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ladamedusoif · 6 months

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An Inspecteur Calls

A Visiting Pedrotober One-Shot - Day 20, Merge Mansion

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Lyd is stressed and frustrated, and hit with a bad dose of Parisian nostalgia. Thankfully, Ben knows of a detective - sorry, inspecteur - Roquefort, who is free to investigate the cause of her woes, shoulder holsters included.

Word Count: 2.3k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (series/one-shot specific): Visiting fic one-shot; Professor Ben College AU; Ben and Lydia are contemporaries; canon is not a thing here; smut; fingering; oral sex (f receiving); safe PiV sex; enthusiastic consent; strong language; praise kink; references to stress; bad French; terrible French accents; role playing; these two are fucking dorks; extreme silliness

A/N: This is @jack-whiskey-daniels' fault. I wrote up this smutty little vignette, heavily inspired by the photo of Tim Rockford above, last night. Today, Luce informs me that it's Merge Mansion day for Pedrotober and I should post this. Well, who am I to say no?

With apologies for Ben's deliberately terrible attempts at role-playing a cliched French detective (inspecteur is the more common title). No apologies for me using Lydia to work through my love of Tim "Shoulder Holsters Tight Shirt Undervest" Rockford.

(And, seeing as it's his birthday and these two are film nerds, I had to throw in a reference to a film by the French director Jean-Pierre Melville, creator of several exceptional French crime dramas in the 1960s and 1970s. Le Cercle rouge is one of his finest, but they're all brilliant and highly recommended.)

Read the main story on the series Masterlist.

Usual Visiting taglist: @jack-whiskey-daniels , @julesonrecord , @tessa-quayle , @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush , @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss , @imaswellkid , @intheorangebedroom , @javierisms , @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile, @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring, @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi, @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse, @lizzie-cakes

His warm, broad hand rests lightly on your shoulder as he passes you at the dining table. You turn to look up at him, handsome face full of concern.

“You’re not yourself. What’s up?”

You sigh and stare into your coffee. “It’s dumb.”

He pulls out a chair and sits down, quirking an eyebrow. “If it’s bothering you, I doubt it’s dumb. What’s wrong, love?”

“It’s this stupid essay I’m trying to get finished. I’m missing some of the stuff that would be really useful for it, and I should have gone to see it last time I was in Paris, and I’m frustrated with myself.”

“That’s not dumb, darling. Even if you are being too hard on yourself, as usual.”

You slump forward on the table, mumbling against the wooden surface. “And then I thought about how easy it used to be to just…pop over to Paris, whenever I could, and then I started thinking about it and how much I love it.”

He pats your arm affectionately. “Still not dumb.”

“And then we watched Le Cercle rouge last night and even all those dodgy cops and inspecteurs in their trenchcoats and hats and crime were making me miss Paris. See? Dumb.”

Ben shakes his head and smiles softly. “Not dumb at all. It’s a part of you, of who you are.” He traces a circle on the back of your hand. “And anyway, didn’t you once tell me you had a thing for dodgy cops with moustaches?” He looks at you mischievously and you grin.

“You, Benjamin, are a very tolerant man.” You reach out and trace your fingers over the coarse hair on one side of his face, and he closes his eyes and hums happily.

“I love you, Lyddie. It’ll be okay.” He pushes himself away from the table and heads towards the hallway. “I gotta go for my early seminar, but keep Hemingway in mind.”

You laugh and roll your eyes affectionately. “Of course, the answer is in literature.” He pauses at the door, waiting for you to acknowledge the quotation. “‘Wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.’”

He does that half-smile that never fails to make you melt, blows you a kiss, and heads off to work.

You meet him later for lunch, having worked at home for most of the morning. In between bites of his sandwich, he excitedly talks about the graduate seminar he’d taught, and you discuss your plans for your workshop on gender and visual culture that afternoon while Ben listens attentively.

“You feeling any better?” he asks, as you brush a stray couple of crumbs from his moustache.

“A bit. I’m sorry, I just spiralled. Probably mostly stress and frustration at my own shitty work ethic and crap ideas.”

He kisses the tips of your fingers swiftly and discreetly, and you giggle. “You have to be kinder to yourself. You’re working too hard, thinking about it too much.”

You clear your table and bring your trays to the designated area, hands brushing lightly against each other as you stroll out of the cafeteria and back towards your building and your offices. You smile to yourself at how, even now, the slightest touch from him sends a current of electricity sparking through your body.

Ben opens his office door and pulls you in for a quick kiss before you have to go and teach. He pulls away reluctantly as you whine softly.

“Please be kinder to yourself, Lyd.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as you move into the hallway. “I’m happy to help distract you, you know.”

“I’m home, love!”

You drop your bag beside the hall table and hang your coat up on the rack before kicking off your shoes and stretching upwards as you walk towards the kitchen, where you expect to find him. On days when you have a later teaching schedule, Ben likes to get home earlier, finish his work in his attic study, and then get dinner started for both of you.

Something delicious is cooking away in the CrockPot, but there’s no sign of your boyfriend. You pass into the dining room, noticing the light from the living room coming through the glass-panelled doors.

Ben is sitting on the sofa, wearing his glasses - nothing out of the ordinary there. But he’s also clad in the trenchcoat he wore for his Dave Toschi costume on Halloween, which is decidedly weird.

“Uh, baby? You okay?”

He turns to face you, arching an eyebrow and running his eyes up and down your body as if he’s appraising you.

“Ben?”

“Bonsoir, mademoiselle.”

You scrunch your face up in absolute confusion, and wonder if you should call Jen. Maybe some kind of accident happened at work? Did he take a knock to the head?

“Ben, I’m…what the fuck is happening?”

He holds a hand up to one side of his face and does a sort of stage whisper. “Go with it, Lyd! Just an attempt at cheering you up. You want to stop, just say the word.”

You burst out laughing and shake your head. “No, I’m… I’ll see where this leads, monsieur.”

He grins in satisfaction and stands up. “Je suis Inspecteur Timothée Roquefort, and…uh, I mean, et je suis un…Parisian police homme.”

“Baby, I know your French is better than this.”

Ben holds up a hand and continues speaking in what can only be described as one of the worst comedy French accents you have ever heard. “Mademoiselle! Do not interrupt moi.”

You bite your lip, body shaking with laughter. “D’accord, monsieur.”

“I received une message at the commissariat de police that une jolie femme was…” He looks away as he thinks. “Triste parce que she is not in Pareeeeee.”

“D’accord, mais je ne sais pas pourquoi les flics doivent intervenir dans une question personnelle, en fait, et alors -” [Okay, but I don’t know why cops have to intervene in a personal matter, really, and anyway -]

Ben looks panicked, and starts to rub at one side of his moustache with his pointer finger.

“Uh… HON HON HON. OMELETTE DU FROMAGE.”

That does it. You collapse against him in a fit of laughter, eyes creased and tears rolling down your cheeks. He holds you close against him as you look up at his open, handsome face.

“You are a very goofy man, Benjamin Morales, and I love you for it. Though I don’t really understand how I want to fuck you this badly even with that accent.”

He grins. “You want to fuck moi because je suis a sexy Parisian police homme, non?”

He plants a kiss to your forehead as he hugs you tightly. “L’Inspecteur did have une question de plus, Lyddie.”

“Eh bien?”

You can see him struggling not to laugh as he makes a cheesy, cliched “sexy” face at you.

“La question, s’il vous plait.”

“Well, mademoiselle…” Ben shrugs off the trenchcoat to reveal the shoulder holsters he’d worn at Halloween. The ones that had helped show you just how beautifully broad he was. The ones you’d held onto as the two of you sat as close as it was possible for two friends to sit, both taking any opportunity to make contact with the other’s body.

The ones you’d asked him, a while back, if he’d kept. “Just because,” you’d explained. “They were kinda hot.”

You reach out and trace your fingers over the leather of the straps, biting your lip and feeling the flame of your desire building steadily into an inferno.

“La question, monsieur l’Inspecteur.”

He arches his brow and gives you his most seductive smile. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

You make it to the bedroom in record time, laughing as you race up the stairs and sit down on the bed as he stands in front of you.

“Where do you want me for the, uh, investigation, monsieur l’Inspecteur?”

Ben grins delightedly and leans forward, encouraging you to lie back on the mattress as he shifts his broad form over you, arms caging your body as you run your hands over his warm, solid chest and that tummy that makes you absolutely feral. His white shirt is perfectly snug, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, and your hips are already shifting upwards to meet his crotch, desperate for him.

You grip the shoulder holsters as Ben chuckles, bringing his head lower and whispering in your ear. “Je think that les clues are hidden dans your body.”

You both burst out laughing, but your eyes stay trained on each other, never breaking the intense intimacy and erotic power of the shared gaze.

“You should probably do some searching, then, Inspecteur.”

Ben kisses you deeply as he moves you towards the middle of the bed and loosens his tie before unbuttoning your blouse, bringing his mouth to every new area of skin exposed. “Might be here?” he murmurs, lips brushing off the velvety flesh of your breasts before sucking on your nipples through the pink lace of your bra.

Your back arches as you gasp. “No, don’t think so…sir.”

You feel his cock twitch in his pants at that and you smile wickedly. “Liked that, did we? Sir?”

Ben hides his face against your tummy and laughs. “Maybe.” His broad hands roam up to your shoulders as he helps you out of your blouse, before tracing the outline of your waist and the curves of your hips and ass as he unbuttons your dark green pants and slips his fingers into your panties.

“Fuck, Ben, fuck, that’s -”

“Maybe the clues are here? What do you think, mademoiselle?”

He shifts his body down the bed and looks up at you lasciviously, eyes burning black with lust as he pulls your pants down and discards them. He eases your legs apart and you react with a gasp and a giggle as he works his way up your thighs.

“Looking for treasure, sir?”

He laughs, low and warm, and brings his face to your core. “Found it, mademoiselle.” The heat of his mouth hits your pussy through the fabric of your panties, and you moan loudly. He hums happily as he kisses your soaking cunt, pulling the fabric aside to grant him more access before he drags them off you completely and buries his mouth between your legs. His tongue moves between your folds, flicking your clit every now and again before diving into the warm wetness of your entrance while the strong line of his nose keeps the pressure on the sensitive nub.

The first orgasm hits you hard, and your hips bear down on Ben’s face as he groans with pleasure. He slips two fingers inside you to sustain the climax a little longer, and with the other hand unbuckles his belt and undoes his zipper, slipping off his pants and boxer briefs while he continues to massage the spot inside you that he knows, having had you so many times, will deepen the orgasm and build to an even stronger one next time.

“Need you, baby,” you whine, eyes drifting to his hard cock, tip glistening with pre-come. “Need you so badly.”

You reach up as he shifts his weight over you, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his white undervest, clinging perfectly to his gorgeous, solid form. He makes as if to take off the holsters.

“Don’t you fucking dare take those off. They’re staying on, sir.”

He raises his eyebrows and laughs. “Oh, mademoiselle likes them, does she?”

You giggle, feeling his warm breath against your lips, and slip your fingers under the straps around his shoulders. “She really likes them, monsieur. Liked them from the first time she saw them on you.”

He kisses you hard, one hand groping your tits while the other gives his cock a few strokes as he shifts into position. “Sometimes I wish you’d told me back then, that night,” he murmurs, sucking lightly on your neck and making you cry out.

“Think we made up for lost time, though,” you gasp, tilting your head to look at his hard length notching at the wet folds of your cunt. “Please fuck me, baby.”

He slides into you in a fluid motion, moaning long and slow as he bottoms out and the tightness of your pussy takes hold around his cock. He drags back out of you slowly, luxuriantly, savouring every bump and ridge inside you and trying to restrain himself from driving back into you too quickly.

“Jesus, baby, your pussy is fucking incredible. So warm and tight for me.”

He starts to fuck you, picking up pace quickly as you keep hold of the shoulder holsters.

“Tell me, darling.”

He closes his eyes, face a perfect expression of ecstasy. “It’s just fucking perfect. Like you’re made for me, made for my cock. Made for each other.”

You tilt your pelvis slightly so that he’s grinding a little more on your clit as he moves in and out of you, and before long the friction has you coming again. Ben groans at the sensation as your pussy clenches around him and you ride out your orgasm on his cock.

“Fuck, Lyd, I - oh, fuck.” He seems surprised at how quickly his own release comes, spilling into you while he buries his face against your neck, muttering a litany of curses and praise.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck baby, that’s fucking it, that’s - my good fucking girl, fuck.”

When he lifts his head again, his face and upper body are drenched in sweat, dripping onto your neck and chest. He kisses you slowly, deeply, before he pulls out. You whine with pleasure at the taste of yourself, of your cunt, on his lips.

He flops back onto the bed, turning to kiss you again and stroke your cheek as he whispers his love for you, over and over.

You return the gesture, nuzzling against him, sated and feeling completely loved, completely adored, completely safe.

The sight of the shoulder holster makes you giggle affectionately. This beautiful, goofy, sexy man, who would come up with something so silly and so sweet and so insanely hot, just to make you feel better.

“Can the inspecteur come by another time, baby? I think there might be more cases to solve.”

(tape warning by @cafekitsune; star dividers by @saradika)

#pedrotober2023 #pedrotober #tim rockford fanfiction #timothée roquefort #visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #mr ben au #mr ben x ofc #mr ben fanfic #professor ben x ofc #professor!ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedrostories #visiting fic one shot

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desceros · 2 months

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Why did you call the fic "Ataraxia"?

I remember I studied that word in philosophy years ago, doesn't it mean something like serenity or calmness?

-trenchcoat

excellent question, tc! thank you for the excuse to lore dump hahahaha

you are correct! ataraxia is an idea in several different schools of thought, like stoicism and epicureanism. it represents the release of emotional disquiet to achieve something kind of like a mental tranquility.

i always pictured that the early part of a relationship with villain donnie would be quite tumultuous. he’s a difficult person to be with, romantically and sexually. he’s mean and cruel and possessive and jealous. the insert-chan for this au is strong-willed and almost attracted to him against your wish. it’s like. man. out of all the guys that snag your attention, it’s this guy?? this guy?? the annoying guy who gives you troublesome gifts and blows up your phone with messages and has a hissy fit whenever you ignore him??

it drives you nuts how someone like him just has you wrapped around his finger. you hate it. you hate how much you like him. you hate how good he feels. how good he makes you feel. oh if only you knew he’d felt the same way before giving in… that giving in would feel so so good…

this fic, which takes place a few months after you start having sex with donnie, is the story of when you finally realize that you do have romantic feelings for him. the moment you realize that this whole time, for donnie it’s never been “just fucking.” you aren’t just a toy to him, some little plaything he uses to distract himself. you’re his partner. his romantic partner. he loves you, and you love him. and so you shed the hesitancy, the reluctance. in so doing, you achieve a kind of ataraxia, and the life where you and donnie are equal begins.

#ask tag #villain donnie au #aaaand then you become disaster waifu to a very volatile stinky bastard. nods a lot

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marcusagrippa · 4 months

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i think that there should be more weird obimaul aus actually. what if obi-wan was a writer who only wrote one bestseller before developing chronic writer's block and maul had severe anger issues, ptsd, a crippling caffeine addiction and a child to look after. what if obi-wan found his muse in the neurotic tattooed psychopath with terrible hair and godawful fashion sense who spilled coffee on him, swore like a sailor, then damn near dropped his baby on the floor before flipping off the entire coffee shop and running outside, before he proceeds to nearly get hit by a car and falls into a manhole. or what if they were fifties noir rival detectives with cigars and dramatic flaring trenchcoats reluctantly forced to work together to investigate a string of homicides. or what if maul was a pirate. or what if they played mariokart. or what if obi-wan was secretly the vessel of a being of unimaginable eldritch power. or what if maul was a roman emperor. or what if they were in a cult but they were both cringe about it. or what if they were professional figure skaters. huh. what then.

#obimaul #im going to explode i want to write these but. no brain no words #stupid murderhusbands.........#maul #obi-wan #<3

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destieltaggedfic · 6 months

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Epic Length Fics - Part 6

I'm about to go on holiday, so I've cued up some longer fics to get me through the plane ride.

Don't Tell Sammy – MurderousQueen Ao3

Set S9. A haunted apartment building that caters to the queer community has Dean approaching Cas, asking him to pretend to be his boyfriend for the hunt. The one thing he asks is that Sam doesn’t know because he’d tease Dean. While living together Dean lets his walls down and lets Cas see more of the Real Dean than anyone has seen before. If you want a happy ending, I recommend skipping the final chapter and reading one of the alternate endings, I liked the first alternate ending.

Word Count: 242k Graphic Sexual Acts

Kiss Me in the Bread Aisle – eemwrites Ao3

Set S6ish AU. Angels are dicks but at least that apocalypse is over, now its just ordinary hunts for the Winchesters, until Dean meets a random angel in a trenchcoat in a supermarket one day. An angel he accidentally uses as a model for a fake boyfriend when being pestered by his friends. When he finds out the angel – Castiel – needs help escaping from heaven, he has a well warded place for him to hide, in return he just needs Cas to pretend to be his boyfriend for a while. And then Dean starts having dreams about Cas and an alternate way he got out of hell. (This is canon verse, but with timelines so changed that its almost an AU)

Word Count: 114k Graphic Sexual Acts

He Thought He Knew Him – lightmyway Ao3

Set S2 AU. Dean has a one night stand with FBI agent Cas Novak that turns into more. But when Cas’ cases start intersecting with hunts he may learn more about Dean than he expected and its going to change everyone’s world.

Word Count: 280k Graphic Sexual Acts

Oath of Redemption – JadedQuill Ao3

Set S7 AU. A newly human Castiel was spit out much closer to the Winchesters hideaway and they were quickly reunited after his supposed death via Leviathan. Now while he is fighting his guilt over the things he has done since the apocalypse, Cas has started sharing dreams with Dean, something that is going to lead to their relationship changing and a new case.

Word Count: 138k Non-Graphic Sex

Cas, You Had A Baby? - allthebeautifulthings9828 Ao3

Set S6ish AU. Tasked by heaven to raise a new baby angel, Cas and several other angels escape, not wanting these babies to be brought up the same as they were. Dean is 100% on board to help out.

Word Count: 133k Graphic Sexual Acts

#destiel #fic recs #epic length

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sillyandquiteawkward · 8 months

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:333 can I hear the design process that went into Ford? Or Tate?

Or if it was for Fallout OCs, curious on the Kennedy or Bayley “Concept Idea to Current” transition :>>>

<- had too much fun, did everyone mentioned.

oo so when it came to ford and tate, i had a general idea pretty strong from the get go, so there wasnt much exploration, and i wrote general notes i wanted to include in their designs and then kinda just went for it. in my notes and story plotting they were simply referred to as the waiter and the PI.

these are basically the first iterations for them, tho tate took me a while to figure out. tate was also skinnier but then i was like no i need to design with my Heart so i made him more stout instead just a simple tall guy with a dadbod body type. i just always ended up liking how ford turned out so he didnt have many changes (notably it ends up being just his hairstyle).

once i got the gist of the characters down i went back and started looking up clothes and pulling ref images to really hone in on their sense of style and fashion, since that was something for this comic i really wanted to portray. then i went back and drew a bunch of drawings of them in different outfits and tried to figure things out. like tate evolved from trenchcoat and jumpsuits to more simple things like tshirts and jackets.

i made the control meme. and then. i put them on the back burner as i did other things for months. and when the new year hit, i ran to start drawing them again to start the comic on a whim, and did the simple, draw what you remember and see whats the most important character traits. i think i wouldve liked to have more time to really iron more things out before i jumped into the comic but i feared being stuck in planning hell and never being able to Start.

kennedy is a fun one bc i designed him to be a matching cowboy oc pair with raynersjournal and an overall group of four. simply the concept idea for kennedy was red badboy cowboy twink. another kind of design i did in one based on vibes and probably google images of cowboys for clothes insp. i am a little foggy on my thought process for designing ken but that was pretty much it. one and done type guy. i think i was feeling particularly inspired by funky eyebrows and giant sharp nose shapes.

i think kennedy has been pretty consistent in characterization, but i think i tend to draw kennedy less boxy now, and ive smoothed him out because ive shaped him more into this devious snake oil kind of guy that looks sweet, instead of this whirlwind fireball. for a second, i stopped drawing kennedy with his square jawline, but ive been trying to make sure i remember to draw it bc i think its a good trait of his that makes for nice contrast in his feminine design.

bayley is Also interesting bc he had several pre-designs which is different for me. the concept of bayley being a fucked up scientist to be the antagonist for cc's story was first inspired by one of my goretober prompts, where a unknown scientist was attempting to vivisect hancock. his design was very minimal and more of an after thought.

after that came me trying to come up with a story and a scientist for cc to Have his third arm from. then i tried to doodle some scientist design with that inspiration from mr. goretober and came up with this guy.

but i didnt like him! i didnt think it was the right type of dynamic Look and i wasnt in love with the design so i tried again when i went to actually make ccs into comic. which is where we get this guy who looks More like bayley, but without the sideburns.

his sideburns grow as time goes on, longer and longer, until i start drawing them Bushy and big and the rest is history, i think i was inspired actually by how ray drew them one time and i just took it and ran. another bayley off shoot is evil bayley who channels mr goretober in his rancid vibes, while looking like regular bayley, bc i love au clones.

#THANK YOU FOR ASKING ILUUUU #I WENT HAM. SORRY <3 #silly art tag #just gonna put it in the general tag bc itd be fun to stumble across this later. and its art so who cares i make the rules

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littleeyesofpallas · 5 months

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Got a fun ask from @macchiato-dreaming22.

I'll be honest I'm kind of weird in my relationship with headcanon and fanfic in that I'm kind of not all that engaged with characters as characters, if that makes sense? I'm not the type to get hung up on "he would not say that" sort of quibbles, or really dwell freefloating in the spaces inbetween canon characterization the way a lot of fanfic writers, or RPers, or stans or shippers or whatever else you'd call it do. I can appreciate the need or the preference to do so but it doesn't really call to me the way it seems to to them. So what I tend to do is try and round up all the otherwise loose bits of canon trivia and try and piece them together, only loosely speculating about things that havent happened based on their adjacency to things that have. I dunno if that makes any sense at all as a distinction...

Anyway point being is that the fact that I've never thought very hard about how old the Visored are individually/relatively sort stems from that M.O. but also I can definitely figure out what my own existing headcanon would imply is the answer to that question, and so that's what I'm going to do.

(And to be clear I'm not really going to fuss about the ages, relative or otherwise, within the strict canon of completed manga so much as I'm going to take my headcanon/AU for the character concepts and run with things from there. That might not make sense right now, but it should clear itself up as I get going.)

oh boy this got long...

So as a refresher on the AU I never wrote: Given their introduction between vol.21-26, my headcanon is that the Visored were never a bunch of gotei captains and lieutenants, they were a bunch of humans, each became something like a substitute shinigami in their own right, and then had those powers taken from them, at which point Urahara conveniently appeared and took advantage of each of their desperation to get their powers back to experiment on them, working out the system he'd eventually use on Ichigo. So it's not only the hollow aspect as an impurity, but the fact that they (re)obtained their shinigami skills in spite of being stripped of their substitute shinigami status that makes them criminals. But in the process, each of them would either be abandoned or otherwise escape Urahara's "care" and/or observation.

Given the implicit consequences of the Shattered Shaft method, and Bleach's general world building, the elephant in the room we never had addressed was that because Ichigo and in this interpretation of their premise, the Visored, all had their soul chains severed, thus separating their soul from their body, making them ghosts. That in mind, I consider them all to have stopped aging when the Visored process took place, and THAT is where I anchor most of them to certain time periods based on their basic design and sense of style. (technically I do sort of head canon them as all having been turned in the 1970s, thus ~30years prior to the start of Bleach, which is, ya know, the right age for the father of a 15yo to have been about 15 30 years ago... but if i just left it at that it'd be kind of boring, so I'm letting these age ranges drift a little, if only to make this whole thought experiment more interesting.)

So for starters, I associated Shinji with the British Jazz-Rock and Mod scenes of the 1960s: the hair, the teeth, the ugly ties, the scolor scheme, even the trenchcoat he wore the one time at random, the only thing he was missing was a moped. I also very specifically think of him as a Pete Townshend analog for some reason. So given that he passed as a 15yo highschooler in Karakura, I'm going to say I think he was 15 when he was turned in 1965, so it aligns with The Who's release of the song My Generation. So that puts Shinji's birth in 1950.

The easiest to nail down actually would just be Mashiro, since she clearly borrows from very Himitsu Sentai Go-ranger specifically, but also Kamen Rider more generally. That puts a cap on how old she could be at 1975 as the airdate of the original Super Sentai series. It's hard to judge her age considering she's so distinctly childish, but it's kind of implied that even supernatural aging aside, she's immature for her age. It's an arbitrary call to make, but I'm gonna say she was 10 in 1975 when the tokusatsu thing left an impact on her, but got turned when she was older and just never grew out of it. So born 1960.

Another somewhat straight forward one to pin down is Kensei, who I associate with the Vietnam War, and implicitly the 1969 lottery draft, and the US Military occupation of Okinawa as a launch pad into Vietnam. Although historically the actual draft applied only to those born between 1944-1950, making any draftee who deployed in 1970 at least 20yo, and I see the Visored as kind of explicitly teens, so I'll say he wasn't drafted but volunteered and was 18 in 1970 and when he was turned. That makes him born in 1952.

(I could have alternatively nailed him down to the 1980s bosozoku scene on account of his later theming, but the super distinctive cargo pants, combat boots, short hair, and a rubber grip combat knife all point to more of a military theme than a biker thing --also there's some military motif in one of his random attacks to boot. Although arguably that style of knife grip is even more modern, but I don't get the impression Kubo was thinking about it that hard, just about whether it gave off the right (para)military vibe.)

Funny enough Risa is one of the harder ones to really tie to a time period, as her classic sailor-fuku could be placed anywhere from the 1920s to the 1980-90s when they started falling out of style. Notably though they have a stronger association with middle school than high school, and Risa is also a pervert, so I want to say she's wearing it as a fetish thing, rather than as an actual student. That in mind, the school girl fetish really took off in the 80s and hit its peak in the 90s just before social awareness and political actions to try and curb the trend started being put into place. (Oh and I forgot, her Visored mask is a Gyan from Mobile Suit Gundam, so that already caps her at 1979.)

(I was also going to add something about Comiket and the birth of the doujin market, but that actually overlaps with this timeline already so it doesn't really narrow things down at all. It's pretty arbitrary but I'm gonna pin her to 1984 as the date the term "Cosplay" was first used. Assuming she was also 18 at the time, that makes her born in 1966)

(There's ALSO a weird thing in one of her attacks, and the general style of her shikai, and very very loosely a possible Chun-li reference that all seem to suggest she's got a bit of a chinese thing going on too? but I don't see how it gels with the rest of it, and it's just kind of a deadend to look further into. Technically there's a whole character type of the fujoshi/female otaku being very into chinese historical/fantasy, so like... maybe that because ti woud mesh with the general otaku vibe of the school girl uniform??? Theres a reason I didn't pursue this angle...)

Rose, I could try and triangulate the whole bishounen trend in 70s shoujo manga, but I'm gonna be lazy and just say he's the same age a Bjorn Andresen and born in 1955 as that more or less lands him right smack dab in the timeframe I would've ended up pinpointing anyway, give or take. For technicality's sake I'll say he was turned at 17, thus technically qualifying him as a proper bishounen and not just bidanshi, making him turned in 1972.

Hacchi is so hard to work with in this context... So long as this is all just headcanon anyway I'm gonna let go of even loose anchors to canon and just say his whole tux getup is a host club thing. (I know that doesn't quite feel right, even to me, but I gotta pick something instead of just juggling "maybes" and "sortas" for forever... I can't really match the look to much else eotherwise... Like a wedding caterer maybe? One half of a classic Japanese standup comedy act? Some kind of a stage magician?) Host clubs only really took off in the late 90s, peaking in the 2000s. Considering the range of dates on the other members this does kind of afford him the chance to be older, although it's sort of weird if he's the only physical adult in the whole group... If I call him 25 at the tail end of the slow decline post 80s bubble economy pop, around 2002, then that makes him born in 1979. (if i shift that back to the start of the pop in 1992, it slides him more in line with the others at 1957, but then he's kind of out of the range of the host club thing.... I dunno, man, Hacchi's an enigma... He really is maybe the absolutel single biggest wrench in this whole thing, which is a damn shame because he's maybe my favorite visored.)

(love that the little cartoon in the sweatpants was the exact thing that showed up when i googled guudara[ぐうたら]:"lazybones; good-for-nothing; idler; slacker; loafer")

It took me a second to remember who I'd missed. Love and his weird slacker, drop out, tracksuit thing scream 80s to me, and technically the whole adidas tracksuit look was in fact a 70s-80s thing. it's a much less specific kinda look than some of the others where it can be tied to specific characters, titles, and authors, or historical events... I'm gonna go out on a limb with this one and just tether it to 1984 and the release of the Run-DMC album, if only because they're the only specific names I can tie to the tracksuit look, rather than just a general casualwear trend. If Love was, say, 17 in 1984, he'd have been born in 1967.

And then that just leaves Hiyori.... Hers is such a general look that I have like zero idea where to place it. It falls into a similar time span as Love's with the track suit thing. but then she's got that mountain hick country bumpkin sorta thing going for her, which suggests she's kind of out of style, so then is her tracksuit look sort of out of date? She very specifically has some general parallels with Kumiko, in the manga Gokusen as a homely, spunky, firebrand kinda gal. If I consider that Gokusen came out in 2000, and had Kumiko be 23yo, then if I map that onto Hiyori, she'd have been born in 1977? But clearly turned very early as she's by far the youngest of the Visored physiologically.

BDAY - name (age apparent/real)

MAY 10, 1950 - Shinji (15/55)

JUL 30, 1952 - Kensei (18/53)

MAR 17, 1955 - Rose (17/50)

SEP 8, 1957 - Hacchi (25/48)

APR 1, 1960 - Mashiro (16/40)

FEB 3, 1966 - Risa (18/39)

OCT 10, 1967 - Love (17/38)

AUG 1, 1977 - Hiyori (13/28)

I guess the only thing I'd do to manually tweak these is nudge a few years around to more evenly space them out... Maybe make Mashiro a Visored before Kensei, because I feel like that's how their some of their conversations in the early arc pointed. I can't figure out if I feel like Hiyori gives off the vibes of being the first or the last recruited Visored... I like that she bosses others around like she has seniority, but also she seems like the most inexperienced and rough around the edges, as well as the overt comparison to Ichigo. Although actual age-vs-apparent age aside, the order in which they were actually recruited into the ramshackle gang they are is a timeline all its own.

Again though, I think of the Visored as that ramshackle band of undead kids squatting in an abandoned factory hoping the samurai death cops don't find them, or the mad scientist that threw them into a hole in the first place --half of them convinced that the whole process was a mistake and who just want to not have a monster inside them anymore, and that the hogyoku is the key to turning them back, but then at least Shinji secretly convinced that he's just a god in the making and wants to hougyoku to push the transformation even further.(ala the general thrust of the Fullbringer premise) The ones Ukitake betrayed for the sake or balance and order, ala his yinyang theming. The one he's secretly using ichigo to monitor via the substitute badge. Rather than just a bunch of weird coworkers who had one bad night and then just sat around doing nothing for like 100 years.

(Again, see all the odd little details of how they were introduced that later got steamrolled or just outright ignored: Urahara and Isshin talking as if they're not in touch with the Visored. Hiyori's between-two-worlds talk with Shinji emphasizing the line between humans and shinigami. Hiyori and Shinji having signs of a practiced recruitment process they're using with Ichigo. Kensei not being at all familiar with Mashiro's training process. Kensei thinking Orihime slipping thru the barrier could've been another visored, as if it's just assumed there are an indeterminate number of others out there unaffiliate with them. etc... yadda yadda.. I've made this post somewhere before, right? or has it only ever popped up in bits and pieces?)

Anyway all that just to reiterate that this whole exercise is less preoccupied with trying to make any particular "sense" out of the manga's canon backstory, and more just a pulling on loose threads of my own headcanon.

(Oh, and because there wasn't any better place to throw it in there: in this headcanon, Shinji was Isshin's substitute 30 years ago.)

#bleach meta(?)#bleach headcanon #bleach au #bleach rewrite #should'a/could'a/would'a #god what happened we've become so unmoored from the text #every divergent meta post i make #i take a step further toward becoming totally incomprehensible #this got weird and dumb FAST #one of these days i should just go down the timeline #and just outline my alt Bleach plot in its entirety #but that sounds like effort

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animaginaryartblog · 5 months

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[Image ID: several colored sketches of different Sonic the Hedgehog characters. In the top left a logo reads "Heart of the Chaos: A Sonic the Hedgehog x Yu-Gi-Oh! AU".

The top half of the page is a line up of Sonic characters, each redesigned to resemble a corresponding Yu-Gi-Oh! character. From left to right: Amy is Anzu/Téa, wearing an orange jacket and a green skirt much like Anzu's school uniform. She stands with an annoyed expression, one hand on her hip and the other gesturing to the side.

Marine is Jonouchi/Joey, wearing a white shirt, green jacket, blue jeans and black-and-white sneakers she might have killed someone over. She keeps her usual pigtails, but they are pulled back and up to mimic the shape of Joey's pompadour, and she has bangs over her eyes. She stands with arms folded and chest puffed out, looking pleased with herself.

Knuckles is Honda/Tristan, wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a long brown trenchcoat. His quills are pulled back in a high ponytail. He stands with his hands in his trench coat pockets, casting an annoyed glance Marine's direction.

Silver is (Ryou) Bakura. His forehead quills are shorter and flop over like bangs rather than point straight up like regular Silver's do. He wears a cream sweater, blue jeans, and simple black and white sneakers. He looks to the side with a small smile on his face.

Rouge is Mai. She wears a black skirt and an matching jacket, with a sleeveless purple top underneath. She retains her pink-cuffed gloves and heart-tipped boots. Her hair is longer than canon Rouge's, falling past her shoulders. She has one hand on her hip, the other held up as if she is examining her nails. She looks to the side with a smirk.

On the bottom half of the page are several drawings recreating Yu-Gi-Oh! screenshots, but replacing the characters with their respective AU Sonic counterparts. Knuckles lifts Marine by her shirt collar as he scolds her for doing something stupid. Super Sonic (taking the place of Yami Yugi) grimaces awkwardly as birds land on him and Amy watches with amusement. There are several drawings of Marine making Joey faces.

Finally, in the bottom right corner is a redraw of a Yu-Gi-Oh! manga panel. Silver holds the Scepter of Darkness (this AU's equivalent of the Millennium Ring), looking at it with an expression of concentration while Tails, Knuckles, and Marine comedically freak out to the side. /end ID]

Yu-Gi-Oh! AU, part 2! I've fallen in love with the idea of Joey!Marine in case you couldn't tell.

Other drawings of this AU: Tails!Yugi and Sonic!Yami | Sonic Hate Club | Ancient Egypt Gang

See also: my closely related inverse AU that puts Yu-Gi-Oh! characters in the Sonic setting. I have some new ideas for it that I should really draw at some point. the ideas... they torment me...

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skulkerdevils · 11 months

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I got an idea for a bad ending A.U for resident evil 4... It's going to get dark real quickly, so strap in...

In this bad ending AU for Resident Evil 4, Albert Wesker kidnaps Ashley Graham and forces her to bear his child, a son named Jake. Wesker intends to use Jake's unique genetic makeup to create a new breed of super-soldier, one that he can use to achieve his ultimate goal of global domination.

Ashley is horrified by Wesker's plans and the fact that she is now a prisoner, forced to raise a child under the control of an evil mastermind. She tries to escape but is always foiled by Wesker's highly trained security team.

As Jake grows older, he becomes aware of his father's true intentions and begins to rebel against him. With Ashley's help, he eventually escapes Wesker's clutches and sets out to stop his father from carrying out his plans for world domination.

Jake discovers that he possesses incredible physical abilities, including enhanced strength, speed, and agility, which he uses to battle Wesker and his forces. In a final showdown, Jake confronts Wesker and is able to defeat him in a brutal fight to the death.

With Wesker gone, Jake is hailed as a hero and is able to use his abilities to help rebuild the world in the aftermath of the Las Plagas/ Uroboros outbreak. However, he is haunted by the memories of his childhood and the fact that he was forced to grow up under the shadow of his evil father. Ashley, too, is left to grapple with the trauma of her captivity and the fact that she was forced to mother a child under such terrible circumstances.

Leon Scott Kennedy failed his mission... Lost an arm and an eye, and now lives a rural life amongst the farmers... But Jake stirred him up... And now he's fighting for his life and against the Las Plagas parasite inside him that lies dormant.

Chris Redfield has been captured and both tortured and forced to train and "break" Jake... He'll never forgive himself for what he was forced to do.

Ada Wong searches for the cure for the Las Plagas... Just to help Leon through the hell he's been through... But got captured by Wesker's Security Team and was subjected to experimentation and turned into the first female bioweapon.

Wesker took over the world successfully, ruling with an iron fist, he enjoys for ing Ashley to "love" him. He sought to build an army of super soldiers... Forcing her into a life she didn't want.

Any one else of importance was executed in public for treason against Albert Wesker's rule.

Basic Description of Jake (Graham) Wesker:

Height: 5 foot 11 inches

Weight: 150 pounds 12 ounces

Hair color: born blonde but dyed it black as a way to rebel against his father's ideology

Clothing style: Black hooded baggy trenchcoat wore open, military green tee-shirt, police standard bulletproof vest, black carpenter pants, police standard gun belt, grey leather gloves, standard issue military boots (these get switched out with standard sneakers later on in the story,) chains hanging from belt.

Jake has a mutated parasite that was originally a version of the Las Plagas... But the Uroboros parasite caused a mutation within it... Creating a whole new parasite that has its own sentience and somewhat personality.

Parasite Codename: Cerberus

Parasite description: takes the form of a semi amorphous blood like liquid, usually a three headed wolf-like creature that leaks from his left wrist... It is canonically considered his parasitic twin... But Jake treats it more like a pet (if you would consider having a ravenous monster a pet,) it constantly sends impulses to his brain, causing him to ravenge, causing several casualties.

The beginning of this au would start with him coming down from one of these episodes of brutal violence... Being hugged by Ashley, who sacrificed a leg to calm down the hungry parasite.

(possible) gameplay loop:

You'd start out like a normal Resident Evil gameplay... But in the middle of the first boss fight, you'd (Jake) will start hearing a voice in his head telling him to feast... You'd then start playing as a parasite mutated version of him... Having three heads, eating to the boss (could be a bioweapon gone rouge.)

You'd spend the next hour of gameplay gathering information on your dad's (Albert Wesker's) plans... Sabotaging it.

You'd get into a fight with security, where Ashley distracts them by falling over, faking a seizure.

The last two to three hours would be spent outside of the complex Wesker had you and Ashley trapped in, meeting Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong and another original female character, who you instantly (you as in Jake) develop a crush on.

You'd have to make a decision between helping Leon save himself from the Las Plagas parasite, or kill him.

You'll find Chris Redfield holding a gun to his head and have the decision between telling him you forgive him and stopping him from killing himself, or let him do so.

You'll have to choose between bringing back Ada Wong from the brink of predatory insanity, or let her loose in the world as an insane killer bioweapon.

If you choose to save them all, they'll be by your side at the beginning of the fight...

Leon Kennedy with his pitchfork, wielding it like a spear.

Chris Redfield would have an assault rifle.

Ada Wong with her bare hands.

At the end of the boss fight with Albert Wesker, you can either give in to the parasite within... Initiating the "total bad ending," and becoming nothing more than a monster that rules over the world like your dad, or only cripple him permanently, forcing him to live in suffering and misery for the rest of his life, initiating the good ending.

In the good ending, you'll cripple him, leaving him to suffer, walking out of the room, meeting back up with Ashley, who hugs you tightly and thanks you for saving her and the world... While also making a quip about you being an emo boy.

In the bad ending, you'll walk out of the room, the Cerberus parasite holding Albert Wesker's head in one of its mouths, before crushing it... Ashley Graham will see this and be repulsed, believing that you are a monster yourself, causing you (Jake) to lose all hope in himself, letting the parasite eat her... You then take Wesker's place as the planet's ruler.

Final boss fight important details:

You soon get strong enough to fight Albert Wesker himself... Who initiates the fight by paralyzing Jake's crush.

You'll be unarmed, no weapons... So neither will he.

Wesker will constantly call you a mistake and a failure, insulting you the entire time.

(A/N: I know people are so going to hate me... But I have to be honest... The idea of the perfectionists own "perfect" child killing them to save the day is incredibly appealing to me.)

#re4 au #albert wesker #ashley graham #bad ending #re oc #resident evil #re4 #let me have this #resident evil au #trauma #dark and gritty

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cooliogirl101 · 2 years

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At first I couldn’t see Hisana/Gin as anything more than platonic frenemies but after some deep mulling i.e. fever dreams in the middle of the night after rereading, I can now conclude that yes. I ship it😔😔They are not what I thought I needed, but here I am, clutching them to my chest, and feeling my heart burn. 😭😭 Do you have any thing more of them in the Naruto AU?

He doesn't recognize her the first time they meet. Why would he? Different reiatsu signature (although here they call it chakra), different body, different face. She doesn't recognize him either, doesn't give him much thought aside from the fact that he's the Hokage's son, and, more importantly, Kushina's baby. She does notice the odd way he twitches at the sound of her name (but then babies always do odd things, don't they?), a movement so subtle she wouldn't have noticed had she not been holding him at the time. 5 year old Uchiha Hisana tells Minato congratulations, tells Kushina she'll be happy to babysit anytime, and that's that.

He doesn't recognize her the second, third, or fourth times they meet either. A few months short of his first birthday however, Kushina (he still doesn't think of her as mother) makes him attend the birthday party of some squealing brat (Satoshi, maybe, or Seiji-- something beginning with S). Ten minutes in and Gin (he still doesn't think of himself as Naruto) is ready to kill someone, maybe multiple someones. The birthday kid is screaming his head off because his big brother got called away for a mission. His screaming has apparently set off a chain reaction because at least three other brats have joined him in the chorus from hell. The Inuzuka kid's dog, apparently agitated from all the screaming, just made a run for it, bowling over a toddler in a trenchcoat (?) in its bid to get away.

To trenchcoat kid's credit though, at least he doesn't start crying like everyone else. No, he just sits down on the ground, cradling something in his hands, unnoticed in the chaos around him.

Or maybe not completely unnoticed.

Gin watches as Uchiha Hisana heads over to him, leaning down to whisper a few words in his ear. After a few seconds, the kid allows her to help him up and lead him away to a more secluded spot. Faintly curious despite himself, Gin follows them, hiding himself behind a bush.

"--shh, it's okay, see? I'm just taking away its pain, so it's not hurting," Uchiha Hisana says reassuringly to the kid-- an Aburame, Gin realizes. There's a kikachu on the ground in front of them, part of its shell crushed and several legs broken.

"...'ll be okay?" The Aburame kid asks quietly, still staring down at the injured kikachu. Hisana's expression softens.

"Yes," she promises. "Full recovery."

Gin watches as her hands light up with a familiar green glow, feeling an odd tightening sensation in his chest. He knows he's being irrational, that it's impossible for her to be-- that she can't be-- and yet.

And yet.

There's only one healer he knows who takes the time and effort to always start off by relieving her patients' pain. And only one healer he knows who'd take the time and effort to treat something as insignificant as an insect.

He waits until after she hands the insect, good as new, back to the Aburame boy, before stepping out from behind the bushes.

"Oh!" She says, surprised. "Naruto-kun, what are you--"

"Hisana?" He interrupts her, watching her intently for-- for some sign. Some sign that she could be--

She stops as she takes him in. Goes still. He watches her eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly in shock, trying desperately to ignore the tight sensation in his chest that feels increasingly like hope, as--

"Gin?"

"How did ya know?" He asked her later. "That it was me, I mean."

Hisana huffed a laugh, tilting her head up towards the sky.

"No one else has ever looked at me the way you do," she said wryly. "It's hard to forget." She glanced back at him. "What about you? How did you recognize me?"

"Who else would go ta all that trouble of savin' a bug, just ta make some brat feel better?" He shrugged. "Never understood how ya survived the Rukongai goin' out of your way to help every sob story ya came across."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Hisana waved him off. "Too soft to survive the Rukongai. Too soft to be a shinigami. And now, too soft to be a ninja," she mocked. "Well, I seem to have made it just fine, haven't I?"

"Remind me again, how many times have ya died?" He asked.

"Seeing as you're here, how many times have you?" She retorted. Gin paused.

"Fair enough." He smiled to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "So, what happens now?"

Hisana raised her eyebrows.

"What happens now? What happens is that I go back to my clan compound, I work on figuring out this whole ninja thing, and I try to knock some social skills into my socially inept cousins. You go back to your happy toddler life, or whatever the hell you were doing before you found me. Given that we live on opposite sides of the city, we'll probably barely see each other and with any luck, we'll never have to work together professionally in the future. We mutually agree to forgive and forget all the times we tried to kill each other, and decide to become distant former acquaintances instead. That's what's gonna happen."

Gin smiled, eyes squinting closed.

"Of course, Hisana-chan. Whatever you want."

~~The very next day~~

"What do you mean the Hokage assigned me to be your personal tutor?!"

(I love Byakuya/Hisana very much, but I have to admit Gin/Hisana is my guilty pleasure)

#sharindone hisana

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kujakumai · 2 years

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For the past several days my brain has been picturing a Heathers AU where Marik gets tricked into murdering Seto Kaiba by local goth trenchcoat weirdo Y.B. I don’t know where it’s going with this.

#marik ishtar could do heathers and winona ryder could do battle city #they have the range

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the-fat-raccoon · 2 years

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How have your theories Evolved my good honorary Gorpster

Ok I kept holding off on this one but it's time.

The Refined Understanding Of The Gorp Arg (I Understand Less Now)

Let me start off by saying apparently there's dubious cannon in the fuckimg. gorp arg. so I have no clue how much of anything is actual cannon. Or if any of this is even right

Alright let's go back to Nelson because this motherfucker haunts me in tags on the daily.

His full name is Nelson Stanley Berg which made me think this was like. A weird tsp au where he was Stanley stand in. And thread was 432s stand in and Sam the Narrator etc etc. But this all went immediately out the window once I saw 432 send thread an ask and referred to the other characters separately. This caused great pain as I thought I finally figured it out. Anyways.

He is dating Sam Akon who is. checks notes old and gay and 6 feet tall. And he dyes his hair but not with Kool aid that part was a joke. I think his thing is 💖 or one of the pink hearts but idk for sure. That is all I know about Sam Akon.

Nelson's is 💙 or 💙🤍 yeah? or is 💙🤍 referring to him plus someone else

IS. IS THAT WHAT THE FUCKING NAILPOLISH IS ABOJT. DID SOMETHING HAPPEN THERE. WAIT FUCK HOLD ON. HOLD ON I JUST MADE THAT CONNECTION WHILE TYPING. IS THAT. WHAT. WHAT HAPPENED??

Nelson is YOUR FATHER!?!!? YOUR DAD YOUR FATHER THIS MAN IS A FATHER????!?!? MY HONORARY FATHER MY STEP DAD ?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!? AND APPARENTLY THIS IS LIKE. A MAJORLY IMPKRTANT PLOT POINT I ONLY RECENTLY FOUND OHT ABOUT. HES YOUR DAD !?!?!?!?

Moving on. Let's talk about thread

per my last insane rambling, I've gotten confirmation that those posts I'd see people on my dash revloggibg of someone yelling about beasts is in fact part of the gorp arg

This one's interesting because it's the most reliable source I have into the gorp arg and I do not understand it at all

So threads birthday is on the release date of the half life mod that was the original version of the stanley parable. Which made me think again, au with different charactersfilling in these roles after somethinghappened to the original cast, but this was before disproven.

Thread is conflicted between being just the settings mf and having. yknow. Feelings And Shit. Also there's a hatred for Nelson I think? maybe. Idk the impression bit and the Sam akon info gathering made it hard to tell what emotion was brought forth from Nelsom but I think it's hatred. Idk I thought the impression bit was like. Really funny. Made me smile.

BEAST1

its is 💜 right? or 💜🖤?

Anyways. Favorite character. Probably because it's the only one I've seen do or say anything but. I didn't have to make that thread art for my warm up that shit jumped out from some part of me that apparently really wanted to design the "Setting page in an anxiety trenchcoat" as it has been so lovingly reffered to as in my notes several times.

Diane and the overseer??? They exist???? I can't find much on either tbh. idek if they have lil hearts.

I tried to figure out tbe series of events that led to whatever the hell is going on here but realized I do not have enough sources to actually. Figure that out. So.

Anyways. This really brought me back to my internet historian days of finding some really niche online interactive shit and figuring out every possible detail about it and the fandom just so I could possibly talk about it to someone in the future. And now I have the discord link waiting I'm my inbox. So I've leaned a little too far into the well and whatever at the bottom really wants me to fall.

#Mr Honorary Gorpster #whoo boy thats a lot huh #readmore this time as to not hex my mutuals with Wall Of Text #anyways. yeah. i understand less than when i started i think #i think im further than when i started tbh #gorp arg #intentionally avoided the new shit i learned because. yeah. no clue wtf to make of that. and its app dubipusly cannon anyways

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walker-extended-universe · 9 months

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WIP Wednesday Game

@kedreeva

Rules:

Post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it!

Cassie/Castiel Isekai

After a lot of poking around on the internet (did it always have this few ads?), Cassie could confidently say that she did have an identity as Cassandra Perez here in this strange world. But that was where all the similarities ended.

This Cassandra Perez lived in Colorado, for starters. Her parents were dead and she was an only child. She also worked as a dance teacher at the local community college, not in law enforcement. She’d never been to Texas and never worked with anyone named Cordell Walker, not that her partner seemed to exist in this world.

Who did exist in this world? Sam and Dean Winchester. And a certain trenchcoated “man” who went on a Word of God spree before disappearing earlier this year. Oh, and also that year was 2011, not 2023. She may or may not have had a major panic attack after piecing all that info together.

Cassie/Cordell bad date au

“Got a hot date?” she teased with a wink.

He chuckled. “Uh, maybe? My brother set it up but I like to think he knows my type.”

“Brothers.” She tutted and shook her head. “I’ll get you that water while you wait. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do.” He gave her a mock salute and went back to checking his phone.

Cassie brought him his water a few minutes later, still no sign of his date. She checked on her other tables and by the time she finished topping up everyone’s drinks, the guy was nibbling on a bread roll and typing on his phone. Still, no sign of a date.

Hoyt Rawlins Tome Travel

Hoyt missed a lot of things about the 21st century. Hot showers. Electric lights. The internet. Fast cars. Decent mail service. Geri. The Walkers.

But one thing he loved about the 1870s: it was so much easier to rob banks.

Cassie/Cordell/Geri prompts

“Hurry up, Cordell! I want to get to the beach before I lose the light!” Geri hiked up the mostly deserted path to the private beach she’d booked for her latest wildlife photoshoot.

“I could move faster if someone was willing to haul her own gear,” Cordell muttered, trudging along behind her. He’d been the fastest runner on the football team in high school, which didn’t help him much now as he traveled under the weight of Geri’s lighting kit, several lenses, laptop, and their camping gear. Not even half of it was his but, as her assistant, he usually ended up carrying the bulk of the load. He often griped that he never would’ve taken her up on the offer to work and travel with her if he knew “pack mule” was in the job description, but they both knew he wouldn’t leave.

“Quit whining, we’re almost there.”

Deranged!Dean takes August Walker for a ride

He hesitated before the doorway and took a deep breath. He couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Mornin’ everyone….” He tried to smile but he wasn’t sure it was convincing. “I…I have something to tell you. Something important.” He didn’t wait for his mama’s concerned questions before barreling through it. “Last night, August was kidnapped while taking out the trash at the Side Step. We don’t know who took him or why. All we have right now is the vehicle the kidnapper was driving and we’ve got a state-wide ABP out on it right now

#wip wednesday #my writing #hit me

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theartistknownaslymond · 1 year

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As yet untitled Jerott/Danny...something. Flungst? Angff?

Still not writing anything anyone actually asked me for smh...

Setting: post-Checkmate by four or five years, so early-mid-'90s

Characters: Jerott Blyth, Danny Hislop

Background (for more on the characters in the band AU, see notes at the end of the fic): During his relationship with Peder, Jerott got accustomed to travelling to Denmark via Paris - it made the journey longer but it was an opportunity to see his mum and to catch up with Danny. Danny helped him navigate his first openly queer relationship and was there to try and help Jerott not relapse too badly when he broke up with Peder. Even though Jerott doesn't need to go to Paris so often now, he still does - just for a few days every couple of months - so he can see his mother and see Danny and maybe record some music with Danny or play a couple of gigs. The vibe is Married and they just don't know it - but Jerott always seems to have some pretty young thing he's dating after meeting them at a movie premier or something, so Danny figures they just don't stand a chance. It's really just never occurred to Jerott that Danny would be interested in him because surely Danny is far too wordly and experienced to think of Jerott like that.

They do not get together in this fic, but the idea is that it can't be too long afterwards tbh.

CWs: reference to severe weight loss from illness; references to the AIDS pandemic and deaths, plus associated horrors (families not letting friends grieve, doctors not wanting to touch patients, general relentless misery of losing so many people/worrying about the obituaries). Also gratuitous descriptions of food.

---

Outside the metro station, Jerott slung an arm over Danny's shoulder and pressed his friend close for a hug. As he turned his face to present each cheek for Danny's kisses and suppressed a cough at the cloud of Chanel he was greeted with, he noticed the difference in the body beneath his hold.

"Alright - Jesus you're skinny, Danny!" he pulled back and let his hand remain on the shoulder of his friend's jacket, squeezing gently to confirm the contours he'd felt - bone and sinew far closer to the surface than he remembered.

Danny tossed their chin and twitched an eyebrow, grey eyes dark and hooded. "Oh, merci, he's in early with the compliments this time. What have you done now, doudou?"

Jerott studied Danny more closely: they were immaculately styled as always, but the silk blouse and the corduroy waistcoat beneath Danny's jacket hung unevenly against their body, implying a rumpled and gappy silhouette beneath the folds of the Burberry trenchcoat. The lines around the top of their voluminous trousers hinted at a belt cinched tighter than the fabric had been tailored for. Danny's face was sharper than Jerott remembered, too: the jaw almost uncompromisingly square, cheeks a little hollow beneath a subtle hint of pink blush.

"It wasn't a compliment..." Jerott said with the frankness that Danny expected of him. "You look like shit. What's up?"

Danny's brows shot up at Jerott's pronouncement and they looked down at him with a half-vexed smirk. "I look like shit?"

"You look like shit," Jerott nodded.

It was guaranteed to get a rise, and thus guaranteed to provoke some measure of honesty. Besides, even if it wasn't entirely true - Danny could have styled a Saturday morning midden outside a chip shop into something quirky and compelling - it was still true that Jerott preferred to see Danny with softer edges, more of a curious, assessing twinkle in their eye, more warmth beneath the pale tones of their skin. In general - healthier. It was a natural way to feel about one's friend, Jerott supposed.

Danny's eyes narrowed and their shoulder moved a little beneath Jerott's touch. Their lips - a natural pink that looked too pale, especially when one was used to Danny's array of neon-bright lipsticks - pursed a little and finally, shortly, Danny replied, "I've been ill. I'm fine now, thank you for your concern."

Jerott's hand tightened on Danny's shoulder again and his jaw shifted. He didn't manage to get a word out before Danny added, "It's not that. It's not. I've had so much blood taken for tests I don't think I'd feed a midge. I'm fine now, really Jerott."

Jerott noted that his heart had quickened anyway - he'd heard from Francis that Turkey had recently taken a turn for the worse as the weather cooled; he'd had Dagbladet Børsen delivered to his newsagent in Glasgow for several years now and he read the obituaries in a state of suppressed terror once a week, faithful to people he no longer knew, sometimes catching himself praying to distant gods that he wouldn't read a name he recognised there. He regretted the scientific understanding that had almost led him into a different career and now called him to spend sleepless nights poring over articles in medical journals, because it was that or give in to the whiskey again.

He swallowed and made himself take a deep breath - he'd not realised how much worry he attached to Danny and their defiant, flamboyant Marais lifestyle in the present context. But there, for a moment, he'd felt like the street had opened up beneath his feet and the air had turned to hot ash in his lungs.

"Ok. Good. What was it then?"

Danny's eyes had widened again and light seemed to have returned to their pale irises. They smiled crookedly, but it was more fond than defensive now. "Believe me, doudou, you don't want the details. Just some bug." Danny turned away and began walking down the pavement, strolling slowly enough that Jerott had time to light a cigarette and catch up.

"Some bug?" he repeated in a mutter around his filter, making a show of returning his fags and his lighter to his jacket pockets and wondering whether Danny had noticed how worried he'd been, or if he'd managed to hide it.

"Mm," Danny agreed, gazing performatively up at the rooftops of the buildings they passed and ignoring the odd cry of recognition from passers by. "Not helped, of course, by the fact that half the people I know do have it. I'm so bored of funerals, Jerott. Stressed and tired and literally sick of them."

Jerott took an involuntarily sharp inhalation and coughed at the way the smoke prickled in his throat. He grimaced and glared at the pavement, and decided, savagely, that he needed to do something about this - he'd never once in the years they'd known each other heard Danny's voice thrum with such brittle rage.

"You know what, Danny? Screw the market. There's a place yemma and I always eat at not far from here. I'm taking you there to get some proper food in you."

Danny stopped walking and blinked at him with limpid eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Algerian. Tagine, couscous, dips, bread?"

Danny still looked like they were trying to figure something out, but Jerott's brows rose and he pointed at the front of their waistcoat. A distinct growl had emerged from that flat belly at the mention of bread. "I heard that. Come on - we can go to the market afterwards."

Danny's frown deepened and they pressed their lips together, but then they nodded and shrugged. "Yeah. Yeah ok, lead on." Their voice sounded somewhat strangled to Jerott, like there was some undefined emotion trying to escape Danny's fearsome, formidable control over it.

Two silent streets later, when Jerott had finished his cigarette, Danny sounded more like themselves again: "So, will I finally get to meet dear yemma there?"

"No," Jerott eyed Danny and smiled knowingly. "Kahina doesn't just...hang around in cafés, Danny. We eat here together when she's visiting family in the dixneuvième."

"Ugh, then what's the point?" Danny exclaimed dramatically. "You want me to believe you sprang fully formed from the brutalist architecture, doudou, but the woman who made you what you are exists somewhere in Paris, and one day I will meet her!"

Jerott smirked tolerantly and stepped into the entrance of a building to hold the door open for his friend. "The point is -"

He didn't need to finish, as Danny's hands were clasped against their chest and they were already exclaiming rapturously as they walked into the restaurant: "Oh, do you smell that?"

The owner, recognising Jerott, approached to make small talk about his mother, and Danny listened thirstily, totally unconcerned by the proprietor's less-than-subtle attempts to suss out their identity. They introduced themself with a shark-like grin and shook the owner's hand: «Danny. I'm Jerott's friend.»

Jerott closed his eyes briefly and sighed at the effortless way Danny fudged the pronunciation of the word ami(e), so that it might even have been any one of several similar terms meaning lover or darling. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers and smiled stiffly at the owner. «Danny's in the band I play in. Danny knows Lymond and played in Russia with him.»

The owner nodded and attempted his own, reassured, smile, and he did not flinch from Danny's enthusiastic handshake. «Another...» he had been about to say 'musician' Jerott supposed, but ran instantly into another question of conjugation. His moustache twitched. «You play an instrument, like Sidi Blyth. How nice. What do you play?»

«All sorts,» Danny chirped happily. «I like synthesisers, but woodwind is my first love.» Their eyes roved over the decor of the restaurant, past rugs and lamps to seek out the guitars and percussion instruments the owners had salvaged when fleeing their home and now displayed in pride of place. «You don't have woodwind instruments here?» Danny gestured to the wall.

«No,» the owner answered with some relief. He showed them to the table upstairs that Jerott usually shared with his mother.

Over mint tea, as they waited for the selection of dishes Jerott had ordered, Jerott watched Danny gaze out of the window to the other side of the street, their long, freckled fingers tapping on the tablecloth in time with the frantic beat of the music playing from a cassette deck in the corner of the room. The midday autumn light was drawn to the crystal pendant of Danny's earring, and faint spots of rainbow colour were cast in fragments across Danny's cheek. It occurred to Jerott all over again how tiresome it was that anyone bothered trying to define Danny - once he'd learned a way of speaking around the need for masculine or feminine conjugations, Jerott had soon forgotten how clunky he'd found it to begin with. He'd simply become used to Danny as a singular aspect of the world - language rearranged itself around Danny, and Jerott saw no reason why it shouldn't.

Generally, though, Danny didn't care what pronouns strangers used. Danny had made their resilience and self-awareness key aspects of their personality, and Jerott reminded himself that Danny was steely enough to have survived being perceived - in whatever way they had been perceived - by Soviet Russia.

But sometimes, Jerott had begun to realise, the carefully constructed armoury of Danny's identity grew heavy in the face of others' engagement with it. And now Danny did look drawn - bruised by recent sadnesses, nervy about what might come next, both younger and older than Jerott had seen them look.

"Have you had Algerian before, Danny?" Jerott asked, summoning Danny's attention away from the flock of pigeons on the opposite building's roof.

Danny smiled fleetingly and took a sip of tea, then paused to look Jerott over with a more customary, lascivious flick of their lashes. "Not for want of trying..."

Jerott rolled his eyes. "How have you lived in Paris for over a decade and never tried Algerian food?"

"Maybe I've just been waiting for a recommendation from an expert," Danny said snippily. "You always did curries back when we were recording Checkmate. You could have made...this..."

Danny's eyes lit on the food that was arriving and between them, Jerott and the restaurateur explained the dishes as they filled the surface of the table.

"I didn't have much experience cooking Algerian then," Jerott said, helping himself to bread and pickled vegetables. "Curry in Glasgow, curry in Pune, curry in Nevada - with so little seasoning it might as well have been rice pudding..." he trailed off, muttering imprecations in Urdu.

Danny folded their arms and watched him. "So which one of these innocent-looking beauties is going to blow my poor Ashkenazi ass off?"

Jerott pulled a face and bit on a pickled chilli. "They're not hot, Danny, they just have flavour." He pointed out the dishes he knew how to make and explained what was in them and Danny dutifully helped themselves to some of each. Danny loved to make a show of bitching, but they were also eager to express their appreciation: every first bite was accompanied by a moan of delight or some other sound that made Jerott want to kick them under the table. Eventually he gave into the desire and prodded Danny's leg with the toe of his sneaker.

"All right, Meg Ryan - you can just tell the restaurant owner you like it..."

Danny wiped a drizzle of paprika-red oil from the corner of their lips and pulled an exaggeratedly lusty face at Jerott before kicking him back. Then Danny sat back and chewed pitta, watching Jerott's expression and preparing their review.

"It's good, Maeve. Like some of Adam's funky Georgian dishes but..."

"Less walnut?"

"Less walnut," Danny agreed, sipping tea. "It's not as rich as I thought, either. Good choice of comfort food, doudou," Danny surveyed the bowls again and dove in for more helpings of a few select items.

Jerott watched Danny load their plate up and smirked with satisfaction. "Just because it has more seasoning than chicken soup..."

Danny held a finger up. "You do not get to insult Jewish penicillin, no matter how delicious your fancy beans are."

Jerott giggled into his bite of borek and repeated, "Fancy beans..." so that Danny kicked him again.

When the owner had taken away the empty starter bowls and refilled the tea, Jerott looked again at Danny's face in the shifting afternoon light. It seemed to have taken on a new colour - their lips looked redder again, their cheeks brighter, their eyes less like the washed-out grey of the few low clouds outside.

Jerott raised his glass of tea in a salute. "Well, the fancy beans seem to have done more for you in one sitting than however many weeks of chicken soup you've been living off..."

Instead of a filthy rejoinder, Danny pressed their mouth shut and looked away. "Mm."

"Danny, I was just -" Jerott began to apologise, surprised by the frown on his friend's face.

"I know, I know," Danny attempted a breathy chuckle. "It's fine. It...would be fine, only -" they looked down at the exuberantly patterned table covering and traced the patterns on its surface with one short, un-painted fingernail. When they looked up at Jerott the deep, serious pain on their face was such that Jerott hadn't seen since Francis' near-fatal encounter with the river.

"I'm the one who makes the soup," Danny said. The attempt at levity in their voice made Jerott's chest tighten more than if Danny had just let themselves speak bitterly. Instead, the lightness in their voice faltered and stumbled, and Danny swallowed. "Ok, Diamme - you remember, from the cabaret? - Diamme brought me soup and pletzls from the deli when I first got ill, but he shouldn't have been outside himself. Diamme's funeral was last week. The rest of us couldn't attend - the family wouldn't have any of it. They gave him a good Catholic burial. So we're holding our own wake next week and I need to cook for it. I promised I would."

Danny's arm was shaking a little on the table, their fist clenched. They looked down at it and moved it beneath the table, letting out a tut of disgust.

Jerott sat in silence, his arms folded and jaw locked, remembering again all the horror of that moment when he'd imagined that Danny had the illness. The only illness that mattered those days. Anything else was trivial, wasn't it?

"I haven't cooked for myself in months, Jerott," Danny let their eyes fall blankly to the tablecloth. "I'm a catering service for wakes and funerals. Meals on wheels for people who used to be..." nothing seemed to change about Danny's expression or the tone of their voice, but an invisible barrier blocked any more words from emerging.

"Why didn't you say something?" Jerott murmured, sitting as still as Danny, noting that he could barely hear his own words over the hammering beat of his heart. "How many times have we spoken on the phone since you got ill?"

Danny looked up and met his eyes, and, glassy and wide-pupilled, their own grey gaze made Jerott shiver. A bleak laugh made it past their lips. "What, you'd deliver from Glasgow?"

Jerott didn't understand how talking with Danny could so often make him want to laugh and weep at the same time, but he gave Danny a perplexed smile all the same. "Sure. I'm serious though, Danny - you could have told me. It's no hassle to come to Paris and help you cook."

Danny bit their lip and looked down again, wresting with a smile or a grimace - Jerott couldn't say which.

When the restaurant owner returned to their silence he looked alarmed and Jerott tried to smile in reassurance as the man set down hot dishes of stewed aubergine and tomatoes, chicken, olives and dumplings.

«Is everything ok?»

«M'sieur it's perfect,» Danny looked up swiftly, their throat white as a swan's, drawing Jerott's troubled gaze as Danny swallowed down their grief again and smiled for the owner. «My first time trying Algerian food and it's better than I could have imagined. Restorative and delicious.»

The owner left again, somewhat mollified, and Danny turned a wonky smile on Jerott. "Do you think he believes me, Maeve? Have I ruined it for when you come back here with yemma?"

Jerott shook his head. "He believes you. Nothing ruined."

Danny sighed and leaned forwards on the table to survey the new dishes.

"Danny," Jerott was thinking about the way Danny's demeanour had switched for the restaurant owner. About the performative body language and cheerful lilt to their voice. About the things Danny was used to hiding. "You didn't even tell me you were ill. Why didn't you say anything?"

Danny was slowly pulling apart one of the chicken wings they'd plucked from the top of the tagine, their mouth pressed into a sharp line, the look they shot Jerott an attempt to make him back off that was half-hearted at best. "I didn't think I'd be ill that long. Do you tell me every time you get the sniffles, doudou?"

Danny didn't let him reply - they rolled their eyes and swept a hand through the air. "Yes, yes, you do, I know...always complaining about something..."

Jerott ignored the toothless attack and waited.

Danny spooned a heap of olives and dumplings onto their plate and gathered some bread before looking up at Jerott again.

"I didn't want to tell you because it's been miserable here, doudou." Danny's fist clenched on the table beside their plate. "I feel...responsible? When you were with Peder and you started telling me things, I was...I felt like your guide to this wonderful world where anything was possible, anyone was welcome, and if we all just talked it out and understood each other things would be ok. Better than ok, they'd be mind-blowing. Amazing. Earth-shattering."

Danny rolled their eyes at their own words, and Jerott contrasted their pale, pinched expression now with the way they used to lean across café tables and excitedly demand details of the Copenhagen queer scene. They way they'd grab Jerott's hand and shamelessly reel off advice filled with clinically precise vocabulary that had made Jerott's mind reel with possibilities he'd never even imagined. Their smile - proud, filthy - when Jerott chose to report back on a weekend spent with Peder, and the way they'd regale him in turn with tales of leather daddies and kink clubs that left Jerott speechless and perched on the edge of his seat.

Danny shook their head and the gems dangling from their ears swung and twinkled in the sun again. "I feel like I sold you a lie, doudou. We've talked it out here so much and none of us have anything to say any more. We can't talk our way out of death. There's no understanding it, or making meaning of it. It's unfair, and it just is."

Jerott held Danny's gaze, and felt something icy and uncomfortable squirm in his chest. Danny didn't even look on the verge of tears now, their expression was suffused with frosty, brittle fury, something that wasn't nearly as hopeless as the image they were trying to conjure. Hopeless people, in Jerott's experience, weren't near as angry as Danny clearly was.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Ok. I mean, I don't regret...what did you call it? Joining this 'wonderful world' - and I'd have shagged Peder with or without your advice Danny, no offence."

Danny's jaw twitched and a startled flush of colour spread over their neck above the collar of their blouse.

Jerott pressed on, unable to offer any answer to the bigger questions, but still stung by the idea of Danny forcing themself to suffer stoically in case actually saying anything about how bad things were frightened Jerott off. "Do you regret it? Would you go back to...where were you when you found your people, London? Edinburgh? Would you leave them, go back to Glasgow and put a suit on and do what your dad wanted you to do? If you'd known about AIDS?"

A flash of annoyance passed over Danny's face again - maybe at the mention of their father, maybe at the mention of the disease by name, maybe at the realisation that they'd shared quite so much about their past with Jerott over the years - enough to allow Jerott to ask a question like that.

"I can't regret what I just am, Jerott," Danny said curtly.

"So why do you think I would, if you'd told me how bad things had got here?"

Danny hissed, drawing a sharp breath in over their teeth. Now there was a glossy sheen over their eyes, and they tried very hard not to blink. "M'sorry," they murmured after a moment.

"Yeah. I know," Jerott said gruffly and broke their stare, looking down at the dishes cooling between them and giving Danny the privacy of a moment to flick away the water gathering at the bottom of their eyes. He explained the tagines again and then helped himself to some of each before letting out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and raising his eyes again.

Danny had returned to pulling apart the piece of chicken and they sighed deeply before saying, resentfully, "I can't believe you used my own tricks on me. I've taught you too well."

"I can't believe you 'talked it out' with everyone except me, you asshole," Jerott grumbled, but he smiled ruefully at his dish as he dunked bread in the sauce.

"To be fair, I also didn't tell Francis," Danny said in a voice more like their own, and Jerott had to snort with laughter. "Can you imagine? He'd have set up a Michelin-starred restaurant for my little crowd of queers and misfits. BDSM and brunch bar. Kink and croissants. Attached to an empty hospital building where the infected can get treated by all the experts we can find who are willing to touch our dirty, dirty bodies..."

Again, there was that lurching sensation, when Jerott didn't know whether he should be laughing along with Danny's smirk or weeping with fury at the image they painted. He grimaced.

"Would that be so bad though? Letting Francis help?"

"Perhaps not," Danny conceded. "I do still have some pride though. And I know he's already donating an unsustainable amount to research."

Jerott made a sound of agreement between bites of food, and was soothed somewhat by the sight of Danny voraciously attacking what was on their own plate.

"So what do we need to prepare for next week? When's the wake?"

Danny didn't miss Jerott's phrasing and looked up sharply. "We?"

He shrugged. "If you think my cooking's up to your standards..."

Danny narrowed their eyes. "It could be...if you can follow orders better than you used to..."

"And do you want company at the wake? I'm here to make up numbers, isn't that what playing second guitar to Lymond is all about?"

"Are you asking to be my date at a wake, Jerott?" Danny's eyebrow arched delightedly.

"Not a date, but a friend who isn't about to fuck off just because life's tough, puce."

Danny ran their eyes distastefully over him and pointedly pushed an olive stone out from between their pursed lips. They took it and deposited it on a side plate with careful deliberation. "Hmm, yes, and how is your lovely girlfriend? Kelly is it? The teenager?"

Jerott sat back and folded his arms. "She's twenty-three, Danny. And no gossip until you agree to my help."

Danny glared at him. "That's rude."

Jerott shrugged again.

Outside the restaurant, above the slate grey rooves, the autumn breeze nudged aside a cloud and the anaemic sun shone through, speckling the grubby window-pane with glitter. Abruptly, Danny let the act drop - just for a moment - and smiled warmly at Jerott.

It was agreed.

Jerott laughed in relief to see Danny relax.

---

Notes

doudou - teddy bear; puce - flea (because what kind of Married would they be without absurd nicknames for each other)

yemma - mother (Arabic)

Jerott Blyth

Band AU Jerott's mum is Algerian, a refugee who arrived in France during the war of independence, and his paternal grandmother was from pre-partition Lahore. He was born in Paris, where his dad met his mum while taking art classes between shifts on placement for medical school. His dad was a surgeon and his mother worked in an art gallery, but has always painted for herself too. Both his parents encouraged his musicality from a young age and he started classical guitar lessons as soon as he could hold a guitar. His parents divorced when he was around eleven and he lived with his dad in Glasgow - his dad's home city - until his dad died of cancer when Jerott was 18. Instead of joining Francis Crawford, who he met at the Solway Moss battle of the bands just before his dad's death, Jerott turned away from music to be a doctor like his father. He went to stay with his mother in Paris while studying and through her met a charismatic older man (Graham Reid Malett) and went off to find himself at an ashram in India instead. The medical degree was forgotten and he learned sitar, Ayurvedic massage, yoga, and some Hindi and Urdu at the ashram run by Rajneesh. He spent a few years in Rajneesh's cult and moved to a new ashram in Nevada with GRM - and none of it did his self-acceptance as a bisexual man any good. Having made a pass at GRM and been rebuffed, he later revealed his crush on Francis during a therapy session with GRM, who began to become obsessed with Francis through Jerott's recollection of him and through his music. GRM engineered a way for them to join Francis' new recording collective, St Mary's, and Jerott gradually realised the extent of the problems with the movement he was in, and with GRM particularly. He reaffirmed his loyalty to Francis, but GRM did him lasting damage that drove him to self-destructive alcoholism. He nevertheless tried to help Francis undo the mess GRM had done and in the process met Marthe - who it was easier to admit to being in love with than Francis. She needed a European visa and the potential for a passport, as well as a boost to her career, so she married him despite knowing she wasn't attracted to men. They had a deeply unhappy marriage and lived in France, using properties Marthe was able to inherit from a relative once she was resident in the EU. Jerott had a drunken one night stand with a Danish guy called Peder at a low point in his marriage, and then he ran into Peder again at another vulnerable moment (the end of Checkmate). He and Peder had a couple of good years together but it didn't work out. Since Peder, Jerott's seen some guys and some girls but hasn't really had anything long-term or meaningful - but at least he always had his best friend Danny to go to for advice!

Danny Hislop

Band AU Danny was born with PAIS and is intersex. The oldest child born to Rabbi Hislop in Glasgow, they were amab and given surgery to make their physical body allign with this assignation. While they were raised as a boy, they knew this wasn't right for them, and the bar mitzvah really cemented that feeling. Danny's family didn't understand their nonbinary identification (NB I know not all intersex people are nonbinary, but Danny is) and Danny left home at 14 with a clarinet and a grade 6 piano qualification and went to stay with a blue-collar, union-stalwart great uncle in Edinburgh. The great uncle helped Danny reconcile their faith with their identity somewhat - the discussions around tumtum (people of unidentified sex) taking place in rabbinic communities came a little late for Danny, but at least they became aware of the term through their uncle. At sixteen they made their way to London in search of a community that matched how they felt about themselves - they became bat mitzvah as well by choice, partly as a way of reclaiming what they felt was forced on them incorrectly by their father. They lived in squats and it wasn't initially a great time to be young and of indeterminate gender in a big city - it took a while to find the right people and they experimented with some stuff they regret. Then they found a healthier community, moved on again to Paris with a friend, became an apprentice in a kitchen and played saxophone and clarinet at jazz clubs. They settled in the Marais - which is both the Jewish and the queer quarter. When Lymond called for auditions to join his experiment in Russia, Danny submitted a klesmer cover of Lymond's song 'Crisco Disco', along with evidence of their fluent French and passable Russian (Danny tries to learn something from everyone they meet, and Paris has a big Russian expat community). They proved themselves resilient enough to travel the USSR with Lymond - though they probably had to deal with a lot of fuckery regarding pronouns and people's perception - and they remained a valued member of St Mary's afterwards, though they still live in the Marais near their drag cabaret friends. They've kind of been in love with Jerott Blyth since seeing him cover for Francis by playing a guitar solo that should have been impossible sober, while so drunk that he also shouldn't have been able to stand up. They are not proud of this fact. They also strongly believe that Jerott will never see them as anything more than a kooky friend who's into far kinkier shit than Jerott could stomach.

#everyday i write the book #band au: post canon #ship: a twinge of approval #character: danny hislop #character: jerott blyth #i mean it with those content warnings - i felt like that was kind of the elephant in the room in such a queer '80s au so.

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