#what the hell does ‘responsible’ mean for a fucking. ELEVEN year old? YOUNGER?? what HAPPENED!?

[laurelnose]

dark yoon ha lee give me the forbidden hajoret family backstory

#THINKING ABOUT HIM AGAIN #the thing is before he was admitted to Nirai Academy Prime he was living in a Vidona orphanage #so this had to have happened BEFORE the heptarchate annexed Erchanno #and frankly i don’t have textual support for this but i get the vibe that he was already on his own when Halash picked him up #which means he was LITTLE when they died! #what the hell does ‘responsible’ mean for a fucking. ELEVEN year old? YOUNGER?? what HAPPENED!? #nirai kujen #machineries of empire

[heirloommtomatoes]

don’t read the last page but i stay

Mickey and Ian go on another lunch date :) Just some quick super simple fluff! Literally nothing at all happens in this other then a cute date. These boys deserve nothing but sweet domesticity forever and ever, thanks.

Word Count: 2.3k~

———

Mickey picks Ian up from his afternoon shifts whenever they can cram it into their schedule. Do they live together? Sure. Did they get out of prison barely a year ago where their combined shared space was half the size of their Gallagher house bedroom? Sure. Do they still try to spend almost every waking moment together? Absolutely.

Ian’s schedule as an EMT, as sporadic as it has the potential to be, has fallen into a steady routine the past few months. Since Debbie’s arrest, Lip moving out, and the increased responsibility in the Gallagher house, Rita makes sure that every Friday Ian hands his shift over by 5pm. Mickey was promoted at his work — a promotion that warranted his first real Gallagher party a few months back — and is working steadily at the mall as the general security manager.

Ian’s laughing with the new members of his team over some pictures of their kids from last weekend when his phone buzzes. He slides it half-way out of his pocket to look at the screen:

Mick: hey dipshit I took a photo of me waiting for you

Mick: Attachment: 1 Image

Ian swipes on the message and unlocks his phone. The photo is of a mummified, presumably ancient corpse sitting cross-legged on a ridge, probably out of some National Geographic article he’d found while scrolling endlessly through random news pages while waiting for him. He stifles a laugh as he types his response.

Ian: 🖕

Ian: be out in a sec

Mick: 🖕

“That your husband?” Samantha, a younger EMT fresh out of training, nods toward his phone.

“Yeah,” Ian responds as he slips his phone back into his pocket, “Meeting him for dinner and drinks.”

Rita looks over her shoulder from where she’s rummaging around her locker. Ian expects her to make some witty remark at his expense as per usual, but instead: “You got the best relationship record outta any of us here, Gallagher,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “Eleven years, a bipolar diagnosis, and several prison stints seems to be the trick.”

He doesn’t mean to really joke about it; if what they went through together doesn’t count as some seriously real shit, he’s terrified to think of what does. But if he can’t make light of it now and then, if he can’t at least try to ponder the distance between then and now and look back at how far they’ve come and laugh at the simple joy of it all, then what the hell else is he supposed to do?

Laughs ripple around the locker room as Ian raises an warm to wave goodbye to everyone, overlapping “Bye Ian!”s and “Have a good weekend”s following him out.

Ian emerges from the garage, shrugging off his EMT jacket in the mid-afternoon summer sun in a way that makes Mickey’s heart flutter in his chest. He carries it loosely in a hand at his side.

“Bout time, Gallagher,” Mickey says to him with a grin. He’s been smiling a lot these days, he thinks; not that that’s anything new around Ian. He’s been making him smile since he was seventeen.

“Hey,” Ian responds easily, throwing an arm around his shoulders and planting a kiss to his cheek. A blush creeps up Mickey’s face and he grins at the ground as they walk. Ian starts babbling about the kid who broke his arm on the monkey bars and an older woman who fell down her stairs and Mickey listens, butting in for the odd comment or exclamation here and there as they make their way down the block to Boystown. It’s become their once-a-month Friday evening tradition. Mickey picks him up from work, they fill each other in on their days as they walk, they grab dinner and drinks either at one of their favourite spots in Boystown if they’re feeling like they want their own little escape, or at The Alibi if they feel like keeping it close to home. Today is too beautiful of a day to not make use of the clean outdoor patios the bars in Boystown can provide.

Mickey recounts his day when Ian’s done and maybe it doesn’t sound quite as glamorous on the surface of things, but it barely occurs to either of them. They’re both doing something they’re good at, something they’re each coming to realize they genuinely enjoy, something that makes them feel useful, and if that isn’t success, what is?

“So this old woman stuffs a bra between her boobs. Like hell I was gonna reach in there and drag it out,” Mickey huffs as he finishes up his story. Well, maybe something they genuinely enjoy most of the time. Ian laughs and it’s Mickey’s favourite sound. It’ll always be Mickey’s favourite sound.

“You sure you’re not gay?” Ian asks skeptically, recounting all the times Mickey’s jokingly —and not-as-jokingly — denied the label.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mickey says, casting a mischievous glance his way, “My husband is, though.”

“Ohh, I see,” Ian says with a nod, casually changing the subject as he remembers Mickey’s earlier texts, “Oh hey listen, that was a really cute photo of you earlier, Mick. You’ve found your angles, I’m impressed,” Ian says, his voice dripping with mischievous sarcasm.

“Ohhh, thanks, man,” Mickey responds with a playful nudge to Ian’s ribs, “My beauty secret is this really cool thing my husband does called making me wait for ten fucking minutes.”

Ian raises his brows at him. Game on. He opens his mouth to respond in kind, but Mickey’s grabbing him by the upper arm and tugging him into a brick-lined alleyway. Ian grunts in protest, hands flying to Mickey’s biceps to steady himself before he’s shoved against the wall.

Mickey’s kissing him like he’s been thinking about doing all day while Ian’s out here being fucking Superman, like he’s been thinking about doing his whole life. He feels Ian’s smile against his mouth and his heart leaps in his chest and he loves him. He loves him. Mickey’s not sure how or when it happens, but suddenly Ian’s grabbing him and he’s being spun and his back’s being shoved against the wall so quickly his breath almost leaves him.

“Watch it, tough guy,” he breaths, and doesn’t mean a word of it. It’s the closest he’ll come to saying do whatever you want with me.

Ian huffs a laugh, threading his left hand into Mickey’s right as he studies his husband’s face. The cold metal of his wedding band brushes against his fingers and Mickey leans forward, capturing Ian’s lips in a warm kiss that reminds him of the dugouts, reminds him of when they were teenagers too skittish and childish and young to know what to do with the swelling in their chests every time they looked at each other. Ian’s the first to pull back, but he tugs on Mickey’s hand and leads them out of the alley.

“I’m hungry,” he says with a shrug by way of explanation when Mickey gives him an incredulous stare.

“So am I,” Mickey replies quickly, glancing pointedly downwards toward Ian’s crotch. Ian barks a laugh and rolls his eyes. He’s never said it out loud, but damn if he doesn’t love how fucking funny his husband is. No one really knows that about Mickey, he thinks. Distantly he remember’s Mickey’s “now they’re black and blue balls” in the hotel room that one night when they were teenagers. Damn if he didn’t think about that one and swoon over his protectiveness and Southside charm for a good week after. In the back of his mind, he remembers Byron’s list of complaints: he’s socially inept, he’s politically ignorant, he’s violent…

Meanwhile, Ian looks fondly at Mickey and knows that he’s funny, he’s thoughtful, he’s loyal, he’s his husband.

“The fuck you starin’ at?” Mickey snaps at him, an eyebrow raised halfway up his damn forehead.

Ian rolls his eyes, “Nothin’. What do you wanna eat?”

Ian sees the hint of a shy smile on his face as Mickey turns his gaze to the various restaurants they’ve been passing, “Uh, I’m kinda feelin’ Sheffield’s, man. That sound good to you?” He asks, looking back at Ian. The midday sun silhouettes his head, creating a halo out of his red hair and glowing against the hard edges of his face. Mickey remembers the round-faced, freckled boy at the convenience store with the floppy bangs and oversized flannels. Hell, he remembers him before that. He remembers third grade, and some loser with a mop of curly red locks and oversized front teeth leaning over and asking him for a pencil. Looking at him now with his wedding band catching the light, his chiseled jaw, and the lop-sided grin directed right at Mickey, he looks like fucking Adonis.

“…Mick?” Ian’s voice snaps him back to reality.

“Huh?”

“I was saying we’re here, Neil Armstrong,” Ian quips, “Come back to Earth, I wanna eat.”

“Ay, references like that are my thing,” Mickey says as Ian’s arm around his shoulder steers them toward Sheffield’s. They continue bickering as they walk in the restaurant, much to the server’s constant exasperation as she leads them to the patio. “Since when?” “Since fuckin’…always, man.”

They sit out in the Chicago summer sun, basking in the warmth of it together as they sip their drinks. Mickey, ever the loyalist, gets the cheapest beer on the menu after casting his eyes over the ludicrously long list of names, only a third of which he can pronounce. That’s what you get for going to a brewery, he figures absentmindedly to Ian. Ian gets one of the beers lower in proof, but he knows it’ll still bring him a pleasant buzz.

“If nothing else man, your meds make getting drunk economical as hell,” Mickey says to him with a breathy laugh as he hands the waiter their menus with a nod.

“You’re telling me,” Ian responds as he leans back lazily, comfortably spreading his legs in the chair as he grabs the sunglasses hanging off his shirt collar and slides them over his eyes. Mickey follows suit with his own pair of sunglasses and damn if the two of them don’t look good. Mickey changed out of his work uniform before coming to meet him and he’s wearing a pair of jeans that actually fit him, a black tank and blue short sleeve button up top that’s open and fluttering in the light breeze. He looks so relaxed and in his element, and Ian can’t help but wonder if this is what he used to wear in Mexico. For once the memory isn’t tinged with heartache; they’re here now.

“You look good,” Ian says, eyeing Mickey up and down from across the wooden picnic-like table.

Mickey flashes him a smile, “Says you,” he responds, and it’s so disgustingly sweet and domestic that he barely knows what to do with himself. He’ll never get used to this, he thinks, and he doesn’t want to. Ian smiles in return before Micky continues and leans forward, “I was thinking about getting my GED.”

“No shit,” Ian responds, mimicking Mickey in leaning forward across the table, a casual hand still around his beer, “What prompted that?” He asks before taking a sip.

Mickey shrugs, “I like my job now, but I was talking to Larry and he thinks it’d be a good idea. It’d give me better hirability or whatever, and…I dunno, I like my job now,” he repeats almost sheepishly, like he’s about to admit something terrible, “But I’ve been thinking about wanting…more, I guess?”

Ian smiles and reaches across to put a hand over the one Mickey has resting casually on the table, “Let’s make it happen, then.”

Mickey meets his eye for a brief moment with a shy half-smile that he hides by taking a sip of his beer.

“I’m serious, Mick. We can get some study books for you, Kev and V can look after the kids when you need the house to be quiet for two seconds so you can study…” he trails off, lowering his head slightly to prompt Mickey to meet his gaze.

“Alright, alright, Jesus,” Mickey finally says with a chuckle, turning his hand over to grasp Ian’s and rub his thumb over his knuckles, “Love you,” he adds quietly, but it’s not shy or embarrassed or scared; it’s just for Ian, and only Ian.

The two of them sit for what could be hours or minutes longer, chatting about their future plans like it’s nothing but it means fucking everything to both of them. Neither of them had ever really let themselves dream of a future like this. Whenever Ian’s mind had wandered to thinking of moments like this, of sentences like “Kev and V can look after the kids”, he’d dismissed it as the wishful thinking of a manic episode. “Fucked for life” had practically been Mickey’s life mantra. They share a house, they share food, they take turns making dinner, they have monthly goddamn traditions that include sunshine and drinks and risky kisses in alleyways.

They stay at Sheffield’s far longer than they had originally intended as the waiter informs them there’s live music that evening. So they stay, both buzzed on their beers and drunk on happiness and sun and music, sharing insults and laughs, basking in the comfort and familiarity of each other’s presence as the sun casts an orange glow over the Chicago skyline.

#gallavich fic #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #this is some teeth rotting fluff yall i went off #im a good mood today what can i say jksjks #i love my BOYS! #i had to pretend to know what its like to be attracted to men to write this so pls appreciate my efforts jsksj #jk but also ... #my writing

[queencarolinemikaelson]

Rootless Tree II

Hello lovers, here is a short second part to a drabble I wrote for a fandom event I think in April! Hope you like! You can read part one on AO3, FF, or here! 

/

Fifteen Years Later

Klaus was in a bar. It wasn’t a particularly uncommon occurrence for him, but he usually wasn’t completely alone, as he was that day.

He finished work, some meaningless hours before, and joined a couple of colleagues for an after work drink.

When they left for their homes, he stayed; waiting at his home was more of the same melancholy loneliness that had been nipping at his insides for a few months now.

He wasn’t there to drown his sorrows, by any means; he wasn’t particularly sorrowful for anything. Nor had he been having a rough trot of it. But the fact of the matter was he was staring down the barrel of thirty-five, and he wasn’t all together too sure what he had to show for it.

He had a family and group of friends who loved him – he was lucky. A well-paying, rewarding job – better than many around him. A house – check. With a mortgage – double check.

He had nearly all of the things a thirty-five-year-old should have, he supposed.

But Klaus was not a naïve man. He knew for all his bluster over the years about singlehood, he did want someone to share his life with.

His baby sister was to be married in a few months, and then it would be just him and his 21-year-old brother who were unmarried. Even Kol was tied by the ring finger to someone, and he barely stood still long enough to brush his teeth.

And it was fine, of course it was fine, but on that day, in that moment, Klaus knew he wanted something more.

Something real.

As he called for another drink, a smattering of applause broke his concentration on his own plight.

About an hour before, a folk singer and her guitar had become the soundtrack to Klaus’ musings. She really did have a beautiful voice, and the few lyrics he tuned in to hear were quite meaningful. Though he couldn’t see her, closeted away in a dark booth as he was.

She began speaking softly to the audience after the clapping was silent again.

“This will be my last song…” she said, a little nervously. “It was written by a truly incredible songwriter, and I strive daily to craft stories, and weave emotions the way he does.”

Klaus took a sip, and decided to tune in fully for the final song.

“I’ve been really feeling this lately,” she continued. “A lot has been happening in my life, and this song… really grounds me. Maybe because I heard it for the first time when I was still very young. Maybe because it has the kind of energy I want to convey. Maybe just because it expresses how I’m feeling. Anyway… here it is.”

The woman began to pluck her guitar strings in an effortless rhythm, and familiar notes washed into Klaus’ ears, and he could hardly believe it.

What I want from you, is empty your head

He grabbed his beer and left his booth.

But they say, be true, don’t stain your bed

He settled on a stool by the bar, and had a clear line of vision to the source of the voice.

And we do what we need to be free

And it leans on me, like a rootless tree

Klaus watched saw the light crease in the woman’s forehead as she sang through the words, and he could tell she deeply connected with what she was singing.

What I want from us, is empty our minds

He watched her fingers pick furiously, though noted how her eyes remained firmly closed the whole time. He wondered just how many times she played that song, to be so comfortable with it that she didn’t need to ever look at what she was doing.

But we fake, we fuss and fracture the times

Her voice was truly remarkable, Klaus thought, and he wished he paid more attention to her earlier in her set. 

We go blind when we needed to see

And this leans on me like a rootless

She shook her head from side to side as she played, causing her bob-length blonde hair dance around her face in such and enchanting way.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, and all we’ve been through

The harsh words falling from her lips didn’t seem as wrong as he thought they might, for once again, he was struck with the emotion she was weaving into the song.

I said leave it, leave it, leave it, it’s nothing to you

He gazed on her face, still transfixed by the small crease in her brow that he noticed earlier. It signalled to him that she felt the song in the same way he did.

And if you hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me so good

It was almost liberating to know someone understood it. Someone knew what he felt so many times.

That you just let me out, let me out, let me out it’s hell what you’re around

Klaus listened in a trance for the remainder of the song, and couldn’t help but stand to applaud her when she finished.

“Thanks for coming, have a good night now,” she said, almost abashed into the microphone, before leaving the stage.

Klaus sat back down, feeling strangely empty.

He had gone to the bar that day to feel connected to something, and he found that connection. For it to be so fleeting, and for it to be now over…

He turned his back on the now empty stool where she once sat, opting instead of stare into his beer despondently.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting that way when he heard a soft voice order a glass of wine next to him. The voice was familiar enough for Klaus to glace up.

It was her.

He gave her a smile, one which she returned almost slyly.

He was a little taken aback, she had seemed far too demure to slyly smile at him.

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” she said, and Klaus was suddenly awash with dread. Was he supposed to know her?

“I don’t know love, I’d say the same about you,” he said, cockily, hoping if he blustered through confidently enough he could give himself time to place her face. It was familiar, now he saw her up close he could see that, but didn’t know why.

She let out a tinkling laugh in response to his comment.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” she giggled, her whole face alight.

“Is it that obviously,” he replied, grinning sheepishly.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, I think the last time we spoke I was like eleven, you played me Rootless Tree in your 1970-something Corvette!”

“Caroline?” he asked.

She nodded kindly, and took her place on the stool next to him.

“Has it honestly been fifteen years since I spoke to you?” Klaus said, bemused.

“Pretty much,” she replied.

“Time really does have a way of getting away from us all, doesn’t it?”

He tried to say it without the wistfulness he felt, but didn’t quite manage it.

“It sure does,” she replied, and Klaus was comforted to hear she too sounded wistful.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes, taking sips from their drinks, lost in their own thoughts.

“What have you been doing with yourself these past fifteen years, Mr Mikaelson?” she asked, pulling his mind away from more sombre things.

From there, the two of them began chatting away, as though they were old friends. Which really was at odds with what they really were – which was barely more than a much older brother who met his much younger sister’s friend once over a decade ago.

He shared everything from why he chose to go to law school in London, to his favourite breakfast cereal, all the way to the existential dread he had been dealing with over the past few months. She in turn told him about her career, her music, her fears of the future and everything in between.

Klaus had forgotten that, yes, it could just be instantly easy with someone. That someone could actually fully capture his attention.

He wasn’t sure what he would do when she inevitably had to go. No matter how much it felt like there was no world beyond them, the hours had marched on. How could he go back to a world where he wouldn’t see her.

“So will I see you at Bekah’s wedding?” he asked, hopefully.

Maybe she would be there, and they would dance. He could hold her, whisper into her ear, and everything would feel alright, just like it did now.

But, Caroline stiffened, her contentment dissipating, causing his heart to sink.

“I’ve been invited,” she said, simply.

Klaus turned his body so he could study her face. It was truly beautiful, but had well-covered sadness suddenly pinching at the corners of the mouth.

“Will you attend?” he probed.

She looked down into the depths her wine glass, taking a moment to answer.

“Bekah and I aren’t really as close anymore,” she said, carefully, still maintaining eye-contact with her wine glass. “I haven’t spoken to her much in the last few years.”

“Oh, really,” Klaus said. “I wasn’t aware.”

He supposed he had lived away from his family for a very long time, and of course people changed. But it stung somewhat that things couldn’t be easy, just this once.

“The two of you always seemed so close, and she and Stefan still talk about your college days often… I just assumed.”

Klaus caught an infinitesimal flinch on Caroline’s face as he mentioned Stefan, and suddenly wondered whether it was less of a losing touch between two friends, and more of a rift.

“Oh you know, life happens,” she replied, vaguely. “I feel as though I’m a bit of an obligation-invite. So I guess we’ll see how I feel on the date of RSVP.”

Caroline let out a tinkling laugh, and downed the rest of her wine, making a move to stand up.

“I better get going anyway,” she said, and it was Klaus’ turn to flinch, as he wished he never mentioned Rebekah, and that their moments together could continue. “Early morning.”

“Same here, love,” he replied, disappointment niggling at his insides.

She placed her hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze.

“It was really nice to see you, Klaus,” she said earnestly. “You gave me such an important gift back then. My music can be linked so strongly back to that car ride with you. And I think my life would look a whole lot different without it. Bye for now.”

He smiled at her, the kind of genuine smile he didn’t know whether he still had.

Their eyes locked, and for the most fleeting of moments, Klaus’ heart filled and his mind flashed through the life he could have with Caroline if things had been different, if she wasn’t his little sister’s friend, if he didn’t feel like his best years were gone, if they could be in the same place at the same time. 

“I hope to see you around, Caroline.” 

/

This is the song Caroline is singing. Listen, and love Damien Rice.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #cheesecake's chook scratchings

[love-fireflysong]

Day 18: Photo

Fandom: Until Dawn Character(s): Chris Hartley, Josh Washington, Ashley Brown Words: 1962 Rating: Teen (language bitches!) Author’s Notes: *Nickelback’s ‘Photograph’ plays in the background* Still alive over here! And it’s not angst this time! Amazing, I know. Big reason this one is so late is because after spending 3 days thinking about what to do for this, I still had nothing. And then I inspiration came to me in the shower so here we are: the follow-up to Deals and Arguments that probably no one wanted! Because lets be honest, if Ash is the one who writes ‘Ashley Hartley’ in her books, then Chris absolutely scribbled a heart with their initials by accident once. And that’s all it takes for Josh...

For almost as long as Chris had known him, Josh had always been obsessed with the idea. He wants to say that it started when they were in fifth grade, when their teacher, Ms. Franks, announced to the class that since she was pregnant, that she was going to be taking a leave of absence just before the end of the school year. Someone, he couldn’t recall who, had asked if they had a name for the baby picked out, but he could recall the response as though it had happened only yesterday.

“It’s still a little too early for names, but if they’re gonna be a girl, we’re thinking of naming her after a mutual best friend of ours.”

Ever since then, Josh had been all over the idea. Every dare, every piece of blackmail, every ‘dying’ wish was the same: “Name your kid Josh.” When he was younger, Chris would laugh and shove Josh away with a roll of his eyes. It was funny back when he was like ten or eleven, or hell, even when he was thirteen! He was gonna be a super cool app developer, he wasn’t gonna have time for marriage, much less kids. All of his time was gonna be spent developing super awesome games and apps that were gonna save the world! Or something. 

While his mind didn’t exactly change the moment he met Ashley the summer after he turned thirteen, he is ashamed to admit it was pretty dang close. Josh introduced Ash to him in their favorite fast food diner, and declared the three of them to be best friends, til death do us part, yada yada yada. At the end of July, the three of them were inseparable, and by the beginning of school that September, he was gone. Donezo baby! Head-over-fucking-heels for the little braces wearing, red-head that read Sherlock Holmes and Shakespeare for fun.

And unsurprisingly, Josh never let up on his demand. Nope, he did not! In fact, he got even worse about it. 

He needed to borrow a pencil for math? Name your kid after me. 

Can he spot him a couple of bucks for ice cream? Only if you name your kid Josh. 

When did the Battle of the Alamo take place? 1846. But I’ll tell you the right answer if you swear to name your first-born after me. 

While extremely exhausting to try and avoid, Chris was able to do so easily. He just started asking the kid who sat behind him in class for pencils, borrowed money from Ash instead, and he’d rather fail history then name his kid after Josh. Thankfully, after his first bombed history exam, Ash made all three of them do their homework together constantly, so the last one became a moot point. Barely.

Eventually, Josh tapered off on the demand, but not until after the start of the next school year. Most people probably would have stopped a few weeks in, but most people weren’t Josh Washington. When he wanted something, the guy stuck to his guns and didn’t give it up for nothing. Not that he stopped entirely of course, Josh still brings it up during dares and shit but it becomes immensely more manageable. He notices that he doesn’t ask it of Ash during these game, but when he considers the completely mortified look she gets on her face when ever he gets asked, Chris figures that its probably for the best.

(The fact that he not only stops that day Chris walked back into Ash’s bedroom and she’s as red as her hair while shoving something into her desk drawer, but that’s also when the mortification starts, he doesn’t clue into until years later.)

So when Josh walks up to him during their first period together with the absolute shittiest of shit-eating grins on his face, Chris is on red high alert.

“Oh no. What did you do?”

The laugh Josh gives is low and dark, and if Chris’s hackles weren’t raised earlier, they sure as fucking-hell are now. “Oh no, Cochise. It’s not what I’ve done, it’s what you’ve done.” With that, Josh proceeds to just slam a binder onto Chris’s desk, and he looks to see that he recognizes it easily.

“Okay...? I don’t see what my math notes have to do with anything.”

Another laugh, this one somehow darker and eviler then the first. Oh boy, those alarms going off in his head aren’t getting any quieter. “Oh, it has absolutely everything to do with you.” Before Chris can even respond, Josh is already flipping through the pages, past older pieces of loose-leaf that ripped from the binder coils that he hadn’t bothered to repair and and the newer notes with their edges still intact, and stops at the most recent. At first Chris doesn’t see anything, it’s all his notes about logarithms that he had taken the previous day, blue ink scratchy and messy all across the page, and then he does. And he absolutely blanches at the sight and hurriedly slams the binder shut, putting his face in his arms as he covers his head, actually whimpering as he refuses to look at Josh.

He doesn’t have to look to see the triumphant grin on Josh’s face, he can already imagine it pretty clearly. 

“Oh fuck me.”

The worst part is that he didn’t even know it was there in the first place, he never would have lent his notes out otherwise. Josh had been missing more and more school recently, claiming that he was having killer headaches and they were making him sick, so Chris had done what friends do for each other and lent him his notes. What he didn’t realize was that at some point when he had been taking notes down, he had drawn a little heart in the margins with the initials CH+AB inside. Something he never would have done if Josh had been there with him, but he hadn’t been, so Chris had zoned out thinking about meeting up with Ash after school to bring Josh his homework.

He was so dead.

“What do you want?” Though muffled through his arms, he cringed at how small and weak his voice came out.

God, he could hear the stupid grin in Josh’s voice when he answered. “You know exactly what I want, Cochise. What I’ve always wanted.”

Chris didn’t remove his head from his arms on the desk, but he did turn it enough to narrow his eyes at Josh. “Are you fucking serious dude? Really? You’re still on about that shit?”

“I will never stop. You know this to be true.”

“I am not naming my stupid kid after you! I mean, maybe I won’t ever have kids. I’m certainly not gonna if I have to name them Josh!”

Josh rolled his eyes, but the wide grin never left his face. “You don’t have to name all of them after me. Just one.” Somehow, Chris watched the grin get even wider as a thought came to him. “Maybe two, if they’re twins. Can you imagine? The twins, Joshua and Joshlynn, it’ll be great!”

“Okay, now I’m definitely never having kids.”

Josh gave a short bark of laughter. "Please, like that’s ever gonna happen. You wanna know why, Cochise? Cause if Ash is gonna want kids, then you’re gonna want kids.”

He couldn’t help it. He really, truly couldn’t help it. The image of little kids with bright red hair and glasses flashed through his mind unbidden, and he groaned loudly and put his face back into his arms to hide how red his face had gotten.

“Anything else, dude. Make me do anything else. I will strip and run through the entire school naked if you want, just don’t make me promise you this stupid shit.” God, if only he hadn’t drawn that stupid heart on his stupid notes, then none of this would be happening right now! He sat up in his seat at the revelation. “Wait. I can just rewrite the page and burn this one.”

“Oh, Chris Chris Chris.” They way Josh shakes his head in disappointment sends around a million different alarm bells ringing. “Do you really think that little of me? I took like a million pictures my dude. This shit is saved forever. I can send this to Ash whenever the fuck I want. I can post this on whatever social media I feel like and it will live on the internet forever, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Oh. Right. Shit. “I can’t believe that you can literally blackmail me with anything right now, and this is the hill you’re dying on.”

“So are we in agreement then?”

“I cannot believe I’m saying this, but yes. Fine. I will name my stupid kid after your stupid ass.”

“Oh please. Your kid may be stupid, but there is no way that any kid of Ashley’s is gonna be.”

“...I hate you so much right now.”

--------------------------------------------------

Chris hadn’t meant to respond the way he did when he found the old notebook he had bought for Ash years ago. He really hadn’t. He had just been excited to find out that she had kept the stupid thing after all these years, he hadn’t even been joking when he told her that he had spent ages in the store looking for it. (”It has to be perfect, Mom! I can’t just buy her any stupid old journal, she loves these things! I mean, what if she hates it?”) So he had opened it and started flipping through the pages, laughing with her at all the stupid misspellings and bad grammar that her thirteen year-old self had written.

And then he reached the last page.

Things had really been out of his hands at that point. Something about seeing her writing her name down as ‘Ashley Hartley’ had just ignited something in him. The images of her walking down an aisle, of them with matching rings on their fingers, of kids running underfoot, was too much for him to handle. So Chris had kissed her. Kissed her like he was never gonna be able to do it again. Them falling onto her bed had been an accident, though a happy one, as they both didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss.

Finally, he had pulled away and her giggle when she moved to fix his glasses had taken his breath away. It had quickly returned when his eyesight improved enough to really take in the image of Ash flushed pink with her red hair spread out under her on the bed, and he was suddenly reminded that she was going to be living with him soon! That this was a sight he was going to be waking up to every morning at the end of the month, and he had never wanted anything so bad in his life.

“So,” his voice is rougher than usual when he speaks and he can feel her shiver under him at it. He makes a note for future reference. “Ashley Hartley, huh?” 

He watches her bite her lip, and it takes everything in him to not kiss her again. Two years in, and he’s still amazed that he’s allowed to kiss her whenever he wants, that she encourages it even! “Be honest with me,” she starts off and Chris has never been told to do something so easy in his life, “what do you think of the name Joshlynn?”

He stares at her for just a moment, just letting her words sink in, and then falls forward to smother himself in her hair, his shoulders shaking he’s laughing so hard. Of course. Of fucking course he did.

“So he got you too, I see.”  

#pride month prompt challenge #my writing #until dawn #chris hartley #josh washington #ashley brown #chrashley #im laughing that this is only like 20 words shorter then d&a #how the hell did i manage to make these almost the same length? #and theres so many damn italics in this god #this is gonna take forever to format on ao3 #what was i thinking? #does this have anything to do with photos? #not really #but considering that rainbow had almost nothing to do with rainbows #thats okay #probably should have used this for dare instead #oops

[angrylizardjacket]

this one's called "im finally heading home and I wrote this on my phone in the airport and Ash does have family, and it's weird to see even one of them, set 79''

"Ashley? Ashley Clarke?" The moment Ash hears her full name being called at an after party in an accent that's far too familar, her blood runs cold. They're playing in London and she never expected anyone from her home town to be here, now. The music around her becomes white noise as she turns on her heel, ready to tell whoever it is to fuck off, she may not recognise the voice, but they obviously recognise her, which is enough to set her on edge. But when she turns, there's a young woman behind her, grinning and surprisingly familiar. "I almost didn't recognise you." The woman laughs, stepping into Ash's space and wrapping her in a hug.

"Do I know you?" Ash asks, awkwardly prying the young woman off of her, and the girl's face falls.

"Ashley it's me, it's Mikayla." And the moment it clicks into place, that this woman is her younger sister, Ash takes another step back, frowning, a sudden anxiety coursing through her, even after all these years.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"I saw the show, and one of my friends knows, I don't know, someone who knows someone who got us invited here; I didn't know you'd be here." Mikayla speaks like she's trying to calm a frightened animal, and surprisingly it actually seems to work. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." And she goes to leave, but Ash reaches out, snagging her sister by the shoulder.

"Minnie- wait," she sighs, forcing herself to relax, "how old are you now?" And when Minnie answers that she's twenty-two, not even bothering to hide her confused and a little hurt frown, Ash pulls her to the bar and buys her a drink.

"If you're twenty-two that means it's been," Ash takes her out to the back of the pub where it's quieter, where they have more space to themselves, "fuck, it hasn't really been eleven years, has it? No wonder I didn't recognise you," Ash laughs, but Minnie isn't nearly so candid about it.

"Yeah, a lots happened since you left."

"Since I was kicked out," Ash corrects sharply, and Minnie at least has the decency to look apologetic, "where's Ellie?"

"Fucked if I know, probably playing happy families," she doesn't sound happy about it, "she's married, you know? Last I heard she was expecting, but that was a while ago, so who knows," she shrugged, taking a long sip of he drink as Ash's brow furrowed.

"You and Ellie don't speak?"

"Well I mean her husband is my ex-fiance so..." She shrugged, before giving Ash a wry smile. "Like I said, a lot's happened."

"Min, that's fucked, what the hell? You guys were The Shining twins when I left," Ash's eyes are wide as saucers as she looks at her little sister, who laughs, loud and sharp.

"We were eleven!" There's a long pause, and Minnie looks up to the stars above, her smile turning soft and whistful. "It's so strange, I never realised how much I missed you 'til I saw you again. Were you just planning to never come back? Never see us again?"

"Mum and dad don't want to see me," Ash rolled her eyes, and Minnie frowned.

"Of course they do! I mean, mum acts like doesn't want to see anyone apart from Ellie, she's barely spoken to Oz since his divorce - Oz got married too, by the way, like it didn't work out but the ceremony was beautiful - but she's just a traditionalist hypocrite."

"Oz got married?" Ash's voice is so gentle it almost hurts, and when Minnie looks at her, she sees the tears in Ash's eyes.

"You'd love his kids," Minnie smiles, taking her sisters hand and giving a fond squeeze, "Allen's almost ten, looks just like a little version of Oz, and Jackie's six, she's a terror." Minnie laughs softly, and Ash joins her. Part of her is completely overwhelmed with guilt, but then she pushes it down; however much she would have liked to see her brother, it doesn't override the fact that he was one of the people who helped run her out of town when she was nineteen. Brushing the tears from her eyes, Ash smiles.

"I'll have to meet them one day, now Min, what have you been up to-" before Ash can finish asking her question, Minnie grabs her hand, eyes wide as she focuses on the ring on Ash's finger.

"Did you get married?" She gasps, and Ash pulls her hand from Minnie's grasp.

"Calm down, I'm just engaged." She laughs softly, but Minnie is still agape.

"Ace, you're engaged, to who?" She demands to know, which startles a laugh from Ash.

"God, no-one's called me that in years," she mused, "he's around here somewhere, I'll introduce you later." She assured, and that set Minnie off on a whole new round of questions, why she was at the party, what she'd been doing with her life, how long she'd been with this 'mystery man' (and wouldn't Roger get a kick out of that).

Ash is hesitant to tell Minnie too much, she doesn't blame the girl for what happened over a decade ago, she was eleven at the time after all, but it was an automatic response when speaking to her family. She says she's a designer and that alludes to the fact that she works with the band before she's off and asking Minnie about her own life. Minnie really had changed in the past decade, dropping out of university to become an assistant to a museum curator. Of course this delights Ash, and Minnie's halfway through gushing about their latest collection when her voice dies in her throat and her eyes go wide.

"So this is where you've hidden yourself away, you know Freddie's been looking for you." Roger slings an arm around Ash's waist as he comes up to the sisters, shooting Minnie a grin where she's giving him a starry-eyed gaze.

"Oh god, he hasn't ripped that jacket has he?" Ash asks, leaning her head against his shoulder and wearing a terribly put-upon look. Roger snorts, shaking his head. "Is it his pants? I told him I'm not fixing another broken zipper," Ash groaned, before waving it off. "Whatever, Paul has a packet of safety pins, he'll survive; Rog, this is Minnie." She introduces, as if finally remembering her little sister sitting across from her. Roger sticks out his free hand.

"Mikayla, hi." Minnie corrects with flushed cheeks, snapping from star-struck to flirtatious in an instant. Ash fights to not roll her eyes, which she thinks Roger can sense by the way he gives her hip a squeeze.

"Minnie," Ash says pointedly, "this is Roger Taylor, my fiance." Minnie just about screams at that, at the please little grin Roger's wearing. "This is my little sister." Ash clarifies, and suddenly any confusion Roger had had cleared in an instant.

"I thought I recognised you," and he turns, lifting Ash's chin so she's looking at him, though she seems incredibly exasperated, and he's amused for the barest moment before pinching he cheek and turning back to Minnie, "you've got the same face."

"Similar, not the same." It's an kneejerk response from Minnie, who's lived her life hearing those words while standing beside her twin, but Roger doesn't think too hard about it and concedes easily.

Roger hides his confusion easily, but Ash knows it's there. For all the time she's known him the only thing she's ever genuinely been cagey about is her family, he knew she had a sister, well two, but the other doesn't seem to be here, but he's never really known anything about them beyond their names. But even so, he can tell Ash is nervous, even though she goes to commendable lengths to hide it. He's zoned out from the conversation for a bit, but when he comes to, Ash is grinning at him.

"Huh?"

"Min wants to know what I do for the band," Ash grins, before Roger smirks at her and she elbows him, "don't be gross." She warned, but that only made him smile wider.

"So this one Halloween-" Roger starts, but Ash stands so fast her chair goes crashing to the ground. She's as red as her hair, and she slaps a hand over his mouth.

"I told you to not be gross- stop licking my hand!" She cries, and he tries to say something but she refuses to move. Minnie watches like she can't quite fathom that her sister is bantering and engaged to the rock star she's had a crush on since she was fifteen. "Don't bring that up around my little sister, and anyways that Halloween is between you, me, and the trees-" She snapped though she was grinning, and finally she removed her hand.

"So that's what you're calling him-" and with that Roger's mouth is covered again, but they're both laughing, he's got his arms around her and Ash has her forehead pressed to his chest, but Minnie's starting to put two and two together.

"Ace..." A little in awe but mostly scandalised, "have you-?"

"No, shut up, whatever it is I haven't done it!" Ash is quick to deny, stepping away from Roger as he simply laughs louder, though he's quiet endeared by the nickname. "I'm their stylist, I make their clothes and plan their outfits." She clears up, though Minnie raises her eyebrows sceptically. "I'm gonna kill you when we get home," she murmurs to Roger, but she's smiling, and he just wiggles his eyebrows at her. Minnie feels something break in her mind... They live together; her older sister is in love with Roger Taylor, and despite all the tabloid articles she's read about his reputation, he loves her too.

"I've missed you, Ashley," Minnie says when Roger returns to the crowd. They both watch him go, and Ash is wearing a smile that the younger woman knows all too well, how smitten she is with that pretty rock star. Ash grins at Minnie, taking her hand and giving it a fond squeeze.

"I've missed you too, Minnie."

#this one's called #ash #ask your destiny to dance fic

[dragon-hall]

Big Brother-sized Sermon

Did a little side research on a scene in the last episode that is irrelevant to this fic. That part where HQ told Willard where Yuliy was last sighted with “The Royal girl” Tamara. So, it happens to be Khabarovsk, Khabarovsk Krai, Russia (not “Habarosukku” but it does sound like it) where one of the main railway built there during the 1930s there is the East Siberian Railway (correct me if I’m wrong pls). Either he is going south to Vladivostok or he is crossing the Amur River to the west going to Moscow to convince the vampire elders, I’m not entirely sure.

Request: (post anime) Yuliy left the jaegers to follow his own path together with the Arc, leaving Mikhail who survived the blast with his former teammates. Nii-san is not happy with it.

(for @majinxkayleigh)

“Yuliy!!” His name echoed through the dark alleyway of Moscow.

Yuliy gasped when he turned around, surprised when he saw his brother in mid-air just behind him. His eyes were feral and his arms ready to swing his blades at him.

"Nii-san?!"

“Finally found you, you brat! Come here!” Mikhail growled as he pounced towards Yuliy.

He had already foreseen this instance, his right eye showing him unfamiliar scenes that he considers now as revelations. Mikhail’s arrival should not have been a shock anymore but the reality was different from figments of the mind. Especially when the tip of his elder brother’s blade was a mere millimeters away from his skin. It was a good thing he sidestepped just in time.

Mikhail was obviously angry, that much was true, and the way he was expertly targetting his weak spots meant he was serious at plunging his weapons to Yuliy’s body. Ten years of cultivating his inhuman strength and speed and another year away from each other made Mikhail a hard contender. He was prepared to dole out a beating for his runaway sibling.

However, Yuliy countered him hit after hit. His defenses for every attack were so quick and precise that he himself knew he was not capable of years ago. He owed it to the Arc nestled within his right eye. Its powers and its constant humming were his constant companions this past year after all.

A kick to his stomach jolted him out of his reverie and Yuliy’s back connected to a fence so hard it punched the air out of him. He had no time to recover just when Mikhail grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and pushed him against the fence.

“What’s this?” His elder brother sneered. “After all these months, you’re still easily distracted and you had the gall to take the Arc here?”

“Nii-san...” Yuliy responded through gritted teeth. The grip on his lapels was very tight. “You don’t... understand-”

“I don’t understand what?” Mikhail hissed and pressed him further against the fence that made Yuliy groan in pain. “That the Arc is too powerful for anyone to control? That surely all of the countries out there will come after you because of it? That war will happen when they get their hands on it? Give me a fucking break!”

Yuliy was not surprised that he knew the consequences and the status quo of the nations. Mikhail had been aware of that for quite some time now.

“No matter the outcome of my decisions, I will take responsibility and that includes the responsibility of keeping the Arc from those who desire it.”

“Take responsibility... by taking refuge within the vampire circles just to hide?”

Oh, he knew about that, too?

His surprise must have shown on his face and Mikhail finally let him go. He tossed him to the ground like a bag of rice and watched as Yuliy pulled himself together.

“Eleven years. I’ve been a vampire for eleven years. Nothing changed within that small amount of time. The rogues are still out there. Royals and slaves blended with the crowd and feeding behind the scenes. You know, Tamara was lurking around Moscow these past few months. She is loyal to those who earned her trust.” His brother looked down at him with an unreadable expression, his blue eyes the color of blood that mirrors his emotions. 

Yuliy underestimated him. Mikhail is clever as always. To think that all he had to do was to look the one ally he is always in contact with.

“Really, it’s not that hard to track you down given that the old man you call professor is constantly up to date with you. If only you stayed on one place then we would’ve found you sooner. I would’ve found you sooner.”

It’s only now that Yuliy realized what his brother had been doing since his revival.

Yuliy knew he owe the Arc for giving his brother a second life and that the last he heard about him was him being in London. The news had not been wrong. The vampire slaves were diligent in collecting information but they failed to mention that Mikhail was currently with his old teammates. He knew they were looking for him possibly under the headquarter’s command to hunt him down but Yuliy did not realize his brother would also be involved.

“Yuliy. I told you that time that I was always worried about you and will always be. Nothing will change that. Not even you distancing yourself from me. So, why...?”

“This is my burden and mine alone. You had enough on your plate already. Like you said, I am the last Sirius and-”

“It doesn’t mean you’d fulfill your duty alone!” Mikhail shouted, his anger already at its boiling point and all he wanted to do was to beat some sense to Yuliy.

So, he abandoned his weapons and punched him straight to the face at top speed. To hell with the Arc lodged on his eye. He had more important things to address like his headstrong and wayward little brother.

---

“Shouldn’t we stop them?” Dorothea, ever the mother hen, hummed towards her comrades.

“And deprive ourselves of a good show? No way.” Philip grinned. It’s not every day he gets to see brothers fighting to release some pent up frustration over each other. 

They are both stubborn and rash during critical times, eager to get into battle the first chance they get without thinking about the risks. Compared to Yuliy, Mikhail is more rational than his younger brother and emitting a more dangerous aura while in silence.

They are different, those two, but similar at the same time. Which is why watching them beat each other out is a great entertainment.

Philip did not know who to root for because Yuliy packed some punches and Mikhail got killer moves (and that kick!)

“We have time.” Willard checked his pocket watch. The time was half-past eleven. It’s still early. “Let them talk it out like civilized men-” 

A rather strong punch to Yuliy’s stomach nearly made the professor reconsider his words.

#tenrou: sirius the jaeger #tenrou sirius the jaeger #sirius the jaeger #drabble: sirius the jaeger #my fic #yuliy #mikhail #v shipping company #future fic #nii-san is veeeery angry #o.o

[janiedean]

But why do you hate Cersei that much? Is it because you are hardcore JamiexBrienne shipper? (Classic)

… this question was fairly fine until the classic, which denotes a certain passive-aggressiveness typical of the usual cersei stan so excuse me if instead of getting a nice answer I might have toned down a bit you’re getting all the ugly truth - next time consider not implying that I’d hate a character just because it’s in the way of my ship, thank you, since I tend to actually multiship and I don’t hate jeynew for being technically an obstacle to my main ship and so on. but okay. you wanna know? let’s go in order,

spoilers: this is gonna be ugly, I am not going to hold back any venom and so if you like cersei you’re welcome to not read this. I warned you.

one: classic. my dear anon, I’ll tell you a secret: 80% of the jb fandom actually likes cerse. I’m in the minority. most people I know who ship jb either also ship jc or like cersei as a villain/as the horrid person she is because they enjoy a well-written villain. i don’t, but most *hardcore jb shippers* actually LIKE cersei. if then you take ‘she’s horrible but I love her character’ as people hating her then it’s your goddamned problem.

two: I actually loathed her abusive, controlling, manipulative and murdering ass way before brienne even showed up in the book let alone reading asos.

NO, REALLY.

three: I find cersei a technically very well-built and written character. no, really.

four: too bad that if there’s one thing I hate in fiction is incompetent villains, and if there’s three kinds of people I hate irl it’s a) people who think they’re so much better than the others, b) people who use person X who loves them as an emotional punching bag/their own servant without realizing what’s wrong with it, c) people who don’t accept responsibilities of their actions. rings a bell?

ah, right.

five: I find cersei’s povs utterly, terribly and fucking boring. okay, she’s insane, okay, she’s completely out of this world, okay, she’s great in her being completely insane and wanting to rule, okay, she’s a great villain, I found it amusing for one chapter and then I fell asleep. I can’t care less to be in the head of a narcissist asshole who thinks the world is an extension of herself and digs her own grave while blaming everyone else for her shortcomings and not even getting it when she’s directly confronted with it.

six: cersei is a fucking disgusting human being. and before y’all go like BUT ROBERT, I’m just gonna say that I am in no way, shape or form required to be interested in someone who threw a 12 year old into a well because said person dared say she had a crush on her brother when she also was twelve herself. like. okay, maybe for some people she’s interesting, to me that’s child psychiatrist material.

seven: I have also absolutely no fucking interest in an abusive fuck who spent her entire life actively or not actively trying to prevent jaime from actually having an identity separated from hers or who sexually molested her other brother while he was in the crib and justifies it with WELL HE’S A MONSTER. no, fuck you.

eight: an abusive fuck who also thinks she’s her father and couldn’t do politics if they hit her in the face. I mean, I actually like roose as a character and I don’t hate him even if he actively put a knife inside my actual favorite character’s heart because a) he’s not an incompetent fuck, b) he knows when you should not do horrid stuff because it’s not politically convenient, c) just wanted to rule his damned land and isn’t going out of his way to mess shit up jUST BECAUSE HE HAS THE POWER. cersei is just that, all along, and I can’t give a fuck about it.

nine: I have absolutely zero sympathy for 99% of her plights - at most I can give her that marrying robert was miserable, but OMG I AM A WOMAN IT PREVENTS ME FROM BEING MY FATHER SO NOW I WILL HAVE TO BE HORRID TO EVERYONE ELSE WHILE EXCUSING MYSELF ALL ALONG is not my cup of tea.

ten: OMG SHE’S A WONDERFUL MOTHER!!!! yeah a wonderful mother who sends tommen to whip someone when he’s not tough enough, totally great. and fandom even buys that. blergh.

eleven: I can’t stand her treatment of jaime and tyrion but jaime especially and I find it absolutely revolting and excuse me but I might find it such especially since if you look at it she basically dragged him into doing sexual stuff when they were younger than eight and from then on she did everything to make sure he wouldn’t have a life apart from her when she was ready to drop him if rhaegar accepted to marry her? like, why the fuck am I obliged to like this kind of person if it’s not my kind of character? ah, and it’s not about the incest because if that was the problem I wouldn’t be here shipping thor and loki and the other three sibling incests I occasionally shipped throughout my life, I just hated it since book one. am I allowed?

twelve: I’m gonna tell you a secret now (not so much but whatever). I read books 1-5 in a month marathoning and I didn’t exactly have time to form opinions until after I was done, and I started shipping jb during asos but I mean it sailed at the end and I was mild shipping, not hardcore. you know when was the moment where I thought, re cersei, omg fuck you I hope you die in a fire we’re Done I’m never giving you second chances I don’t care you can choke didn’t even have anything to do with jaime, it was when they were discussing the red wedding post-thing and someone said that catelyn went insane when she watched robb die in front of him and she started laughing about it. and excuse me anyone who finds the red wedding funny ESPECIALLY someone who professes that they’re a wonderful mother who loves her children is completely banned from my list of people who deserve me giving them a second chance to get back in my ‘I like you’ list. okay? my favorite character is robb, cat is in my top ten and I actually love cat to bits even if I don’t agree with her on half of what she says/we are fundamentally different in a lot of fundamental aspects, except that cat’s not an asshole and I can like her because she has things I like about her other than being very well-written, cersei’s just well-written but for the rest she’s the sum of everything I hate in a) fictional villains, b) people irl.

thirteen: also, the fandom tends to justify basically everything this asshole does with the excuse that she’s a woman so SHE’S AN EMPOWERED PROTO-FEMINIST when no she’s fucking not and cersei stans regularly show up bashing on my jb shipping that I try to keep actively away from them for example not tagging anything I say about cersei because I know they don’t wanna read it, while the brienne tag is riddled with crap like OMG YOU SAY SHE HAS TO BE CISHET JUST BECAUSE YOU SHIP HER WITH JAIME BOOO, or gems like ‘omg jb fans are all ugly women who want to bang jaime and project on brienne how pathetic muahahaha cersei had it so much worse’ plus coming on anon at regular intervals to send shit to people in the jb tag (I even have a tagged/jb-wank tag for it, TRY IT), so her fans definitely made sure that I went to general dislike to full-on hatred and that’s not even counting d&d trying to make cersei more sympathetic. blergh. as if there’s the need.

fourteen: I also don’t need to like someone who has no problem condemning people to death, ordering TWENTY children dead without losing a moment of sleep on it (I mean theon did the same with two and has nightmares about it, jon swapped two didn’t even kill them and he has nightmares about it, this asshole hasn’t even thought about it once), ordering people tortured or unethically experimented on and ordering rape on other women (in the show at least) all along while thinking she’s the best thing that ever happened to this planet. I have a few limits and people who only think about themselves and see other people in terms of HOW USEFUL THEY ARE TO ME are one of them, thanks.

fifteen: and for that matter, my favorite fictional villain ever is randall flagg ie a dude who killed an entire planet once or almost and who’s an unrepentant asshole and unapologetically evil, except that he actually doesn’t think he’s this great person because of it. he’s just evil incarnated, but what the hell. I like competent villains who don’t try to tell themselves they aren’t villains and who don’t frame their actions as anything but horrid shit. I’m fine if they enjoy it and I’m fine if they have a skewed set of morals according to which they see it as perfectly acceptable, but cersei doesn’t have a skewed set of morals, cersei’s just fucking out of it and has the worst narcissistic disorder in recent literary history. and she’s an incompetent fuck who thinks she’s better than everyone else who abuses everyfuckingone she runs into, and I just said jaime and tyrion but if I got into sansa, lancel, tommen, myrcella and just about everyone she interacts with I’d end up the day after tomorrow.

sixteen: my dislike was thoroughly cemented by how much I didn’t enjoy her pov chapters in affc/adwd but that was way before I hardcore shipped jb because at that point the only things I HARDCORE shipped were jon/sam and sandor/sansa, I wasn’t even shipping t/rhobb at that point. and my hardcore j/b shipping happened by the end of affc/by the time I was finished, and even then it took me one year to actually get into that side of fandom for real. so, no, actually the fact that I ship j/b has absolutely nothing to do with my dislike of cersei ie a character I disliked in got, hated in acok, was disgusted by all of the damned time in asos and throroughly detested in affc for reasons that guess what had everything to do with her and nothing to do with me shipping jaime with someone else.

because really, as long as he got away from that abusive fuck that’s his sister, he could have done it with arthur dayne, catelyn, the blackfish, fucking jon connington, oberyn or tv!bronn for what I care. I absolutely hate her also because I want jaime far away from her, but as long as he is, the fact that brienne is there and she’s his canon love interest (deal - with - it) is just a good convenient thing. otherwise I still would want him a planet away from that asshole that’s his sister. clear? shipping jb has nothing to do with that. fuck’s sake, the two most popular jon ships are jon/sansa and jon/dany and I ship him with EVERYONE BUT THOSE TWO and robb, and guess what I don’t hate sansa or robb (they’re both in my top ten/fifteen) and I don’t care about dany either way. I’m not so fucking not objective that I loathe a character so much just because they’re canonically in the middle of my ship, I’d be an immature or it’d be an immature reason and I’m enough of an adult to actually admit it. she happens to be in the middle of my ship more or less, but believe me I don’t hate elia or lyanna for being in the middle of r/jonc, sure as fuck I don’t hate cersei because she’s in the middle of jb.

I hate cersei because all of us has limits when it comes to irl and fictional characters and she’s wildly beyond all of mine and guess what, that was clear since the moment I read book one, after which jaime was my second-fave overall and she was at the damned bottom of the list. ah, except that if you dare liking jaime but not her you’re suddenly a Bad Feminist because liking the man out of the two of them but not her means you’re somehow having internalized misogyny. when instead it could be that jaime’s actually not an asshole and she is, but since, oh, wait, this fandom villanizes jaime a lot because in order to justify the crap cersei does they have to go along with that fucking THEY’RE THE SAME PERSON spiel which the narrative had denied from page five of the first tyrion pov chapter or so, I also have to get told that if I like the lannister guys (who are grey and fucked up but not inherently bad people and ah wait, both abuse victims since the damned cradle while she’s not) but not her I’m a Bad Feminist TM and excuse me but that attitude should have died years ago and it also helped making sure I would never budge when it came to c.

seventeen: the fact that the more time passes the less I can’t stand her means I can’t stand her in the show either. wow, too bad. I also couldn’t stand the th/ramsay scenes and watched them muted. but did I go ask t/hramsay ppl how they found them watchable? no. because I mind my own fucking business. and I wasn’t gonna even say it until people basically had to tear it out of me keeping on telling me I should like cersei/lena’s portrayal better than kit/jon because she’s a better actress than he is. most likely, but I don’t wanna punch jon in the face. and I wanna punch cersei in the face. for all the above reasons.

that have nothing to do with jb and all to do with the fact that cersei is an abusive/manipulative/incompetent fuck. okay?

there. that’s why I hate cersei. satisfied?

ps: and that’s why I don’t talk about cersei outside of jb meta, because I know that 50% of this is most probably my flawed subjective opinion and that she irks me also because of personal reasons that don’t have to be rational (there’s a reason why I hate incompetent idiots irl and why I hate people who think your life revolves around theirs irl btw) and that people will like her for a lot of the reasons why I dislike her. it’s fair. and that’s why I usually don’t share. 

but if you really had to ask, that’s your damned answer.

classic, my ass. 80% of jb fans around actually don’t agree with me on 80% of what I wrote. some of us just don’t fucking like cersei. deal. with. it.

thanks for coming to my fucking ted talk.

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #anti-cersei lannister #anti-cersei #swearing cw #i guess i cussed a lot in this one #va bene va bene va bene in verità #abuse cw #rape cw #torture cw #child murder cw #WOW WHAT AN UPSTANDING CITIZEN #Anonymous #ask post #long post for ts

[juniperallura]

Voltron Hogwarts AU

Part 3/?

(A (sort of) Lance-narrated Shallura fic in multiple parts)

(Now with a prequel)

The sky was clear, its bright blue accented by the autumn colors that lined the street and crunched underfoot. A slight breeze heralded the new school year, it’s novelty only just beginning to wear, calling the young witches and wizards to enjoy the season before the bone-chilling wind of winter replaced it’s gentle coolness. All in all, a perfect weekend for Hogsmeade.

Hunk, Pidge, and Lance met up first, impatiently talking World Cup stats until Keith surfaced from the Slytherin dungeon. The group followed the mass exodus from the Castle, everyone in high spirits as a month’s worth of pent-up energy (Quidditch season having yet to start) was collectively expelled.

The enchanting power of Hogsmeade’s main street never got old. Everyone’s attention was quickly pulled in different directions; including Lance, whose gaze was caught by a familiar pair slipping through the crowd. Even badge-less and out of their usual black robes, Lance could spot Allura’s shining mane from a mile away. She and Shiro were walking oddly close to each other, making a beeline toward a storefront covered in bows and painted a sickeningly sweet pink.

“What the hell-” Lance muttered, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to squint. “Guys! Guys!” he called, gesturing to his friends. They stopped a few feet ahead of him, but didn’t bother retracing their steps. “Do you see this?” Lance pointed across the street, his eyes bulging as the full weight of his realization dawned on him, “Do you see where they’re going?”

“Who?” Pidge called, scanning the other side of the street.

“Shiro and Allura,” Lance hissed, furiously beckoning to them.

Hunk strolled over to Lance’s side. “So? What’s wrong?”

Lance’s mouth hung open, “They’re going to Madam Puddifoot’s!”

The tingling of bell wafted across the street, and the pair were gone. Hunk snorted. “They’re going where?”

“Madam Puddifoot’s!” Lance cried, throwing up his hands.

A smirk curled over Keith’s face. “Madam who?”

 “-Puddifoot!” Lance huffed at the chores of giggles that rose from his friends, coupled with Pidge’s pleas for him to never say that again. “Keith, how can you not care about this? He’s your brother!”

Keith shrugged, “I don’t care what he does- and I don’t even see them.” He started to turn away, gesturing over his shoulder, “C’mon Lance, don’t you want to get to Spintwitches’ to see the new Nimbus?”

“Oo, let’s go!” Hunk clapped a hand on Lance’s shoulder before moving down the street, “Shay’s birthday is next week, I want to get her some new Beater’s gloves-”

“-Blowing all your money on Shay, huh, Hunk?”

        “-Shut up-”

Lance stood still for a second, staring at the tea shop sign as his friend’s voices got further away.

“Hey, wait up-!”

| h | o | g | w | a | r | t | s |

“Good luck out there, Pidge,” Lance smiled, holding a hand out to his fellow Seeker.

“You too,” Pidge adjusted her glasses, slapping her hand against Lance’s and giving it a quick squeeze, “See you on the pitch!”

The two parted ways at the pitch entrance, Lance making his way toward the Gryffindor locker room. 

First match of the semi-finals. Time to get his head in the game. 

Forget the Charms essay that was already two days late; forget that he and Keith weren’t speaking to each other for who even remembers what reason; forget that he almost lost his arm in disapparation practice the other night. This was what he was good at; although, maybe if he showed up to Charms as early as he showed up to matches his grades would be better.

Lance shook his head as he pushed through the door marked Gryffindor, chiding himself. Upon entering, he was met with two wide-eye stares.

Shiro and Allura were sitting on the center bench, practically in each other’s laps. Lance swore he saw hands unclasping, a palm zoom away from a lap. If their position wasn’t incriminated enough, both of the captain’s faces were red and guilty as hell.

Before Lance could even muster a word, Allura produced a piece of parchment from out of nowhere. “-Ahem, hello, Lance-” Allura flashed a smile, a little too wide to be natural, “Shiro and I were just going over our offensive tactics for the match-”

Shiro nodded, his eyes shifting between Allura and Lance, “Yep, talking strategy-” he cleared his throat “-You know those Ravenclaws, and their…” He and Allura shared a panicked glance.

Lance raised a brow, “-Defense?” He surveyed their emphatic nods with narrowed eyes. Why did he feel like the suspicious parent? Wasn’t that their job?

Before he could say anything else, the other Gryffindor Chasers walked in, immediately pulling Shiro into their conversation.

— “I can’t believe you don’t believe me!” Lance stabbed at his sausage, huffing at the damp lock of hair that kept falling into his face.

“It’s not that we don’t believe you…” Pidge propped her chin in her hand, still exhausted from the match, “But I mean, Shiro and Allura? If anyone’s going to actually be going over Quidditch tactics, it’s them.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, man,” Hunk added, anxiously eyeing Lance’s punctured lunch, “Trust me, I’ve been waiting for it to happen, but-”

Keith reached over to grab a plum cake from the newly refreshed tray. “I don’t know about Allura, but I live with Shiro and I didn’t notice anything off this summer.”

A laugh rang out from the other side of the Great Hall, where Shiro, Matt, and Allura were sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table. The younger counterparts all turned, each one trying to calculate from their place at the Hufflepuff table just how close the pair in question were sitting. Matt saw them and stretched out his arm in a sweeping wave, disturbing some stray post owls as he called, “Hey Pidge! Great flying today- you’ll get ‘em next time!”

Lance slumped against the table with a sigh. Keith frowned, setting down his dessert. “Hey, you never know,” he smiled mischievously, nudging Lance’s elbow, “Maybe it’s all a cover for Shiro and Matt.” The image was enough to get a laugh out of Lance, who decided it was best to change the subject.

| h | o | g | w | a | r | t | s |

Winter had finally set in at Hogwarts. An evil month, really; besides Christmas, nothing good happened in winter. Sure, the Castle was beautiful, frosted in a fresh layer of snow, but Lance was freezing. Walking through the cloister hallway, he swore he could feel his bone marrow turning to ice. (No exaggeration.)

He huffed— Literally, because he forgot gloves and his warm breath was the only thing saving his poor fingers. Metaphorically, because Keith had borrowed his scarf and it turned out he looked really good in red; so now, there he was, scarf-less and inexplicably angry. His train of thought wandered off in that direction, and he nearly smacked into the towering figure of Headmaster Alfor as they both rounded a corner. “-Ah! Sorry, Headmaster, my bad,” Lance grimaced.

The bemused expression on Alfor’s face smoothed into a smile as he chuckled, “Not to worry! I won’t take any points from Gryffindor- unless it happens again.” With a wink he swept away, leaving Lance to wonder where Allura got the stick that was usually up her ass. Speaking of which-

Lance dodged back behind the wall. She was leaning against a pillar, arms folded and lips pulled into a frown. Peeking out, Lance could see Shiro’s profile as he sat on the low courtyard wall, dragging a hand down his face.

Shiro grumbled something. Allura glanced around, responding in a low voice. “-Of course he likes you…”

Lance raised a brow. Those two had been friends since they were like…eleven. Childhood friendships didn’t come with Dad Drama- something was up. 

Why was he the only one seeing these things?

Allura put her hand on Shiro’s shoulder. There was a prolonged gaze. This was getting too personal.

Lance retreated down the hall, for once glad that the snow was there to muffle the sound of his footsteps.

| h | o | g | w | a | r | t | s |

Finally, spring had freed the grounds from its wintertime prison. A fragrant breeze stirred the air, enticingly rippling the surface of the Great Lake. The gang wound their way back to the Castle after a fun afternoon spent stretched out on its banks, snacking on stolen food from the Great Hall and discovering that (apparently) Keith had a deeper relationship with the Giant Squid than anyone had supposed.

They picked up Matt as a straggler on his way back from the Quidditch pitch, and he was regaling them all with his own wild Giant Squid stories (all false, according to Pidge) as they stepped through the Fat Lady’s doorway. Evidently everyone else had also been drawn outdoors, and the couches and cushions of the common room sat deserted except-

“Oh. My. God.”

Who else was leaning against the wall but Head Boy and Head Girl, Co-Captain and Co-Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, Mr. and Mrs. Professionalism and Responsibility, Star Student and the Headmaster’s Daughter. Allura’s back was to the wall, Shiro’s hand claiming the space above her shoulder; her hands were on his chin, in his hair, on his chest; in the weeks to come Lance would swear he saw tongue.

Matt looked like he had been hit by a bus. Pidge and Keith looked like they were going to barf. Hunk looked like a proud grandmother.

A hundred words came to Lance’s mind- irresponsible, bad example, gross, sneaky, reckless- but all that came out was, “Ha!”

As if they were struck by lightening, Shiro and Allura leaped away from each other. Their faces turned a violent shade of crimson, their eyes trying to look at everybody and nobody at the same time. A mix of sputtering “I- we weren’t- you-” joined Lance’s triumphant cackling. Finally, Shiro let out a resigned, “Fuck.”

Matt staggered over to the couch, hand over his heart like a woman in need of her smelling salts. “Please tell me you guys ate some bad Nettleroot and this is some weird drug-fueled hallucinogenic thing?”

Allura glanced at Shiro, wringing her hands. After a second she forced out the words, “No, it’s- it’s been going on for awhile.”

Matt shut his eyes. “How long?”

Shiro swallowed. “…Nine-ish months.”

“Takashi. Shirogane.” Matt lurched forward, his eyes wide. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“We’re so sorry, Matt!” Allura grabbed Shiro’s hand, a move that only seemed to cause Matt physical pain. “It just happened over the summer, and we didn’t know if it would work out-”

“-And we didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and we’re both captains, and then I got Head Boy-”

An upheld hand cut off Shiro. “Tell me exactly when. And where.”

Shiro sighed. “The first time we were in London, in July.” He and Allura glanced at each other, unable to keep from smiling. “That night with the firewhiskey, at your aunt’s…you passed out-”

“Did you two…in my aunt’s home- while I was in the room!?”

“No!” They cried emphatically, Allura adding, “Good Lord!”

Matt slumped back against the couch, waving his hand dismissively. “Well, I’ve seen this coming for years. I still can’t believe you hid this from me, but- you have my blessing.”

Allura’s face dropped into an incredulous glare, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but Shiro cut in with a pointed look at his girlfriend, “Thank you, Matt.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Lance stepped in, arms crossed indignantly, “I think we all need to take a minute and acknowledge the fact that I told you, and you, and you! I was right all along!” A victorious finger was jabbed into the faces of Pidge, Hunk, and Keith successively.

Keith smacked away the hand. “Put it in a Howler.”

“Maybe I will, Keith, maybe I will!” Lance turned on his heel, striding toward the portrait opening as if his next task was announcing the News to all of Hogwarts. “And give me back my scarf!”

#sfw (cut for length) #lance #shallura #hogwarts au #voltron #vld #keith #matt holt #pidge #hunk #shiro #allura #lance fic #shallura fic #shiro fic #allura fic #voltron fic #tried to add some not so subtle klance #broganes

[buddyfaith]

I just failed an online quiz for class so I’m gonna do a longwinded character assessment that brittany reblogged for mama debeste to cheer myself up. feel free to challenge me on anything tbh.

1) I sort of like the idea that mama debeste was also a foster kid, but like- she’s 8 or so years removed from her foster siblings? like I don’t think there’s anyone in her age group to hang out with. I think she’s closest to the youngest brother? he’s 7 years older than her or something and usually was the one who was sent to ~babysit~ but actually this little kid is sort of neat. Self-same brother isn’t dead but he’s not. there. I sort of like the idea of military deployment for him. they exchange letters when they can.

2&3) okay so I’m finally gonna make up a healthy marriage and it’s these people. the Fosters (lmao) are a very elderly couple who suffered heavily from Empty Nest Syndrome in like the 70s and have been taking kids in ever since. They are VERY OLD but very kind.

-mama foster is a short woman who likes to garden even though it sometimes fucks with her Arthritis. She’s very plainspoken and knows exactly what the internet is but has some trouble accessing it by herself. Her sense of humor is very deadpan, which doesn’t match her face at all but that makes it much better. mama debeste is a Good Kid who picks tomatoes and collects caterpillars in jars. mama foster has some trouble with younger kids because sarcasm is hard sometimes and her temper is a little short but she loves mama debeste. mama debeste’s favorite part of the usual day-to-day is watching wheel of fortune with her.

-dad foster is a guy who likes to hike. its getting hard for him but he can still go thanks to his kids. they go whenever they can and picnic. mama debeste sometimes gets a little ahead of him to put the collected caterpillars back into the wild. anyway dad foster has like an incredible appreciation for nature and I’m sorely tempted to make him a Bob Ross-esque landscape painter. he’s the kind of dad that gives you candy before dinner and winks. he connects easily to mama debeste because she’s young and likes to get dirty and messes up a picturesque scene just right enough for it to be painted.

when the kids grow up the Fosters have pretty much come to accept that they’ll lose contact with them. mama debeste was determined to not do that and visited regularly but then her own kid died. She went back to see the Fosters for help and they told her that it wasn’t right, not so soon, but losing children is as much a part of life as losing parents, and that she can still come back from it. Mama debeste told them she was leaving for Zheng Fa and they told her to be careful, to be safe, to be smart, and to be kind above all. They were smiling when they said it but there was an air of finality about it, because they knew they had lost her, too.

4) aside from her house burning down with her child inside??

I like to think that her and her brother went wandering around on streets and stuff together and saw some regular stuff yknow. stray animals helping each other, hurting each other, people doing about the same.

Once her brother punched a guy in the face on the subway for spitting at someone and that sort of justified retaliation always stuck with her.

5) mama debeste carries around a swiss army knife like a girl scout, a shitty plastic cigarette lighter, a keychain that was probably a gift that has her house keys on it, two or three pieces of nicotine gum, an instant camera, and her wallet (which in turn contains her driver’s license, Interpol id, library card, two credit cards in Blaise’s name, several pictures of the kiddos, and about $400 in nonconsecutive twenties)

6) mama debeste dreams of her kid. like. what they (he, I’m vaguely leaning towards) would be like growing up and stuff. she also dreams of Zheng Fa and the forest.

7) mama debeste killing people maybe unnecessarily is kind of my jam and they don’t haunt her per se but sometimes she trips over their bodies literally. sometimes she imagines shooting herself because what the hell, she’s a bad person. anyway mama debeste also hates funerals so probably those too and [fire noises].

Silence, notably, too. If you’ve got kids there should never be silence. if you’re anywhere natural there should never be perfect silence.

8) hi welcome to Interpol here’s a paper target except we didn’t tell you there was a watermelon behind the head so that the red explosion would disturb you into perhaps not firing sometimes.

(it failed.)

9) the Fosters are actually fairly well off despite having So Many Kids with expensive extracurriculars and stuff? because they had like, regular people expenditures, it was a little bit more of a natural life. Blaise’s blood money is far less wholesome which is one reason mama debeste goes to such great lengths to get rid of it fast and frivolously. She burns the money in an attempt to warm the home.

10) mama debeste is a sundress lady or a biker leather lady with no inbetween. The former is an expression of serenity and safety. I think the latter gives her more confidence, like the Interpol days.

11) she couldn’t get back into her fucking burning house. the second time she felt so scared was when she realized phoenix was in the second house doomed to fall.

(there were little bits, in the middle, where she lost phoenix in a crowd or sebastian swallowed something he shouldn’t have.)

12) lmao marrying blaise debeste actually. she’s shot people with less conviction, less assurance than she had standing on the altar.

on a calm of a different note, the forest is her friend and the first time she saw phoenix try to paint a tree was great.

13) HAHAHAHAHA next question. (idk if mama debeste: forensics expert is exactly canon but she’s definitely less sensitive to blood than she should be)

14) mama debeste will never forget a face as long as she lives.

15) mama debeste is concerned with the concept of Doing and will blow through all of blaise’s blood money so that her kids can like, have experiences and stuff, but her preoccupation is more spending and acquisition than frugality or anything.

16) let mama debeste be happy 2kwhatever. she knows she probably never will be so she tries to make others happy.

17) her brother made mama debeste a teddy bear out of felt and button eyes and pillow stuffing. he told her later it was because he was really attached to the one he was supposed to Hand Me Down to her but that’s only half-truth. Its name is Growls.

18) probably wisdom considering “ambition” burned her crops and poisoned the kid’s groundwater honestly? blaise seems like the kind to both hide behind and weaponize that word.

19) mama debeste doesn’t say anything. like she’s the ultimate in something is bothering her but she sticks to the gentle smile persona and lets wounds fester until its way too late. this trait is kicked up to eleven with blaise and the kids, which is part of the reason that phoenix has such a sunny memory of her.

20) I don’t think she does compare herself to anyone except for Greg and Desiree Delite. The former is for validation in her parenting style. the latter is when she’s really loathing herself and thinking about what she could do if she would just fucking leave blaise and this petty revenge shit behind and take the kids somewhere–

21) I mean technically the only bad thing that really happens to mama debeste that’s her fault is that she fucking dies and she knows it. she takes sole responsibility for that.

she splits responsibility with people she killed because tbh most of them sort of. deserved it.

she blames blaise for almost one hundred percent for everything else.

22) mama debeste appreciates honesty and kindness. she likes thoughtfulness and dedication to a hobby. she also likes good parents.

23) mama debeste will fight the westboro baptist church. she will also fight anything that reminds her of herself before she loved the kids. and also blaise debeste and everything related to him.

24) mama debeste trusts no one except for maybe people that phoenix trusts. She genuinely likes Greg and lets phoenix sleep over there even though she’s only met him a handful of times.

25) hahahaha mama debeste is the ultimate in seeing through people. she’s super suspicious of strangers and people she doesn’t know getting close to the house. acquaintances are graded based on how much they hate blaise (maximum hate being minimum suspicion). the only people close to mama debeste are phoenix and sebastian.

she worries about what might happen to phoenix and sebastian.

26) I’M CALLING HER MAMA DEBESTE FOR A REASON because at the end of her life she’s really really devoted to the safety of her kids. For the long childless period in the middle she believed that kids could be tools for revenge, but she never really lost the mothering touch, as it were. Shi-Long Lang remembers her very very fondly.

27) have you ever played a really long game of clue with someone and they figure out the answer but instead of running to the pool and announcing it they walk into the foyer and shoot the murderer in the face? yeah. the last logic battle with the ~true antagonist~ of aai2 wouldn’t have even happened because she would have shot him on sight.

her conflict with blaise is too personal for that though so they have a marriage of hate and she’s biding her time. I think that once her USE THE CHILDREN plan broke down she lost sight of whatever her goal was which ultimately ended up killing her.

28) mama debeste is a fan of the fists and an even greater fan of shooting things but she does her absolute best to remain passive and unassuming for as long as she possibly can.

29) I think mama debeste wanted to help people? she definitely had like, a brain surgeon phase, but once that passed I think she settled fairly well on public service through Interpol. there was probably a speaker that came to school or something tbh.

30) mama debeste won’t eat mushrooms and passes this trait onto her kids. she hates socks and sandals. wash ya damn hands. blaise debeste. she also isn’t a particular fan of praying mantises specifically.

31) welcome to the forest. three people are there, herself included. One of them is drawing, the other is fumbling around in the picnic basket looking for an orange. it is later in the day, but evening isn’t in the sky yet. The breeze is gentle and smells like pine.

#I hit length limit wow #brb making a second post #lady who r u #parental guidance

[gabrielxcarson]

Favors // self para

Gabriel thought the sound was a part of his dream, hoped and prayed it wasn’t actually happening, but it persisted. The same loud thud with the same three knocks with each cycle. Well, they weren’t proper knocks when whoever waited rather impatiently used their palm to slam into the door’s wood. Maybe if Gabe pulled the covers over his head further, the visitor would take the hint and leave him the hell alone. Or at least, have enough consideration to know that it was a little past the butt crack of dawn, Thankfully, Bellamy spent the night over at a friend’s, so he wouldn’t have a cranky eleven year old complaining about the interruption to his sleep schedule. It wasn’t Bell’s he was concerned over at this point. “Go away.” Gabe mumbled. Off days were rare for him and all the more so when those days were a weekend.

Still, the knocking did not let up. The first thought to pop in his head raised the suspicion of the emergency scenario or maybe it was only Boone coming to drag his ass out of bed for an important case. There were devices called cell phones, however, and it’s a better chance his partner would call or text rather than be the dick and show in person. Then again... “Fuck. I’m coming, I’m coming.” Gabriel practically rolled out of bed and groaned as his feet landed on soft carpet, stopping for a moment to unsuccessfully smooth down his hair in the dresser’s mirror and making his way to the foyer. He worked on unlatching each lock slowly. From the way he saw it, it’s sweet revenge making Boone wait for waking him up to begin with if he was responsible. It was when Gabe opened the door half-expecting to chew out his friend did the proverbial slap in the face stop him with a cold boiling fury spreading throughout his entire body.

“Well, hey, kiddo.” It wasn’t Boone. It wasn’t another co-worker dragging him from the free day for a case. God, who was Gabriel fucking kidding? He would rather sacrifice a million off days for the entirety of his career if it meant he would never have this moment seeing Noah Carson standing on the other side of his door. He watched his father give him the same permanent damn smirk that didn’t disappear. Despite the freezing winter weather, Noah only wore a tank underneath the long-sleeved plaid shirt in which Gabe could see the small square outline of the cigarette pack in his front breast pocket. “Got tall on me, didn’t you?”

Gabe immediately moved to slam the one thing preventing the conversation from happening closed before his father swiftly wedged his foot between the small space of the doorframe and pushed it open a little too forcibly. The younger Carson possessed the means to protect himself and send any unwanted intruders running for the hills, but the only solution dealing with a man like his father was stepping back and letting it happen. “Now, is that any way to say hi to your dad?” Noah crossed the threshold of his boy’s apartment, taking in the jammed quarters with a mischievous glint to his eye. Gabe made out well for himself, but no one ever pegged Noah Carson himself for the lovely dovey father figure glowing with pride for a son who couldn’t handle a few nights on his own and simply ran. And not only did he run, the little shit took Noah’s five month old baby with him. “Where’s your brother?”

“Not here.” The answer was short, annoyance clearly not an issue Gabe bothered hiding. It was the best decision he ever did, letting his brother stay at a someone else’s house. He didn’t need to be here for this.

“Damn, was hoping to see who he turned out looking more like. He’s got to be, what? Pushing the teen years?” Noah’s gaze flitted to his son who took a few steps to the side like he was scared shitless he’d catch a disease standing too close to the father who disappointed him before curiously scanning the room. Invading personal space wasn’t a problem he had, however. “I have to say, Gabriel, I thought you’d be doing a lot better than all of...this.” He lazily swept his hand toward the somewhat cramped space that was the main living room. “You sure were arrogant enough to pretend taking Bellamy gave him the better life.”

“What do you want, Dad?” Gabriel snapped at him, “You’re one to talk about giving your kids a better life, so what the hell are you doing here?” The man folded his arms across his chest firmly, “Is it money?” That was the real sad truth about Gabe’s reality involving his father. The only reason he could possibly find as most likely were financial troubles. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if the visit presented itself as Noah knocking on the door with an open hand. Gabriel didn’t necessarily believe the Carson household was a dirt poor one, despite his parents throwing away their money on alcohol and drugs, but it’s already been over a decade. With the path they were heading down, it could’ve been likely they were in debt. “And don’t...don’t spoon feed me bullshit.”

“You think that little of me I would think myself desperate enough to come to you for cash? Always assuming it’s about you, isn’t it?” Noah released a scoff and used the edge of his thumb to rub at the lower half of his lip. “I heard you were running with the donut pigs nowadays. Well-respected around these parts, wearing blue, with the badge and everything. Ain’t that some ironic shit.” He reached for the cigarettes in his pocket before changing his mind judging by the glare of daggers Gabe would likely shoot in his general direction. Might as well come out with it. “Your mother lost her touch, Gabriel. She got caught snorting something she probably shouldn’t be and had her ass thrown in jail.”

“Okay.” Now, Gabe didn’t exactly appreciate the stereotype his father cast on his job and the courageous cops he worked with, but that wasn’t the important matter at hand. So, what, his mom is spending maybe more than a night in a cell for drug possession and his father thought to come all the way here and tell him? “What does that have to do with me?”

“I told you,” Noah shiftlessly turned on his heel and completely faced the other, “You’re a well-respected man about town with your police cruiser and macho protective civic duty. We weren’t speaking for the last decade, boy, doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes or listen to the gossip. You have an in with the right people, a...” He waved his hands a little, pausing to find the right words, “An authority. Maybe you could go down to the station, talk to your partner, whoever arrested her, and put a good word in. Maybe use some of that intimating strength I know you have somewhere.”

Gabriel stared, simply dumbfounded by the explanation. Annie getting arrested and charged with something, he could certainly believe, but this was absurd. No, no, on second thought, why should it have a shock value when it’s the type of shit he expected from the shittier parent? “So, let me get this straight,” He spoke slowly, “You come all the way here, knocking on my door after ten long years and interrupting one of the once in a blue moon days I’m off from an over forty hours a week job, begging to spring your piss poor excuse of a drug addled wife from a cell she should’ve been in years ago? What made you possibly think I would ever grant you a favor as if I owed you anything?” Gabe release a scoff, shaking his head. “No. You get the same I got from you for all those years. Nothing.”

“You want to talk about who owing who here.” Noah’s response fled from his lips in a small growl, “You left home without so much as a word. No note, just two cleaned out rooms and a fucking empty crib. You think you had it so bad, Gabriel? I never once hit you, did I? Never slapped you or your mother around, instead, you’re the one punishing us for going out there and having a great time.” Noah held the expectations at a low enough standard to figure Gabe wouldn’t go for bribing the police, but his sheer disappointment was real. “Because of that, I have every right to ask this of you just as much as it’s a right for me to know Bellamy. He’s my son.”

“And he’s my brother. Did you raise him? Did you soothe every temper tantrum, change every diaper, scrap the bottom of your own goddamn bank account to keep a roof over his head?” Gabe snapped back furiously, “You still don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter if you didn’t raise a hand to me, the damage you inflicted was never physical. I made my own breakfast, I packed my own lunch, I made my dinner, I cooked, I cleaned, and I went to bed to an empty house.” The more Gabe listed, the louder his tone increased. “Then you had Bellamy and I had to skip school to take care of him because you never gave me the money to hire a sitter. I rarely saw you and Mom and when I did early in the morning hours, I was the one tucking you guys in.” Gabe pressed his lips tightly together and breathed out a rush of air through his nostrils. “The silence I endured in that house would drive anyone insane from the loneliness, but I endured nonetheless without your help. You lost the right to ask shit of me and call yourself my father.”

“You done?” Noah’s inability to hold off on the sarcastic reply after a long pause for silence hadn’t disappeared despite the serious confession plaguing his kid. Never one for softness, he could see why Gabe left home because of it. “I admit, it’s hard being the dad when the only thing your grandpa taught me was how to use the hard end of a belt. Fuck, even that’s not a good excuse, but your mom and I didn’t do that swell of a job taking care of you. I get it, you’re pissed at us and I sure can’t fucking change it. We liked our fun, indulged every now and then. That’s who we are, Gabriel, that’s how we bonded. However, you love forgetting this little fact,” He jutted a finger at Gabe, “We still came home.”

“At the rate you two were headed, you shouldn’t have come home at all. I wish you didn’t.” Gabriel could feel his feet carrying him towards the door and turning the knob before swinging it open. His body instinctively knew what he wanted even when his mind took a moment to catch up. “I want you to leave. Don’t come back here favors or otherwise, don’t contact me, and if I ever hear you went near Bellamy, I’m filing a restraining order. That’s a promise.”

“And I promise you, Gabriel, I’m not going anywhere.” Spoken under different circumstances by a different man perhaps imploring the forgiveness of his child, it would have been a true promise carrying comfort, but from Noah, there was an underlying threat to his words. “A real man doesn’t run from his problems. I know you’re spreading lies about us to him, so why don’t you tell your little brother the truth, or I might just let it slip myself.” Noah walked straight for the door, throwing out the comment as he passed, “Maybe you’ll know exactly how it feels playing the horrible father. Remember that.”

Gabriel forgone taking the bait and refraining from handing over any reply his father could have used for ammunition, instead, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it with a long breath of what he imagined was his first since Noah’s reappearance. Ten years’ work of forgetting his parents ever existed undone by a visit that lasted a total of ten minutes. He wasn’t about to take Noah’s words lightly either. It’s a matter of time before his father approached Bellamy, introduced himself, likely twist why he and their mother wasn’t around to his own favor. Gabriel thought he had years to spill the secret. 

Now, he just had days.

#self para: favors #noah