#get parented idiot

[theinternetisaweboflies]

#hes traumatized #reigen arataka #kageyama shigeo #summer vacation omake #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #mp100 omake #i love this omake #reigen trying to con teru into having wholesome summer fun #like #get parented idiot

[redrobin-detective]

I find it completely hilarious to think after Simon was freed from the crown and got to be himself in Ooo that he and Finn have a close relationship that neither of them understand.

Finn views Simon as a fellow human, someone he saw at their lowest point and now is on the upswing and now they can be buddies and go on adventures together. He also wants to do sleepovers all the time, what a bro. Simon sure is fussy with him, like Jake sometimes is, must be because they're such good friends.

Simon meanwhile is going around to people in Ooo like 'why did you let a child/teenager live alone in a treehouse with a dog and access to weaponry while making him fight monsters?' and when no one stepped up, Simon unofficially claimed Finn as his own. He checks in regularly, goes over a brings groceries, cleans up the treehouse, educates Finn as best he can on human anatomy, culture, history as well as other stuff.

Its so obvious to everyone - especially Marcy who is laughing her ass off in the background - that the former Ice King is trying to parent Finn who doesn't get it and proceeds to friendzone the hell out of his father figure.

#adventure time #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #finn the human #finn mertens #the idea of finn friendzoning a father figure is so funny #he has such bad experiences with parents in that joshua died when he was young and martin was a piece of shit #so Finn has such positive affection for Simon he just *cant* see him as a dad #Simon is dading the shit out of finn and its going over the idiots lil bear covered head #Simon and Jake (before he dies) have weekly phone calls on hows Finn doing and who gets custody this week #Simon makes sure every house he gets has a spare room for his kids #Finn crashes there a lot after Jake and Simon relishes the chance to dote and take care of his little boy #Finn meanwhile is like 'man Simon is a real bro a true friend a real good dude'

[circus-clangen]

could transition save Ringstar.. yes or no

#get neutered idiot #I actually have kits turned off for him in game #because at first I had “unknown second parent” settings on #and LORD I did not need this man having more kids on me #he can barely handle the ones he's got #circusclan #circusclan ask #clownwish #ringstar

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 116

Give Battinson robins but it’s DCxDP style with ghosts. 

His kids are… technically not from his world and technically not alive either, but that doesn’t stop him from adopting them. Even if he wasn’t aware of them being literal ghosts for the first few hours of encountering them. 

How did they get here? Well, you see, sometimes child ghosts will run into each other, and they’ll form their own little friend groups. Or family groups. Especially if they lack a guardian. Who would tell them not to mess with natural portals. 

Or to kidnap a phantom to play with them, but hey he’s enjoying himself too and has a puppy! The bestest boy!

Bruce was not prepared for some sort of energy-thing to open and spit out a good half a dozen children. Nor was he prepared for these children to all have powers, or for another child (thankfully a teen) to fall into the cave a few weeks later. 

#dcxdp #dpxdc #battinson #prompts #Dick died alongside his parents when the line snapped #Barbara died to the mob when her father refused to be bribed #Jason died out in the cold on the streets after surviving for a year #Cass died after escaping her father- training for killing doesn’t always translate to training for survival #Tim died from neglect alone in his parents’ home while it was covered up #Steph died before her mother tried to get help with her addictions #Duke died from an attack in the narrows #Damian died from a ‘trainer’ who wanted revenge against Talia & Ras #Danny was searching for his ghost friends with Cujo's help but tripped #It all worked out though #Bruce sobbing to Alfred: Why are there so many hurt children #Bruce grabbing all of them including Danny: My children now #He gets horrifyingly good at picking up stealth what with his kids being literal ghosts #Gets a bit of a mom sense for whenever they're doing something they shouldn't #Some idiot: I shall kill the Robins! #Batman: #Y'know what the robins deserve star cores #with big bro space core danny #god can you imagine if battinson became liminal lol

[sunshine-zenith]

TWO fairies who grant wishes for you? No, one fairy, plus the guy who lives in her house, hangs out with her when she’s working, and is legally bound to her by marriage

#fairly oddparents #cosmo/Wanda #timmy turner #wanda fairywinkle cosma #cosmo cosma #cy art #remy buxaplenty #cy fanart #I remember being a kid watching this show and thinking ‘it’s lowkey messed up that Timmy just gets two fairies just because they’re married’ #especially as Cosmo got flanderized from a cool street smart guy to The Idiot(tm) — how is he still qualified to #be basically a Magical Foster Parent For Kids In Need? #bam he was never qualified but not because he’s ‘not smart’ but because he was a rebel without a cause and now he relocates with his spouse #whenever she gets a new assignment #and if he grants a few wishes on the sly himself? it’s because He’s Above The Law

[elvensorceress]

Sunday Sentences

way more than 7 of them because it's been a while and you deserve all of these 💕 tagged by @eddiebabygirldiaz @spotsandsocks @wikiangela @monsterrae1 @messyhairdiaz @theotherbuckley thank you, beloveds 💕 tagging @shortsighted-owl @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @housewifebuck @hoodie-buck @the-likesofus @bekkachaos @loserdiaz @wildlife4life @giddyupbuck @911onabc @eddiediaaz @thespermdonorstorylineisstupid @ronordmann @shitouttabuck @babytrapperdiaz @fleurdebeton @buddierights if you haven't posted yet and want to share something 😘

from the Unless finale

Eddie leans in closer, pressing harder, more securely against Buck from shoulders to thighs. “I wanted you,” he whispers and leaves a light brush of a kiss on Buck’s lips. “I want you.”

Buck holds onto him but leans to the side to look at him with a puzzled expression on his face. “You want me?”

What sort of question is that? No, Eddie does this all the time to everyone. He’s the one stealing firetrucks and hooking up in bar bathrooms. Because those are things Eddie would do. When he can’t even talk about having sex even with the man he loves without panicking. Whatever. Of course he wants Buck. “Do you think I don’t?”

“N-no. No, I don’t mean. I mean— what? What do you mean?”

Eddie means this is the strangest conversation he and Buck have ever had. Which says a fucking lot. “What do you think I mean? I want you. I wanted more. I wanted you to stay. You and your hard-on. We could have—” Eddie’s still not sure where they might’ve landed on the they could have had sex spectrum. But it would have been something more than Buck running to jerk off alone because he was too turned on and thought it wasn’t welcome. “I mean maybe you aren’t ready to have sex yet. I get that. We haven’t even said if we’re dating dating and it’s only been hours that we’ve been together. So… maybe this was better. Maybe we should wait. But…” 

But he doesn’t know how to finish that thought other than Buck should have stayed. He needs Buck to stay. He wants Buck with him. He wants to take care of him and love him and be good for him. 

Buck blinks at him then leans back even further and stares with a scrunched look of trying to do complicated math and failing at it. He even holds up a hand like he needs a teacher to call on him and answer his questions. “What? I just. I don’t understand. What do you—what?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” 

“I mean who are you and what have you done with Eddie and I don’t know what you mean by, I want you. And we should wait? And you think I’m not ready to have sex yet? Why do you think we’re going to have sex? What do you want with me? Of me? What do you— w-what do you want when you say, you want me?”

What else might it mean? Were they not just making out all over the kitchen? Is it not obvious? Eddie didn’t think he would have to spell it all the way out. But maybe direct and to the point is the best approach? 

He rests both his hands on Buck’s chest. His very soft, very warm, very muscled and beautiful chest with his beautiful beating heart that Eddie swears he can feel racing beneath his fingers. “Buck,” he says slowly, passionately, with as much warmth and love as he can possibly pour into his words. “I want to have sex with you.” 

It doesn’t quite have the reaction Eddie was expecting. Or hoping for. Not that he knows exactly what he thought might happen, but Buck just blinks at him like Eddie’s suddenly confessed he was wrong and actually does believe in jinxes and the “q-word curse” and other stupid superstitions. 

But he’s not the one who responds to Eddie’s declarative wanting anyway. 

“Uhhh. If you’re going to do that, can you not do it in the kitchen,” Chris says from the doorway. “I eat here. We all eat here. It would have to be some kind of health hazard violation.”

Chris is leaning against the doorway. Without his crutches. Which somehow makes him far too stealthy and quiet. Either that or Eddie was just way too distracted with... never mind.

Eddie’s stomach, lungs, liver, kidneys, heart all plummet out of his body. Metaphorically of course because literally dying of mortification would give him an out from this situation. That would be too easy. 

He pulls away from Buck and steps backward until he’s at the opposite side of the room, while Buck is left with his arms hanging in midair, curved around where Eddie used to be. 

“We’re not,” Eddie says. “We weren’t doing— anything. We weren’t going to. We were just talking.”

Chris gives him a withering, skeptical look that only makes him look a thousand percent like his mother. 

Which Eddie absolutely cannot handle right now.

“H-hey, Chris,” Buck steps toward the doorway, coincidentally or maybe not so coincidentally between Eddie and Chris, and turns into his bubbly, eager, friendly self. “Are you— are you hungry? Do you still want those pancakes? Cinnamon swirls and cream cheese icing? I was getting ready to make them for us.”

Chris wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Not hungry anymore. What’s going on? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Buck looks back to Eddie with clear worry all over his face, and Eddie tries to silently convey that everything is okay. Chris isn’t in the dark about how Eddie feels about Buck. He’s not angry with them. 

Eddie’s pretty sure anyway. “It only just happened. We weren’t keeping anything from you.” 

Chris gapes at him with wide, horrified eyes. “It just happened? That’s how you told Buck? By saying that? Oh my god, Dad! What were you thinking? That is so embarrassing.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open. “N-no. No! That wasn’t— That wasn’t how.”

Chris’ very disbelieving, very Shannon-face comes out again, and Eddie sags against the counter and rubs a hand over his suddenly aching head. 

“No. Chris,” Buck says gently but solidly. Something firm and stead through storms and Eddie just wants to hold onto him and never let go. “Your dad told me last night that he’s in love with me. And I love him, too. I love you both more than anything.”

Chris turns his scrutinizing gaze on Buck this time and still looks skeptical, but also not so horrified. Just wary. 

At this point, Eddie will take what he can get. 

#buddie #seven sentence sunday #buddie wip #jenwyn wip #the one with the oblivious obtuse pining idiots #fic: unless you ask me to #911 #May and Buck aren't the only ones who get to be disturbed by their parents doing the sex in the kitchen?? #and for the record Buck is being weird and confused because he's all #Eddie wants sex? does not compute #demisexual Eddie my most beloved

[cerise-on-top]

Hello! Are you still writing hcs?

Graves with a spouse(writing this as a husband for him myself 🥰) who loves sewing and knitting, or some something amongst 'cozy hobbies' like embroidery, reading, poetry or baking. Just wondering How a relationship would be between them or how Graves would act.

Your writing is very lovely btw! I fell in love with it, very beautiful!

Hello! I am still writing HCs, it'll probably be a little bit longer until I take a proper break! That was a really cute request, I liked that one! Domestic and sweet stuff like that is always the best, so thank you for bestowing a request like that upon me! (❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡

Graves with a Spouse with Cozy Hobbies

As mentioned already, Graves loves feeling like the big, strong, useful man in the relationship, so he’d absolutely love you even more if you have “soft and cozy” hobbies like the ones you mentioned. While he is very much a talker, something like knitting can be done while holding a conversation, so he’ll definitely talk to you as you work on your next project. He thinks it’s really awesome, the way your hands move so quickly to create something like a sweater, a scarf, or even a plushie. You don’t really look at him, way too absorbed in your project and not wanting to make even a single mistake, but you still spend time with him. It’s ideal, he can tell you the newest, juiciest gossip among his Shadows while you make him the coziest sweater he’s ever seen. Lets you measure him, if you need and want to, because he really wants that sweater. You wanna put a cute little motif, like a cup of coffee on it as well? He’ll fall in love even more than before.

But even when he’s tired, he wants to spend his time with you. Instead of talking, he’ll lean against you and watch you crochet a bit before nodding off ever so slowly. It’s nice, it’s repetitive, for the most part, and it’s also quiet. By the time he wakes up he gets to see more of your beautiful creation, so that’s a big plus. And when he isn’t dozing off against you, he’s more than happy to hold your yarn and make it a bit longer when you need it. There’s something magical about watching you crochet. He had to crochet in elementary school, but, since he didn’t want to sit down for something like that, he wasn’t very good at it. His strengths always lied elsewhere, so it’s fascinating to him that you can sit in the same position for hours on end, barely moving, and still having fun. The only time he has to do that is when he’s filing reports, and afterwards he needs something to take his mind off of those.

Graves, every time he’s about to go out without you, will always ask you if you need anything from the arts and crafts stores, willing to buy you the loveliest fleece for felting if you ask him for it. Hell, if you want to sell your plushies, or your creations in general, he’s probably the best man to have on your side. Especially when it comes to plushies. Some of his Shadows have families with children, so he knows some of them would love your creations. Might sometimes ask you if you could knit or crochet a baby wooly hat for one of them, if you have the time, since his Shadows know you can be trusted with a task like that. You will always be reimbursed, either by his Shadows or by Graves himself. Sometimes he does like to gift his Shadows something you made and pretend they bought it. You’ll always get your money, but it might sometimes be out of Graves’ pocket.

He definitely likes the domesticity of it. He can go about his day, certain you won’t get hurt, unless you’re sewing or embroidering. But he’d never stop you from pursuing a craft like that. In fact, he’ll actively encourage you, always asking about your projects and wanting to know if he can help you in any way. He wants to see your embroidery, your crocheting, your sewing, as well, so he might gently pick it up from time to time, view it from every angle and give you feedback a la Graves, praising you like only he could.

When you’re a baker you can be sure he’ll taste test your stuff every single time. He has a bit of a sweet tooth, not too much, but he loves you, so he’s willing to eat everything you make. If you’re up making cookies, then he’ll help you by either buying you the best, most reliable hand mixer he can find, or by stirring the dough himself so your arms won’t get too tired. This he does under the condition that he gets to be the first person to try your cookies, your cake, your cobbler. He may not be the worst baker, but he can still learn a lot from you. That he does with all the love in the world, looking at you with an adoring expression as you put the baked goods in the oven, waiting for them to finish. Always has a big smile on his face when he watches you be this content with your life. While you wait for it to properly bake, he’d sometimes ask you to play card games with him. Always lets you win on purpose during those times since you always look so happy when you win. Afterwards he rewards you with a kiss.

While he may be everything but a fan of poetry, he can respect you being one. Will listen to everything you have to say about them, from your analyses to you reading one out loud. If you have a few poets you like especially well then Graves will bend his back trying to find beautiful anthologies of their works. Maybe some books with a few gold engravings that would look well on a shelf. He wants you to know that, despite him not being interested, he still supports you. While you’re reading a book, he might sneak up on you, startle you and then take you into his arms, trying to get you comfortable so you can continue to read. Might glance at your book from time to time to get a feeling for what you’re reading. If it’s something especially cheesy he might chuckle a bit and call you out on being a hopeless romantic, giving you a kiss to your nose afterwards.

Overall, he likes it. It’s nice, not having to worry about you going god knows where and ending up injured. Besides, he always has something nice to come home to, whether that be some beautiful embroidery of violets or a Sachertorte you made from scratch. Will always praise you for doing well, will always make sure you have the means to keep creating, baking and reading. Does his best to keep it that way as well, you’re his precious little darlin’ and you deserve the world and so much more in his eyes.

#cod #cod x reader #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #I know there are a lot of us who feel that way but I am one of the many people to have a love-hate relationship with Graves #would I beat the living daylights out of him if he ever talked to me? yes #would I also tend to his wounds if I found him injured and in pain? absolutely #he also sort of made me realise that a southern accent is actually kind of charming #apparently people from the south also grill religiously which is lovely since my parents do the same so I'm used to that #Graves is a stinker and I'd rather get pulped than admit I like him #even so it's lovely to see Graves' husband come here and tell me something cute and sweet! kudos to you for being open about him! #I used to hate him. then I struggled to hate him. now I hate him again but I'd put a Hatsune Miku bandaid on him if he cut himself #stupid idiot and yet I follow a few people on here who pretty much only post about Graves with a few others here and there #mans is an enigma to me I don't know what to make of him at all except he's kind of fun #good to see I get to write about him as well though!

[tloubraininfection]

I`ve been rewatching the car scene from episode 4 and there`s that moment just after “Alone And Forsaken” starts to play when Joels face changes completely. There is something so soft about this expression, he`s not quite smiling, but his face relaxes, he closes his eyes and he looks like he got lost in a memory. And you can see it’s a good one, a safe one. To me that would suggest that it was something from way before.

Because thats a face of a person that got reminded of something from his childhood. Something half-forgotten until someone brings it up and you remember it as vividly as if it was yesterday. Every texture, every sound and every smell. And you can’t help, but smile, cause it was so long ego, but also not really, you`re still the same person. And music is like magic, it`s the only time machine we have, works every time!

And that got me thinking! If this music is from before Joel`s time, is it possible it`s something his father used to listen to? His favorite road trip music maybe? And Joel was the one in the backseat, just like Ellie is now, going crazy from boredom, asking a million questions, waving at the passing cars or making crazy faces and then hiding? And then when Tommy was old enough was it both of them playing or fighting and driving their father mad in a process?

It breaks my heart in the best way because this is just the beginning of Joels journey and hes changed so much already, to the point hes able to access this small part of himself and it makes him feel soft, even if just for a second.  Makes him think about a time everything was simpler, sweeter, kinder? Somehow those memories survived all those years completely unscathed, as if they`ve existed in a protective bubble untouched by anything that came after. They`ve formed their own little universe where Joel`s small hands knew nothing of violence or survival yet, just toys and ice cream cones. Nothing of the nightmares to come, just a moving car, his dad`s favorite song and his little brother annoying the hell out of him. A small moment preserved forever on the Hank Williams cassette tape.

#i blame Ellis for this #and his Ask a Million Times #genius of a fic #it always makes me so sad and soft and nostalgic #and makes me think about road trips #and miss my idiot brother #we used to get into all sorts of backseat shenanigans #playing car games #or fighting over an old road atlas #none of us could read #but we both wanted to navigate #and my parents would torture us with their old people music #that i feel nostalgic for now #anyways this is still about tlou #in a way #tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller #tommy miller

[sirwow]

swagger

+ a bunch of other stuffsh ! !

#man iv been drawing ALOT #rhythm doctor #rhythm doctor samurai #rhythm doctor insomniac #rhythm doctor miner #rhythm doctor cole #get parents idiot #rhythm doctor hailey #blade bros bosting

[nimudae]

Let me tell you about the little AU I've been spinning in my head like a microwave these last couple months! (with alt text commentary)

Luffy finds Law's seraph clone and decides to take the little baby murder bird with him (and names him Hoshio (or Starry if you're on the camp that thinks Traffy>Torao)) because who wouldn't want a mini Torao? Law, it's Law

Law haaates the whole situation and doesn't trust or want the kid anywhere near them or their crews when he finds out, which clashes with Luffy being in complete Cora-san mode since day 1

I call them the Lawlu Sky Family

#one piece #one piece fanart #lawlu #lulaw #monkey d. luffy #trafalgar law #one piece oc #lawlu sky family au #I've never been the type for making canon OCs but then 1059 happened and here I am with a whole ass Acciental Child Acquisition scenario #I'm even!! working on some short comics!!!! but I've got too much on my plate rn #these two at this stage would be absolute disaster parents but something about the child being a wmd makes it organized chaos in my head #this au is all about: found family. learning to love yourself. and getting two stubborn idiots to kiss and hold hands #nimud.art

[sampilled]

doing a lot of thinking about how scared sam was as a child

in the pilot we learn sam left hunting, not because he wanted normal but because he wanted safe.

in a draft of the pilot script, sam says he doesn't want to help dean find john because he "just stopped having nightmares" (obviously taken out because it would contradict later plot lines with sam having nightmares about jess dying but i wish they had replaced it with something similar because i think a lot less people would think of sam as selfish if we had got to hear it)

we also get this scene in 1x04

this is four episodes into the show! sam has been back in hunting for a month? maybe? and he is already having nightmares about the job again (and while dean tries to act tough, sam sees straight through him and knows that he's scared too)

hunting again is bringing back bad feelings that he thought he'd left behind but at this point, he is motivated to find his father and avenge jessica so he pushes through his fear, as a kid he didn't have these things to fuel him. he was just this sad lonely little child who was terrified out of his mind about all of the evil in the world that he should have been sheltered from!! terrified that his dad and his brother were going to be killed anytime they were out of his line of sight!!

in conclusion, i could've raised him, i could've kept him safe

#no cuz rip to john winchester but??? wtf was that? #if i was sam winchesters parent and a demon had a killed his mother in his nursery i wouldve looked into protective sigils and probably kep #an eye on his friends to make sure they werent... ya know... possessed???? #i get its just a weird writing thing it had to be this way for the plot but fr johnny boy u r an idiot #especially cuz i always thought he learned the demon was after sam from Missouri #“i went to misouri and learned the truth” and she clearly knew the demon was looking for sam in season 1 so #so like john has known since sam was a baby in my eyes and yet?? #he was letting him out of his sight? wow he really didnt give a fuck about him lowkey #no he loved him very much he was jsut dumb #sam winchester #supernatural

[applecherry108]

Separated (part 4)

<-previous [first] next->

Long time no comic. 😅 Here’s a tiny baby update, I’m already partway through the next one, but I figured since it’s been so long, I’d through these panels here first (and also so I don’t have to go through desktop mode to add more than 10 images to the next one lmao).

More Parent Trap (aka separated) AU here

#my art #tmnt art #parent trap au #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt big mama #turtle tots #rise raph #favorite tag on previous part ‘get babynapped idiot’ 😂 he is truly having the time of his little life lmao

[grinchwrapsupreme]

book runs based on tv shows are usually mediocre at best, like star trek, torchwood, doctor who, etc etc, but i would give anything to get a book run of the BBC Ghosts hotel i need to know what shenanigans those guys get up to in there

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts spoilers #six idiots #i think a hotel would be so fun for them #like enrichment #absolutely nothing that happens in there matters in the slightest but they all care so much about everything so really #the weight of any hypothetical plot does not matter #a short story series for example would be great #give me 5 pages of the captain deriding robin about the mouse family he follows and then stalking off to go watch his ants #give me 20 pages of fanny and julian watching something unsavoury going down in one of the rooms only to discover they were wrong #and actually what's happening is totally innocent #give me 15 pages of julian battling for TV remote control with a guest who can't figure out why the remote is malfunctioning #give me fanny accidentally getting in a teenager's selfie and the teen facetiming with her friends about the haunted room she's stuck in #while her parents are on this dumb golf trip #and kitty is jealous that fanny is getting all the attention because this is supposed to be girls night with the teens she's decided #captain and julian watching golfers out on the green #thomas cooing over a blossoming romance and subsequent breakup like its his new personal soap opera #pat sitting in on games out on the lawn and getting way too into it prompting julian to start making bets with him on lawn darts #fanny snooping in guests' luggage and being scandalized by perfectly normal things she considers risque #give a book deal to ben and larry they'd have a ball with it i just know it

[agent-jaselin]

“Oh it’s dystopian/horrifying when a kids toy is a mcdonald’s/grocery cashier set up.”

Kids love to mirror what they see adults doing everyday. Whether that’s the Walmart cashier, the doctor, or their parents cleaning up at home. It’s only dystopian cause you don’t respect minimum wage jobs YouTuber.

#i get so annoyed at innapropriate childrens toys lists #that include toy that mimics x job #or toy that mimics cleaning aupplies #the only thing that makes it bad is if a parent gets mad at there kid liking something gendered #also that idiot saying monoploy teaches mids to hate taxes #its a game they are nit connecting it to real life investments and money #late night rambling

[someone-online]

When it seemed like Johanna was going to choose to stay in Fairy Country, my first thought was Hilda just 2 episodes before going “don’t let go of me, Mum!”

#an idiot talks #hilda #hilda the series #hilda spoilers #hilda johanna #like that broke me when i watched it #and then johanna wanting to be w her parents. that was my first thought #literally told this to my sib as we watched and went ‘is johanna gonna let go of her this time?’ #also unrelated but we were watching and i went ‘lol imagine if when they leave the island johanna immediately gets sick’ #AND GUESS WHO FUCKING CALLED IT LMAO

[sesamestreep]

Crozier/Fitzjames, fake amnesia

from this list of reverse tropes for fic writers. i told @firstelevens I wasn’t sure I had it in me to write fic for these two and then I went and washed my hair and while I did that, this idea popped into my head fully formed and I was bound by honor to write it down. Also it’s the first thing my brain has wanted to write in like two months, so I took that as a good sign?? Anyway, here’s…something. Kind of a Parks and Rec AU?? but also not in any serious way? It’s like…what if these dudes from The Terror worked in local government or whatever… don’t worry about logistics, I mostly wanted to write Blanky and Crozier being best friends and also talk about sobriety feelings a bunch. AND THEN I DID. only fits the prompt if you squint super hard but, regardless, please enjoy… on ao3 because why not

“So, you feel ready to go back to work tomorrow?”

Francis removes his gaze with considerable effort from the perfect red orb that is the sun sinking steadily under the horizon line across the lake and shifts it reluctantly back to Tom, who’s sitting back in his chair with his booted foot propped up on a milk crate that he got from God knows where. The sight of the boot that encases the lower half of his left leg does push a wave of guilty bile up the back of his throat but he’s already been told that if he apologizes for causing Tom to have need of it one more time, he’ll be drowned in the aforementioned lake, so he resists. Tom knows Francis is sorry about what happened and he’s chosen to forgive him, even if Francis still thinks it’s a stupid choice, second only to him befriending Francis in the first place all those years ago. Francis doesn’t know where he himself would have ended up if that hadn’t happened, though, so it all comes out in the wash he supposes.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Francis says, tracing a hairline fracture in his coffee mug with his thumbnail just for something to do. “If I take any more time off, I’ll just never go back, so it’s now or never, really.”

“Attaboy,” Tom says before taking a long, thoughtful drink from his own mug. Out of solidarity, or maybe sensitivity, he hadn’t had anything to drink tonight either, despite Francis’s assurances that it wouldn’t bother him and might even be a good idea, just for him to get used to it. It’s not like he could reasonably expect to go the rest of his life without ever seeing alcohol again. He’d seen four different ads for light beer alone this afternoon while watching reruns of ‘Bones’ on the couch and imagining every possible way his first day back in the office after rehab could go wrong and that hadn’t sent him into a tailspin, so he’d probably survive watching his best friend drink in his presence. Still, Tom had chosen to just drink decaf coffee with him after dinner like the ancient relics they are, because he is, without a doubt, the best person Francis has ever known. “You talk to anybody about it? I mean, besides me…”

“What, you mean like a therapist? Of course. I’ve got, what, six of them now, for Christ’s sake!”

“No, I mean, from the office. Have you talked to anyone about coming back?”

“Well, John, obviously.”

“I suppose you’d have to, yeah,” Tom says, running a ponderous hand over his chin. “Anything interesting from that quarter?”

“Just about what you’d expect,” Francis says, trying to be generous. John had been kind enough to let him keep his job, after all, despite how bad things got in the end, but Francis’s issues with the man remain, even with his newfound sobriety. Francis had sent him a long, downright obsequious email apologizing for the damage he’d done with his drunken theatrics both over the years and in the very recent past and explained in detail all the ways he was going to do better in the future, while expressing gratitude for the unprecedented amount of grace everyone, but particularly John, had shown him during this stressful time. It was, in no uncertain terms, the most embarrassing thing Francis has ever had to do, and he has, in his life, proposed to the same woman three separate times with absolutely no success, so it’s not like he’s lacking in options for that top spot.

John is, thankfully, the sort of man who likes to breeze past unpleasantness wherever he can and is also, more importantly, a deeply entrenched bureaucrat who’d just as soon do no work as do even a little work and therefore could not be bothered to hire a replacement for Francis. In fact, if he had to guess, John was probably clever enough to frame it as some sort of protection against a discrimination lawsuit somewhere down the line, despite the fact that several things Francis did at the staff Christmas party right before hitting rock bottom were definitely fireable offenses. John’s unflappable dedication to the status quo has worked in Francis’s favor for once, and while he certainly doesn’t deserve the break, he’s going to take it where he can get it on the off chance it never happens again.

“And the staff? Your team, I mean.”

“I got coffee with a few of them individually, just to clear the air and apologize, so that if anyone wanted to take a swing at me, they could do it outside of work,” Francis says, scuffing his shoe against the porch.

“Well, that’s considerate of you. Any of them try it?”

“No. The cowards,” Francis scoffs, which makes Tom laugh. “Jopson and Edward both seemed like they might be sick at the prospect of anyone in charge actually deigning to apologize to them, which was…humbling, to say the least. Then I got an extremely nervous monologue from Harry about the history and relative efficacy of Alcoholics Anonymous, which I think was his way of saying we’re square. And Silna told me if I tried to meet up with her outside of work hours again, she’d block my number and quit without notice, so...”

“She’s got the right of it,” Tom says, with a crooked grin.

“Yeah, that was my favorite of the lot,” Francis replies. “We’ll have a team meeting tomorrow and we’ll get someone in from HR so everyone can talk about feelings, God help us, but I think it might be okay. Which I could not have predicted when all this started, but here we are.”

“I could have,” Tom says. “You’ve made plenty of mistakes, I grant you, but you’ve also done right by these people in a lot of ways. They’re not going to forget that in a hurry. They’re a loyal bunch.”

Francis nods, looking out over the water again. The pinks and golds of the sunset a few moments ago have already faded into purples and blues as night creeps in. The nocturnal chorus of frogs croaking and insects trilling is rising in the nearby woods. He’s already said his piece about how absurd it is that they’re sitting comfortably outside on the porch after dinner—with jackets on and a fire going, sure, but still—and it’s only the beginning of March. Tom doesn’t need to hear any more ranting about global warming right now; it’s no fair repayment of his generosity. What Francis really should do is head for home soon and let his friend have some peace and quiet. He could use some of that himself, but he somehow doubts that he’ll get much rest once he’s home for the evening. At least he can panic about tomorrow properly there, though, by himself.

“Speaking of throwing punches,” Tom says, carefully, after they’ve been quiet a moment, “have you spoken to James at all?”

Francis winces with what feels like his entire body. “I haven’t had the chance,” he says, as lightly as he can manage.

It isn’t precisely true. If he found the time to contact everyone else who’d been affected by his spectacular fall from grace during his leave of absence, he could have found the time to reach out to James too, but he hadn’t. The apology he owes James Fitzjames is too big for an email, which he’d, in a truly cowardly fashion, gotten away with for almost everyone else, and the presumption and humiliation of asking for any of his free time as he’d done with some of his subordinates was a bridge too far. Besides, if they’d met up at a coffee shop to talk things out, Francis has no doubt James would have ordered his drink with oat milk or stevia instead of sugar or mentioned a cleanse he was on and Francis would have rolled his eyes and said something awful and then he probably would have had to go to rehab all over again, which would have defeated the point. Francis has been told by outside observers—professionals in the field, for what it’s worth—that he’s making progress, but he’s even more sure that he’s still, at his core, a miserable old bastard. He’s just less miserable than he was before, by a small margin. Unfortunately, he’s not any less old, though. In fact, he’s older, but that’s beside the point.

“You’ll have to face him sooner or later,” Tom says, not quite gently but not as bullying as he could be either.

“I know,” Francis says, covering his face with his hands. “I’ll do it tomorrow. I mean, if anyone’s entitled to an in-person apology, it’s James, surely.”

“After you punched him in front of everyone at the Christmas party and verbally berated him? Yeah, I think something more than a text message might be in order.”

“You accepted an apology text,” Francis says, scowling into his mug. “And I broke your leg. You needed surgery and everything. I don’t even think I broke James’s nose.”

“Only because your aim sucks when you’re wasted,” Tom replies, unbothered. “Gave him quite the shiner, though, if you want to compare wounds.”

Francis sighs. “I already said I’d talk to him. You have my word.”

“What am I? Your bloody father?”

“No, and I like you a great deal better for it.”

“Good, then what do I need your word for?”

“I was just trying to convey my sincerity.”

“I don’t doubt your sincerity, Francis. Never have. It’s everyone else you need to convince.”

“I don’t know what to say to James,” Francis says, into his hands. “I mean, with you at least, we’ve known each other for ages. We can bounce back from quite a lot, it turns out. James, he’s—I’ve never known how to talk to him in the first place. Now I’ve got to do it sober? I don’t know where to start.”

“How about, ‘James, I’m sorry for trying to knock your lights out with an audience present while I was drunk off my ass on the company dime’ to start?”

Francis closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, letting the shame wash over him like a wave and then, more importantly, letting it recede like waves do. He sighs loudly and shakes his head.

“You know, I’ve always regretted I wasn’t the sort of drunk who forgets what he does when he’s wasted. Feels like it might be easier, ultimately. Like, I could say, ‘oh, sorry for whatever I might have done to you, James. The trouble is I don’t remember any of it, but I’m sure it’s nothing I would have done sober, all the same.’”

“Feigning amnesia?” Tom barks, laughing and looking at him sideways. “What’s that? The thirteenth step?”

“Leave me alone,” Francis replies, waving him off but laughing himself despite his best efforts. “I’ve done a lot of owning up to things lately. Can’t I keep one petty grievance for myself?”

“You could probably get away with it, if you’d left it as a petty grievance rather than escalating to violence. And your resistance to dealing with James should tell you making amends there is your highest priority. Discomfort is a good thing here, a signal you’re heading in the right direction. If it were all easy, everyone would do it, you know.”

“That’s lovely, Tom. Will you be cross-stitching any of these aphorisms onto pillows to remind me to stay the course, or shall I just memorize them for when times get tough?”

“Fuck off, you dusty old prick,” Tom laughs. “Hey, what about this? ‘James, I’m ever so sorry for getting plastered and calling you out in front of everyone and then attempting to rearrange your pretty face with my fist! I do think some of the blame lies in you being so pretty and in me having some unresolved issues around my masculinity and my self-esteem, all of which you can blame on my waste of a father figure growing up, but in this case, I suppose I have to shoulder some of the responsibility for my actions myself. Forgive me?’”

“There’s no one else on earth who could get away with saying even half those things to me, you know,” Francis says, even as his blood doesn’t boil or even heat in the slightest hearing them. It rushes to his face instead, no doubt resulting in a fierce blush that the gathering darkness mercifully hides from view.

“I earned it the hard way, my friend,” Tom says, patting his boot.

“That you did,” Francis says, and rises from his seat. “I’d better be going, then. Much to do, after all: apologies to draft, laundry to fold, worst case scenarios to spin out.”

Tom gets up with effort, clunky and inelegant in his boot, but not so proud as to decline Francis’s hand when it’s offered. “I wasn’t trying to scare you off,” he says once he’s vertical.

“You didn’t. It’s like I said, I’ve a lot to do before the big day.”

Tom nods and, after a moment of deliberation, puts a hand on Francis’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, you know.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Francis replies, shifting away from the praise. “More of a bad man trying to be better.”

Tom gives him a long look at that and then shakes his head, smiling. “All that work on yourself and you still don’t get it,” he says, not unkindly. “What else do you think a good man is?”

Francis doesn’t know, but he spends the whole ride home and the rest of the night thinking about it all the same.

*

Francis’s plan of attack, such as it even exists, takes form more easily than he could have predicted. Once he starts thinking about how best to approach James at work and make amends on that front, he finds he knows a lot more about the man than he originally thought. A few years working together, however contentiously, has been enough to pick up on each other’s habits and quirks well enough that Francis can reasonably predict when he’ll be able to get a moment of James’s time without anyone else around. The fact that he can do this and yet never thought to do it before under any other circumstances is the cause of another wave of shame that passes less quickly than Francis would like.

Francis arrives at the City Planner’s office just before 8:30 in the morning with the certainty that he won’t run into John—the man has many flaws but his dedication to never showing up to work any earlier than he absolutely needs to is not one of them, in Francis’s opinion—but that he will, in all likelihood, find James already there and more than likely already working. He also arrives with the materials for a bribe, should that prove necessary.

He’s so worked up, going through everything he’s planning to say one last time in his mind before he actually sees James, that he doesn’t think to knock on the outer door, which is sitting half-open anyway, and just barges in instead. It’s not a great start, he realizes a second after it’s too late to do anything else, and it’s made even worse by the fact that James is there, as expected, and he’s only partially in his shirt, which is not so expected. Francis stops and gapes for a moment with all the grace of someone who’s been tased.

“God, sorry,” he says, and tries to step back, only to collide with the door jamb. “I should’ve—”

“Francis, it’s—good morning, I—this isn’t—I’m the—I’m sorry,” James says, managing to sound crisp and self-possessed even when he’s stammering his way through an apology. “I don’t normally…do this…in the office, I mean.”

“No, of course not,” Francis says, behaving like a teenager in a romantic comedy for some reason and averting his eyes, even though there’s nothing to see. James was in the process of buttoning his shirt when he came in, so it’s really the sight of his clavicle that’s made Francis so uncomfortable. Was he always this much of a ninny? Is that why he started drinking, to cover it up? It’s the only explanation that makes any sense now.

“I went for a run this morning and I neglected to pack a shirt with my work clothes, so I had to use the spare I keep in my desk for emergencies.”

The old Francis (of several weeks and easily a thousand group sessions ago) would have rolled his eyes at any number of things in that small explanation: running to work, keeping a spare shirt in one’s desk, referring to anything related to fashion as an ‘emergency’ and meaning it. Now, he nods thoughtfully and tries to think of it all as part and parcel of what he respects and admires about James: his dedication and planning, his ability to anticipate and address future challenges. The fact that he looks nice in blue. Whatever. It turns out it’s easier to do than he imagined it would be.

“I don’t think you have a habit of undressing in the office for fun, James,” Francis says, instead of any of those nice things. “Don’t worry.”

“Right,” James says, lightly, even as his shoulders remain tense. He does up the last few buttons and his clavicle disappears under the taut poplin fabric of his dress shirt. “Well, what can I do for you, Francis?”

Francis has heard—and, in turn, mocked—James on any number of occasions start conversations with a smooth, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’, which is not an expression Francis himself has been treated to in a long time and for good reason. He doesn’t know why he thinks of it now, except that he’d take even a sarcastic reference to the pleasure of his company (of which there is none and never has been for James in particular, he thinks) over the idea that James should do anything for him, at this point.

“You’re training, then?” Francis asks, skirting gracelessly around the question James actually posed. “For another one of the what-do-ya-call-em’s? Not a marathon. The thing you did last year…?”

“The Ironman,” James suggests, looking slightly pained. “It’s a triathlon.”

“Yeah, that sounds right. Another one of those?”

“God, no,” James replies, nose wrinkling slightly before he seems to catch himself doing it and intentionally blanks his expression. “I’m not likely to do another one of those. I already have my bragging rights, after all. Today’s run was just for health.”

“Oh, sure,” Francis says, tapping a fingertip nervously against the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup. “I’m meant to be doing that now.”

“Running?” James asks, betraying some surprise, which is fair enough.

“Exercising. For my health. To keep me…”

“Fit?”

“Well, distracted,” Francis replies, with a shrug. “There seems to be some thought of it helping to keep me away from drink, though I’m not sure what the logic is there. But I’m meant to be thinking of something I’d enjoy, anyway.”

“Not running, then,” James says, brow crinkling like he’s giving the matter serious thought. James is a fixer by nature—and by profession, of course, being paid mostly to follow John around and make sure the grand promises that flow from his mouth actually happen somehow. He thrives with a problem to solve. If Francis were even marginally less stupid and less proud, he might have thought to come to James sooner. He’s nothing if not several very large problems wrapped in a trench coat. Or a wind breaker, in actuality. The point is, Francis could use all the fixing he can get his hands on.

“Not likely. Never enjoyed it, really. Hard on the ankles, I’ve found.”

“Yes, it can be quite stressful on the joints. You’ve got to take all sorts of precautions,” James says, in the tone he gets when he’s working his way up to a long treatise of some kind, but he stops abruptly and his face betrays that he’s seemingly caught himself. He clears his throat. “So, it’s not for everyone. I understand.”

“Yes, well, my sponsor was saying that I might try tennis or racquetball, but then I’d have to find a regular partner or group, and I’m not sure I have it in me.”

“There’s a club nearby, actually, and they could help you arrange—” James pauses and shakes his head, once again stopping himself from expounding on the different options available the way he normally would. It’s an uncharacteristic amount of restraint coming from James, who loves recommending things to other people almost as much as he loves the sound of his own voice. Francis sees some of his own handiwork in this new display of shame and feels the need to make amends even more keenly than before because of it. “Well, you can Google it, I imagine, and it would be faster than listening to me. It is, uh—it’s in Eagleton, however, so I suppose that won’t do.”

“No,” Francis replies, frowning. “Thanks all the same, though. I imagine I’ll end up doing water aerobics with the rest of the senior citizens at the community center and call it a day.”

“You’re not a—you’re barely fifty, Francis!”

“I’m fifty-two, actually.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I hope you have your affairs in order,” James gripes, as he messes with something entirely unnecessarily on his desk. Francis smiles at the strange comfort of annoying him, which should not be reassuring to him at all but he’s a messed up sort of fellow even on his best days. The smile grows when James clears his throat again and adds, like he can’t quite stop himself, “Swimming’s rather good for the joints, actually.”

“Swimming?” Francis asks.

“Yes, swimming. As in, laps…in a pool. Something else the community center offers, if you were interested. It’s solitary—meditative, even—and good exercise. In—that is, in case you were wondering.”

“If this is you trying to talk me into a triathlon, James—”

James sniffs, more performatively haughty than genuinely haughty, Francis suspects. “I’d never,” he says. “I was merely recommending an activity that you might enjoy more than water aerobics, and that might spare the elderly of our community from dealing your obvious personality disorder early in the morning, when those classes tend to be held.”

Francis, much to James’s surprise from the look on his face, laughs at that. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he says, while James continues to regard him like he’s wild animal exhibiting signs of rabies who’s suddenly appeared in his path, which is maybe a common occurrence in town, depending on who you ask. “Thank you.”

James nods, distracted. “Sure.”

“Well, I—I…listen, I didn’t come here to talk about exercise regimes, which I figure you could have guessed,” Francis says, in a rush, because anything less than a headlong dive into the subject they need to discuss will hurt much worse than just getting it over with, he suspects. “And I don’t want to presume anything about your life, but I also figure there’s a non-zero chance that you’re already familiar with the famous 12 step program, maybe just through cultural osmosis, and I don’t want to over explain any of it to you, but, well, there’s a pretty important part about identifying people you’ve wronged through your addiction and the resulting behavior and making direct amends to said try people and—”

“I’m familiar,” James interrupts, softly. “Not directly, of course, or, um, anything like that—I don’t want to detract—but—”

Francis waves him off. “No need to explain. I just—well, obviously, that list of people, for me, had to include you, because of what transpired between us at the end of last year and how I behaved. The things I said to you, then—how I’ve always spoken to you, really—and of course, I—God, I’m so sorry. It feels absurd to say out loud but I’m sorry for lashing out at you and hitting you, I should never have—”

“It’s fine, Francis,” James says, starchily. He’s got a nervous hand pressed to his ribcage, so intently that it’s almost shocking to look and see no actual knife sticking out from there, somehow. With that, it’s hard to believe the breeziness of his words. “Really, this isn’t necessary.”

“And I’m telling you it is,” Francis explains, as carefully as he can manage. “Maybe it isn’t for you, I don’t know, but it’s necessary for me. Do you—can you understand that?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” James says, after a deep breath. “Of course. Is there…more?”

“You tell me. Is there any other ways my drinking harmed you that I haven’t thought of?”

“No, I wasn’t—”

Francis holds up a hand to stop him. “That probably read as very sarcastic, given our…history, let’s say, but it was a genuine question. I think I’ve raked myself over the coals for every possible slight I can imagine but if there’s anything I did that I can address for you now, I’d have you tell me.”

“No, it’s fine, really,” James replies, shakily. “I only meant, I don’t really know what goes into all this. Is amends just an apology or is there more to it? I don’t need there to be, I was just curious. That’s all.”

“Well, you’re meant to endeavor to show you’ve changed your ways, I suppose. To indicate that you won’t be perpetuating the same harm in the future. Which, in this case, is tough, because…well, I mean, all I can give you is my word I won’t try to knock you out at work ever again.”

“Outside of work hours, however…” James muses, with a small, mirthless smile.

Francis winces, but otherwise doesn’t react. “I’ll never behave that way towards you again. On my honor, for whatever that’s worth.”

James folds his arms over his chest and looks down at the carpet, appearing like a sullen youth for a brief moment before he raises his gaze and becomes a grown man once more. Francis remembers when he’d shown up with John that first time, how he’d called James an infant to Tom when they finished their initial meeting with him about the town’s budget crisis all those years ago. Tom had laughed at him, wheezing ‘he’s a decade younger than us, if he’s anything, Francis. He’s our bloody peer now, and if you don’t see it, you’re cracked!’ Francis thought—still thinks—Tom is the one who’s cracked, in this case. James looked young, then; he looks young now, everywhere except the eyes, which contain a stormy sea’s worth of disappointment. Francis can be self-centered with the best of them but he knows he’s not the one who put that feeling there in the first place. He’s not that important. For the first time, however, he feels protective of the man in front of him because of it and takes it as his very solemn duty to never be the cause of his disappointment again, so long as it can be helped. All that and it’s not even 9 in the morning yet.

“It’s worth plenty,” James says, eventually, clearly just as uncomfortable with this much emotion so early in the day as Francis is and eager to be done with it. “Thank you, Francis.”

“Yes, well, I won’t take up any more of your time, I’ve been nuisance enough for one morning, but if there’s ever anything you want to discuss or clear up between us, my door’s always open. To you, that is. Well, to anyone, but just in case your particular welcome was unclear, I mean, you should—”

James sweeps a hand out wide in a graceful gesture like he’s literally clearing the air. “Understood,” he says, sincerely, “and appreciated.”

“Great,” Francis says, too cheerily and then winces again. “I mean, uh—right, I’ll just be going then.”

As he pivots back towards the door, the sloshing noise of the ice shifting in one of the cups he’d forgotten he was holding draws his attention. Christ, right. The whole point was—Francis really is starting to lose his mind. He contemplates just leaving anyway, like nothing’s amiss, but he’ll have to explain the two drinks to his team, absolutely none of whom will buy that the iced chai is for him. He’s gone on too many rants about how coffee shouldn’t be iced and tea only on certain occasions. He’s the type to drink hot, black coffee even on the most brutal summer days, though his sponsor did warn him that a lot of alcoholics do turn to sweets as a coping mechanism for replacing alcohol in their daily lives and not to be surprised if he found himself needing additional sweetener in his morning coffee as a result. Francis hadn’t credited it at the time, but he had found himself momentarily tempted at the coffee shop this morning by a sign advertising something called a ‘death by chocolate latte’ as the daily special before he’d gotten a hold of himself, so maybe there’s some truth to it. The point is, dragging this extra drink back to his office will be more humiliating than turning around and giving it to James like he originally planned, no matter how awkward it feels right now.

“Okay,” he says, turning back, “I promise this is the last thing and then I will let you get back to work. There’s, uh—it’s not a bribe, mind you, just an extension of the apology for what happened and for the fact that you’ll have to continue working with me for the foreseeable future and—you don’t have to forgive me, you don’t owe me that, I just thought—”

James looks at him, utterly perplexed, fingertips gently steepled on the top of the desk like he’d already been going back to whatever he was working on when Francis interrupted again. “What is it?” he asks, somehow still not betraying any annoyance at the interruption, hiding it well under an open tone of curiosity.

“The—this,” Francis finally spits out with considerable effort, holding the cup out towards James, rather than try to explain himself further. “It’s for you.”

“Oh,” James replies, with an expression like Francis is trying to hand him a live gerbil and not an upsettingly overpriced beverage like the ones he’s seen James drink on dozens of occasions. “I, uh—that’s really not necessary.”

“You must take it, James. Please. I said you’re not obligated to forgive me, I’m not trying to sway you, really. It just felt wrong to show up empty handed, after everything.”

“I understand, but, really—”

“You’re not on another one of your cleanses, are you? Giving up sugar or…calories before noon or something?” Francis ventures, imbuing his tone with more patience than he normally would, even though he still feels very little towards this thing in particular.

James is already so annoyingly healthy and brisk and handsome, it does take extraordinary amounts of patience to tolerate his talk of intermittent fasting and green juice with the goal of making himself even more annoyingly perfect. Surely, there’s got to be a limit to that sort of thing, but Francis doesn’t know; he’s on the opposite end of the spectrum it seems, having to re-learn the fundamentals of barely looking after himself in middle age without the aid of alcohol. It’s pretty grim, if he’s being honest. It really is no wonder that James has been so consistently earning the gold medal spot in the competitive sport of getting on Francis’s nerves, with that in mind.

His intentional gentleness does seem to pay off in this case, though, since James smiles at him in only mild embarrassment. “Uh, no, I’m not. I just—you’re not obliged to—”

“I know, but—listen, James, I already committed my penance by having to say the phrase ‘dirty chai’ with a straight face to a college student with a lip piercing at eight in the morning, okay? The damage is done. You might as well enjoy the spoils of my humiliation.”

James’s smile widens at that, looking for all the world like he can’t really stop himself. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that mental image might be worth more to me than the entirety of your apology.”

“No offense taken,” Francis says, finally succeeding in handing off the cup, slick with condensation by now, into James’s care. “I hope it will sustain you for a while yet.”

“Oh, it shall,” James says, placing the cup gingerly onto his desk.

“Right, well,” Francis replies, “that’s all, then. I’ll see you…later, I suppose.”

James nods. “We have a meeting set for Tuesday—tomorrow. It should be on your calendar. Thomas said he—”

“If Jopson says it’s there, it’s there.”

“Great,” James says, easily. “Until then.”

“Yes. ‘Til tomorrow.”

Mission completed, Francis turns once more towards the door and is only interrupted in leaving by the sound of James clearing his throat behind him. He pauses, and looks over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows in question when he meets James’s eye.

“It’s only—forgive me if this is the wrong thing to say, under the circumstances,” James offers, fidgeting with the edge of the notepad lying open on his desk, “but you do—that is, you look well, Francis.”

Francis doesn’t allow himself the liberty of moving even an inch, not to fiddle with his collar or brush back his hair or otherwise indicate he gives so much as one singular damn about his appearance. “Do I?” he asks, tone purposely vague, like James has just told him the weather forecast and it’s only interesting to him in theory, really.

“Yes, very well,” James says, putting his hand flat on the desk very deliberately, like it was giving him away before. At what, who knows, but he’s got it under control now. “This change, it suits you.”

“Well, thank you, I guess.”

James now looks at his computer screen, absently. The next words he says might be something he was reading off of there, if they were anything else. “You look good, is what I meant.”

“How—?” Francis pauses, feeling immense pressure to say this right, somehow. “Sorry, but how would that be the wrong thing to say?”

“I wouldn’t want you to think, well—” James interrupts himself by laughing, just a little and rather joylessly. “It’s not that you didn’t look good before.”

“Oh, right,” Francis says, even as those words continue to make no sense to him in that particular order coming from this particular person. “Wait, you’re saying—I did?”

James meets his eye again, finally, but only to give him the most impatient, long-suffering look in human history. “Is it too much to hope that one of the twelve steps involves learning to take a compliment?” he asks, sounding depleted by the effort. “Because it is one of your most exhausting qualities that you can’t do so without endless interrogation first.”

“And it’s got a lot of competition,” Francis replies, feeling himself smile and choosing to do nothing to stop it, “what with all my other exhausting qualities.”

“You’re really only proving my point here, you know.”

“Thank you, James,” Francis says, dutifully. “It’s very kind of you to say. Better?”

“Much,” James sighs. “You’re showing remarkable improvement already.”

Francis leaves him, then, because to stay any longer would just be exposing himself to further ridicule and he’d absolutely deserve it, what with the stupid smile he now can’t seem to get rid of.

#lmao zainab's exact words when we talked about this prompt were 'i'm in my slightly confused but supportive parental energy era' #my madness is being indulged so patiently #anyway this has been stressing me out for a month now just take it away from me!!! #the terror #the terror amc #fitzier #francis crozier #james fitzjames #thomas blanky #writing prompt #reverse fanfic tropes prompts #god i've forgotten how to even tag writing anymore... #firstelevens #homelywenchsociety #that's my writing tag! don't worry about it! #prompt fill #as always when i come up with a silly au for something i'm like 'i don't know how everyone fits in i haven't thought about it at all' #except i am always lying because i always know #most important part of this AU is that tunbaaq is The Pit #and ross is mark brendana-quits #and that's most of what you need to know #please join me in imagining all of the truly absurd parks plotlines i can shove these idiots into #my favorite that i've thought of so far is forcing james and silna into ben and april's plotline of getting stuck in a parking garage #traffic jam together for hours #i just think it would break them you know?? and that's fun #anyway....