of my fears.”

“do you think she even knows i bought my shoes from oxfam?”

“could be ghosts or monsters or a robot vampire, i dunno.”

“what the hell went wrong, 'cause we had this planned.”

“without you, i’m stronger, i’m no longer filled with wonder.”

“the best laid plans had it all planned.”

“oh darling lord, how you make me laugh.”

“look at me as you say this, don’t look at your phone.”

“i know i won’t be long ‘cause i know i don’t belong.”

“can't you see that i'm enough for you but you don't want me to be?”

“do y’know what they cost?”

“if god make us all in his image, then god’s a fucking nerd.”

“if i'm good, will you come back?”

“is that what you think of me now?”

“i should go home.”

“i'll spend my days so close to you 'cause if i'm standing here maybe everyone will think i'm cool.”

“i know she’s giving up.”

“he's falling out of touch.”

“you don’t have to be brilliant.”

“i promise you there’s more.”

“i need a drink or two.”

“you dad will forget the words.”

“and i love you, don’t you know.”

“do i have to be who i am?”

“i’ll give them back.”

“i'll yell it from the rooftops for you.”

“it’s just your voice learning for once to stand up tall.”

“every night i hear them howling.”

“for a time there is timelessness.”

“you’re all mine.”

“you gave us such a fright.”

“i won’t let you turn our last night into this.”

“i've been waiting for you to come home.”

“let not them hear the mutterings of all your fears.”

“i know exactly what i want, and it's this life that we've created.”

“this here is not makeup, it’s a porcelain tomb.”

“my heart is tearing pages from that funny story i rehearsed.”

“i’m not lonеly, i just like being on my own.”

“are you cain, 'cause i'm not abel.”

“yeah, well i’m sorry too.”

“take me back to that dance hall where you got thrown out 'cause they thought you were drunk.”

“you are screaming far too loud to hear me swear.”

“for the first time in all my life, i know i’m more than what i fear.”

“i’ll take my fucking time.”

“can't we just talk about this?”

“certainly fucking feels like it.”

“i'm not telling but you can fuck off if no one will come back for you.”

“you’re better than this.”

“you're going too fast.”

“he's got so much fucking hair.”

“sometimes i fall to pieces, just to see what bits of me don’t fit.”

“of all the flowers you picked, i knew you would forget forget-me-nots.”

“don't you ever wonder what could have been?”

“my dress is on fire.”

“we don't have time to fuck around.”

“i will be the man my father never was.”

“the oldies at the back try their best to hack their way out with the gardener's pruning shears.”

“did you tell them about the time we met?”

“your face lights up like you’ve woken up from this endless fucking nightmare of pretending this is you.”

“if we join our hands in prayer enough to god, i imagine it all starts to sound like applause.”

“and fucking bastard what is it.”

“but now i’m leading doesn’t that just scare you to death?”

“although you hold my hand and say ‘i love you,’ you are wrong.”

“they’ll sing of every time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child.”

“let’s dance together.”

“i hope to god i’m not the first.”

“we’re drunk but drinking.”

“a new us has begun.”

“i will try to harmonise.”

“witness me, old man, i am the wild.”

“please don’t do this, my heart is breaking.”

“my head’s not yours it’s mine.”

“stop making up death wishes.”

“you do not get to hurt me just because i asked you once if you were alright.”

“want some pancakes?”

“i can’t do this, you don’t understand.”

“they’ll speak of me in whispered tones and say my name like it shakes their bones.”

“i'm stronger now than you have ever known.”

“you couldn’t lie then and you sure as hell can’t lie to me now.”

“so long to the person you begged me to be.”

“nothing quite prepares you for when they don’t come back.”

“i forgot to pack them lunches.”

“he’s awesome, like me.”

“flirting at the back of a bookshop.”

“i forgive them at last.”

“if you ever touch or harm him, please rest assured that you might not fear a man, but to a woman by the end you’ll kneel and plea.”

“why won't you just tell them all to fuck off, love, and be mine?”

“welcome to the storm, i am thunder.”

“i’d burn so bright it blinded.”

“it's not fair 'cause you make me ache, you bastard.”

“i’d catch you every time you fell.”

“give me back my heart, you wingless thing.”

“can’t you hear that scratching? there’s something at the door.”

“you say the words so often that i barely know the meaning.”

“you are in the earth of me.”

“do you like my accent?”

“why won't you believe i love you if i'm not hurting you?”

“oh, the hearts i've broken …”

“what you hear is not silence, it’s just the trees waiting to hear what next you’ll hum.”

“that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain, it’s applause.”

“don't turn around dear.”

“with every strength i have, i ask if you play d&d.”

“hold my hand.”

“my friends are telling me i'm pissed.”

“you try so hard.”

“run for all you know that’s coming.”

“you brought me to this party but you left me here behind.”

“i love you.”

“i wish i’d done things different.”

“it doesn’t know how to get out.”

“i don’t know, but i’m here, i’m all yours, dear heart, don’t cry.”

“i look at the phone on the floor and i drink that nice wine you were saving.”

“watch me choke at your bad joke.”

“they said it all comes down to you.”

“i won't leave without a fight.”

“when you were young, you’d kick things just to see if they would fall.”

“i know the kindest thing is to never leave you alone.”

“’cause i’m not trapped, with you, you see - you’re the one who’s trapped with me.”

“christ, you'll be the death of me.”

“you're the one who told me to never look back.”

“my jokes are my armour, and my kindness is my sword.”

“i make jokes to show how broken i really am.”

“you were in a band.”

“remember today you are loved.”

“hold me, lover, like you used to.”

“and i will wait and hope and rest my head at night content knowing where my marbles went.”

“me wearing your clothes just to surprise you when you come home all tired of those wankers that you serve all night.”

“it's saving me now, love.”

“how the fuck am i supposed to carry on without you here?”

“the wine stains hide the tears.”

“you rip my ribcage open and devour what’s truly yours.”

“what’s the point anymore?”

“don’t lie with your eyes, you know i despise that look.”

“oh my god it’s so unfair.”

“be good to me.”

“and that drink, will it fix all those questions unasked?”

“i am the wild.”

“i know you’re strong enough to do this on your own.”

“i know that i’ve been through the wars.”

“you’re the thigh-high hemline i just can’t stop staring at.”

“he doesn’t understand.”

“today i somehow understand the reason i was born.”

“fuck you.”

“but where you see weakness i see wit.”

“the minute i met you, the colours of my life began to pour.”

“try please try for me.”

“i pick up the phone, dial your number and wait.”

“i’ve loved you, for a hundred years.”

“why so sad?”

“if my old mum could see me now, oh how she’d howl.”

“i put up fairy lights just to distract you.”

“i've even learned to cook.”

“you've no clue how to sew.”

“we’d hate to see your mascara drip into your pint.”

“i’m filming shit on that camera you nicked.”

“you don't need to pretend to be someone you’re not.”

“our gods have abandoned us.”

“i’m the tales that the guests will applaud and believe.”

“a song you know's begun.”

“oh those folks will run and tell the tales of what i’ve become.”

“where have you been?”

“i’m the captain of courage you’ve eternally lacked.”

“i watched that woman drown.”

“where i’m going is for me and me alone.”

“i'll run until i begin to understand what holy men really mean when they speak of sand and sons and seams and symphonies and sweat and sex and sin.”

“it's so boring.”

“you dragged us both into the darkness that grows.”

“tear me up and burn me up and rip me up and leave your hand on the wall as you go.”

“it's not fair 'cause you make me weep when i'm just trying to watch the office with my yoghurt.”

“be good, be safe, be kind.”

“what’s left is the mess that you left when you told me i wasn’t right in the head.”

“go tell them how we fucked you up.”

“i don’t want them to go.”

“just relax and come to bed with me.”

“you try so loud to love me; i cannot seem to hear.”

“i'll darn you back together.”

“tomorrow’s jokes have yet to be laughed at or said.”

“i promise you i’m not broken.”

“i promise to be patient.”

“i’ve been here so many times before.”

“you're so beautiful to me.”

“i’m untangling my headphones ‘cause sometimes they’re the only thing that keeps my head in place.

“i’m going to binge watch a box set, drink wine, reminisce.”

“pour me wine by my bed.”

“i'll watch her ruin her life and dye her hair bright colours.”

“you promise to be kind.”

“oh, darling, please be mine.”

“i drag myself like a rug in the rain.”

“i’m your angel ellipsis, your devil of dots.”

“i promise you i’ll write.”

“i’m the saint of the paint that was left in the pot.”

“it's so boring to see you tired all the time.”

“i’m scared of the dark.”

“these hands are growing cold.”

“i know your fingernails are the colour of rust.”

“if i don’t make it back from where i’ve gone, just know i loved you all along.”

“you're the one who asked me if i'm feeling ok.”

“honey i'm no man, i'm what’s left when children go to war.”

“back then i wasn’t hopeful.”

“just watch me burn.”

“i'll make a hundred paper planes to decorate our tiny room.”

“why won't you let me follow in your footsteps as you trek into that underground world?”

#rp meme #rp prompt #rp starters #rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #i didn't put any of this under a read more because i know people dont tend to click them #and also if i ever delete this blog ... these are gone #but if you want a version with a read more please let me know !

[the-himawari]

A3! Usui Masumi - Translation [R] Garrison Captain’s Determination (2/2)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Masumi: Is there anything you’d like me to do, Director?

Izumi: Let me think… Oh, can I ask you to go shopping?

Masumi: Leave it to me.

Tsuzuru: Is Masumi preparing for his role with Director as the King?

Itaru: Ahh, for that chess thing…

Izumi: Get the items on this list, okay?

Masumi: Sure. I’m heading out.

*leaves*

Itaru: Aren’t you being a bit soft on him, Director-san?

Tsuzuru: He’s been going shopping a lot, you know?

Izumi: Hmm, is there anything else I could ask though?

Itaru: You can ban something, for example.

Tsuzuru: That could be really depressing depending on what it is…

Itaru: But actual kings might be way more unreasonable with their requests, wouldn’t they? At least the King I encountered before was more of a tyrant…

Izumi: Ahaha… with Sakyo-san, it was definitely…*

Tsuzuru: I’m with him. If Masumi’s preparing for the role of the King’s loyal knight, then you might as well push an unreasonable demand on him.

Izumi: He’ll follow the King's orders no matter what it is, huh… Alright, I’ll give it some thought.

-pause-

Izumi: We’re having curry with winter veggies today!

Yuki: The ingredients may be different than usual, but it’s still curry.

Tasuku: More like we’ve had curry for the past three days now.

Itaru: I think I dreamed about curry this morning.

Masumi: You curry is delicious everyday.

Izumi: …Ah. You’re banned from curry today, Masumi-kun.

Masumi: …!?

Izumi: I actually really do want you to eat it… But I thought this could be role study too. So can you do that for me?

Masumi: …I got it.

Itaru: Ah, this kinda ban.

Yuki: This is for role study? That’s only harsh according to your standards.

Tasuku: But not being able to eat Director's curry is torture in its own way for Usui.

Itaru: I mean, true.

Omi: I heard about the situation from Director, so I’ve prepared a separate dish for you, Masumi.

Masumi: …Thanks. …

Yuki: …It’s hard to eat.

Tasuku: …What’s with this mood?

Itaru: …

Izumi: (I feel bad for Masumi-kun. But it’s for role study, so it has to be this way.) (I have to steel myself and become the King…!)

-pause-

Izumi: I’m looking forward to how your King will turn out too, Banri-kun.

Banri: It’s just a lil bit more until the day of the event, huh?

Masumi: …

Izumi: Ah, Masumi-kun.

Masumi: What should I follow today, Director?

Izumi: Let’s see… Alright, starting today, you’re banned from talking to me for one week.

Masumi: …Ehh? Not a word for a week…?

Izumi: Yep, not a peep.

Masumi: …

Banri: …Ain’t that a bit harsh?

Izumi: (Masumi-kun looks depressed…) (Banri-kun’s right. Maybe I did go a little overboard…)

Masumi: …What you say is absolute, so I’ll do it.

Banri: I’m the King for the event though.

Masumi: Alright, see you in a week…

*walks away*

Banri: Tch, he ignored me!

Izumi: …I’m sorry! Just forget what I said! I-I mean, communicating with all the members is also part of my job, right?

Masumi: …! I got it. I’m your loyal knight after all. I'll listen to whatever you say. You can tell me anything you want.

Banri: Bruh. I’m the King, you know!

Izumi: Ahaha…

---

*Reference Sakyo’s SSR Seize Your Fate card.

previous |

#a3! #a3! translation #usui masumi #act! addict! actors!

[anthemxix]

Fierce deity wars aftermath? :o (I'm sorry if this comes across as demanding or rude, was just excited to see the fic and was curious how what happened after might go, it was really good!)

this isn't rude at all, my friend! i'm flattered you enjoyed my fic enough to ask for a follow-up! thank you ;w;

this picks up right where the previous one left off (here's the first part)

"Injuries?"

"Nothing major."

Voices drift through the dreamless void, which clings to Warriors like cobwebs: wispy, malleable, adhesive.

"Is he awake?"

"Maybe. Not aware, at any rate."

The words seem insubstantial, impossible to grasp, like specks of light.

"Captain? Can you hear me?"

"Time to wake up, Pretty Boy."

Like a borealis, the voices shimmer above him. Though tangible, they shy from his reach.

Warriors concentrates on forcing his eyes open, and his lashes scrape against red cotton.

"Hey, Captain? You with us?"

The stench of death saturates the air, so he must still be on the battlefield. He tries to lift his head, to see his surroundings, but all he glimpses is red.

"Hey. Pretty Boy. You awake?"

Still, he pieces it together by feel. His side is pressed against someone. His head is lolling on their shoulder. Their arm is around his back, fiercely gripping his sleeve.

"Captain, can you look at me?"

He's being held. Huh. That's a nice feeling, being held. Safe. His eyes begin to slip closed again.

"No, Captain. Stay awake. Look at me."

Always one to obey orders, he drags his head around a fraction, searching for the source of the voice. His vision is blurry, but he can see a green tunic, brown hair. The Traveler.

Something cool brushes against his hand. Glass. A bottle. His fingers automatically hook around it. Something warm wraps around his hand, affixes it in place.

"Drink this for me, okay?"

Warriors' bones are infused with lead. He watches the Traveler guide the potion to his mouth, but his body won't cooperate. His throat muscles seize, and he coughs out the liquid. It speckles across the red tunic he's cuddled up against.

"Don't make him choke!" someone outside his line of vision squawks. That's the Sailor. He knows the little Sailor's voice.

"Sorry," Hyrule laments, and cups a hand under Warriors' chin, tilts his head back. Tries again with the bottle.

This time, Warriors downs two gulps before his throat locks up and he coughs out the rest of it.

"You're getting my tunic wet." A gripe, but the grip on his arm tightens, protective. The Vet. That's the Vet, holding him. Red tunic. Right.

A thought emerges from his mental haze. Twilight. Hadn't he been with Twilight? Warriors wishes he could ask, but he's so tired. He closes his eyes again, sinks back into the void where his friends' voices echo around him. It reminds him of being trapped in the Great Fairy's bottle, the way everything is muffled and obscured and looming.

Warriors lets their voices wash over him, idly picking out words when he can and examining them like puzzles in need of solving.

"There's caves that way, half a mile or so."

"He can't walk."

"I can carry him."

"No. Traveler's magic may have stitched your wounds up, but your body still needs time to recover."

"Here, I can do it."

There are hands on him, and he's getting shifted around, and he wishes he could move. Instead, he completely retreats to the empty dark space in his head.

Then the concept of time becomes as ephemeral and elusive as his friends' voices around him.

Sometimes when Warriors opens his eyes, there's sunlight, and sometimes there's only the hazy glow of embers or the flicker of a lantern. He can't shrug off the mental mire that pins him down, can't ever keep his eyes open long enough to fully process where he is or what's going on.

That would feel more disconcerting if not for the constant, comforting presence of his friends. One of them is always right at his side when he wakes. The little Sailor, snuggled against him. Sky, carving wooden figurines. Four, polishing weapons. Even as he slides back into the dreamless dark, he feels safe.

That is, until the dark stops being dreamless.

Memories begin to unravel before him, unspooling into formless shapes and colors. At first, all he can see is blood-drenched chaos; he hears dying screams and clanking weapons, smells copper and iron. Slowly, the memories come into focus, draw together into distinct scenes. He can distinguish certain moments: a lizalfos sliced in half at the waist; a darknut's chopped-off head thunking to the dirt; a bulbin slipping on spilled moblin guts as it tries to run, then shrieking as it gets skewered.

These memories aren't his, per se; they belong to his body. His body, which he can see morph into someone else's. His hands, which are someone else's hands, brandishing a double-helix sword that cuts through monsters with no resistance.

Although Warriors has witnessed much more gruesome atrocities, these memories steep him with burgeoning unease. The violent images burrow under his skin like termites, boring tunnels into him from the inside out, as he watches them play in a loop, over and over. They continuously reignite in the dark like poe lanterns, haunting and undead.

Oblivion shifts from a refuge to a prison. Warriors starts to jolt awake with startled gasps, his terror wrenching him back into consciousness. In these moments, he often finds Time next to him, stroking his hair, murmuring soothing platitudes that Warriors can't hear over his pounding heart.

Once, he lurches awake with a shout, wide-eyed and shuddering as detailed visions of massacre still float through his head. Time gently shushes him, tucks him back into his bedroll, and pulls out the banged-up wooden ocarina he used to play as a child.

Warriors curls up on his side, hearing the distant whispers of rainfall beneath the unfamiliar melody that Time plays. The tune is wistful and haunted, layered with tragedy, like its player. But it massages away the tension rigidifying Warriors' muscles, calms the frantic adrenaline buzzing through his system. When he falls asleep, he doesn't dream anymore.

- - -

Sighing with relief, Warriors slumps back against the door. The past few days, he's managed to stay awake for longer and longer stretches, but constant fatigue still holds him hostage. Finding a town with an inn feels like a miracle, and even though he could easily collapse right here on the floor, he is eager to finally sleep in a real bed.

With effort, he straightens and shrugs off his shield, sword, and bags, depositing them by the nearest bed. The weight of his equipment has never felt so burdensome before; he's concerned that this debilitating exhaustion is atrophying his muscles and permanently docking his stamina.

But like every thought lately, he can't keep hold of his concerns for too long. They slip away from him, and he gladly lets them go, concentrating instead on the unnecessarily arduous task of shucking all his armor.

As he loosens the leather bracers on his arms, Warriors absently scans the compact rented room, which only contains two twin beds and a shabby dresser. He blinks at the dresser mirror, freezing as he registers his reflection.

Armor temporarily forgotten, Warriors strides across the tacky rug and splays his hands on the dresser. Most mornings, he spends what the others consider an unreasonable amount of time fawning over his hair in his hand mirror—personally, he thinks none of them spend enough time on making themselves presentable—but lately, he's forgone that ritual, only casting cursory glances at his reflection to ensure he's not overwhelmingly unkempt.

He hasn't gotten a proper look at himself in days, which is why the sight of the mask's red and blue brands give him such a shock.

Though their colors have already begun to fade, the sharply angled lines remain prominent. No wonder the other heroes, who have been treating him delicately, like he's liable to break, can't look at him without staring at those marks. What do they think, when they see them?

Warriors find them abhorrent. Finds that looking at them triggers unease and discomfort and nausea.

He turns away from the mirror and resumes removing his armor, gracelessly dumping it on the floor and topping the pile with his sloppily folded scarf. As he flops onto the bed, he sighs again, the relief of getting off his feet immediate and encompassing. The mattress is thin and there's a rogue spring jutting into his lower back, but goddesses, does it feel good to lie down.

Lazily, he drapes an arm over his eyes to block out the afternoon sunshine filtering in through the flimsy curtains. He doesn't feel sleepy, exactly, doesn't feel like he'll get dragged into unconscious oblivion like he was for several days right after donning the mask, but he truly is exhausted.

Physical exertion, sparse as it's been, contributes to Warriors’ fatigue. Progress across this Hyrule has been slow; the distance the heroes have covered over the past few days could be crossed, under normal circumstances, in half the time.

Warriors didn’t even walk for much of that distance. He couldn’t. Along with his sluggishness, his legs wobbled like a newborn deer’s and his sense of balance was skewed. Wind continually remained next to him, catching him when he stumbled and preventing him from toppling over.

When walking became too infeasible (and he was too tired to care about pride and dignity), he'd ride Epona. By that point, he'd usually feel so weak and shaky that he would require a boost from Twilight just to mount the horse, and from there it was a perpetual struggle to stay upright.

Fortunately, he's steadier now, able to walk without feeling constantly on the verge of collapse, but the fact that he is not okay is tremendously self-evident.

He hears the door to his room open and close, but he doesn't bother uncovering his eyes. He's certain it's just whoever decided to room with him this time—probably Wind or Legend—dropping their belongings off before venturing into town.

A lengthy moment passes before he recognizes the sound of heavy plate armor clinking. Moving his arm a fraction, he peeks out to see Time shedding his armor, setting it aside with more care than Warriors had mustered.

Warriors blinks in surprise. Time is the last person he expected to see here.

The other heroes' behavior around the Captain is subdued, and they speak to him quietly, like he's an animal prone to startle. They act so sad, he thinks now. Like they're grieving. Like they've lost something.

But Time... He was there for those horrid days when Warriors was drifting in and out of consciousness, trapped in nightmares, but ever since then, he's kept a distance. He won't even look at Warriors most of the time.

It would be unfair for Warriors to be bothered by that, though. Like a coward, he's been reciprocating the cold shoulder treatment, because he can't bear it.

He can't bear thinking about his little Sprite using that cursed mask. How old was the kid when he first used it? And what was the aftermath like for him? Was he alone? Did he have someone to comfort him through the nightmares? To help him walk or tend his wounds?

How many times has Time used this mask for those marks to permanently smirch his face?Is the aftermath of using the mask always this dreadful? What if it's not, because Time has gotten used to the effects of the damn thing?

And if Warriors feels so strange after what must have been mere minutes with the mask on—if he feels like his very essence has been ripped apart and reassembled—if he feels like some of his pieces are missing, or that now there is something new inside him, something he can't quite identify or describe—then how must Time feel, having used the mask for decades?

How does it feel to sacrifice yourself over and over, to let an inconceivable power destroy and rebuild you however it pleases, and then carry that weight alone?

With his armor off, Time turns around and catches Warriors' gaze. His neutral expression doesn't change. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."

Warriors breaks eye contact, repositioning his arm over his eyes. Coward. "I thought you'd be making sure the kids don't set the town ablaze."

"I'm sure the Rancher can handle it."

For some reason, this statement pricks at Warriors' heart. "I know he's your favorite, Old Man, but don't misplace your faith. He can be as much of a troublemaker as the rest of them."

After a long stretch of quiet, Warriors feels the thin mattress sink. He peers under his elbow to see Time sitting at the foot of his bed, leaning forward, elbows on knees. Hands folded, he's looking at the opposite wall, expression still deliberately blank. "Is that what you think?"

"Yeah, I do. Didn't you hear his arson story?"

Time huffs a soft, startled laugh. "No, I meant...you believe he's my favorite?"

Warriors shifts, pulls his arm away from his face. "Well, yeah? It's not up for debate, is it? It's obvious."

"Hmm." Time looks down at his hands, and his mouth flickers between a slight smile and slight frown before settling on the latter. When he speaks again, it's stilted, like a formal recitation. "Captain, I owe you an apology. I've left you to deal with the mask's effects by yourself."

Dragging himself to a sitting position, Warriors says, "That's not true..."

He's suddenly struck by a vague memory of a recent night where he fell asleep as soon as the heroes found a campsite. Tired beyond caring, Warriors had promptly slid off Epona and settled in the dirt a few paces from the horse. Prone on his stomach, he pillowed his head with his arms, despite his bracers digging into his cheeks.

Later, Time roused him, herding him upright. He was still half-asleep, struggling to keep his eyes open, as Time worked on taking off his protective gear piece by piece. Warriors' chainmail had pressed grooves into his torso; it was a relief to have someone else guide the heavy armor over his head and set it aside.

"Come to your bedroll," Time had said softly, and he ushered Warriors into his sleeping mat, which lie ready and waiting. Exponentially more comfortable now, Warriors had dropped off to sleep almost instantly, but still, he registered Time gently tucking the blankets around him.

Weary, Time sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. "It is true. I've been selfish. I shouldn't have left you to figure this out on your own. I know how it feels. How...confusing it is. How strange it is, like your body isn't quite right anymore, or like you're not quite the same. How..."

He flexes his fingers, searching for his words, and a mournful look breaks through his stony facade. "How...broken it makes you feel."

After a silent, somber moment, Warriors shifts to sit next to Time, dropping his bare feet to the warped hardwood. The mattress creaks. He feels another damaged spring jabbing into him.

"I'm sorry that you've always had to handle this alone," Warriors says. A lump hardens in his throat, and he swallows. "I'm so sorry, Sprite."

Time looks at him then, really looks at him. Slowly scans the red and blue lines before re-locking eyes. He smiles, sad and small but genuine, and sets a hand on Warriors' shoulder. "I'm proud of you, you know. I've always been proud of you."

Warmth blossoms in his chest at the unexpected words, and Warriors has to turn away.

"Perhaps you should get some rest." The smile lingers in Time's voice. "We can talk when you wake up."

With Time's hand still on his shoulder, Warriors says, "I can stay up a little longer. I think we have a lot to talk about."

#catch me once again only hinting at emotional closure but not actually providing it :D #i gave time and wars a cute moment though #oh yeah ps. i like the idea that wars is a lil jealous of time and twi's relationship #like idk how true to character that is #but i like it #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #lu warriors #warriors #lu time #time #fanfic #anthem answers #anthem writes

[ectonurites]

hey! how knowledgeable are you on stephanie brown? because i got in a bit of an argument with a dc fan on reddit who claims she's all these awful things, but im still relatively new to steph and i want to see what was true and what wasn't. link to screenie right here: https://ibb.co/vh6CYCJ

these may be matters of opinion, but even then, i'd like to know your take. i haven't read her firsthand often enough and i trust your judgement over this random redditor who seems to have some sort of blonde-woman related trauma left untapped.

I'm not necessarily the most knowledgable on her in the world, but I do know a decent amount because she's one of my absolute faves and I love her

But ohhhh boy that screenshot is a lot.

I will say that several of the things this person brings up are based in canon but are taken in the worst faith and framed in the way that makes her look as bad as possible, if that makes sense? It’s ripping things away from any context, because there's a very clear bias against her here.

I'll go through it point by point under the cut

First of all though before digging into this, I want to make it clear she was a 15 year old for the majority of the things this person is talking about. Like just pause for a second and remember she’s a 15 year old victim of abuse. That is something that I think factors into a lot of her behavior! Anyways, I kinda while doing this got into a ranty 'talking at you' format in response to the person who wrote all that, so don't take any of this as me yelling at you who asked the question/you anyone reading this.

"She always acted entitled" - Saying Steph is entitled is absolutely ridiculous to me. Stephanie grew up with a very unstable childhood due to her dad frequently being in prison and her mom dealing with a drug addiction, living in a lower class part of the city. Tim is entitled. I don’t mean that as like a bad thing about him, but he is based on his living situation, she is not. She has wanted life to be better for herself and her mom, and is determined about that, but she is not and does not act entitled.

(Secret Origins 80 Page Giant)

"and stubborn" - I will give you stubborn though, that one is true. She’s stubborn as hell! I don’t really see that as a bad thing though, pretty much every bat is stubborn?

"demanding that Batman and Robin accept her untrained ass" - Steph may have been untrained in fighting but she's shown to have exceptional gymnastics skills from the start, and at one point Bruce even says that with the right training she could be as good if not better than Tim (in Robin #88)! So like... her realizing she enjoys trying to be a hero after she tried it out to deal with her personal business, so she looks to the local experts… and is determined about it… how is that a bad thing? It’s also not like she walked up to them and said ‘im perfect as i am let me in’ what she wanted was a chance to be a hero. But she also wasn't even really looking for approval, either, not having Batman's blessing was never going to stop her. ("So excuse me if I don't jump when you bark, Batman." in Robin #16) Later when Bruce does bring her in to train (and she also gets to train with the BoP) she's excited! She’s stubborn about wanting to be in the hero business, but it’s not like she’s unwilling to work for it.

"advocating leaving criminals to die because they 'deserve it'" - She’s a 15 year old who grew up knowing firsthand how dangerous Gotham criminals can be because of her dad, of course off the bat when they’re in a dangerous situation where any of them could die (because that’s the context here, this is in Robin #35 where they’re trapped in some super dangerous snow) she thinks they shouldn’t go back for another criminal who just tried to kill them and should instead save themselves. But she also literally WITHIN THAT SAME ISSUE then says she realized she learned something after listening to Tim and trying to save the guy! In the same issue! Characters in a story aren’t supposed to be perfect from the start… they learn things along the way???

(Robin #35)

"trying to steal from the shops they just stopped from being burglarized" - She’s 15 and doesn’t have a ton of money. She was gonna take two sodas, and when Tim said not to do it she paid with very little fuss. They stopped people who were robbing the place at gunpoint for prescription drugs. If you can’t understand the difference in severity between those things like… I do not even know where to start. (this situation is in Robin #56 btw)

"forcing physical affection onto Tim despite his visible discomfort and repeated objections (not even stopping when he told her he had a girlfriend)" - This one I will give you because she did cross boundaries with all that! But I do also want to clarify that she didn't start coming onto him until after Tim kissed her first (in Robin #5) while not telling her he had a girlfriend. That doesn’t excuse her later actions but for the first issue that she’s coming onto him from her perspective he expressed interest and she was just returning it! She even specifically says 'Maybe I should pay you back for saving my life the same way you paid me' (in Robin #16) before kissing him. That first time she kissed him unprompted was under essentially the same circumstances he kissed her unprompted, and she literally did not know about Ariana until after the fact. From that point once she knew about Ari she definitely should have backed off and she didn’t, that’s a very fair thing to criticize about her as a character. But Tim lead her on first, and I feel a lot of people like to casually forget that when talking about this situation. The way this is phrased of ‘not even stopping when he told her-‘ implies she was repeatedly doing the bad behavior before he told her, which is not the case. She still did bad things here but don’t misrepresent the situation.

"And lashing out at Tim, her mother, and her classmates in violent fits of anger" - Every comic book character lashes out at other people for the sake of drama like, I dare you to come up with a well-known superhero character who hasn’t done shit like that to a partner/family/friends in a moment of high tension/stress?

"She treated the girls around her like they were stupid bitches" - frankly this ones a little too vague like, I'm not sure off the top of my head exactly what they're talking about? in that era right around her pregnancy and stuff I really don't recall her being mean with other girls? I could be forgetting something I guess but the closest I can think of is a bit after this period of time when she has the confrontation with Greta in Young Justice but that was Greta attacking her first, not the other way around.

"got insanely jealous if Tim so much as expressed concern about another girl" - Steph getting jealous and thinking Tim was cheating isn’t that crazy when STEPHANIE BASICALLY WAS THE OTHER GIRL DURING TIM’S LAST RELATIONSHIP? Tim has cheated a little bit before! Tim cheated on Ari with both Jubilee from Marvel (during a crossover thing where he even mentions Ari specifically so it’s not like this was out of continuity/a setting she wasn't an issue or something) and also with Steph. While most of the kissing between them was Steph coming onto Tim which I wouldn’t count as cheating on his end, he did still kiss her which I would count. Not to mention that the jealousy thing (I imagine they’re talking about the instance with Star, the girl who taught Tim to skateboard, this arc of stuff starts in Robin #80 and continues for a few issues) is happening during the time she’s dating him while she still doesn’t even know his real name. He literally has a whole other life she doesn’t know about, and is someone who has initiated romantic moments with other girls while in a relationship multiple times before! With that in mind I don’t think a 16 (she's def 16 by this point) year old girl being kinda paranoid about how he interacts with girls he might know in his civilian life is that unreasonable? The later big instance with jealousy is the Darla situation- where Steph sees Darla kiss him and gets mad about it (and doesn’t talk to him about it) and thats what prompts her to become Robin. The important thing to remember about Steph in this time frame is that DC decided she had to die and they wanted to make her Robin first to drum up more attention for that death. They were doing ooc things with her to set those pieces in motion, and that needs to be taken into account. I think her getting upset about seeing something like that isn’t even ooc, but her using it as motivation to become Robin and not even saying anything to him about it is. In the earlier instance where she’s upset/jealous about Star, she does communicate to him what’s going on at least a little bit on the rooftop after they’d saved her. She makes it clear the thing she was upset about is that she feels like she can’t trust him because she doesn’t really know him while he knows everything about her, and that’s why she thinks he’s cheating. Her reaction to the Darla thing is not in line with how earlier in canon Steph would have handled the same situation, because they wanted her to die and needed a way to explain her becoming Robin.

"and expressed that jealousy by accusing him of cheating and throwing things at him" - I just addressed the cheating stuff but the throwing things was fucking slapstick oh my god this is a comic book for kids/teens like. ah yes this is horrible abuse in this little funny montage of how Steph wants him to leave her alone because she’s mad at him and he refuses to give her space

(Robin #82)

I don’t think anyone at DC or even in fandom would/should try to argue she’s perfect, because she’s not! And I don’t want her to be because perfect characters are boring. Steph is flawed, Steph has been compared in canon to Robin-era Jason by Cass & Bruce

(Detective Comics #790)

And I think these highlight some of her very real flaws that are an interesting part of her character. These plus her stubbornness and determination are part of what makes her her.

And for fuck's sake the world was mean to her, and to act like it wasn’t is just blatantly ignoring a lot. A criminal father who made her life really difficult (‘when my dad was mad at me he’d lock me in the closet!’), that time she got kidnapped for two weeks and her mom had left her (a 15 year old) alone at home so long she didn't even find out it happened (in text Steph says Crystal was visiting friends, a lot of people interpret that as her mom possibly being in rehab for her addictions again), that whole thing about how one of her dad’s friends tried to sexually assault her as a child, also just how due to her dad's work sometimes criminals would be living in their house (Literally the fucking Riddler at one point!), the fact that we as an audience watched her get tortured for several days because a plan she tried to enact to prove herself backfired since Batman didn’t trust her with important information (something Selina even calls him out on in her internal narration), like… sorry but in what way is all that not the world being mean to her?

She was Robin, she dated Robin, she likes Eggplant (because purple would've looked stupid), and makes jokes. She’s also impulsive, headstrong and determined, and wants to prove to herself and others that she can be more than just the daughter of a shitty criminal, that she can actually be a force to do good in the world.

She’s a complex character, and nobody is required to like her, but to act like she doesn’t have a single redeeming trait is ridiculous. You could write a paragraph like that with the worst moments of basically any character and make them look like shit if that's what you were setting out to do.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt - Wen Ruohan insists that Jiang Yanli come to the Wen "lecture" as well...

ao3

Jiang Yanli tended to deal with stress in one of two ways: cooking and taking care of people. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the Wen indoctrination camp provided many opportunities for both, although not with the people she might have expected.

Wei Wuxian spent most of his days being valiant and light-hearted, trying to give them strength and courage, and Jiang Cheng followed his lead the way he always did, brave and serious and thoughtful and – well. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate both of them, because she did, but it was only that her own anxiety was more easily dealt with when she could distance herself from her current situation and focus entirely on someone else.

She might have tried to take care of Jin Zixuan, but the Jin sect disciples closed ranks around him, glaring at her as if she were the one who broke off their engagement. Either way, she won’t go where she’s not wanted, and so she backed off and went elsewhere to look for someone that needed her.

Luckily for her, Nie Huaisang was very loud and very vocal and very, very needy.

They made for a surprisingly great fit.

Jiang Yanli had perhaps been forced to step into a maternal role a bit too early – Jiang Cheng had always been a soft child, and their father’s dislike of him had hurt him deeply where it had always seemed somewhat unimportant to Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian was of course a big baby masquerading as a man. Her mother had always been disinterested in playing the mother, more fond of training and discipline, and so they’d turned to her when they were young, and still did today. Back at home, they would often descend to bickering and playing for her attention when she was around, knowing how much she liked it: Wei Wuxian demanding to be called A-Xian and fed spoonfuls like a toddler (albeit one capable of eating extremely spicy food), Jiang Cheng too proud to go that far but somehow managing to lose at least ten years of maturity, always looking at her hopefully to affirm that he did well and to sneak him treats behind everyone’s back.

That was the way she liked it, too. Possibly more than she really should, but it made her feel wanted and useful in a way that her weak cultivation never would.

Nie Huaisang, in contrast, had always been babied - by his father, by his over-protective older brother, by his long-suffering sect that nevertheless indulged him in everything. He’d suffered some things (his father’s death, first and foremost) when he was very young, and it sometimes seemed as he’d reacted to that by purposefully staying that age forever: useless and self-indulgent, spoiled and with a tendency to fuss, an unreasonable expectation that he could just turn his big eyes on anyone in his vicinity and they would immediately feel moved to cater to his every need.

Nie Huaisang, in other words, was just her type.

He was calling her ‘Jiang-jiejie’ within a shichen, putting his head on her shoulder a shichen after that, and kicking up such a dramatic fuss about everything that even Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng – who had come over with threats in their eyes about a strange man, even one of their friends, sticking himself so close to her – had ended up encouraging her to see what she could do to calm him down a little.

After they left, she looked down at his pathetic form and said, “You did that on purpose, you little brat.”

Nie Huaisang looked up at her with an impish grin that somehow still suited the tear stains on his face. “That’s true, but Jiang-jiejie won’t tell on me,” he said, as certain as any child. “Besides, this way we get to spend time together – and if we’re together, my guards will protect you as they do me, and your brothers won’t have to worry so much. Aren’t I smart?”

“Such a thoughtful child,” she praised, and he puffed himself up. “But you shouldn’t mislead your big brothers like that, you know. You could have just told them what you were thinking.”

“But where’d the fun in that be?” he said, and put his head on her shoulder again. “Jiang-jiejie will take care of me while I’m here.”

“Of course,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t punish you if you’re naughty, either.”

She did, too. She made him food out of the terrible provisions they received, she brushed his hair and let him teach her how to do his braids, she tucked him in at night before heading back to her tent, and even sat with him and helped him with his memorization and his chores – and when it was called for, she smacked him lightly on the backs of his hands that he held out to her for the specific purpose, scolded him and made him apologize.

She didn’t have any time to spare to worry about the Wen sect.

It was great.

“Uh, shijie,” Wei Wuxian said after a while. “Are you sure you’re okay with Nie Huaisang? He’s really…sticky.”

“He’s adorable,” Jiang Yanli said.

“He’s taking advantage of you,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how he gets to sit with you in the shade instead of working with us.”

“He sits in the shade because the Nie sect disciples do his share of the work,” Jiang Yanli pointed out. “Just as you do for me.”

“Yeah, but…”

“He’s harmless,” Jiang Yanli said, even though she suspected that if he were pushed to it Nie Huaisang could escalate from brat past menace into actual threat. Hopefully it would never come that. “And it’s good to have company.”

“What do you even talk about?” Jiang Cheng asked. His cheeks were oddly flushed red, and he was averting his eyes – even more oddly, so was Wei Wuxian, who she previously would have said was too shameless to be embarrassed by anything.

“Art, mostly,” she said, puzzled, and even more puzzled when they both flinched. “Recently we were discussing famous landscape artists from the southern part of Gusu.”

“Oh, landscapes,” Wei Wuxian said, exhaling in relief. “That’s all right then. Glad you’re having a good time, shijie.”

“Have fun,” Jiang Cheng agreed, bobbing his head up and down like a fishing bird.

Later, Jiang Yanli narrated the conversation to Nie Huaisang and gave him a stern look when he started giggling. 

“Would you care to explain the joke to your Jiang-jiejie?” she asked, and he waved his hands for a moment of time to catch his breath before explaining to her that he had spent most of his time at the Cloud Recesses acting as a purveyor of a very different type of art.

Jiang Yanli rolled her eyes – fondly, of course, she was always very fond of her boys, even when they forgot that she was three years older than they were – and said, “All right, then, and when were you going to share some with me?”

“I was trying to figure out what types of things you liked first!” Nie Huaisang protested, and this was why she spent so much time with him even when her other boys were also here – he didn’t forget that she was the jiejie, the one who took care of him and made the decisions about what was appropriate, and he was the didi. He didn’t assume that being a man was more important than age, didn’t put aside their “games” of caring in favor of a valiant warlike demeanor; he remained, wonderfully, the same. “I’d gotten it down to three – here, you take this one; let me know what you think.” He winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out to make sure no one comes by while you’re reading.”

“If it’s anything too filthy, you’ll be punished,” she told him, and he looked so delighted by the notion that she suspected she was going to be getting something very filthy indeed. “Little boys don’t need to be looking at such things.”

“Without supervision,” he clarified, and sat down next to her with bright eyes full of anticipation, somehow even more shameless than Wei Wuxian. “From a qualified adult. Like Jiang-jiejie!”

The artwork was utterly filthy, but it was, in fact, just the sort of thing she liked when she snuck into her mother’s rooms to sneak peeks at books filched from the high shelves – better, even, and Nie Huaisang seemed to have an endless supply of it even though he complained bitterly that he’d only brought the cheap stuff that he wouldn’t mind losing, and that the best of that had been mostly bartered away.

That was what it was for, she discovered. Nie Huaisang was selling pornography to bored Wen sect retainers in exchange for creature comforts – better food, a nicer resting place, leniency when he inevitably failed to complete some chore or another – and using the conversations to elicit information.

Not spying, per se, that was far too serious for someone as determinedly frivolous as Nie Huiasang, but it was nice to know when the Wen sect was planning a surprise inspection in the morning or if it was a good day to put on their worst clothing because they were going to be wading through mud.

“You could be quite dangerous if you wanted to be,” she commented to Nie Huaisang one evening while she was brushing his hair. He was very particular about his braids, but he let her do the brushing and oiling; the repetitive action calmed his anxiety, and seeing him calm down and relax into her care in turn calmed her own. “You’re very good at being underestimated.”

“I think I’m estimated at just about right, actually,” he joked. If it had been Jiang Cheng saying it, he would have been turning a dagger on himself with the words; if it had been Wei Wuxian, he would have been boasting; with Nie Huaisang, it was just a joke. He had the confidence to be openly useless – the surest sign of a supportive loving family, she thought wistfully. “What about you? How dangerous are you when you’re not thinking about how to take care of someone?”

“I’m always thinking of that,” she chided him, and tugged lightly on his braids in chastisement; he shivered and quailed very satisfactorily when she did that. Such a good boy for her, when he wanted to be; a very good little brat the rest of the time. “And you know I’m not much of a cultivator.”

“Neither am I,” he said. “I still think Jiang-jiejie could be very scary if she put her mind to it.”

It was nice that he thought so. Nobody else did – perhaps what was why she’d become so interested in caring for people, in making food that they liked and brushing their hair and taking care of their clothing, the sorts of feminine arts that puzzled her mother and weren’t even necessary for a sect leader’s daughter to know how to do. She did it because it was something she could do that, and after a while it became something she longed to do.

Jiang Yanli loved taking care of people.

And Nie Huaisang was so very good at being taken care of. 

Even better than her little A-Xian, if she would allow herself the traitorous little thought – Wei Wuxian liked to play the child for her sometimes, to be spoiled, but he would get bored soon enough, staying only long enough for a few bites of soup and then running off to bicker with Jiang Cheng or to be the brave and chivalrous da-shixiong of the Jiang sect.

Not so Nie Huaisang. He was her little brat all day long: whining and in need of comfort one moment, running too far ahead and in need of a scolding the next, always pushing his luck to see what he could get away with. He was soft, like her; bad at cultivating and good at things like painting and cooking and gossip, feminine things, domestic things, which meant that they had an endless supply of things to talk about that no one else cared about. He made mischief but was obedient, and he thrived under the structure she provided for him, coaxed into doing what he ought and directed away from doing what he shouldn’t.

He was adorable, in a way that she’d never felt about her actual brothers.

Her newest little didi, her A-Sang.

They were, perhaps, growing a little too close.

(But no, Jiang Yanli still maintained the boundaries of being a proper young lady, good obedient Jiang-guniang. Even if she had picked up a very specific pornography habit – but she was never going to tell anyone about that.)

Still, it came as a surprise when they were all in the dark, wretched cave, when the Wen sect threatened them and the corrupted Xuanwu lashed out against the walls to bring down rocks, when one of the Nie sect disciples pushed her behind a rock, shouting, “Take care of Nie-gongzi!” to her as if they really expected her to keep him safe.

“Your men trust me too much,” she said into Nie Huaisang’s hair – his arms were wrapped around her, his eyes watching the battlefield, flicking from side to side as he tracked the course of battle with far more expertise than her. “Don’t you think they meant for you to take care of me?”

“They want you to help keep me from being upset,” he said, and disengaged from her long enough to pick up a fallen sword and throw it with surprising accuracy into the fray – it pieced one of the Wen sect soldiers from behind, breaking their battle line, and the Nie sect disciples overwhelmed them. 

It was a masterful stroke, but Nie Huaisang recoiled from his own hand as if he’d been burned by it. His eyes were wide and white all around the edges, old fears rearing up to rend him into pieces from the inside - she knew the look of it.

“It’s all right,” she said, whispering in his ear. “You did well, didi.”

His shoulders relaxed.

Whatever had made Nie Huaisang so very afraid of shedding blood must had hurt him very deeply, Jiang Yanli thought, and the Nie sect knew it. It all made sense now: that was why they indulged him, why they spoiled him, why they allowed him to grow up as useless as he was, even as they feared him falling into danger. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be dangerous - but he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

(Jiang Yanli was very curious to meet the older brother he spoke so very much about. Nearly as much as she spoke of Wei Wuxian or Jiang Cheng, in fact, and didn’t that say everything she needed to know?)

“You should be careful, Jiang-jiejie,” Nie Huaisang murmured as they watched from their safe place as the battle raged on. Every once in a while, he intervened, each strike perfectly placed to cause maximum damage and showing that no matter how much he whined about training there was still muscle and deadly instincts beneath his skin; after each move, she would squeeze him tight and help him regulate his breathing, suppressing the panic attack he immediately fell into so that it could be postponed until a more convenient time. “I might grow to rely on you, and then where would we be? You’d have no choice but to come back to Qinghe and spend your life there with me.”

It was an offer, she thought in surprise, however gently phrased.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one getting a little too close. 

As it happened, Jiang Yanli didn’t have time to respond before the battle finally ended as abruptly as it had started, the Wen sect fleeing the Xuanwu and closing off the exit to the cave, trapping them inside with a ravenous Xuanwu – although one that couldn’t reach them in the corner where they cowered away from it.

The valorous men and women debated what ought to be done next.

The useless ones sat around and waited for their fates to be decided.

Oddly enough, this was the part that began to wear on her. The battle had passed almost without her noticing it, all her attention on caring for Nie Huaisang, but this aftermath - or preliminary, depending on how you looked at it - was utterly agonizing. Watching her brothers ignore her (useless in a fight), think nothing of her (they don’t need her to care for them), no one thought anything of her (what use is she if they don’t need her?) – and then watching them yell at each other and argue and fight without quarter, without mercy, and knowing that she couldn’t intervene, that she was pointless. Her own stress began rising rapidly, her heart beating hard, her breath starting to come short –

“Hey, Jiang-jiejie,” Nie Huaisang said.

She looked at him.

He smiled at her. “I’m hungry. You should make me some soup.”

“Brat,” Jiang Yanli said automatically, and her shoulders slowly came down, calm returning to her heart. He was obviously saying it to comfort her, she wasn’t stupid, but at the same time the request somehow suited her down to the ground and did the trick the way nothing else might have – after all, if her cowardly little brat had enough energy and attention to spare to be begging for food, things couldn’t be that bad. “What type of soup were you thinking?”

His smile widened as he watched the Xuanwu thrashing in the lake, dissatisfied that it could not capture them and rend their bones with its teeth. “Turtle soup.”

(They served it at their wedding.)

#mdzs #nie huaisang #jiang yanli #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #does nie huaisang/jiang yanli have a ship name? #my fic #my fics #making tweaks to my general NHS headcanon #turtle soup #roseunspindle

[notcorrect-persona5]

In Defense of Yosuke’s Parents

I’ve seen so many posts about Yosuke having bad parents which really surprised me because I didn’t get that impression at all. I’ve been meaning to make a post in defense of his parents, but I’ve been working on a Yu analysis. After I saw @personuhh​’s post I thought I’d offer an alternative perspective. I’ll be addressing some of the things they brought up first, and then I’ll get into additional evidence. I have edited this post since I originally posted it because I I wanted to elaborate and reword some things.

My Response

You’re right, Yosuke does take on way more responsibility than a part-timer should. However, I don’t think that’s his parents doing. It seems like Junes is extremely understaffed. In his social link, Yosuke says his dad was “bugging him to find helpers.” I volunteer at a small location of a large church (much like the Inaba branch of Junes), and I have been asked to find more volunteers over and over again because they’re desperate for more help. It’s a lot of work and not enough people. Additionally, both Yu and Chie come in to help due to the lack of staff. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Hanamura helped out too as Teddie’s under the impression that Yosuke’s parents are always together (which I’ll talk about later). 

On top of that, Yosuke mentions part-timers ditching work and slacking off. When an employee doesn’t show up, Yosuke (and Teddie) are often called in because their managers know they’ll show up. People who are reliable are given more responsibility, period. It sucks, but if someone needs help they aren’t going to ask someone who they don’t see as dependable. I volunteer at church every week, and I have been asked countless times if that’s okay because they don’t want to overwork me. Every time I say I don’t mind, and I assume Yosuke would have the same reaction if asked. Not only is it Yosuke’s natural instinct to help people, but he was kind of a pushover before the events of (and at the start of) Persona 4. In his third awakening, Yosuke says he was overworked and taken for granted. That’s not okay, and it’s a huge problem, but Mr. Hanamura isn't the cause of that. Mr. Hanamura is the general manager; his job isn’t to create the part-timer’s schedules. 

It’s true that Yosuke tries to work out the problems of other employees and listens to their complaints. There is no indication that Yosuke was told to do this, and I don’t know why he would be. In his social link, there are two girls who act as if he has more power than he does. They demand a raise, ask him to give them the day off, and assume he has knowledge about another employee’s schedule. Yosuke says he doesn't have the power to help them, and in a manga page he says “I may be the manager’s son, but I’m still just an employee.” Yosuke is doing much more than the average part-timer, but he isn’t being given the responsibilities of a manager.

As for the Junes concert, Mr. Hanamura did not tell Yosuke he was going to be fired. Yosuke came to that conclusion himself. Mr. Hanumura did not ask Yosuke to find a solution or ask Rise for help. Yosuke only asked Rise for help because he was scared of moving again. I understand how the phrase “awfully nice for some reason” could come across as odd, but I don’t think he meant his dad isn’t usually nice. In the Persona 4 Manga that scene is translated as “My Dad’s been extra nice to me” meaning his dad is nice, he’s just being extra nice, and I’m not surprised. Yosuke was extremely unhappy when he moved to Inaba. Despite trying to hide his feelings, you can see in The Magician that he didn’t do a very good job of it. And now that Yosuke is finally happy, they might be forced to move again. Of course, Mr. Hanamura would feel guilty. Oftentimes, when people feel guilty, they start acting nicer - unnaturally so - to make themselves feel better. Chie (who is already very kind) even does it after she and Yukiko spend Yosuke’s money on clothes for Teddie. Yosuke notices the shift in her attitude and tells her that he’s worried. It’s the same reaction he had toward his dad’s behavior.

The only reason I bring up Chie is to show an in-game example of someone being overly nice due to guilt. What Chie did was wrong, that’s why she feels guilty. The reason Mr. Hanamura would feel guilty is his job may have to move his entire family again. The cause of their guilt is different, but they are responding the same way.

I don’t think Mrs. Hanamura not wanting her son to own porn is unreasonable. My mom doesn’t like magic, so I wasn’t allowed to read or watch Harry Potter growing up. Similarly, a friend of mine wasn’t allowed to watch iCarly. As for Mrs. Hanamura burning Yosuke’s porn in Arena, that’s the third time (that we know of) that she’s seen his porn. I assume she’s told him she doesn’t want him looking at pornography, but he continues to do so anyway. Burning his magazines may seem dramatic, but she was likely just frustrated that he kept disobeying her. 

I don’t think Yosuke’s parents are the reason why Yosuke wants to be seen as manly. I haven’t seen anything that implies that. I think Yosuke’s desperation to be seen as a man comes from Japanese society and his fears regarding his sexuality.

Mr. Hanamura came up with this slogan because they were selling jinbei's which are traditionally worn by men. It’s a play on words. This isn’t the first time Mr. Hanamura has come up with a cringey slogan.

It seems Mr. Hanamura has that stereotypically “dad humor” which is typically associated with positive father figures (it’s not always). Yosuke saying his dad is still saying the “MANsoon” slogan gave me reminds of kids being like “Dad, that’s a bad joke, stop”, but the dad continuing to make his bad jokes regardless. It’s very Disney Channel and sit-com like.

I don’t remember Teddie saying he watches violent war movies with Mr. Hanamura, but I don’t see how that connects to the idea of Mr. Hanamura pushing Yosuke to be a “more masculine, traditional, unshakable, unemotional man.” The idea that only those types of men watch war movies is the type of thinking Kanji’s and Naoto’s shadows were trying to address. I don’t think Mr. Hanamura cares about being that type of stereotypical/traditional man because of his relationship with Teddie. Teddie is not very masculine (he even says so in Persona Q, screenshot will be later), and he isn’t hiding it. 

This exchange is from Kanji’s Persona 4 Club Profile. Teddie went to the store to buy female clothing, and he asked Kanji to make him a dress (the one from the cross dressing pageant). He already owned his “Alice dress” before the cross dressing competition, and I assume he’s worn it. In Arena, you can see the dress is hung out in the open in their bedroom. He also wears hair clips. 

This is not “masculine behavior” yet the Hanamuras don’t seem to have a problem with it. If anything, I’d say they’re pretty open-minded. If they disliked that way Teddie behaved, Teddie would change himself to fit the way they want him to be. I mean, the kid literally grew two new bodies in effort to get people to like him. Due to Teddie’s low self-esteem and need to be loved, he takes any sort of criticism to heart and does his best to act the way others want him too. In Persona Q, Yukari says he’d be cute if he was quiet, so Teddie stops talking. 

In Persona Q, Teddie says he’s realized that to steal hearts he needs to be manly. He gets this realization from Koromaru. He did not think this prior. 

Teddie saying Koromaru gave him this realization means the Hanmuras never said anything to him about his less masculine behavior. 

As for the song lyrics you posted, I don’t really think that means anything. Yeah, people often relate to the music they listen to, but they don’t have to relate to every lyric or even song. My favorite artist is Taylor Swift, but I don’t really like romance. I don’t relate to most of her songs, but I still jam out to them. I could be super wrong about the song thing though because I’m not a huge music person.

My Own Additional Analysis (with some elements of response)

In this section I’m going to talk about Mr. and Mrs. Hanamura’s character and personality, their relationship with each other, Teddie, and Yosuke.

Let’s start off by talking about their personality. They seem to be very carefree people. Yosuke has less than average grades. In the Persona 4 Animation, he didn’t even show up to one of the exam days. Academics is extremely important in Japanese society, yet his parents don’t seem to be pushing him to get better grades. Considering how carefree Yosuke can be, it makes sense that he may have gotten that trait from his parents. 

Yosuke’s family is pretty wealthy. It’s mentioned more than once. They also live in a pretty big house (you can see it in The Magician), Yosuke’s cell phone seems to be a newer model, and he has a large, flatscreen TV in his bedroom which wouldn’t be very common when the game took place. Despite this, Yosuke works for his own money. He complains about being broke and needing save up. I think the reason why Yosuke has a job despite being well-off is because his parents want him to have work experience and grow up to be a hardworking person, so he can succeed in life. It makes me think that hardwork is important to them.

Due to this conversation, I think Mr. Hanamura is a very honest man. Yosuke says he was surprised his dad was against selling gas masks, likely because from a business standpoint, that’s a really big missed opportunity. I think it’s also worth noting that ATLUS talks a lot about how people naturally fit into the masses, including the main characters. That’s why it’s surprising that his father is going against the masses. Although he’s losing money and has faced many hardships running Junes, Mr. Hanamura refused to do something that was against his moral compass.

In Persona 4 Drama CD #1, Junes is closing down half of the electronics section due to a lack of sales. Despite this taking place in March, Teddie panics and hopes to sell a TV set in a month in exchange for keeping the TV they enter the TV World through where it is. 

Yosuke isn’t afraid to ask his dad two huge favors with a not very good reason (side note: Yosuke had to lie because the truth is that’s the TV he and his friends used to go into the TV world and fight shadows). Despite Yosuke’s best efforts, his father says no. He doesn’t really have any choice but to close part of the electronics floor. Junes is losing money by keeping it open. I think Mr. Hanamura gave him the vouchers because that’s the only other way he can help. Teddie made a deal that if he sells one TV set by the end of the month, they’ll keep the TV that leads to the TV world. He’s trying to advertise the TV set by promising other surprise items coming with it. These Junes vouchers are part of those surprise items. 

It’s no secret that many of the shopping district families despise Junes and the Hanamuras. Many horrible things have been said about their family, yet Junes still teams up with the shopping district in the YasoInaba Case File to help keep them afloat. Whether or not this was Mr. Hanamura’s idea, he’s the one who has to approve it, and he does. Despite being treated horribly by them, he still wants to help the shopping district. Junes teaming up with shopping district might be a good business move, but they didn’t really need to do that. The problem is that Junes is taking away the shopping district’s business. Junes doesn’t need to team up with the shopping district to do well. The two of the teaming up benefits the shopping district way more than Junes. It doesn’t do much for Junes other than the shopping district maybe not hating them. At the end of the day, the shopping district families would still shop at the shopping district to keep their businesses afloat, so Junes isn’t getting a lot more business.

When Teddie came to the real world, Yosuke offered to take Teddie home with no hesitation. He didn’t think it would be a problem with his parents or show any concern about how he would convince them. I think this goes along with them being pretty carefree as well as showing that they’re kind and generous people. Not everyone is willing to take others in like that. Yosuke’s also comfortable with asking his parents such a huge favor.

Teddie talks about Yosuke’s parents in a really positive light, and I would say they treat him like their own son. For example, on January second Teddie says, “I got New Year’s gifts! Yosuke’s mom and dad gave them to me!” (edit: Someone said “notice how Yosuke doesn’t say the same thing.” He doesn’t need to. It’s Japense culture to give younger family members gifts for new Year’s. Yosuke saying something would be the equivalent of, “omg my parents gave me a birthday present!!” It would have been weirder if he did say something then. Teddie is excited because because this is his first New Year’s. He’s never experienced this before. Also, Yosuke did get New Year’s money. He talks about saving it on 1/10 when walking to school).

I think I remember Teddie saying he watches movies with Mrs. Hanamura, but I have no idea where he says that. There’s a 50/50 chance I made that up and convinced myself it was canon, so don’t take my word on that one. 

Teddie breaks A LOT of rules at Junes. He steals topsicles, rode a handi mover through the store, slept on both a display bed and the floor of electronics department, been yelled at for eating samples, been chased by store security, and Yosuke had to monitor Teddie during his late night shift because they didn’t trust him to work alone. Teddie’s a terrible employee, yet he hasn’t been fired. I think the reason for this is he’s basically the manager’s son. I do want to say that just because they consider Teddie as their own child doesn’t mean they treat Yosuke as anything less. I haven’t seen a single thing that has implied that there is favoritism going on.

Yosuke and Teddie act a lot like brothers (Naoki even suspects that they're related), and Yosuke’s parents seem to treat Teddie like their own son. He even wears their family crest in offical art. I looks like ATLUS wnted the four of them to be a family. And If that’s the case, it wouldn’t make any sense for Mr. and Mrs. Hanamura to be bad parents.

Additionally, if Mr. and Mrs. Hanamura treated Yosuke badly, and Teddie noticed, I think Teddie would say something.

The second Yukari said something slightly mean about Yosuke, Teddie defended him. He doesn’t like when other people say mean things about Yosuke. Not to mention conflict really stresses him out. If Yosuke’s parents treated him badly, I there’s a chance Teddie might see the problem.

I think it’s also worth noting that Yosuke’s parents have a really healthy marriage.

This quote implies that they’re rarely apart and get along really well. A happy marriage doesn’t automatically equal a healthy household or good parents, but it really increases the likelihood. 

For context, Yosuke is talking about Teddie in this picture. I’m not from Japan, so I don’t know if most families there eat breakfast together, but my family - despite being very close - does not. We all eat and start our day at different times. In my mind, eating breakfast together is a very domestic thing to do. Even the phrase “Hanamura family breakfast” screams domestic to me.

This conversation gives me the sense that Mr. Hanamura has a great deal of trust and respect for Yosuke. I mean, I don’t think he would accept Yosuke’s idea if he didn’t. Adding a kid’s menu would be pretty exspensive. Not only do they have to print the kid’s menu, but they have to design them, create new menu items, and depedning on what’s on the menu buy more food or ingredients. That adds up, and if it isn’t successful then they’ll lose money. Mr. Hanamura has to approve that idea, and he’s putting in trust that it’s going to be successful. Also, Yosuke is comfortable enough to “push really hard” for his idea.

All in all, it is my personal opinion that the Hanamurs are a really close family. It would make sense for ATLUS to go in that direction to create a contrast to the Narukami’s, after all. That being said, neither headcanon is wrong. It just comes down to how we interpret the very little information we’re given.

#yosuke hanamura #teddie persona 4 #persona 4 teddie #teddie #not a quote #analysis #persona 4 #p4 #Hanamura bros

[still-a-morosexual-help]

OBEY ME! LESSON 56 DETAILED SUMMARY AND DISCUSSION/THEORIES

*I wrote this days after the lesson was first posted and never bothered to go back and edit it so meaning there will be me theorizing about the next lesson as well

*I write a small para for each chapter and I write it immediately after finishing that chapter so there’ll be theorizing about the next chapter too

*I swear more than usual here

*Some of the dialogue is heavily plagiarized and a few is lifted directly from the story, the game is to figure which is which.

*Summaries and Discussions/theories for all the other lessons can be found on this blog under #obey me spoilers or #my theories or #my headcanons

This has one locked lesson cause of course it does

Belphie’s upset that their names got called on the loudspeaker as if they were the lost children and not Diavolo. MC says the others won’t let them ever live this down if they found out and Belphie says he’ll be teased for centuries. Belphie tells a story about how he once got lost in the Celestial Realm and spent hours in a tree crying, MC asks why he was on a tree, and he says cause he thought he’s be able to see the direction of the celestial palace from there. It had eventually been Raphael who found him and he ended up taking a liking to the tree so he would climb it and nap up there whenever he wanted to avoid work. MC asks whether he like Raphael. Belphie says he never thought about it either way but that Raphael always looked like he had it rough (course he did – he had to try to get Belphie and his brothers under control cause Lucifer was much more lenient those days. I’ve mentioned this before but I’m certain that Lucifer blames his leniency as what got Lilith killed and that’s why he’s unreasonably strict with the brothers now) MC asks what Raphael was like – he says he worked hard for little reward and his job was looking after Michael’s needs no matter how unreasonable (and they really are the Lucifer and Diavolo of the Celestial Realm aren’t they!?). He was meticulous and methodical and he always had a sullen, irritated look making him always seem like he was in a bad mood. And his evil eye looked so evil you could almost mistake him for a demon. Belphie says he hasn’t seen him in a ling time and wonders how he’s doing. Belphie says all this with a smile on his face and this is the first time we’ve heard someone talk about Raphael in a positive light and this supports my theory that Belphie sees the Celestial Realm in a more positive light than the others probably do (which is why he irrationally directed all his anger at the humans). I’m also 10% certain the person Simeon was meeting with was Raphael not Michael cause I don’t think we’ve heard Belphie mention Michael once so it makes sense that they would have him recognise the angel he would later talk about. They get to the desk and Belphie goes to give their names but MC cuts in with ‘snoozy’ before he can say his. The employee comments on the name and Belphie blushes and says it’s embarrassing and asks MC to stop laughing about it. The employee gives them the note which happens to be a ransom note. Lol this guy is fucked.

Belphie complains about Barbatos failing to teach Diavolo not to walk off with strangers (in my very first theory/headcanon posts I compared Barbatos and Diavolo’s relationship to the one between Alfred and Bruce Wayne and I completely stand by that. I think Barbatos is significantly older than Diavolo the same way Lucifer’s significantly older than his brothers and similar to Lucifer and his brothers I think Barbatos had a hand in raising Diavolo. Given that we now know that Barbatos might have powers that rivalled the demon king it’s possible that he may be as old as him, or just slightly younger, than him as well. Tldr; Barbatos gives off heavy Alfred Pennyworth vibes). Belphie doesn’t want to deal with this and MC says they can’t just ignore it (also they will be murdered twice over if they do) and Belphie says he knew they’d say that and agrees to humour this stupid fucking human. He says he doesn’t wanna get tortured by Lucifer and Barbatos but the idea of going and rescuing Diavolo like one of his good little pawns makes him sick too. They head to the circus tent and are greeted by a happy and beaming Diavolo sitting on a chair with a man holding a gun to his head and demanding money (what a fucking amateur ass kidnapper at least give ‘em time to go and get the money! What you think people just walk around with wads of cash in their pockets!?) Belphie ignores him and scolds Diavolo for just waiting around for them to come get him and for leaving them in the first place. The man panics and tells them to stop moving closer unless they want him to shoot Diavolo. Diavolo also ignores the man , apologising and saying with a bright smile after the ride he was feeling sick and this man stopped and checked he was alright. Diavolo calls the man considerate cause he promised to help diavolo find the two of them and look! He kept his promise! Bsdjfjibvdmck this poor fucking kidnapper… Belphie groans and asks Diavolo if he even realises what’s going on rn and says even after being from a royal family he can’t be this sheltered and oblivious. The man’s just getting more stressed at how no one here seems to care about him as he keeps screaming about being serious and blowing Diavolo’s head off his shoulders (This poor guy – even MC who’s lived the most normal life from the three of them has faced more threatening life or death situations to give a shit). Belphie just tells the man to shut up with the most bored expression on his face. He then transforms into his demon form resulting in the man screaming his head off. Belphie just tells the man he talks too much, casually asking if he should make it so that no one has to ever listen to the man run his mouth again. The man stutters, calls Belphie a monster and tells him to stay back and panicking points his gun at Belphie. MC either using their very on magic creates a wind (called ‘wind of protection’) strong enough that it stops the bullet when he shoots or a raging fire (called ‘fire of judgment’) that takes over the bottom of the screen that’s powerful enough that it actually melts the bullet mid-flight and then rushes to the man making him scream and making the whole screen flash red (I had a moment of ‘HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT DID MC JUST BURN A MAN ALIVE!? DID ALL THIS LEAD UP TO MC COMMITING MURDER!? WHY AM I LOWKEY EXCITED!?’) but no the guy’s still alive, I think the fire just made him move back from all of them. (but can we talk about how powerful MC’s own magic is and how it seems to be at its most powerful when they’re protecting the people they love? (like when they unconsciously counteracted all the curses in the reaper’s cave that should have killed the brothers, or when they saw Satan use a healing spell once and were later able to effectively use it on Mammon later despite the fact that the were having trouble picking up the spells Satan was actually trying to teach them). The man screams asking what the two of them are (ajfkjfcijzh didn’t Solomon say just last lesson that they were supposed to keep this all secret!!!!???) Belphie says bullets can’t actually harm him but he still smiles and thanks them. Diavolo seemingly in shock says that the man fired his gun at Belphie and that he was trying to hurt Belphie (despite the fact that Diavolo knows a gun wouldn’t hurt Belphie it’s the fact that the man didn’t know that and had the intention to hurt Belphie that sticks with him and I think that means a lot), A pale purple aura starts swirling around him and he instantly transforms into his demon form, looking furious and screaming “HOW DARE YOU…!” The man screams.

The man drops his gun and runs away. Diavolo says, serious for once, that they can’t let him run away and that he’ll contact Barbatos to get the royal army and – (bro you’re gonna start a war bro chill), Belphie says he can’t bring the army here he might accidently bring about the destruction of the humans (funny how a couple yrs ago Belphie would have been all for this plan) and Diavolo looks sad saying he can’t just let this go. MC and Belphie both get Diavolo to try and calm down, with Belphie telling Diavolo he wasn’t hurt and transforming back to his human form, before saying that Diavolo didn’t need to transform as well & that if Lucifer and Barbatos find out Belphie’ll get in trouble. Diavolo transforms back and says the man tried to harm a dear friend and he couldn’t help but get angry. Belphie blushes and can’t come up with words. MC teases Belphie asking if he’s blushing and he denies it while still blushing. Diavolo also notes that he’s flushed and is worried that it’s a sign that he’s been hurt somehow. Still blushing Belphie says he’s not hurt and to stop worrying about him and that they should leave. Diavolo says since they’re here at the circus tent they should watch the circus perform since Belphie likes human world circuses.  Belphie’s surprised and asks Diavolo how he knows that, Diavolo says Lucifer told him a long time ago, Belphie asks why and Diavolo says when they’re alone Lucifer talks a lot about his brothers, specially Belphie (Lucifer also has random pictures of his brothers that he takes without them knowing as they go about their daily life… This man is such a proud dad. He pulls out his wallet and a whole roll of pictures unfold all the way to the floor and across the room and he’ll tell the story behind each picture to anyone who listens.) He’s also told Diavolo about Belphie’s favourite tree in the Celestial Realm and the story of how he found that tree. Back then Lucifer always thought whenever Belphie wasn’t with his siblings he’d be up in the tree napping or down in the human world watching the circus and that’d made diavolo determined to see the circus too. Diavolo then asks if they can see the circus together. Belphie’s still shocked but then he blushes again and agrees. Inside Belphie and Diavolo are both clinging to MC as they cheer, scream and argue about the safety of the trapeze artist. MC can ask Diavolo if he wants them to cover his eyes cause he’s scared for her safety despite Belphie telling him there’s a net, ask Belphie if he wants to hold their hand cause he’s just as nervous or excited or comment to no one how they’ve got a demon attached to both their arms.

It’s night out and as a reward for coming to get Diavolo Belphie was allowed to pick all the rides they went on, Diavolo looks like he’s gone through hell, stuttering and asking if that was all. Diavolo asks how MC’s doing they say they threw up in a bin and are feeling better now (or they can say they had fun) Diavolo says he threw up in so many bins he lost count. He asks if they should head home and Belphie says there’s one last thing he wants to ride, Diavolo starts stuttering again. Belphie says it’s the ferris wheel, Diavolo’s shocked and asks if it’s cause Belphie remembered him saying he wanted to ride it, Belphie tries to deny it but Diavolo doesn’t buy it – instead he smiles brightly and gushes about how nice and sweet Belphie is which makes Belphie blush and demand him to stop. Diavolo marvels at the lights from up in the ferris wheel and how they look like stars, Belphie says he’s getting too excited. Diavolo ignores this and points out his hotel and the brothers’ manor. Belphie says he sounds like a child and Diavolo laughs and says that Lucifer says the same. Diavolo, while still smiling, says that in a way he is a child, a child who spends his time alone and never gets to do anything interesting (and holy shit that’s sad – he really did grow up alone in that huge castle…) Belphie doesn’t know what to say to this and Diavolo asks what’s wrong. Belphie says he’s surprised cause he never knew Diavolo saw himself that way. Diavolo laughs and says he never expected Belphie to treat him with kindness and Belphie asks what kind of heartless monster did Diavolo imagine him as (look despite all the shit I give Belphie I do really love him but also I mean…. He does kinda make it known how much he dislikes diavolo…) Diavolo laughs it off, he says today he learnt things about Belphie that even Lucifer hadn’t told him and that there’s probably a lot about Diavolo that Belphie doesn’t know about either. Diavolo says he knows they’ve had there differences, specially cause Diavolo had his position to consider and that he had been very strict with Belphie in the past and that he still doesn’t consider that a mistake (YES!! FINALLY!!) and that despite all that they were still able to get along well today, he thanks MC for their help in bringing them to this point. They say they didn’t even do anything special, Belphie says that he agrees with Diavolo and that they did help. Diavolo says he wants to talk more with Belphie and if Belphie agrees nothing would make him happier. Belphie’s silent for a bit before he slowly agrees. Diavolo thanks him and says there’s one more place he wants to drop by.

They end up at the brothers’ place. Asmo welcomes them back, Diavolo says “I’m home!...just kidding pardon the intrusion” AND you just KNOW this man wishes he wasn’t kidding and that he could really live with all of them. Asmo asks how his day went & Diavolo says he had fun. When beel asks Belphie says he’s really tired. Asmo invites Diavolo to stay for dinner, saying Lucifer & Barbatos are cooking. Diavolo says he’ll go and help them but Belphie makes him sit down and tells him to relax after the day they had. Diavolo beams and thanks Belphie for worrying about him and Belphie blushes and tries to deny it, saying that since him & MC aren’t helping if Diavolo goes to help it’ll just make them look bad. Diavolo says he actually wants to help and that the other two can wait here (hey Lucifer and Barbatos are Diavolo’s closest friends right? And you tend to tell your closest friends everything that happens… MC & Belphie are so fucked). (this next interaction has such strong sibling vibes? Like I’m telling you I’ve had this exact same conversation before) Levi & Mammon seem to find the whole interaction between the two of them interesting and make noises about it, when Belphie asks them what, Levi says it’s nothing and Mammon asks how it went. Belphie says they went to a park and now they’re back. Satan says the others meant how it went with Diavolo. Belphie says like he said before there was nothing to it. Asmo says the interaction between the two of them says different and Satan agrees. Beel congratulates him and Belphie blushes and says he has no idea what they’re talking about. Mammon then asks MC if there were any problems, if they wondered off and got lost. MC either denies it so harshly it’s immediately unbelievable or says no…not really. Levi asks what ‘not really’ means. Belphie asks Mammon why he asked that and if he remembered the time he got lost in a park. Beel also then remembers that. Mammon says he’s not the one that got lost and that it was the twins. The three of them then argue about who really got lost. Asmo tells them to each say their side of the story. Mammon had been playing darts when the twins disappeared and he’d ended up searching all over for them and he’s been really freaked out. The twins say they went to buy soft serve and when they came back Mammon wasn’t there and they ended up going around finding him. MC, Satan and Asmo says it sounds like all 3 of them fucked up. Diavolo then calls them for dinner. (This whole arcs gives me ‘taking your new partner’s kid who hates you on a day out so that you can bond’ vibes with MC there solely to act as the buffer)

During dinner they talk about their day at the park, apparently they rode the freefall of death thrice in a row and Belphie happily tells Diavolo that next time they go they should ride it again. Diavolo very obviously reluctantly agrees to, which Mammon points out. Diavolo said he did enjoy it but next time he wants a break between riding it over and over again. Belphie says it wouldn’t be a marathon if they took breaks. Diavolo says next time they should all go together and maybe even try out a different theme park. Levi suggests a space themed park with another insane ride that tries to kill you, Mammon reads the description of the ride and immediately nopes out. Satan teases Mammon for being scared which he protests to, Beel asks for a place with good food, Levi says he was waiting for Beel to say that and Diavolo happily laughs and after being alone for so long a lively dinner like this full of people he cares about who care about him in turn was probably something he always wanted. After dinner in the warmly lit music room Barbatos brings Lucifer coffee, Diavolo and Satan are playing chess, Levi is rambling to Asmo about the game he and Diavolo were playing and Asmo happily tells him he has no idea what he’s talking about, and Belphie asks to talk with MC. He tells them despite how much he initially complained he had fun and he thanks them, they say they’re happy things turned out well. He says he never thought he would end up feeling like this. Lucifer then calls the both of them to him. He says they did well today and seeing the relaxed way Diavolo’s getting along with the others like there’s no tension between them is a relief. He thanks them. Belphie smiles as he says that Diavolo looks like he’s having fun with the others. “By the way…” Lucifer says with a smile ‘Diavolo told me about what happened today you little fucks’ (told you he’d snitch to Lucifer) Belphie’s shocked and speechless. A purple aura starts rising off Lucifer as he smiles sweetly at them, “Perhaps you’d like to explain to me exactly what happened?” “DD! …Why’d you have to tell him!?” screams Belphie before he accepts his fate and the screen goes black.

MC leaves the house to walk Diavolo and Barbatos to the street to drop them off, for which Diavolo apologises for troubling them. Barbatos says he could have ordered a car to come right up to the door of the house (Barbatos pls read the room!) and Diavolo says he doesn’t mind catching a taxi from the street. Barbatos is silent and contemplative for a moment before he says he forgot to tell Lucifer something and heads back inside (he read the room!). When they get to the street Diavolo worries cause Belphie had seemed really pissed when they left, he says when Belphie told him to keep it a secret he’d genuinely thought Belphie meant the picture they took together. He assumes Belphie told him not to tell about the ransom right after he told him not to tell about the picture but Diavolo had been so thrilled by the picture he hadn’t processed most of what Belphie said. He worries he messed up all the progress he made during the day. MC says though Belphie’s mad now he’ll get over it in time. He’s still worried that next time Belphie won’t be as willing to talk to him like he did today (he was still calling him DD though even when he was pissed so I don’t think it’ll be a problem. I hope they keep up the nickname Lucifer will hate it and that at least should be incentive for Belphie to keep using it). Diavolo says he had a lot of fun today and that he’ll never forget it. He goes on to say that growing up he lived a very sheltered life and that he’s never felt more free than he did today, though the ride was too much for him. He says even thinking about it makes his hands shake and he shows them to MC. MC can either take his hands or do nothing. If they take his hand he blushes and says it’s strange but that made him calm down. He says he wants to spend more time together and asks if they can go for a walk. MC agrees and he’s delighted by it. He says he’ll message Barbatos to let him know but that it’ll probably not be necessary since Barbatos went back to give them space anyway (You know Lucifer saw Barbatos come back alone, figured out what is happening and is now pacing a hole through the floor

They go to a park with a lake from where they can even see a ferris wheel in the distance. Diavolo asks if they think it’s the ferris wheel they rode today or a different one. He then laughs and says the human world’s really beautiful from the trees in daylight to the buildings at night. He asks if he can hold their hand and they can do that or put their arm through his. If they hold hands he says they almost look like a couple. If they do the second one he’s shocked but smiles and says they saw through him and realised what he actually wanted to do even though he wasn’t smooth enough to ask. He says his mother dies during childbirth and his father was always very strict with him, and he doesn’t know if that’s cause he was training him to be the next demon king or because he resented Diavolo’s birth for taking away the love of his life (I also HC Diavolo looking a lot like his mom. ALSO this confirms what I said earlier in one of the other lesson summaries about demons being born through biological reproduction like humans and unlike angels). He says growing up he never got a chance to talk to anyone outside the castle until he met Barbatos who told him stories of the outside world that fascinated him (this really does give the vibe that Diavolo was a child while Barbatos was an adult at the time). He liked Barbatos so much he begged him to stay with him. Barbatos had kept saying no but Diavolo had refused to give up. He’d thrown a tantrum then and said he’d refuse to be the next demon king unless Barbatos stayed with him and Barbatos had given in. Then he gets sad saying that what Belphie said today hit him, and how he always used his royal status to get others to do what he wanted. He asks if it’s possible that he’s forcing Barbatos to stay against his will. (and I get that what diavolo did was shitty but the fear he must have had for the rest of the day since Belphie said that cause he thought Barbatos will leave too and he’ll once again be truly alone in that castle is heartbreaking). MC who spent the last two lessons with Barbatos more or less talking about Diavolo (or Solomon) reassures Diavolo that Barbatos is staying cause he wants to. Diavolo’s happy for a bit before he becomes sad and doubtful again. He then says MC reminds him of Lucifer cause Lucifer is also constantly saying similar things to him (AND THE IMPLICATIONS!!? FIRST IT WAS THE OTHERS COMPARING LUCIFER’S FONDNESS FOR MC TO HIS FONDNESS TO DIAVOLO AND NOW IT’S THIS!!? Can I just say again: remember how the twins wanted to share MC if they ever got together with one of them? I think Lucifer x MC and Diavolo x MC make a lot more sense if it’s all three of them together. And in any case where MC doesn’t choose one of them, they get together like the LIs in The Arcana do). He asks if it’s possible that Lucifer and MC flatter him too much. He then says it can’t be fun listening to his childhood stories but that he wanted them to know about him and that he wants to know more about them too. He asks what kinda food they like. The options are sweet, spicy and sour. He likes sweet too. He asks if they like animals. Options are they love them, don’t or it depends on the animal. Look after all the time in the devildom, after two paws events, after bathing Cerberus and after the brothers all having their own vastly different animal representatives MC can’t not love all animals. Diavolo says imagining them playing with different animals is really sweet. He says he’s known them for quite some time now but there’s still so much he doesn’t know. He blushes and asks if they can do things like this more often, where they just spend time together. He then confesses and asks how they feel about him. If they say sorry he smiles and asks them not to apologize, saying that he didn’t say it to make them feel bad but that he understands. He asks if they’re in love with one of the brothers an they can say yes, no or stay silent. He smiles sadly and says he guessed. He says that even though they don’t have feelings for him it doesn’t change the fact that he still loves them. He says he still wants to get to know them more and asks if they can still meet up. He thanks them for being a part of his life. (While I still don’t think the side characters liking MC makes much sense and I still much prefer them as very close friends I like how all their confessions are very one and done. The brothers romantic plotlines with MC are still going on and there’s never a “I love you, do you love me? No? okay I still love you but I’ll back away too” moment. MC never gets the chance to reject them. But with the side characters MC rejects them, they understand that MC loves someone else, they accept the rejection really well and they go back to being friends and I really like that. It feels like it probably won’t be explored again after you reject them.)

#obey me spoilers #my headcanons #my theories #obey me #obey me! #swd obey me #shall we date? obey me! #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #om! diavolo #swd diavolo #shall we date diavolo #obey me belphegor #om! belphegor #swd belphegor #shall we date belphegor #obey me belphie #om! belphie #swd belphie #shall we date belphie

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

A goddamn blaze in the dark

The first time Emily sees Sue, the first thing she does is drop a cup of steaming hot coffee onto the floor, slip on it and land flat on her back behind the counter. And then she thinks — Oh. Found you.

To be fair, even without the pesky niggling at the back of her head, very helpfully pointing out that this was the girl, her soulmate, the love of her life, her forever and beyond, the sight of Sue would have knocked her down anyways. What else are you supposed to do when a pretty girl, dressed in tweed, with her hair tied up in a braid, walks into the coffee shop where you work with that smile on her face? That damned smile that doesn’t ask you so as much as inform you that you’re going to be haunted by it in your dreams tonight? With 10 am sunlight filtering in through the sides, casting half of her features in sharp, glorious light, Emily might as well have just signed away her breath for eternity.

Lavinia bends, looks her right in her eye from above her. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

She wants to open her mouth to say something along the lines of – It's her! It’s her! What comes out, however is a garbled groan.

“Emily, buddy,” Austin rollerblades over to her, bends over her from the other side. “You gotta get up before there are complaints of unprofessionalism in the workplace.”

“Oh, because you’re the pinnacle of workplace niceties, I assume,” Lavinia shoots him a contemptuous look. “Only last week, wasn’t it? Those two young ladies in here fighting over who you were going to take to the mixer—”

“Guys,” she manages, before Austin can respond with something equally snarky, or god forbid, lascivious. “Is anyone minding the counter?”

And for exactly thirty seconds, the amount of time it takes Austin to slide over and ask for the orders of the disgruntled customers, and before she stretches out her arm and lets herself get pulled up to her feet, she hears a sweet voice enquire if everything’s quite alright back there. Emily closes her eyes, breathes it in, and wishes, not for the first time that hour, that she had her notepad near her to scribble a snippet of a poem that is now rapidly forming in her head.

*****

It is only sometimes that Sue looks at Emily and thinks that if Emily were to say the word, she would get down on her knees and hand over the entire world to her. Most of the time what she is thinking is goddamn it, Emily.

That’s what is going through her head as they’re kicked out of the lecture of the old man droning on about volcanoes. She can hear Emily giggling from behind her, and though her heart’s beating loud — the result of embarrassment and pure adrenaline — the sound makes her want to turn around and regard the idiot making it. So she does.

They’re alone in the deserted staircase; all the students, she guesses, are probably in that abysmally monotonous lecture. Emily leans against the banister, bent over at the waist from the sheer force of her mirth, and Sue takes it all in — her laugh, her gentle hands clutching at the wooden surface, and those intense, sparkling eyes looking right into hers. The next Goddamn it, Emily isn’t exasperated. It stays right there in her throat, accompanied by other, tender platitudes she’s never been brave enough to let herself say.

You’re beautiful. You make me ache inside.

(At night, Emily would talk to her about pressure, an acute force that demands to be released within her, and unable to help herself, the words — I think I know what a volcano feels like — would bubble up from her lips. And when Emily moves against her, a writhing mass of soft, bundled up wanting, Sue thinks she understands Pompeii a lot better as well; understands being frozen in time, brought to your knees by the sheer majesty of beauty and violence.)

*****

Listen, Emily has never claimed to be an expert on love.

(Austin has, on several occasions. Sauntered into the café, placed his elbow on the counter, and grinned roguishly. “Emily,” he’d started, once. “You know what the”—

“Is it that time of the month again?” Lavinia, who had been mopping up the floor, drawled. “Too much time since your last breakup but not quite enough that you can start going out with another girl and still maintain that image of the soft, sensitive manchild you’ve carefully cultivated. So you’re stuck in that weird limbo of no dates to go on, and subsequently are here to bore us.”

He’d chucked a tissue in her direction, continued smoothly. “As I was saying, do you, my dear Emily know what girls like best?”

“My sunny disposition?” she’d asked.

“No,” he replied flatly. “What girls want is someone who is cool. Indifferent. Somebody who displays absolutely zero interest in them. In fact—”

“That is horseshit,” Lavinia cut in.

Emily faux-gasped, continued leaning the espresso machine.

“Don’t you listen to him, Em. Girls like sweet, sensitive people who express an interest in wanting to get to know them.”

“I am an expert on women.”

“I am a woman!”

Emily half-listened to the sound of their bickering, and wished that she were a cat)

She considers both approaches briefly as she faces the girl, wondering why time hasn’t at least done them the decency of slowing down. It’s only polite, isn’t it, for the universe to cooperate when two eternal lovers meet. Emily has no justification as to why the universe should be so invested in the meeting of her and this woman who she’d decided was her intended, except it just makes sense.

(Intended. The word feels like it bears the weight of a hundred years. Like a woman back in the 19th century was whispering it to another woman she was in love with, as they lay in bed playing with each other’s hands.)

(It fits. She doesn’t care to find out why)

The girl opens her mouth. Emily holds her breath.

“You’ve got foam in your hair.”

The words — “It makes them bounce” — are out of her mouth before she can think. And then she wishes she’d picked up another cup of coffee in her hand so she could drop it on her head again.  

Thankfully, the girl laughs. Rests both her elbows on the counter and assesses the menu above Emily’s head. Emily doesn’t mind the reprieve from eye-contact. There’s something about looking right at this.... angel, for lack of a better word, that makes breathing cumbersome. And yet there’s another part of her that wants to raise her arms above her head and bounce like a little child, all “Hey! Look at me! It’s me!”.

(It’s a very strange day)

“What would you recommend?”

“Me?” Emily startles a little. Turns back to the menu, then back to the girl. Blinks. “That depends on your name.”

“How does my coffee order depend on my name?” the girl sounds amused.

Emily shrugs. “Eh. It’s a process. Can’t give away all my secrets.”

There’s prolonged eye contact, again, before the answer comes. “Sue.”

It rings in her head. Sue. Sue. Sue. There’s no prettier word in the English language. Saying it over and over in her head feels like a prayer. She tells Sue to wait a moment, and then turns to make her a caramel freakshow, all the while acutely aware of eyes on her. Her clothes are drenched in coffee, and she’d picked out the most faded of her t-shirts to wear today. God only knows what she looks like from behind.

The drink is her very best effort, though. Topped with the best slices of fresh fruit, and she’s made the swirls on the cream topping extra carefully. “Coffee for,” she pauses, pushes at the glass gently till it’s on Sue’s side, “Sue.”

“Can I ask what’s in this.... concoction?”

“My hear—” Emily knows she’s turning red, and desperately look away. “Um, coffee?”

Sue fumbles in her bag, and she wrestles with the urge to say — “Nevermind, it’s on me!” — which would not be the wisest. Emily hates the idea of taking money from Sue, that too, for something as measly as a coffee. Probably because she knows that if Sue were only to ask once, she would make her coffee every day, unprompted.

(She cannot reiterate enough – It's a very strange day)

When Sue steps away, Emily feels loss. It’s an unusual nudge to her sternum, a tingle in her hands that wants her to call Sue back. Before she has the time to dwell on it too much, Sue does.

“Do I,” she starts, frowning a little “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Yes.  

Yes.

I can’t explain it but we know each other somehow, the same way artists know their muses, and flowers know their bees, and my hands know how to write poems — and maybe a hundred years ago you and I were neighboring trees in the woods, or two seeds in the same tangerine; I’m pretty sure my knowledge of your existence was probably coded in my blood.

“Do you?”  

Sue seems to consider that for a while before shaking her head, and then walking over to take a seat by the window.

(And if she catches Emily stealing a glance every five minutes, she’s nice enough to not mention it)

*****

The day of her wedding is the happiest day of her life so far, and yet, the wedding has very little to do with it.

It’s a tiny, foolish fact that this is the first smile she sees on Emily after Ben’s tragic death, and yet, it makes her feel unreasonably pleased with herself. If her life were split into days she could see and touch Emily, and dreary days — the former were made significantly better if Emily smiled in them. Not to be dramatic, but the sun shines better, the skies glow prettier, and the ground is a little easier to run on.

Emily points out somewhere in the middle of their frolicking, for back of a better word, in the woods, that her dress is getting ruined. And then flings a flower onto her face. Goddamn it, Emily, she says, and then is struck dumb by the sound of her loud, exuberant laugh.

(And even quieter still when she holds the magnifying glass over the tiny piece of paper Emily had handed her earlier, the words washing over her like some tidal wave, drowning her in emotions too terrifying to admit. I held her hand the tighter, she reads and she smiles; Still in her Eye, the Violets lie, she reads and punctuates with a deep breath and when she reaches the end, the Sue – Forevermore, she’s aware of an awful keening in her throat, of the sob waiting to make its way out. Emily, Emily, her heart sings, and she is sure it will never shut up again)

She thinks of Emily the whole time, through the vows and the subsequent cheers, as they make their way into the house; thinks of her when Austin holds her tight and tells her that he loves her. A quiet voice, the sound of her guilt crawls up from inside her to tell him that she loves him too. She may be his in name, but her heart isn’t hers to give away anymore.

*****

Seven. That’s how many days she steals glances at Sue in the library before they talk again.

Monday, 9 am: The librarian’s just gotten started with her morning coffee, which means that Emily can sneak her own breakfast past her bleary eyes without being detected. She gets the books that she wants off the shelf, makes her way to her usual chair at the very back of the room and settles in. Her bag gets hooked to her chair by the straps, the tiny diary, her faithful companion, finds a place beside the humongous book, and the coffee sits next to her breakfast burrito. After the entire process is done, she stretches her legs, leans back, looks up and freezes.

Sue is seated on a nearby desk, staring at her.

Emily looks away, on reflex. Her heartrate’s up, and her palms suddenly feel clammy. She takes a deep breath, takes in the floor, and tells herself she’s seeing things. Surely, there’s no way the girl of her dreams also goes to her college and it absolutely isn’t possible that she’s sitting in front of her, in the flesh. She readies herself, looks again.

Sue’s still looking at her, now amused as well.

Well. There go her studies.

Tuesday, 8:50 am: Her plan is foolproof. There is no way she will be caught off guard again. She will be first to the library this time, and she will be prepared when Sue walks in, ready to impress her with her overall charm and chill-ness. There will — not — be a repeat of yesterday when she’d spent the better part of two hours hyperventilating, stealing secret looks or straight up going red every time Sue caught her eye and smiled at her.

The librarian hasn’t even started eating yet. Her head’s resting on the desk, and her eyes are tiny slits, when Emily runs in, makes her way to her own seat. Sue’s seat is empty, thankfully.

(Emily totally does not punch the air in celebration, startling a few other sleepy students)

She stretches out her arms, places them behind her head and waits.

And then jumps about a feet in the air when a hand brushes her shoulder.

There are multiple things happening all at once — the gentle hand resting on her shoulder for a moment, a hand whose warmth she instinctively recognizes as being a familiar one, despite never having felt it before (she knows it’s her. There’s no other option. Nothing else could make the skin at the back of her neck prickle in anticipation), a faint, teasing whisper of “I thought we weren’t allowed to eat in here”, and the realization that her plan has woefully failed.

(Why, then, does she feel so happy about it?)

Sue passes by, turning back once to shoot her a quick grin, and then settles into her usual chair, opening the book already present on the desk in front of her.

Emily’s jaw stays on the floor. The state of her heart stays up in the air.

Wednesday, 9:00 am: Sue opens the note Emily’s just chucked her, reads it, and smirks.

Emily waits. It had been an impetuous decision to scribble “Waffle?” onto a scrap of paper she’d torn out of her notebook, when Sue had looked at her earlier, but it’s alright. These are matters of the heart, and matters of the heart require at least 25 percent an attitude of ‘Ah, fuck it’, another 25 percent of run-of-the-mill stupidity, and 45 percent the ability to laugh at your own shenanigans.

Oh, and about 6 percent bad math.

She catches the crumpled-up note that comes sailing through the air in return and opens it up. “I was taught not to accept food from strangers”, is written in beautiful cursive, along with a smiley face.

(A smiley face. A smiley face!)

Thursday, 9:10 am: She writes — “You know, I am named after one of the best American poets, and your name coincides with the name of her ultimate love and muse. Some would say we’ve known each other a long time” — and slides it over to Sue, heart in her throat.

Twenty seconds later, the sound of Sue’s clear laughter rings out in the otherwise quiet place, and Emily is so enchanted she nearly falls off her chair.

(She hands off half of the breakfast burrito to Sue when she passes by to grab another book, and Sue’s grateful smile just about makes her day)

Friday, 9:00 am: The book she usually grabs to pore over is already sitting on the desk in front of her usual chair. After Emily’s done waving hi to Sue, and has settled down, she notices the tiny flap of paper poking out of the first page. Tucked in the corner is a tiny note.

“As an English major, this is your game, isn’t it? Using words to impress people? :P”

It doesn’t take her long to compose a reply.  

“First of all, how dare you? Second, is it working?”

Sue covers her face with her hands when she opens it. Emily counts it as a win.

Saturday, 8:50 am: The poor boy who has been sitting in the next row all week finally loses it after they’ve exchanged their fifteenth et of notes for the day.

“Can you people, like, just text like the rest of us, for fuck’s sake?”

When the rest of the people surrounding them nod in agreement, Emily sinks into her chair, catches Sue’s equally embarrassed gaze from across the room, and resists the urge to laugh like an idiot.

Sunday, 10 am: The morning’s been hell.

Austin had been panicking about some test he had on Monday, and so she’d come in to help out at the café, early morning. Between quizzing him on his flashcards and making sure every customer had a full cup in front of them, Emily completely lost track of time until Lavinia dragged her apron off her.

“What?” she’d asked, bewildered.

The clock was pointed out to her.

(No, she does not leave an outline of her body behind when she dashes out of the café. There is, however, a mad moment when she’s pretty sure her legs are scrambling with her body still at rest. It is pretty comical nonetheless)

From the entrance she sees a couple of things on her desk, and is a little miffed. Clearly, somebody else has claimed this prime spot with a vantage point from where she could stare at the most interesting woman in the world all day. And yet, she approaches it, because the chair is empty.

The book catches her eye first. It’s a copy of Hope is the thing with feathers by her namesake, and it’s got a note with a familiar handwriting peeking out of the top. She reads, delighted, a haiku about fruit and tenderness that’s been scribbled on it. And then she gets to what’s lying next to the book — what seems to be a sandwich, wrapped carefully in foil. She touches it. It’s cold, as though it’s been waiting there a while.

The smile on her face is definitely a permanent fixture now, she decides, as she walks over to where Sue is sitting and pretending to not look over. Her heart’s tripping over with delight, with gratitude with something tender that she’s absolutely sure she hasn’t felt before. Hope is the thing with feathers, indeed and it is perched in her soul. She pulls out the chair next to hers, and sits down.

“Thank you,” she says, quietly, and swears to god she can hear the entire table go Fucking finally — before Sue shoots her a small smile.

*****

“Only you would show up at a party looking like a raccoon,” she tells Emily, exasperated.

(And enamored. And besotted. Emily makes an adorable raccoon)

“I’m not here for the party — I’m here for you,” Emily shoots back, defiant. “As long as I can still see, I wanna look at you.”

And oh, there it is. There’s the Emily she knows, saying words that slide into her chest as easily as their hands go together. Words are Emily’s deadliest weapons, and she wields them to inflict sheer havoc.

Isn’t that just it, though? Emily has no idea. No idea what it does to her to have her this close — with their foreheads pressed to each other’s, their noses a whisper away, with Emily surrounding her, taking every one of her senses and carving her name on them. Sue feels a hand on her hair, then on her cheek, and knows she’s this close to losing any bit of self-control she might have had.

She steps away, composes herself, and thinks, Shakespeare was right. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

*****

“You might as well have ditched us,” Lavinia grumps.

“What?” Emily blinks, momentarily distracted from whatever text she was in the middle of shooting off to Sue. “Oh.”

“Not cool, dude,” Austin chimes in from the other side. They’re smushed into the couch together, planted in front of the screen where some 80s movie is on. It’s a weekend, which means movie nights filled with chicken wings and some dreadful drink that Austin’s invented that he calls the Faustinator, because.... reasons, apparently. And Emily’s just now realizing that she has no idea what the movie even is because she’s spent most of her time texting Sue. “You’re texting your sweetheart lameass cringy shit.”

“How do you know what I’m texti— Austin, stop reading over my shoulder!”

(She conveniently ignores the sweetheart thing. It’s easier than the alternative, which would be to dwell too much on the possibility of Sue being her sweetheart, and Emily being Sue’s and oh — she can feel herself smiling again.)

“Believe me, it isn’t easy on me,” he snarks. “Two months of talking our heads off about Sue, Sue, Sue and free drinks for Sue, Sue, Sue and pining over—”

“It has not been that long!”

“Lavinia?” he asks.

“Two months, two weeks and four days,” Lavinia tells her, flatly. “That’s how long we’ve had to hear about how you know her and that you’re convinced she is the love of your life.”

“I do.... know her,” she trails off, uncertain. It’s one matter to think it and feel it, like she’s felt the absurd familiarity in her bones every time she hears Sue’s voice, or Sue touches her skin, and sets it on fire. Another matter entirely to set about explaining it. Plus, other, unrelated things, like how reading Emily Dickinson’s poems feel like a friendly little nudge someone’s giving her, an inside joke, or why sometimes she feels so, so much that she would burst if she didn’t write that very moment.

“She walks you to class most days from the library.”

“And she’s been coming to the café every other day, and listening to you rant about random things,” Austin chimes in.

“Didn’t she write Emily a couple of poems as well?”

“Hey, that’s,” she starts, pauses, smiles. “Yeah. I, uh, told her nobody had ever written me anything before, and she — she’s really sweet.”

“Honey,” Lavinia says, gently, “the woman’s in love with you.”

“Oh-kay!” Emily jumps up from the couch and announces her intention to get more popcorn. And the pokes her head out from around the corner, and asks, in the tiniest voice.

“Really?”

Two chips come flying in her direction, and then they can’t stop laughing.

*****

There’s a kind of truth in the life she lives when she’s alone; no one to defer to, no one to explain to why she doesn’t want children or why, even after a couple of months of a blissful wedlock with Amherst’s most eligible ex-bachelor, the smile slides off her face as easily as the fruit punch in her parties off the plates. And then there’s the second kind that has to be dragged out of her — with heaving breath and shaking hands and salt dripped out of her eyes. Honesty that scalds and tears up her inside as it makes its way out of her.

(It’s a particular bit of irony in the fact that Emily is both the cause, and the only one who ever gets to witness the fallout, of the second one)

“Emily, I love you.” she says, like Emily’s put her arms down her throat and is ripping the words out of her. “I love you, and, and I felt you in the library — because you’re always with me.”

There’s a moment of complete, utter silence, when she stares at Emily and Emily stares back at her and the space between them is filled with the distance of lies and fury — and then they crash together. It’s an impossible push and pull, and Sue feels, for the first time in weeks, this complete surrender, abandon of all inhibition. Love tastes like Emily, and it feels like drowning and sounds like the tiny noise Emily makes when they part, like she can’t stand to be away even a second longer. All of what she knows about love is Emily.

If Sue could write, this is what she’d put down on paper: the feel of Emily’s neck beneath her hand, the way she melts when Sue wraps an arm around her. This yearning to be closer, the hunger to consume and the reluctance towards stopping. She wants, so badly to do Emily the same honor of immortalizing her in the form of words — she deserves it. The world deserves to know how she felt about this.... miracle, this angel in her arms. More than anything else, Emily deserves to know how Sue feels about her.

She turns to her side, kisses Emily’s hand once, twice. “I will never let go of you again.”

*****

Life is an endless sea of pain.

“Emily, she’s just a girl,” Austin tells her, then immediately flinches as Lavinia whacks him on the head.

Emily wipes away the moisture from her face with the sleeve of her favorite oversized hoodie, sniffles, and sticks her spoon in the tub of ice-cream again.

“Not to pry,” Lavinia starts, hesitantly, “but we still have no idea what happened. You came running into my room a week ago and haven’t stopped crying since. I guess — I guess we just want to know what’s up.”

Emily sighs. “It’s Sue.”

Austin blinks at her. “Yeah I — I mean, we know that.”

She thinks back to Sunday morning when she’d come upon her favorite restaurant while out on a run. The sight of Sue, sitting there with some.... dude. It was a cozy booth, and the way the guy seemed to be smiling in Sue’s direction couldn’t be construed as anything but romantic.  

“A date?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re telling us this is because you thought Sue was on a date?”

What wasn’t clicking? “Sue was on a date. There were flowers on the table and everything.”

“And that’s why you haven’t been returning her calls or texts? And have expressly forbidden us to tell her where you are when she comes into the café, like, everyday?”

Emily shifts. “Yes?”

Lavinia whacks her on the head.  

“Ow,” Emily groans. “What’s with all the violence?”

“Oh, stop it, you big baby. Now,” she took a deep breath, and Emily knew instinctively a huge lecture was incoming, “let’s examine the facts, shall we?”

“Is there any point in refus—”

“No. So, you like this girl, and it seems like she likes you too. But you refuse to do anything about it, like, you know, maybe admitting it to her. Then, you come upon her having lunch with some random dude and you assume it’s a date, and then freak out about it and cut her off.”

“But I’m pretty sure it was a date!”

“Fine! Okay! It was a date! So what? You expect her to hang around waiting for you to get your shit together, what, forever? And what if she doesn’t like you, god, Emily! I—”

“Okay, okay, wait!” she cuts in, holds up a hand to gather her thoughts. “I — I get what you’re saying, okay? I really do.”

“I know I have no right to be angry. She doesn’t owe me anything — I just. I dunno. I thought we had something. But even if that wasn’t the case,” she scrambles to add, “I guess I’m just taking pre-emptive action. To not get hurt. I can’t stick around and watch her fall in love with someone else, okay? I just. I can’t.”

Austin pats her on the back, and she sinks into his arm. This, of all things, is true. There are a multitude of things in life she has had to bear, and that she has borne, but this — watching Sue slowly fall in love with someone else, would be unbearable.  

She has another spoonful of ice cream. “I’m being an asshole, aren’t I?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Lavinia agrees. “But give yourself a break — you’re in love. It turns everyone a little bonkers.”

“It’s fucked.”

“No!” Austin and Lavinia tell her, together, before Lavinia continues, “Listen, I think you should talk to Sue.”

“Pretty sure she hates me now.”

“If she does, then go and face it. Honestly, though, I think you owe it to her, and also to yourself, to explain your side of things.”

“I’d literally rather die.”

“Then go do your dying in the fucking library. It’s almost ten, anyways.”

*****

She can still feel Emily’s teeth on her collarbone, can still wrap an arm around herself and trace the marks Emily’s fingers have left on her, when Sue announces that she’s trying to write a poem.

Emily throws off the sheets from her body, and turns so their heads are close. Sue’s sitting at the end of the bed, wrapped in sheets herself, eyes closed. She opens them when Emily’s nose nudges against her cheek.

“You are?” she asks, hand already playing with Sue’s hair, and Sue nods. “What’s it about?”

Sue cannot stop herself rolling her eyes. “Guess.”

“Is it,” Emily asks, teasingly, “about me?”

“Maybe.”

There’s a delighted gasp from her paramour, and she can feel a small kiss pressed to her temple. “I want to read it.”

“Only when it’s done.”

“And when will it be done?”

She turns to look right at Emily now. “I’m not sure it ever will.”

When Emily kisses her — every time Emily kisses her, Sue adds a line to the poem in her head. She’s running out of words to express joy, passion and beauty, at this point.

“The romance of it all,” Emily remarks, pretending to swoon. “This way I will live on through your words as well, after I die.”

Sue frowns, feels her lips automatically pull down at the corners. “No talking about death.”

“But we will die, darling,” Emily explains, patiently. “I can only hope that I die first.”

“How — how dare you?” she asks, indignant. “I’m going to try my very best to be the one to go.”

(That one spurs an argument that goes on four rounds before either of the participants admit defeat)

“How about,” Emily starts, ponderously. “Whoever dies first comes back around the next time and finds the other?”

Sue can’t stop the smile. The thought is so whimsical, it drives their previous non-argument right out of her head.

“You think we’ll come back someday, years after our deaths?”

“Try and stop me,” Emily declares, fondly. “Susan Gilbert, I will always — always find you.”

Sue closes her eyes, feels Emily’s lips ghost over her cheek and tries to imagine the thought of the two of them, years from now, sitting side by side, hand in hand. Breathes deeply to stop the sudden onslaught of tears the image evokes.

“My foolish sweetheart,” she says, after she’s composed herself. “I love you.”

This is what she’ll put in words — Emily next to her, head tilted downwards, turned towards her. In about a minute, she’ll start complaining of the blood rushing to her brain, and Sue, exasperated, will tell her to sit straight. She’ll write about the light that falls on the edge of Emily’s nose, the one crooked tooth all the way in the corner, the tiny scar on her brow. About the way their hands lock into each other’s, how there’s a space on her neck made perfectly in the mould of Emily’s head — two girls, sitting next to each other, together into an eternity, and beyond.

*****

The first time Emily sees Sue after a week-long absence, she’s just run into the library and crashed into a nearby bench, thus bringing down a student, two books, and herself. She gets up almost immediately, sees Sue staring at the sight of her, wide-eyed, and thinks — Oh. Found you.

There’s an empty seat next to Sue, and on the desk lies an apple. Emily approaches her, and touches the back of her shoulder lightly.

“Can I sit here?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” Sue answers, not looking at her. “Can you?”

Emily has to bite at her lip to keep in the wild laughter that threatens to erupt. It’s not just the quip, either. It’s Sue — seeing her after these many days of zero contact feels like a drug, and she breathes it in, greedily. She pulls the chair out, and sits down on it.

“So,” she starts, then trails off.

“So,” Sue mimics, not unkindly.

“It may have been brought to my attention that I’ve been a bit of an idiot.”

“Only a bit?” Sue raises an eyebrow, leans back where she’s sitting.

Well. “More than a bit,” she amends. “I’ve been an idiot. A dumbass. An utter fool. A rake. A rogue of the highest order.”

Sue tells her she agrees. Then — “You wanna tell me why?”

“I saw you and, um, some guy. On your date that day over at the Plantain Leaf?”

Sue stares. For the longest time. “You ghosted me for a week because you saw me out to lunch with a guy? Emily that is so—”

“I know!” she says, then gets shushed by the people sitting around them. She consciously lowers her voice when she speaks next. “I know, Sue. I was being an asshole, I just — felt complicated about.... things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah. Like — feelings. And stuff.”

She sees Sue stifle a smile, and feels a little bit of life come back into her hands.

“What about your feelings?”

“Well,” Emily says, pauses, then comes out with a masterpiece of an explanation, “I have them.”  

Then covers her face with her hands, because why? It hasn’t even been ten minutes, and she’s already started messing things up.

“I mean — I have feelings. For you.”

She chances a look up at Sue, after a minute of that incredibly earth-shattering revelation, and stays held in place by the intensity of her gaze. Sue’s eyes are soft, large, and Emily wants to do something stupid, like bury her face in her hands again.

“You do?” Sue asks her, in the tiniest voice possible. Like she can’t believe it. Like Emily has done an awful job of wearing her whole heart out on her sleeve the past couple of months.

“Yeah,” she replies, and finds her voice is equally tiny. “Good ones.” The kind that have me convinced we knew each other a couple decades ago, that I have heard your voice in my dreams all my life, that I’ve been waiting for you for turn a corner and walk into my life this whole while. And if not this time, I’ll wait a couple decades more for you to love me back. “And it’s okay if you’re dating that guy, I just — I thought you should know. That’s all.”

Sue lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m not dating Sam.”

Oh.

So turns out Emily had been holding her breath.

Ants are crawling all over her body. To combat them, Emily picks up the object nearest to her, which happens to be the apple.

“Is that for me?”

Sue nods. “You owe me the six sandwiches I got you this entire week,” she adds, teasingly.

Elation fills Emily until she imagines she’s probably floating a few inches above the ground, buoyed by this tiny admission of caring on Sue’s part. Whoever had said all those things about love had been right. It really was.... something different altogether.

“You’re telling me you sat here and read Emily Dickinson all week, waiting for a girl to show up?”

A light blush lights up Sue, and she leans forward a little bit. “Not just a girl,” she tells her, seriously. “I waited for Emily, who was named after this poet whose work I’ve really come to like. Emily, who I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with.”

Oh dear God.

They’re closer together now, their heads almost touching; Emily imagines them in a world of their own, separate from the rest of this library. She pretends to scoff.

“What? You don’t think a lot of Emily?”

“I think I can write better,” she declares.

“You think you can—” Sue starts, then lets out a laugh. “Emily, shut up.”

And then they’re suddenly kissing, and each and every cell in Emily gathers somewhere near her chest to rejoice together, every beat of her heart falls and arranges in the shape of a song, and time just kind of. Slows down. Pauses. Stops.

Emily thinks she knows what a volcano feels like, now. When she’ll go home, later, she’ll sit at her writing desk, pen down a poem about lovers and hands and two women sitting with their heads close together; maybe put in a fruit or two. And tiny pieces will come together in her head, just like the ones in her chest that crumble every time Sue looks at her.  

But right now, she closes her eyes, feels poetry on her lips, and it is good enough.

#dickinson #emily dickinson #emisue #fanfiction #dickinson fanfic #i'm done! finished it! #now - do i feel weird about writing about two real people wo existed albeit a long time ago? yes #but i'm justifying it in my head somehow because the show is just so whack #either way - here's 6k words of dickinson brainrot that i had promised myself i would finish before my birthday #and i did it with a few days to spare #so yeah #happy reading????? #also - i have a dickinson playlist that i listened to while writing this #so if youre somehow reading the tags and wanna check that out lemme know :)

[svltburn]

Contact Buzz

Summary: Fiona and Iggy get buzzed at the neighborhood bonfire.

Ship: Fiona Gallagher/Iggy Milkovich

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol, depictions of foreplay, not sfw

Word Count: 2.7k

Read on AO3

The noise should be the first thing that draws Iggy’s attention since it sounds like an end-of-the-world party is taking place a few blocks away from where he’s walking home after his beer run.

It’s not the noise though, it’s the smell. Whoever it is has to have the strongest weed imaginable, and Iggy wants in on that. He only notices the noise once he gets closer, dozens of people whooping and hollering, the dark sky illuminated by the giant plume of flames in the center of them all.

Mickey's boyfriend - the first redheaded Gallagher kid, Iggy can’t remember his name. Evan, Aaron, something monosyllabic like that - is carrying one of his little brothers on his back near the flames. One of their neighbors is waving his shirt into the smoke above the flames then pulling it back to inhale. It looks like the whole of Wallace Street is here, dancing around and shouting along to the song that’s playing loudly over someone’s speakers.

It’s chaotic, and where there’s chaos, there should be Milkoviches. Though he has to admit he doesn’t look very hard, in the quick glance he does give, Iggy notices a distinct lack of anyone from his family.

When he gets close enough, he wades into the crowd. He sets his pack of beer down on the first tailgate he comes to, and a joint appears in his hand as if by magic. He doesn’t know who it was that gave it to him, and they’ve already disappeared by the time he looks up to watch the fire after taking his first hit.

If he could smell it from three blocks away, Iggy’s surprised the cops aren’t here already. Then again, he heard that Fiona Gallagher maybe had a thing with one, so maybe she pulled some strings or some dick that allowed the whole neighborhood to come out and get a contact buzz together.

Iggy’s lived in the Southside his whole life, but he can’t spot a whole lot of people he thinks he knows. Even less he would consider friends.

He takes his magic joint with him and goes to hop up to sit next to his beer in the bed of whoever’s pick-up. He rips the box open and tugs a can out to pop the top on, drinks about half of it before the other side of the truck is dipping down under the weight of someone hopping up to join him on the other side. Iggy looks up, curious, around his beer, lowering it and belching as he makes eye contact with Fiona Gallagher.

The action makes her laugh for some reason, and then before Iggy can process, she’s leaning over and snagging the half-empty can out of his hand to down the rest of it. Iggy isn’t sure what to do with that, but he smirks at her as he goes for another one, asks, “Why you guys burning a giant pile of weed?”

Fiona helps herself to one of his beers, taking several swallows before shrugging. “Had too much. Needed to get rid of it.”

That answer makes Iggy roll his eyes, the gesture almost exaggerated in its obviousness. “Well shit, could have just brought it over to our house. Could have gotten rid of it for you no problem. And would have wasted a lot less.”

Fiona makes a face that Iggy thinks is half disbelief, half amusement. “Meaning what? That you and your brothers would have smoked it all?” And well… yeah, okay, that’s exactly what Iggy meant. But he can’t let her have the last word.

“No, my sister too, don’t be sexist. You should know her. Mandy, about 5’8”, totally banging your brother. Ringing a bell?” Iggy may know a little more than he’d like about Ian and Mickey’s indiscretions, but he isn’t about to make it public knowledge. Too many ears around that might remember overhearing it in the morning. Besides, he didn’t know if Fiona knew. Not his business.

For a second, Fiona looks like she’s about to say something, but after a moment of introspection, she instead finishes her beer and makes a grab for the joint Iggy’s still holding between his fingers. He’s already got a nice buzz going, and his reaction time’s a little slow, so she’s already got in her grip by the time he tries to grab it back. The world tilts off its axis a little bit when he tries to lean over for it, so he gives up and just lets her have it. “Grabby bitch, aren’t you?” he asks, though there’s not any heat behind the words. He sounds as happy and fuzzy as he feels.

Fiona coughs out a smokey laugh around the joint between her lips. “Not sure a Milkovich has any room to talk about ‘grabby’.”

Iggy hums at the dig, but well it’s true. Iggy wonders if he’s really obvious, or if Fiona has mind-reading superpowers. Both seem equally likely.

“Whatever. You may got a yuppie boyfriend buying you whatever you want now, but seems like you’ve got a little southside klepto left in you.”

Fiona takes another hit, nodding to him along with the beat of the music as she blows the smoke away from him - like it would make any difference if she blew smoke in his face at this point. The action makes him laugh. - “Don’t got a boyfriend. Not that it’s your business, fuck you very much.”

Iggy raises an eyebrow at that but leaves it to her to elaborate as he holds out his fingers, making a lazy gesture for the joint. He doesn’t care that much, but he’s pretty sure that girls love to talk, and he doesn’t have anywhere better to be than here - beer, free weed, hot girl as company, and all. Fiona doesn’t elaborate though, just watches him finish off the joint as she’s working on another beer he didn’t notice her stealing.

Once the joint burns down enough that it’s burning his fingers, Iggy squashes it out on the tailgate next to his thigh. There’s a hand around his wrist. Iggy blinks, trying to push through the weed haze settling over his brain, and he realizes that the hand belongs to Fiona, who has hopped down off their shared seat. “Come on, come dance with me.”

Fiona tugs Iggy up close to the blaze that’s going strong, stinking up the empty lot and all the surrounding neighborhoods. There's a lot of bodies thrumming to the beat of the radio around them, but it’s unreasonably hard to focus on more than one thing at once.

Whoever grew this weed knew what the fuck they were doing.

And right in front of everyone, Fiona presses her back against Iggy’s chest and starts rolling her hips against his. Iggy chooses that sensation as his one thing to focus on, resting one hand against her left hip and trying to roll along with her. It takes a moment, but he thinks he gets the hang of it. At least Fiona is laughing, twisting around to wrap an arm around his neck and continuing to grind against him, belly to belly.

Iggy thinks they must spend the entire night dancing pressed against each other like that, but when Fiona pulls away, pulls on his wrist, and tugs him through the fog, he’s surprised to find it’s still dark around them. They’re further away from the fire now, the noise and the heat fading into the distance, the memory of them already faded under the buzzing in his brain.

Fuck, whoever grew this - Kevin, someone said Kevin - really did know what he was doing.

Fiona drags Iggy back to the truck, grabs another beer for each of them, and then again grabs his wrist and tugs him further away from the party, and starts down the block.

Iggy is pretty sure that the house she pulls him into isn’t hers, but he’s never been to hers either, so he can’t exactly swear to it. Fiona kicks her shoes off and flops down on the couch comfortably, grinning up at the ceiling.

He must look confused because, after a moment, she tugs herself into a sitting position and turns to face him. “Are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Iggy blinks. Takes a moment to collect his balance, then makes his way around the couch to sit down next to her. “This your house?” he asks because he’s thinking about it.

“Kev and V’s. too many people at mine.”

Too many people for what, Iggy isn’t sure. He fidgets with the tab on his can of beer and relaxes back into the couch. The two of them sit in fuzzy silence for long enough that it startles Iggy when Fiona is back in his field of vision, up off the couch to turn up a stereo across the room. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “You were more fun when we were dancing,” She declares as she crosses the room and snags his beer, only to set it on the end table and pull him to his feet again.

There's no hesitation from Fiona, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing up against him again, swaying to the end of the slow song playing on the radio. There are fewer things to be distracted by in the pitch black of a stranger’s house than there is at a weed bonfire block party, so while dancing with Fiona is still what he focuses on, Iggy can pause for a moment and think Holy shit.

Fiona Gallagher is dancing with him.

A few hours ago, a few minutes ago, he's not sure, but not long ago, she’d been grinding on him.

The memory of it is hot, and Iggy finds that he’s sliding his hands up under her shirt now. Fiona leans into it, a carefree smile on her face. When the song ends, she pulls away from him and tugs the shirt off. Iggy’s brain short circuits and Fiona has the nerve to press back against him, asking, “This cool with you?” with a smirk on her face.

He manages to stop staring at her chest and pick his eyes up to meet hers long enough to confirm, “Yeah.” It makes her laugh for some reason, and that sound excites him, as does the tone of her following demand of, “Okay, then take yours off, too.”

Having happily gone back to his staring, he doesn’t quite pick up on the actual words, so Fiona decides to help him out, hands coming to either of his hips and tugging upwards on his shirt until all Iggy has to do is lift his arms. He doesn’t see where it is that Fiona throws his shirt too, but he’s not sure that he cares anyway.

He had been expecting her to press into him and start dancing to the beat again, but instead, she’s standing in front of him, undoing her shorts. She struggles a little, buzzed and uncoordinated, but looks up at him once she’s freed of the button, the zipper falling open so that he can see her panties. “You really are just gonna stand there and stare all night, aren’t you?” she asks, laughing when it takes him an inappropriate amount of time to drag his gaze back up to hers.

“No.” He decides, though he still makes no move to do anything but stare.

It's becoming increasingly obvious to Fiona that she’s going to have to guide him through every step she wants to take here, and though the thought makes her roll her eyes, she’s not entirely opposed to it. “Right,” she answers, playful sarcasm dripping from her tone as she steps over to him, repeating the unbuttoning and unzipping with his jeans. Again, she grabs his wrist, this time guiding his hand to her waist and finally resuming their grinding to the middle of a new song playing on the radio.

She thinks he’s starting to get the hint by the time the song ends, so she steps back and shimmies out of her shorts. She stays quiet, looks contemplative at something behind Iggy for a moment.

Kev and V have a ridiculous spiral staircase, and Fiona is not a hundred percent sure that Iggy wouldn’t lose his balance and break his neck on it if she tried to lure him up it. Hell, She’s not a hundred percent sure that she wouldn’t break her neck if she tried to go up it. But after a moment of consideration, she looks back at Iggy and decides she likes the idea of being chased. Kev and Veronica do have a really comfortable bed…

She taps Iggy's chest to get his attention, a suggestive look spreading across her face when his eyes meet hers. “I’m gonna go upstairs. Last door on the right at the end of the hall.” Fiona doesn’t wait for a response, but she does reach up behind herself to unclasp her bra and shrug out of it so she can drop it on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. It takes more willpower than she would be happy to admit to force herself not to look back to see if Iggy has caught on that he’s supposed to follow her. When she’s halfway up, she hears the staircase creek behind her and grins.

----

Iggy still feels remarkably fuzzy when he wakes up. Not high, but not exactly not high. It’s mixing wonderfully with the hangover from his beers - Where exactly had he left those? - and making his mouth taste like his head feels, like cotton and fuzz and pressure.

There’s sunlight streaming into the room he’s in, and it smells like flowers, leaving him a little unsure of where he is. He pries his eyes open and looks around, but from where he lays on the bed, he still can’t distinguish where he is. All he can see is an unfamiliar wall, with an unfamiliar window and an unfamiliar dresser pushed against it.

Downstairs, there’s yelling, but there’s also the scent of food, the promise of which is enough to get Iggy to drag his ass out of the comfortable bed. He looks around helplessly for a minute, but unable to locate his boxers, he decides to dig in the dresser for a pair instead.

“In my bed? In my fucking bed, Fiona? Actually,” the yelling gets louder as Iggy approaches the stairs and starts to make his very slow way down them. “Actually, in my house at all? You couldn’t have picked anywhere else in Chicago to take your dirty white boy to hook up?”

Fiona is sitting at the counter with her head in her hands and her back to him, while a very animated woman moves around the kitchen. The woman - Victoria? Has to be something with a V, since everyone calls her that. - hip bumps the great weed curator out of the way of the stove so she can plate a couple of eggs and some toast to bring over to Fiona. “We’re gonna have to burn the sheets now, you know that, right? And for fuck’s sake, Iggy Milkovich-”

Whatever secondary rant she’d been preparing to launch into is cut off momentarily by the question her husband asks after turning around and catching sight of Iggy. “Are those my boxers?”

Iggy looks down at them, shrugs, then looks back up with a dopey grin. “Yeah. Sorry, man. Eggs?” He comes to join Fiona on her side of the little breakfast nook, grinning and digging in when a confused, hesitant-looking Kev sets a plate of eggs down in front of him.

Beside him, Fiona and V have started up again, so he looks up to Kev and asks through his mouthful of eggs, “Are they always this loud when they gossip?”

Neither one of the offending gossips quiet. Either they didn’t hear him, or they just didn’t care.

Kev looks exasperated. “You have no idea, man.” He sets his spatula down next to the stove and reaches behind his ear as he comes to lean across from Iggy. “Joint?”

#happy completion to the first shameless fic i ever started #first one that made me wanna write again #party hard #fiona gallagher #iggy milkovich #shameless #shameless us #shameless fics #fics #benja writes #not sfw

[kaitoujokerscans]

The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaze CH6

<6> The Lady Spy and Phantom Thief Girl

At the same time as when Spade was talking to Noir, a minor commotion was taking place aboard a luxury sleeper train coursing through a European ravine.

 "Stop! Don't let her get away!"

The train shook with a clunking noise, and stern-faced men in dark uniforms trampled through the carriage. They were chasing after a tiny silhouette dashing ahead. The silhouette opened the door connecting to the next carriage and ran into the hallway. Although the hallway floor was made of old wood, the silhouette's footsteps were completely silent.

There came a loud bang from behind her. A pistol bullet streaked past the side of the silhouette.

"Tsk!" The silhouette clicked her tongue, then opened the door to the next carriage and jumped in. This was the first class carriage — a passenger car with numerous private cabins. Through the earpiece she wore, she heard an order to the uniformed men — "The target's headed towards the front! Cut her off on both sides!". She was listening in to their radio comm.

They'll be coming from the front too, soon enough...

The tiny silhouette came to a stop in the middle of the carriage. Right next to her was the door to a guest cabin.

The silhouette was a little old lady in black tights. She would have been at least seventy years old. Yet her hair was a glistening white, and her skin had a healthy sheen. Least suggestive of her age was the look in her eyes. She was keeping watch for enemies in front of her and staying cautious of enemies approaching from behind at the same time.

Her name was Agent Purple. She was a veteran spy of a country to remain unnamed and was still an active intelligence agent. Purple had just stolen a top-secret file from an influential person in a certain country. She had received intel that it was being moved on this train and, putting her petite stature to good use, had skillfully swiped the file without alerting anyone. It was an easy job for Purple.

But it so happened that a newbie spy allied with her country had been caught elsewhere and let slip that Purple was on board.

Good heavens... Young'uns these days have no backbone... Purple sighed and, focusing her attention to the front, reached for the small firearm lashed around her leg.

Anxiety bubbled within Purple. The round of enemy fire had grazed Purple's arm. It was only a scratch, but still, moving it even slightly made pain course through her arm. Usually she would have no issue with firing at this range, but if enough enemies stormed her from both front and back, she wasn't sure she'd be able to make every shot.

Though it doesn't look like I have a choice... Purple steeled herself. She heard bellows come from both in front and behind her. Just as Purple's hand hovered over her firearm... the guest cabin door swung open, and someone grabbed Purple's arm.

"...!" With her opposite hand, Purple immediately reached for the knife at her hip. But she didn't stab anything. Because the person grabbing her said this to her:

"Come with me, Grandma."

When the uniformed men stepped out of the linked cars into the first class carriage, the target they had been pursuing wasn't in the hallway. The train was chugging along at high speed. She couldn't escape out the windows. Which meant that she had to have entered one of the cabins along the hallway.

The boss gave the order to his men to search the cabins. The men didn't know anything about the spy who was their target, other than that she was short. They entered the rooms one by one and inspected who was inside. Because this was the first class carriage, the occupants all had posh appearances. None of the passengers looked like they could be a spy. But it was possible that she was disguised.

Politely and carefully, the uniformed men examined each individual guest. Eventually, they stood in front of the cabin at the very middle.

One of the men knocked on the door.

"Yes?" came a young woman's voice from inside.

"This is the railway authority. We've received word that an intruder snuck on board, thus we are presently conducting an inspection of all cabins."

"I understand. Come in," responded the female voice, not suspecting the man was lying.

Two men entered and saw that there was a girl and an old woman inside. They were sitting across from each other on plush emerald green seats. The girl, her blonde hair done up in twintails, turned to the men with a puzzled look. "Has something happened?"

The girl was wearing an aqua-colored dress. She gave off a refined air — probably the daughter of a rich family. Then suddenly, one of the men took a frightening tone and demanded, "Hey, did anyone come in here?"

"N-No..." The girl replied, startled.

"She telling the truth, Grandma!?" The man said menacingly to the old woman sitting across from the girl. But the old woman's eyes were focused outside the window and she wouldn't face him.

"My grandmother is hard of hearing. I can answer your questions!" The girl nearly shrieked.

"Check their luggage."

The other man tried to pick up the large traveling bag next to the old woman. Then the girl stood up, shouting. "Stop! Not that bag!"

"Shut up! You're hiding something, aren't you!"

"Of course not! Please, just don't!"

"You're sounding more and more suspicious to me!" The man took out his gun and pointed it at the girl. The girl gasped, her face paled, and she sat back down.

The other man undid the clasp of the traveling bag and slowly opened it, when...

"BARK BARK BARK!" A white dog bounded out of the bag and jumped at the man's face.

"WAUUUGH!?" The man threw his head back in a panic. The dog wouldn't get off him.

"Aahhh! Stop that, Corn!"

"W-What is up with this mutt!?" The man peeled the dog off his face, and the girl spoke.

"He's my pet. Pets aren't allowed on board, so I hid him in my bag..."

"Huh?"

"But now that the authorities have found out, there's nothing I can do... You can arrest me," said the girl resignedly, looking up at the man.

Then the men tsked, not having found what they were looking for. "Hey, let's go. Onto the next one," one said, and they left the cabin.

"Phew... that went well." A little after the men left, Queen stopped holding her breath and plopped down on the seat. The girl who had talked with the men was Queen.

Then Purple, who had pretended to just be an old woman, looked at Queen and smirked. "That was quite the fib. I'd give you a passing grade."

"Teehee, thank you."

"Queen, what was that 'Corn' name about?" Roko, who had been pretending to be a normal dog, asked from beside Purple.

"Well, I couldn't call you by your real name, Roko. You got your name because you liked toumorokoshi — corn — right? So that's why I called you 'Corn'," Queen explained proudly. Queen, Purple, and Roko had put on a performance so the uniformed men would pass them by. Playing the parts of a granddaughter, her grandmother, and her pet, they successfully fooled the pursuers.

"Still, I was surprised when you appeared out of nowhere." Purple turned her gaze toward Queen and broke out into a happy smile. It was a warm, gentle smile, hardly an expression befitting a cold-hearted spy. She was said to have been quite the looker once, and it wasn't impossible to imagine. According to Silver Heart, no man had been immune to her wily charms. Silver Heart himself had acted smitten whenever he recalled Purple, until he met with her again...

"You're Silver's granddaughter, aren't you? You came with us to Jackal's hideout."

Indeed, Queen and Purple, along with Silver Heart and Joker, had previously broken into the organization called Jackal, headed by Doctor Neo. Purple had been introduced then to Queen as Silver Heart's partner during his spy days.

"You remembered me."

"A spy doesn't forget intel. So, since you've come out of your way to see me, I assume you need something?"

"Yes, that's right. There's something I want to ask about..." Queen lowered her voice a little. "I want to know about someone who used to work with Grandpa. Someone called Noir."

"Noir?" Purple's pitch rose. So she was familiar with Noir after all.

"You know him?"

"Yes, he's an old friend. I know him well."

"To tell you the truth, it seems Noir took a treasure from Joker, and I was wondering if it had anything to do with Grandpa..."

"Hmm..." Purple remarked in surprise.

"Did something happen between Noir and Grandpa? If you know anything, could you please tell me?"

"Hm, well..." Purple folded her arms, brooding on something. Suddenly, her eyes glinted mischievously, and she grinned at Queen.

"W-What is it?"

"When you get to be as old as I am, you get awfully tight-fisted. Giving information away for free feels like it would be a wasted opportunity."

"Huh...?"

"It makes me want to tease kids, especially a girl like you."

"O... kay..."

"If you want to hear about Silver and Noir, then do something for me. Something that'll delight me."

"HUH?" Queen drew back in surprise, ruffled.

"Do something to entertain me. Then I'll give you the information you want."

"Ergh..." Queen's gaze veered. She wasn't a veteran spy for nothing. This wasn't going to be that simple. The unreasonable demand made Queen fall silent.

What should I do for her...? I can't tell any funny stories, and I can't do tricks like Joker can... I'm not an encyclopedia like Spade is, so what can I do...?

Queen's mind started to spin in circles. Thinking hard wasn't her forte. But then, Roko cut in from beside her. "Then how about making a funny face like the one you did recently, Queen?"

"Fu... nny... face...?"

"It was hilarious! Purple-san might just like it!"

"N-No! Absolutely not!" Queen stood up to refuse, her face bright read.

"Oh, why not, that sounds fine. Please, show me." Purple bent forward and gave a provoking smile.

"I don't want to! It'll ruin my marriage prospects!"

"Nope, I've decided. That's the only way you'll get information out of me. You can't change my mind!"

"You're kidding me...!" Queen stood at a loss for words.

"..."

"Well, what will you do?"

At Purple's prodding, she gave in. Queen took a breath and faced back towards Purple. Queen was about to forsake her prized feminine sensibilities when...

"Shh...!" Suddenly the look in Purple's eyes changed and she put a finger to her lips, shushing.

"...!" Queen and Roko immediately piped down and listened closely.

Conversing voices were coming from the earpiece Purple was wearing. Apparently she had still been listening to the radio communications while talking to Queen.

"It seems they're coming back this way... My cohort seems to have blabbed that I'm an older woman. If he makes it back alive, he's in for a real reckoning," Purple muttered as she listened, a terrifying look on her face.

"What do you want to do? Do we act our way out again?"

"No, it won't work this time. You two can escape out the window onto the roof. I'll handle the rest on my own."

"With your arm in that state?" Roko asked.

Purple looked over at him in surprise. "You realized?"

"You've been stroking your arm at moments. Probably without even realizing it yourself."

"Then you won't be able to fight those men single-handedly. Let us handle it!" Queen said, getting back up.

She threw off her disguise, revealing her usual white coat underneath. She then took out her diamond sword from where it was hidden underneath the seats. "Purple-san, if I fend off those men, tell me about Noir, okay?" Queen winked sweetly. She was sincerely relieved. Thank God I didn't have to make a funny face!

Just as five black-suited men neared the door of the room where they had seen the young girl and old woman earlier, Queen and Roko sprang out of the guest cabin.

"...!"

Queen glared at the men. The look in her eyes was completely different than the girl who had been in the room earlier. She was wearing different clothes, too, and the biggest difference of all was the great sword she held in her hand.

"She's got the secret file!" shouted one of the men. Indeed, in her other hand, Queen was holding the secret file disc case that she had received from Purple.

"Get her!" Their boss barked, and the men all fell upon Queen. But Queen and Roko deftly dodged them and ran off in the opposite direction. The men rushed after her.

There were no men in the direction they were headed. Purple had found this out by listening to the radio comm. That was why Queen immediately set off in the opposite direction — towards the read end of the train.

Queen sped through the train, passing through one car after another on her way to the end. The men followed after, shoving aside the confused passengers, giving chase to Queen and Roko.

"How long are they going to run for!?"

"Don't lose your head. There's no way they can get off the train when it's going this fast. The girl's trapped like a mouse!"

Just as he said, soon enough Queen and Roko reached the rearmost carriage. It was a coach car, with booth seats on either side. Baffled by Queen bursting in, the seated passengers began to murmur.

"Everyone out! Or else you'll get hurt!" yelled Queen, thrusting her sword up overhead.

Shrieks rang out, and the conductor and passengers all started to rush towards the forward cars. At the same time, the men in black caught up to where Queen was. Wading through the waves of passengers, the men entered the rearmost carriage. Now the only ones inside of it were Queen, Roko, and the men.

Queen stood at the very back of the carriage, standing off against the men.

"Say your prayers, missy." Five suited men stopped in the middle of the carriage and took out their guns. "We're gonna turn you into Swiss cheese!"

"Now, Roko!"

At Queen's signal, Roko stepped forward. Then he unhinged his jaw and let out a prodigious cry of "ARFFFFFFFFFFF!!"

His bark shrilled in the ears of the men. Their faces scrunched up and they clutched their heads in agony. "URRRGHH! W-What was that!?"

This was Roko's ability.

Roko's throat has a special organ that enhances his canine howl. He can use this organ to vibrate ultrasonic waves and assail anyone in front of him.

While the men were gripping their heads from the pain, Queen swung her sword at them. She struck their napes with the back of her sword and mowed them all down. The men were knocked out and collapsed onto the carriage hallway with successive thuds.

"Roko, let's go!"

"Okay!"

Queen and Roko stepped past the unconscious men and ran back towards the front of the carriage. They were just a step away from the next car ahead when...

"Hold it right there!"

The two of them turned around once they heard the voice and saw that one of the felled men was getting back on his feet. The man's gun was pointed at a little girl. She hadn't been able to get away while everyone else was running.

"Wha...!?"

"Throw down your sword, right now! Unless you don't care what happens to her!"

"Bah... you really don't play fair. This is the problem with spies!" Queen bit her lip and glared at the man.

"Hurry it up!"

At his behest, Queen twirled her sword and left it on the floor.

"All right, good. Bring the disc here!"

Queen clutched the disc, vexed. Things had been going according to plan up until she knocked all the men out, but she hadn't foreseen that they would take a hostage. While Queen stood still, seemingly at a loss as what to do next, Roko whispered from beside her.

"...Queen, do that."

"Huh?"

"That thing we were talking about. Your special move! You know!"

"Whaaat?" Then realizing what he meant, Queen rejected it flat out. "Absolutely not!"

"Then do you have any other way of making him drop his guard?"

"No, b-but..."

"What are you two muttering about!? Come here, now!"

"Argh... fine!" Queen shouted in annoyance, and slowly walked toward the man with disc in hand.

"Leave the disc there," the man pointed to a seat, just as Queen spoke.

"Hey, Mister."

"Hm?"

As soon as the man saw Queen's face — he snorted out a hearty "pfft!", followed by a "GYAHAHAHA! What is wrong with your face!? BWAHAHAHA!", laughing uproariously. Queen had demonstrated her famous "funny face" to him.

As the man burst out in laughter, Queen crouched down and delivered a swift kick to the man's shin.

"Ghwaaa!?" The man's guffawing face contorted with pain, and immediately after, Queen grabbed the girl and ran back towards the front of the carriage.

"W-Wait! Bwahahahaha!" The man went after her, but was still snorting from the memory.

Without another word, Queen picked up her sword and swung it. The train's coupling split apart with a clank. The rearmost carriage with the unconscious men and the laughing man aboard lost speed and gradually became more and more distant. The sound of the man's unceasing laughter mingled with the sound of the wheels, and eventually faded away.

Roko grinned and looked up at Queen. "Nice going, Queen! Now that's what I call looks that could kill!"

"I'm not happy about this at all!" Queen puffed up her adorable cheeks and stared at Roko accusingly.

#kaitou joker #light novel

[mmvalentine]

But You pt 1 | Feysand

Modern AU, college-y sort of. Part 2

Feyre worried about Rhys going to college. Of course his grades were impeccable, it’s just that he had never been very good at making friends. When they were in the second grade, the teacher had asked them all to say what their dream world might look like, and where all the other kids had said things like “a world with unicorns” or “a world where we have swords for hands,” Rhys had said “a world where everyone is warm and comfy and loved.” And then one of the boys had laughed at him, called him stupid, and then stalked around the room chopping everyone down with his sword-hands. By the time the teacher had calmed everyone down and gotten them to sit back in the centre of the room, she had quite forgotten little Rhys, who was hiding under a table. Feyre, always a watchful, observant creature, had brought him pillows from the reading nook, and set up camp with him beneath the desk.

She was pretty sure that was the last time Rhys had made a friend. Because they were inseparable all through primary school and middle school, and when Feyre started making more friends in high school, Rhys just wandered off to the library.

“Don’t you want to stay and sit with us?” Feyre would ask him. Rhys just smiled and shrugged, and then sauntered off to be with his books instead.

Of course, Rhys wasn’t antisocial or anything. In fact he had always been so sensitive. And he needed so much physical affection- had toned it down as they progressed through school, but still spent most afternoons sprawled over the foot of Feyre’s bed, a leg or hip against hers, as long as they always had one point of contact. He had one or two romantic entanglements, but they never seemed to last long. Feyre wondered sometimes whether Rhys had decided early on that people were callous and cruel, and most weren’t worth the risk.

So when she got into a college on the opposite coast, and Rhys got a scholarship somewhere up north, Feyre seriously worried about what might happen to him left to his own devices.

Rhys had rolled his eyes when she broached the subject.

“I’ll be fine, Feyre darling,” he said. “Look at me. I’m unreasonably handsome.” “And has that helped you make any friends in high school?” Feyre had demanded, eyebrows raised. “It helped me get you,” he said with a rakish grin. “And you are all I need.” “Right but you won’t have me in six weeks,” Feyre said, feeling like she was going in circles. Rhys only shrugged. “I’ll be fine,” was all he said.

In the end Feyre decided that Rhys was just less in need of people than she was. She had always enjoyed company, and bouncing ideas off people. Rhys lived more inside himself.

And so she packed up for college, said goodbye to her friends, and went to one last party before she was due to drive off the next morning. Rhys hadn't wanted to come, of course, he never did. Truth be told, she felt a little disappointed but not surprised. It would have been nice to hang out one more time before she left.

Disappointments aside, Feyre was ecstatic to be leaving her hometown. It was small, and dingy, and contained her two awful sisters and she just knew she would go and never look back. She hoped Rhys would be able to do the same thing.

Feyre left the house wearing a scandalous silver dress. It was such a conservative town, she knew she'd be getting looks but screw it, she was leaving tomorrow. She took the bus to the sorry excuse for a bar the town had, and as she looked out the window she couldn't say she would miss any of this.

The bar had stained carpets and flickering lights. For some reason, Alis was devoted to it and was here most weekends. Feyre had turned her down many times, but figured it was as good a place as any to spend her last night in town. Lucien was already there too, taking up half the booth with his long limbs.

"Feyre!" Alis squealed. She hugged her friend tightly, and then Lucien pushed two shot glasses toward her as she sat down. "You're two behind Feyre, drink up."

And that would be the last clear thing that Feyre remembered from that night.

Hours later, she swayed on her front door step and tried to open the door without waking anyone. This was particularly difficult because the keyhole kept moving.

She managed to get herself up the stairs without anyone coming out, and closed her bedroom door behind herself thankfully. Dropped her purse on the ground, threw her coat over the chair, and stumbled toward the bed.

Where Rhys was sitting, his legs crossed at the ankles and his back against the headboard, with a bemused smirk on his handsome face.

"Hello, Feyre darling," he said. "Rhys? How did you get in here?" Rhys shrugged. "Through the window." "I'm on the second floor." "I climbed." Feyre's alcohol addled brain struggled to put this together.

"Okay..." she said. "But, what are you doing here?" Rhys fiddled with a loose thread on Feyre's duvet cover. "Wanted to see you," he said. "I invited you out tonight." Rhys rolled his eyes. "Yeah but I hate those guys. I just want to see you."

Feyre walked unsteadily round the side of the bed and sat down next to Rhys.

"You always just want to see me, Rhys," she said. "Come on seriously, you know you're going to have to talk to other people at college." "I hate other people." "You hate everyone." "I don't hate you."

Feyre just peered at him until he squirmed.

"Okay, okay, I promise I'll talk to people at college. Now can you take that ridiculous thing off and come hang out with me?" Feyre sighed. "Fine. Turn." She circled her finger in the air, indicating for Rhys to face away from her. He huffed but then turned his back obediently, and she got out of her ridiculous dress and into flannel pyjama pants.

"Rhys," she said. "Are you sitting on my t-shirt?" "I don't think so?" Rhys said. He pulled off his own shirt and held it out to her without turning. "Here," he said. "You can have mine." "Well aren't you a gentleman," Feyre said. "You know this is my house, I have a whole wardrobe full of t-shirts." But tired as she was, she pulled it on anyway, and slid into bed.

Rhys turned when Feyre told him it was okay. "I know, but I like you in my clothes," he said. And snuggled down next to her.

"Hey," she said. "You can't sleep in here." "Why not?" Rhys asked. "I've slept in here plenty of times." "You're usually on the floor." "But you're leaving me tomorrow," Rhys complained. "Can't I just stay tonight?"

Feyre sighed. The alcohol still sloshing through her veins was making her sleepy, and made it hard to care about anything.

"Sure," she said. "I don't know why you don't just sleep in your own bed." "Because you aren't in it," Rhys said with a grin. Feyre frowned. "Turn off the lights, would you." She closed her eyes.

A second later, the room was peacefully dark, and Rhys laid his head down on the pillow next to hers.

"You know," he said more quietly. "I used to sleep up here." "Sure, when we were kids," Feyre said. She yawned. "I wish I could do it every night," Rhys murmured. "Why?" Feyre asked. Even though she was lying down now, the room still spun somehow. "Because I miss you when you're not there," he whispered. "Well what are you going to do when I'm at college?" she asked, and the words were like cotton in her mouth. "Think about you everyday," Rhys said, "and wish that I had told you when you were sober that I have no idea what I'm going to do without you and I've never been so scared in my life."

But Feyre was asleep by that point, and wouldn't remember that Rhys kissed her forehead before closing his eyes too.

****

HOKAY phew I really hit a wall there and was panicking a bit so I am very happy to be back in a chapter fic. Big ol' thanks and also smooshy kisses to my brain trust @feyrearcherons and @asteria-of-mars for getting me over the line.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @tillyrubes10 @feysand-babies @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist

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#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #fluff #mine