#Evidence-based Practice and Evidence-informed Practice

[dolivia]

What is the Difference Between Evidence-based Practice and Evidence-informed Practice?

Learn about the difference between evidence-based and evidence-informed methods. Discover how each one influences decision-making across different disciplines.

[iridescentalchemyst]

Halloween 2024: Five Years of Pumpkins Part TWO

Five Years. It’s coming up on the five year anniversary since I said goodbye to my children. It’s hard to believe. It doesn’t seem right, and I’ve had to count the years out on my fingers several times. 2020. 2021. 2022. 2023… 2024. I have reflected on years past in previous posts, so if you are just tuning in, the links above will get you all caught up. This article will be long enough,…

[tofixtheshadows]

I've been thinking a lot lately about how Kabru deprives himself.

Kabru as a character is intertwined with the idea that sometimes we have to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many. He ultimately subverts this first by sabotaging the Canaries and then by letting Laios go, but in practice he's already been living a life of self-sacrifice.

Saving people, and learning the secrets of the dungeons to seal them, are what's important. Not his own comforts. Not his own desires. He forces them down until he doesn't know they're there, until one of them has to come spilling out during the confession in chapter 76.

Specifically, I think it's very significant, in a story about food and all that it entails, that Kabru is rarely shown eating. He's the deuteragonist of Dungeon Meshi, the cooking manga, but while meals are the anchoring points of Laios's journey, given loving focus, for Kabru, they're ... not.

I'm sure he eats during dungeon expeditions, in the routine way that adventurers must when they sit down to camp. But on the surface, you get the idea that Kabru spends most of his time doing his self-assigned dungeon-related tasks: meeting with people, studying them, putting together that evidence board, researching the dungeon, god knows what else. Feeding himself is secondary.

He's introduced during a meal, eating at a restaurant, just to set up the contrast between his party and Laios's. And it's the last normal meal we see him eating until the communal ending feast (if you consider Falin's dragon parts normal).

First, we get this:

Kabru's response here is such a non-answer, it strongly implies to me that he wasn't thinking about it until Rin brought it up. That he might not even be feeling the hunger signals that he logically knew he should.

They sit down to eat, but Kabru is never drawn reaching for food or eating it like the rest of his party. He only drinks.

It's possible this means nothing, that we can just assume he's putting food in his mouth off-panel, but again, this entire manga is about food. Cooking it, eating it, appreciating it, taking pleasure in it, grounding yourself in the necessary routine of it and affirming your right to live by consuming it. It's given such a huge focus.

We don't see him eat again until the harpy egg.

What a significant question for the protagonist to ask his foil in this story about eating! Aren't you hungry? Aren't you, Kabru?

He was revived only minutes ago after a violent encounter. And then he chokes down food that causes him further harm by triggering him, all because he's so determined to stay in Laios's good graces.

In his flashback, we see Milsiril trying to spoon-feed young Kabru cake that we know he doesn't like. He doesn't want to eat: he wants to be training.

Then with Mithrun, we see him eating the least-monstery monster food he can get his hands on, for the sake of survival- walking mushroom, barometz, an egg. The barometz is his first chance to make something like an a real meal, and he actually seems excited about it because he wants to replicate a lamb dish his mother used to make him!

...but he doesn't get to enjoy it like he wanted to.

Then, when all the Canaries are eating field rations ... Kabru still isn't shown eating. He's only shown giving food to Mithrun.

And of course the next time he eats is the bavarois, which for his sake is at least plant based ... but he still has to use a coping mechanism to get through it.

I don't think Kabru does this all on purpose. I think Kui does this all on purpose. Kabru's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder should be understood as informing his character just as much as Laios's autism informs his. It's another way that Kabru and Laios act as foils: where Laios takes pleasure in meals and approaches food with the excitement of discovery, Kabru's experiences with eating are tainted by his trauma. Laios indulges; Kabru denies himself. Laios is shown enjoying food, Kabru is shown struggling with it.

And I can very easily imagine a reason why Kabru might have a subconscious aversion towards eating.

Meals are the privilege of the living.

[nobodyinfart]

Would they keep you as a secret from the crew?

For Johnny, I honestly doubt that man could keep it on the down low. I mean, he practically graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in Yapperism, like fr he’s the certified yapper of the force. Soap would praise you to the high heavens, saying stuff like “my baby is such’a good cook, lads. I miss their food already.” even if he just came back from deployment. You could be meeting them weeks later and Captain Price is like “Oh, how’s your new job going for you?”, leaving you completely bewildered that Johnny talks so much about you that the team is aware of what’s going on in your life. 

Ghost will definitely keep your relationship on the quiet side at first, since he’s genuinely certain that it will not last with his emotional baggage. However, you prove him indefinitely wrong, loving him through thick and thin even in his darkest days. Despite him not having said anything specific to the team, his body language tells the team that there’s someone special lighting up his days. Maybe it is the curve of his masked mouth as he smiles at your messages, or the way Simon stares a little longer at beautiful sceneries that remind him of you. And the beaded bracelet he wears on his wrist is the dead giveaway all the team needs to confirm that you are there waiting for him to come home. 

Now, Gaz is the one that I am not entirely sure about. Since he isn’t as open about his personal life as Johnny but not as secretive as Simon, he may not treat your relationship as a complete mystery. Somehow, it makes it sweeter if Gaz were to let it slip from a conversation with the boys yet act completely nonchalant as if it wasn’t a secret to begin with. “Didn’t take you for a flower kinda guy, mate.” Soap commented when he watched Kyle stop by a florist to get a bouquet on the way off their base area. “Wanted to get something to surprise the darling back home,” Kyle replied without a blink, as if he had not said anything out of the ordinary. Also the one to comment that the team didn’t ask when Soap shrieks out why he hadn’t mentioned a loved one.

  As the Captain on the task force, Price is no doubt not the type to dish out that kind of personal information straight away. Rather, your existence is evident in the necklace that has your promise ring looped on his neck at all times (yes, even on missions). In private, John kisses the ring with your initial engraved on the inside of the band as if a sort of subconscious reminder of what he’s fighting so hard for. I do believe that Price would be more open to talking about you to old friends, so Laswell knows of you well and would definitely have your contact in the scenario that anything goes south. Even with his expertise, you still worry about your lover on the field.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Expert agencies and elected legislatures

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/21/policy-based-evidence/#decisions-decisions

Since Trump hijacked the Supreme Court, his backers have achieved many of their policy priorities: legalizing bribery, formalizing forced birth, and – with the Loper Bright case, neutering the expert agencies that regulate business:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/scotus-decisions-chevron-immunity-loper

What the Supreme Court began, Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy are now poised to finish, through the "Department of Government Efficiency," a fake agency whose acronym ("DOGE") continues Musk's long-running cryptocurrency memecoin pump-and-dump. The new department is absurd – imagine a department devoted to "efficiency" with two co-equal leaders who are both famously incapable of getting along with anyone – but that doesn't make it any less dangerous.

Expert agencies are often all that stands between us and extreme misadventure, even death. The modern world is full of modern questions, the kinds of questions that require a high degree of expert knowledge to answer, but also the kinds of questions whose answers you'd better get right.

You're not stupid, nor are you foolish. You could go and learn everything you need to know to evaluate the firmware on your antilock brakes and decide whether to trust them. You could figure out how to assess the Common Core curriculum for pedagogical soundness. You could learn the material science needed to evaluate the soundness of the joists that hold the roof up over your head. You could acquire the biology and chemistry chops to decide whether you want to trust produce that's been treated with Monsanto's Roundup pesticides. You could do the same for cell biology, virology, and epidemiology and decide whether to wear a mask and/or get an MRNA vaccine and/or buy a HEPA filter.

You could do any of these. You might even be able to do two or three of them. But you can't do all of them, and that list is just a small slice of all the highly technical questions that stand between you and misery or an early grave. Practically speaking, you aren't going to develop your own robust meatpacking hygiene standards, nor your own water treatment program, nor your own Boeing 737 MAX inspection protocol.

Markets don't solve this either. If they did, we wouldn't have to worry about chunks of Boeing jets falling on our heads. The reason we have agencies like the FDA (and enabling legislation like the Pure Food and Drug Act) is that markets failed to keep people from being murdered by profit-seeking snake-oil salesmen and radium suppository peddlers.

These vital questions need to be answered by experts, but that's easier said than done. After all, experts disagree about this stuff. Shortcuts for evaluating these disagreements ("distrust any expert whose employer has a stake in a technical question") are crude and often lead you astray. If you dismiss any expert employed by a firm that wants to bring a new product to market, you will lose out on the expertise of people who are so legitimately excited about the potential improvements of an idea that they quit their jobs and go to work for whomever has the best chance of realizing a product based on it. Sure, that doctor who works for a company with a new cancer cure might just be shilling for a big bonus – but maybe they joined the company because they have an informed, truthful belief that the new drug might really cure cancer.

What's more, the scientific method itself speaks against the idea of there being one, permanent answer to any big question. The method is designed as a process of continual refinement, where new evidence is continuously brought forward and evaluated, and where cherished ideas that are invalidated by new evidence are discarded and replaced with new ideas.

So how are we to survive and thrive in a world of questions we ourselves can't answer, that experts disagree about, and whose answers are only ever provisional?

The scientific method has an answer for this, too: refereed, adversarial peer review. The editors of major journals act as umpires in disputes among experts, exercising their editorial discernment to decide which questions are sufficiently in flux as to warrant taking up, then asking parties who disagree with a novel idea to do their damndest to punch holes in it. This process is by no means perfect, but, like democracy, it's the worst form of knowledge creation except for all others which have been tried.

Expert regulators bring this method to governance. They seek comment on technical matters of public concern, propose regulations based on them, invite all parties to comment on these regulations, weigh the evidence, and then pass a rule. This doesn't always get it right, but when it does work, your medicine doesn't poison you, the bridge doesn't collapse as you drive over it, and your airplane doesn't fall out of the sky.

Expert regulators work with legislators to provide an empirical basis for turning political choices into empirically grounded policies. Think of all the times you've heard about how the gerontocracy that dominates the House and the Senate is incapable of making good internet policy because "they're out of touch and don't understand technology." Even if this is true (and sometimes it is, as when Sen Ted Stevens ranted about the internet being "a series of tubes," not "a dump truck"), that doesn't mean that Congress can't make good internet policy.

After all, most Americans can safely drink their tap water, a novelty in human civilization, whose history amounts to short periods of thriving shattered at regular intervals by water-borne plagues. The fact that most of us can safely drink our water, but people who live in Flint (or remote indigenous reservations, or Louisiana's Cancer Alley) can't tells you that these neighbors of ours are being deliberately poisoned, as we know precisely how not to poison them.

How did we (most of us) get to the point where we can drink the water without shitting our guts out? It wasn't because we elected a bunch of water scientists! I don't know the precise number of microbiologists and water experts who've been elected to either house, but it's very small, and their contribution to good sanitation policy is negligible.

We got there by delegating these decisions to expert agencies. Congress formulates a political policy ("make the water safe") and the expert agency turns that policy into a technical program of regulation and enforcement, and your children live to drink another glass of water tomorrow.

Musk and Ramaswamy have set out to destroy this process. In their Wall Street Journal editorial, they explain that expert regulation is "undemocratic" because experts aren't elected:

https://www.wsj.com/opinion/musk-and-ramaswamy-the-doge-plan-to-reform-government-supreme-court-guidance-end-executive-power-grab-fa51c020

They've vowed to remove "thousands" of regulations, and to fire swathes of federal employees who are in charge of enforcing whatever remains:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/11/20/24301975/elon-musk-vivek-ramaswamy-doge-plan

And all this is meant to take place on an accelerated timeline, between now and July 4, 2026 – a timeline that precludes any meaningful assessment of the likely consequences of abolishing the regulations they'll get rid of.

"Chesterton's Fence" – a thought experiment from the novelist GK Chesterton – is instructive here:

There exists in such a case a certain institution or law; let us say, for the sake of simplicity, a fence or gate erected across a road. The more modern type of reformer goes gaily up to it and says, "I don't see the use of this; let us clear it away." To which the more intelligent type of reformer will do well to answer: "If you don't see the use of it, I certainly won't let you clear it away. Go away and think. Then, when you can come back and tell me that you do see the use of it, I may allow you to destroy it.

A regulation that works might well produce no visible sign that it's working. If your water purification system works, everything is fine. It's only when you get rid of the sanitation system that you discover why it was there in the first place, a realization that might well arrive as you expire in a slick of watery stool with a rectum so prolapsed the survivors can use it as a handle when they drag your corpse to the mass burial pits.

When Musk and Ramaswamy decry the influence of "unelected bureaucrats" on your life as "undemocratic," they sound reasonable. If unelected bureaucrats were permitted to set policy without democratic instruction or oversight, that would be autocracy.

Indeed, it would resemble life on the Tesla factory floor: that most autocratic of institutions, where you are at the mercy of the unelected and unqualified CEO of Tesla, who holds the purely ceremonial title of "Chief Engineer" and who paid the company's true founders to falsely describe him as its founder.

But that's not how it works! At its best, expert regulations turns political choices in to policy that reflects the will of democratically accountable, elected representatives. Sometimes this fails, and when it does, the answer is to fix the system – not abolish it.

I have a favorite example of this politics/empiricism fusion. It comes from the UK, where, in 2008, the eminent psychopharmacologist David Nutt was appointed as the "drug czar" to the government. Parliament had determined to overhaul its system of drug classification, and they wanted expert advice:

https://locusmag.com/2021/05/cory-doctorow-qualia/

To provide this advice, Nutt convened a panel of drug experts from different disciplines and asked them to rate each drug in question on how dangerous it was for its user; for its user's family; and for broader society. These rankings were averaged, and then a statistical model was used to determine which drugs were always very dangerous, no matter which group's safety you prioritized, and which drugs were never very dangerous, no matter which group you prioritized.

Empirically, the "always dangerous" drugs should be in the most restricted category. The "never very dangerous" drugs should be at the other end of the scale. Parliament had asked how to rank drugs by their danger, and for these categories, there were clear, factual answers to Parliament's question.

But there were many drugs that didn't always belong in either category: drugs whose danger score changed dramatically based on whether you were more concerned about individual harms, familial harms, or societal harms. This prioritization has no empirical basis: it's a purely political question.

So Nutt and his panel said to Parliament, "Tell us which of these priorities matter the most to you, and we will tell you where these changeable drugs belong in your schedule of restricted substances." In other words, politicians make political determinations, and then experts turn those choices into empirically supported policies.

This is how policy by "unelected bureaucrats" can still be "democratic."

But the Nutt story doesn't end there. Nutt butted heads with politicians, who kept insisting that he retract factual, evidence-supported statements (like "alcohol is more harmful than cannabis"). Nutt refused to do so. It wasn't that he was telling politicians which decisions to make, but he took it as his duty to point out when those decisions did not reflect the policies they were said to be in support of. Eventually, Nutt was fired for his commitment to empirical truth. The UK press dubbed this "The Nutt Sack Affair" and you can read all about it in Nutt's superb book Drugs Without the Hot Air, an indispensable primer on the drug war and its many harms:

https://www.bloomsbury.com/us/drugs-without-the-hot-air-9780857844989/

Congress can't make these decisions. We don't elect enough water experts, virologists, geologists, oncology researchers, structural engineers, aerospace safety experts, pedagogists, gerontoloists, physicists and other experts for Congress to turn its political choices into policy. Mostly, we elect lawyers. Lawyers can do many things, but if you ask a lawyer to tell you how to make your drinking water safe, you will likely die a horrible death.

That's the point. The idea that we should just trust the market to figure this out, or that all regulation should be expressly written into law, is just a way of saying, "you will likely die a horrible death."

Trump – and his hatchet men Musk and Ramaswamy – are not setting out to create evidence-based policy. They are pursuing policy-based evidence, firing everyone capable of telling them how to turn the values espouse (prosperity and safety for all Americans) into policy.

They dress this up in the language of democracy, but the destruction of the expert agencies that turn the political will of our representatives into our daily lives is anything but democratic. It's a prelude to transforming the nation into a land of epistemological chaos, where you never know what's coming out of your faucet.

[txttletale]

can you explain family abolition in a few words?

sure. there is no one unitary 'family abolitionist' perspective so be aware that i'm explaining this as a marxist and not as an anarchist or a radical feminist.

basically, "the family" is a social construct rather than a fixed self-evident truth. the family has been created and can be shaped, altered, or--indeed--abolished. this is evinced by the broad anthropological and historical record of radical transformations in what constitutes 'the family' (cf. clans, the extended family, the nuclear family). viewing the family as such opens it up to critique and also to the concept that it could be replaced with something better (in much the same way that, for communist and anarchist, refusing to accept the timelessness / naturalization of the bourgeois state opens up new horizons of political thought outside of engagement with electoral politics.)

among these critiques of the family are:

that it is a tool of patriarchal control over women and children by creating an economic dependence upon spouses / parents

ergo, that it enables and causes 'abuse' -- that child abuse, spousal abuse, and intimate partner violence are not abberations of 'the family' but in fact a natural consequence of its base premises re: power and control

that it serves as a site of invisiblised economic labour (e.g. housework)

that it is a tool of the capitalist (formerly the feudal) economy's reproduction of inequality via e.g. inheritance laws

that it serves as a site of normalization and reproduction of hegemonic ideology--i.e. that it is the site where heteronormativity, cisnormativity, gender roles, class positionality, & more are ingrained in children

among solutions family abolitionists propose to remedy it are:

the total dissolution of any legal privilege conferred by romantic or blood relationship in favour of total freedom for any group of people to form a household and cohabitate

the recognition of housework, the work of childrearing, & the general tasks of social reproduction as 'real' labour to be distributed fairly and not according to formal or informal (feminized) hierarchies

the economic and legal freedom of children--(i.e., allowing children unconditional access to food and shelter outside 'the family', allowing children the legal right to informed consent and self-determination)

similarly, the emancipation of women from economic dependence on their partners--both of these can only really be achieved via socialism (as marx put it, 'women in the workplace' only trade patriarchal dependence upon a husband for patriarchal dependence upon an employer)

communal caretaking of children, the sick, & the elderly

yeah. i know. this is a lot of words. its not few words. sorry. it's a complex topic innit. this is a few words For Me consideri ng that i've got a long-ass google doc open where i'm writing up a whole damn essay on this exact topic.

tldr: the family is not inevitable, it is constructed & can be replaced with something better. full economic freedom from dependence on interpersonal familial relationships for everybody now. check out cuba's 2022 family code for an idea of what this could look like as practical legislation.

[fallen-gravity]

MAJOR BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS, PROCEED WITH CAUTION .

.

.

There's something I've been meaning to talk about that I think a lot more people are overlooking than they should, and that's how The Axolotl presents themself.

We've only seen The Axolotl twice, and even what little information we have about them is only scraping the surface. We know they're a god, we know that they patrol space and time and keep wrongdoers in check and can sentence punishments for interdimensional criminals. We don't know much about them other than their job and that Bill really fucking hates them.

We know now, thanks to The Book of Bill, that Bill's prayers to The Axolotl to save him from disappearing forever worked, and that they were merciful enough to "bring him back", of sorts, and to allow him another chance at life as long as he does a life-sentence of therapy first. Everyone's been talking up a storm about that.

What I don't see many people talking about, and what is one of my favorite parts about this part of the book, is that it's revealed that just like Bill, The Axolotl can change their appearence depending on who they're talking to and whether or not The Axolotl thinks they deserve punishment. Compare the difference between The Axolotl's conversation with Bill after Weirdmageddon (disregard the poor image quality),

To the conversation they had with Dipper and Mabel in the choose your own adventure novel:

HUGE difference, right? When they speak to the twins, they look all cute and squishy and friendly. One could argue it's just a case of the different target audience of the two books, but if you were to ask me, I think there's more evidence in the case that The Axolotl knows that Dipper and Mabel are good kids and mean no harm to them or the rest of the universe, and therefore there's no need to put on an intimidating godlike front. Either The Axolotl hid their true form from Bill because he was not worthy, or they put up a kinder, softer front for Dipper and Mabel because they did not need to be punished. Either way, it seems like The Axolotl can change their appearence based on their judgement of whomever they're speaking to.

And it's just so good!!!! It's so yummy!!! Because Bill was the exact same way. He would change his appearence and his story depending on who he was speaking to. If it's someone he "liked", or someone he wanted to manipulate, he'd take on a cutesy, friendly appearence

But if 's someone who betrayed him, or someone he despises....

BOOM, he's suddenly this horrifying intimidating monster.

IT'S THE SAME COIN! I'm not suggesting they're the same entity, or anything, but it's so interesting that they both use this trick of the eyes for practically opposite reasons; The Axolotl uses it for the greater good, and Bill only uses it for his own personal gain. Their appearence to a person being based entirely on their judegement of said person is such a fun way to think about trust.

If I trust you, I will show you my true form

versus

If you betray my trust, you'll force me to show you my true form.

Mwah. Chef's kiss. 'Cause as much as they would hate to admit it, Bill and The Axolotl sure have a lot in common

[eamour]

the law of assumption.

manifestation refers to the practice of controlling thoughts, thinking wisely and exercising self-awareness. it’s the act which represents the very cause of the materialisation of our own consciousness into the external physical world. but what is this phenomenon based on?

the reason is called the law of assumption. the law of assumption is what the reflection of our inner conversations is dependent on. it’s the law that enables the process of conscious creation done in the mind. it’s the undeniable, inescapable and irrefutable principle which states that our thoughts, moreover our assumptions, shape our outer reality. one of the most known teachers to have coined and defined the law as we know it today was neville goddard. he has provided us with most of the information we have nowadays in forms of books and lectures.

disclaimer · now, the theory or philosophy behind the law has existed for a very long time, way before neville goddard has redefined its meaning by his own conceptions. in terms of spirituality, the belief in the creative power of thoughts has been existent for far longer than that.

assumptions harden into fact.

with the law of assumption, we are referring to a very certain group of thoughts — assumptions. assumptions are merely accepted thoughts, thoughts you claim to be true or thoughts you consistently turn back to, aka continuously persist in.

it is important to note that your assumptions, by definition, aren’t based on evidence at all. you assume things to be correct to you without the confirmation of the senses or any other physical validation or verification. why? because the law of assumption is based on faith. on your own, personal belief. it is entirely separated from anything that could be deemed as factual, fixed or forever. therefore, by this law, you are allowed to assume anything. there has to be NO explanation for why you want to assume something! you just do it.

facts about and along the law.

the law is also no respector of morals and values. the same way it does not respect logic, it does not work with logical reasoning either. your assumptions manifest because of your acceptance in them, regardless of any sense. they aren’t based on any truth but your truth.

your assumptions create the world around you. it's inevitable. the assumptions you have about yourself, your family, your friends,… everything and everyone, all of them build the ground which you call your life.

another point is that your thoughts — and your thoughts only — create. you are the god of your reality, the creator of your life and the only operant power. thus, everyone is you pushed out, meaning everybody is a product of your assumption about them and yourself, leaving no place for "free will" exist. you are the god of your reality, therefore if you desire a change in the world, there is nothing and no one to change other than self.

because creation is finished, because there is an infinite number of states, any reality that you could possibly think of exists already. anything you can desire, you can imagine and therefore manifest. everything is possible. there is nothing in this world that you cannot be or have, as there are no limitations or restrictions to you. reality is simply what you assume it to be.

consciousness is the only reality. everything stems from your awareness. things can only exist within consciousness owing to the fact that imagination creates reality. and that’s where all creation starts — in the mind, mentally. as you are within, so you are without, meaning that signs do not precede but they follow. yourself must be expressed, dictating, directing and determining the contents of your world.

with love, ella.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Character Traits (Virtues)

When describing someone, we often describe the virtues or values they exhibit, which are aligned to their character.

Virtues - positive personal strengths and behaviors that demonstrate an individual’s moral standards.

Can be considered the foundation of character and can be categorized as moral virtues, civic virtues, intellectual virtues, or performance virtues.

Types of Virtues

INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES

Can be considered habits of mind, enabling individuals to become critical thinkers who ask the right questions and seek answers from evidence-based resources.

These virtues support discernment, right action and the pursuit of knowledge while enabling problem-solving.

MORAL VIRTUES

Can be considered habits of the heart.

Moral character guides decision making from multiple perspectives allowing individuals to evaluate situations and respond in a meaningful and responsible manner that keeps the betterment of society and all stakeholders in the forefront.

These virtues guide social connections and ethical decision making.

CIVIC VIRTUES

Can be considered habits of service.

Civic character supports a collaborative approach to solving systemic problems to contribute to the well-being of others and serve the public good.

These virtues ultimately support citizenship and community.

PERFORMANCE VIRTUES

Can be considered habits of action and will, enabling us to marry the quality of our actions to the strength of our convictions.

These virtues equip and enable one to navigate life and uncertainty for success.

Performance virtues are informed by intellectual, moral, and civic virtues.

In collaboration, the virtue types allow individuals space to develop a deeper sense of virtuous behavior and growth through personal experiences and reflection when the virtues collide, known as practical wisdom, furthering our good sense.

Practical wisdom

Also known as phronesis, is the meta-virtue that guides individuals in making decisions when two or more virtues collide.

This helps us determine what is morally right in a given situation so we can discern which virtue to put into action.

Intellectual Virtues: Are my actions in pursuit of knowledge, truth and understanding?

Examples

Reflection

Resourcefulness

Communication

Critical Thinking

Curiosity

Reasoning

Moral Virtues: Do I respond ethically and with heart?

Examples

Honesty

Humility

Compassion

Integrity

Kindness

Empathy

Civic Virtues: Do I engage in responsible citizenship?

Examples

Service

Citizenship

Community Awareness

Neighborliness

Civility

Performance Virtues: Do I have the tools to navigate life and uncertainty?

Examples

Resilience

Determination

Perseverance

Leadership

Self-discipline

Motivation

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ +600 Personality Traits

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (6)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, PINING

a/n: Sorryyyy for the wait <3 As a lot of you know I have been going through it lately, but I really enjoyed writing this and hope to post more immediately 🤜. Let me know what you think :))

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 4☼ Part 5 ☁ Part 7 ☆

Series Masterlist

~~

Day Court was immeasurably beautiful—with all of its pristine columns reflecting orange light. Marble flooring shone with distorted images of acrylic brush strokes that hung on granite walls. Fountains billowed at the mouth of every doorway, sculpted fixtures at their bases. Warm wind kissed your skin and glistening waters welcomed you and Day Court was so incredibly beautiful. 

You were sure, if given the chance, you would think the same of its residents. 

Unfortunately, you were not given the chance to come to that conclusion. 

“The High Lord is in a meeting. He sends his apologies for not meeting you upon your arrival—the merchants of Day can get a bit rowdy,” the servant laughed. “I can show you to your rooms in the meantime.”

“Rooms?” Rhysand posed. You attempted to look over Azriel’s wing to gauge the conversation, but Cassian took another step to the side, halting your movement. 

“Yes, Helion informed us that the four of you would be here, so we prepared four rooms. If that’s not—”

“Three rooms will suffice, thank you,” your High Lord drawled. 

The servant squeaked, and you were sure if you could see her, her nerves would be evident. “Of—of course, High Lord. I assume Lady Y/n will be with—”

“We will deal with the division of our rooms on our own. Thank you…” 

“Amira,” the servant offered. “My name is Amira. I will be attending to you, Lady Y/n, during your time here.” 

You knocked your head to the side, brushing Cassian’s bicep as he stood beside you. You barely caught Amira’s mousey brown hair before the membrane of a wing flushed out and pushed you back. 

“She doesn’t need an attendant,” Azriel bit out, misplaced malice creating tension in the hall.

“Oh, it’s okay, I—” 

Apparently, not even your voice was allowed to be heard. Rhysand cut you off. “No attendant,” he confirmed, after sending his spymaster a sidelong glance laced with reproach. “No servants in our rooms, either. We are rather private, you understand.”

A pause. 

You wished you could see anyone’s expression. 

From beside you, Cassian offered you a pity smile, nudging you with his elbow in an act of comfort. 

“Anything you require,” Amira shakily responded. “Shall I walk you back, then? Just to show you where you will be staying?” 

“Lead the way.” 

Azriel immediately stepped back, his shadows scrambling past him to enclose you in dim light. You felt his presence, firm and tall, looming at your back as you took the first few steps down the hall. 

This all felt entirely misplaced, with the bleakness of your group extinguishing some of the vibrance of the court you walked through. Cassian kept close to your side, some of Azriel’s shadows drifting off and cloaking the red glow on his hands and chest. Rhys, ever the High Lord, took up the front, footsteps light but purposeful. 

Everyone looked grim. 

Except for you. 

This court held no negative connotations for you, no malicious undertones that impacted the rest of your family. It was simply beautiful, and your family was simply cloistering you. 

But you agreed to this; anything to make them feel better. 

To make Azriel feel better. 

You turned your head to the side as you walked, catching the shadowsinger in your peripheral. Tense, on-guard, unyielding; Azriel’s jaw was set in a firm clench, but it was different from what you were used to. When he was tense at home, it was almost out of… anticipation? Trepidation? 

Here though… here his posture was derived from rage. From practiced, honed fury. 

You turned your head away before you attempted to fix it, to comfort him. He wanted to be angry, told you as much before he winnowed you to Day in a flurry of his shadows. 

I’m going to be different, he had told you, I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt. 

The fear in his eyes had melted away in the Day Court sun; the second your feet landed on meticulously carved cobblestone, Azriel was no longer just your friend. 

Amira led you to three doors along a wall, mumbled a few parting words, and bowed away before anyone could send her a second glance. You attempted to offer her a reassuring smile amidst her flee, but Azriel’s shadows were too dense. A hand on your back led you into a room and Amira was gone. 

“That went well,” Cassian breathed, a long sigh punctuating his descent into a loveseat by the bed. “She didn’t look terrified at all.” 

The bedroom door clicked shut. Rhys raised his brows. “She’ll thank us later.” The High Lord’s eyes drifted to the shadowsinger sulking by your side. “This isn’t exactly a leisurely visit.” 

Your gaze shot around the room in the following lapse of silence, analyzing the tense nature of each male. The air felt stagnant and stiff, the light somehow dimmer even with the open windows, and you weren’t sure if your voice would make it worse or ease some of the pressing emotions. 

Rhys took a seat in a chair by the door, and you decided speaking was better than leaning into the uncomfortable silence. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” you began, playing with your fingers, second-guessing your decision to stand. Azriel remained motionless at your side. “The sun feels different somehow. Brighter, maybe?” 

“The skies have an affinity for their namesake in the solar courts,” Rhys offered kindly. 

You hummed, rolling onto your toes and then rocking back on your heels. “I suppose that makes sense. The nights are incredible back home.” 

The use of that word—home—did not go unnoticed by the group. Not by you and certainly not by the male standing guard at your side. The replacement of the word had been relatively common since you woke up. 

Here in Velaris, there is…. 

When you came back here all those years ago…

Let’s go back to the house…

Never home.

But being in Day—being away from Velaris���just solidified what you already assumed. Velaris was your home. You were sick of letting your family dance around that truth. 

~~

“Mother above, I was sure I would never see you again,” a strange voice tore your attention from Cassian’s vivid retelling of your first time flying with him, and although it was an interesting story, the man before you was even more enticing. 

With deep skin and an even deeper smile, white linen billowed around his confident figure. The man appeared to glisten as he walked toward your small group, golden sandals trailing up bronze calves. Even the air around him seemed to glow. 

Enticing didn’t seem to be the correct word. 

You’d been directed into a rather large study after a brief lunch and a “tour” of the grounds that only included the wing you were staying in. Rhys had chalked it up to Helion stalling for time. You’d tried to coax a more comprehensive tour out of the guard leading you around, but a sharp look from Azriel was enough to put that conversation to rest. 

“You look just as you did. Perhaps a bit gaunt but…” The man—Helion, you’d deduced—trailed off when the whisper of a shadow trailed at his neck. “I am Helion,” he smiled. “You have known me for many years. In love with me, as most are. But, alas, it is not fated.” 

Some of your awe shifted to shock. “I am—I’m sorry, I am in love with you?” 

In front of you, Cassian let out a long breath and fanned his wings out before letting them hang behind his chair. You sat straighter in your own seat, mortification creeping into your chest at the small laugh Rhys let slip across the room. What set your mouth into its flurry, however, was the raised brow you received from Helion. 

“I didn’t mean that to offend. I mean—what I meant was just that… Well, no one said I had a lover or even mentioned you in that way so it came as a shock. But I presume there is much about myself I have yet to learn so… you are a very beautiful man and I’m sure—” 

“Y/n, it’s alright,” came Azriel’s soothing voice from beside you, his scarred fingers pushing hair behind your ear halting your apologies. “He was only joking.” A pointed look in the High Lord’s direction. “He does that from time to time, unfortunately.” 

More mortification made an appearance. 

“Oh.” 

Helion’s raised brow had morphed into an unsure expression at some point amidst your rambling. “When they said you had no memory… You will have to excuse me, y/n. I assumed you’d have more… context. Especially with your abilities.” 

“We told you she remembered nothing and had no access to her magic,” Azriel defended, his fingers dropping to rest beside your thighs. 

“Well, yes, but often when magic tampers with the mind, the personality remains intact. Like a muscle memory.” 

“Oh, her personality is there,” Cassian retorted, a bittersweet smirk playing at his lips. “Just not when she’s met you five seconds ago and you’re revealing fake truths. Sarcasm doesn’t often work with strangers.” 

Helion nodded grimly, turning back to you. “I apologize.” 

“It’s really alright,” you comforted, attempting to calm some of the twisted guilt marring the High Lord’s face. “They worry too much. Right now everything I do is without context and I find myself embarrassed more often than not. It’s not your fault.” 

Helion did not look convinced or reassured. His eyes simply traveled to the corners of your face and tracked down to the patterns Azriel was drawing into the skirts of your dress. 

“Do you see now why we needed to come to you,” Rhys chimed in from above his crossed arms. 

Helion hummed. “Yes. Shall I get started then?” 

The room shuffled. You were informed that Helion had to be touching your head to assess the injury—unlike Rhys’s assessment—so you were sat atop a table to give him better access. Azriel followed by your side, his front pressed against the table, Cassian stood his ground behind Helion, and Rhys took up residence on your other side. 

“In Day, we have a type of healing that extends to magical wards and enchantments, was that explained to you?” Helion asked, kind eyes never leaving yours. Too kind—uncertain and full of reproach.

“Yes, they said maybe the witch put something in my mind. Like a blockage.” 

“Precisely. And I was informed about Rhysand’s unsuccessful attempt at entering your mind. That could be due to a spell, which is why I would be more useful.”

Rhys scoffed. 

You let a smile tug at your lips, but it was quickly extinguished when you considered the outcome of this process. “Will it feel the same? What you’re doing and what Rhys did?” 

You could almost hear the way Azriel ground his jaw. 

Helion glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “It will feel different. I am not in the business of thoughts or memories. I won’t be able to access anything other than any inflictions you may have.” 

“So it won’t hurt?” 

“I cannot promise anything.” 

The table beneath you shifted an inch, just to be caught by hands glowing with blue light.

I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt.

“Still sure you can’t just beat the crap out of whatever’s going on in my head?” you posed to Cassian, tilting your head up to call over Helion’s shoulder. 

The general’s chuckle eased some of the tension in the room. “I would if I could.” 

“Promise?” 

“Always.” 

With a resigned breath, you nodded to Helion. The High Lord’s hands glowed a golden white, he lifted them to your head, and then there was nothing. 

~~

Azriel

If he hadn’t shot his hand out when he did, Azriel was sure your head would have fallen out of Helion’s grasp and plummeted to the floor. 

You were limp. 

Eyes closed, neck bent—completely and utterly limp. 

Azriel took the liberty of tugging on the bond just to make sure you were still alive. He hadn’t done so since you woke up in the forest, remembering the fear in your eyes, but you looked so incredibly lifeless. 

“Helion,” he barked, his worried expression never turning from your face. 

Icy panic gripped his stomach, twisting it with fervor. 

Cassian took a step forward. 

“Why is she unconscious?” his brother gritted out. His tone was an empty threat; he couldn’t hurt a High Lord, and neither could Azriel, but Azriel would do much more for much less. 

His life had become a nightmare. 

Literally. 

On his worst nights, he relived the time you went missing and the subsequent loss of your memories over and over until he woke up screaming. His heart would beat so rapidly it seemed impossible to slow and he would be inconsolable for several minutes, but he always had you there. He would wake up from that nightmare and you would be there. 

He had that dream every night now, and he woke up to the same. The guestroom he occupied didn’t smell like you, and even though you were just on the other side of the wall, he couldn’t make out the sound of your breath enough to let it lull him back to sleep. Nothing you owned was in that room. Everything he owned was still in a pile by the door after Feyre had rushed to clear the evidence of him from your space. But why did that matter? What were books and trinkets and clothes in a room that was otherwise devoid of everything he loved? 

Leaving his room was worse. 

Gods, all he wanted to do was hold you. To really, truly hold you and for you to hold him back. But you looked at him cordially, the same way you looked at Cassian and Rhysand and Mor. 

When he left the house he had to deal with Feyre and Nesta’s constant questioning. Even Amren had taken an interest in your well-being, and while he appreciated the care for his mate, he couldn’t take it. 

He couldn’t take echoing the words, “She’s fine. Healthy. Less pain today,” over and over when he could tell what they really wanted to know were things you wouldn’t share with him. He couldn’t take the fact that you didn’t tell him you loved him—that he would whisper it at your back every time you turned around and you never heard. You were skittish at his touch and shy when you spoke and you were never the first to voice your opinion and he just couldn’t take it. 

With your head in his broken hand, Azriel felt another piece of him crack. 

“I did it.” Rhys broke the silence, a concentration twisting his brow. “Helion and I agreed it was the best way to go about this. It had to be sudden though—unexpected. We needed a moment where her mind was completely unexpecting.”

Cassian cursed. “You couldn’t have told us that before you made it look like she died, Rhysand?” 

“If y/n were dead no one would be standing here right now and you know that.” 

“Still,” Cassian mumbled. “Warn a guy.” 

“I’ve felt this before,” Helion said, shaking his head. “But that’s impossible. Rhysand, you would have—” 

“I would have, yes, but not if it was created through other means. It was a witch, not a daemati.” 

“She could have been both.” 

“Extremely unlikely. Keep going.” 

Azriel watched the way your lashes fluttered, counted the beats of your heart and pretended you knew who he was. 

“What’s happening?” he asked. “You’re both in her head. Talk.” 

“I couldn’t get through the wall myself because it wasn’t her magic,” Rhys explained. “I assumed it was the witch’s, but this signature is too similar. It’s exactly like it was before, just muted.” 

“Like it was before?” Azriel repeated, finally turning his head up. 

Rhysand looked grim. “Almost identical.” 

“That isn’t possible,” the shadowsinger immediately refuted. “I killed that bastard myself. There is no way he could have done anything to her.” 

“Azriel, I think it’s possible that—” 

But Azriel did not let the High Lord of Day finish his thought. “You don’t speak to me about her,” he seethed. “Not when she came to your court and one of your people did this to her. I trusted you with her. I sent my mate here and she has been paying the price for that ever since. This is your fault, so you do not tell me what you think. You tell me what is certain.”

The room went silent, and Helion looked back at you, eyes glazing as he continued his work. 

A strong, steady hand clapped against Azriel’s shoulder. It took Cassian three tugs before Azriel reluctantly let your head go, but only after Rhysand placed his own hand at your back. 

“Look, I get it,” Cassian comforted, hands on his brother's arms. “If this was Nesta I’d probably be tearing this room apart right now. But he’s all we have here. And you know it wasn’t his fault last time. You remember how hard he worked to get her back.” 

Azriel ignored him.

Cassian roughly shook his frame. 

“Hey, you know that. And you know y/n’s going to be pissed at you when she gets her memories back and hears how much of an ass you’re being to Helion. She’s going to be severely pissed if you start a war trying to kill the guy.” 

“If.”

The small smile Cassian was sporting faltered. “What?” 

Azriel finally met his eyes. “If she gets her memories back. It was an if last time and it’s an if again.” 

The two High Lords discussed quietly in the back, their hands still on you. Azriel’s shadows refused to leave your side, weaving through your hair and your clothes and the fingers against your head. 

“Well last time she got them back, didn’t she?” 

“You truly believe that will happen twice? I was praying to the mother for luck the first time, Cassian. She won’t listen again. I guarantee she won’t.” 

“Az…��� Cassian trailed off. There was no speech to formulate, not when defeat and resolution were so clear on his brother’s face. 

“She won’t love me a third time.” 

Your cough had Azriel bolting away from his brother’s concerned gaze in an instant. You were no longer in Helion’s grasp, instead leaning against Rhysand’s arm as the High Lord of Day scribbled something in a book.

“Ow.” You rubbed at your head with a pinched expression, squinting up at Azriel as he leaned down. “I think I passed out or something.” 

It was mostly out of hysterics, but a small laugh escaped the spymaster. “Or something.” 

Gods, you sent a spark of joy down the bond and it was all-consuming. You did that from time to time, unintentionally flooding Azriel with whatever emotion you felt the strongest. More than once he had to stop himself from opening his side completely just to relish in the reminisce you offered him. 

“What about this time? Did we figure it out?” you slurred, squeezing your eyes open just to have the drop closed once again. 

Azriel tucked his hand against the back of your head and looked expectantly at the two High Lords before him. 

When Helion spoke, Azriel let him, if only because he was still living on the high of his mate’s lingering amusement. “Whatever the witch did, it was a mimicry of the daemati that tore into her head all those years ago. I need to do more research, see if I am able to undo whatever it is she redid without irreparably damaging her mind. If I can’t, the only answer is the witch.” 

“Is that even possible? To mimic something like that?” Azriel asked, stepping forward so your drooping head would fall against his arm. 

“Witches draw power beyond their reserve and even beyond the cauldron. We know so little about them. Tamlin should not have been making deals with them,” Helion curtly replied. 

Any lightness in the room had very clearly disappeared. 

“Take your mate back to your room. We can discuss this when she no longer looks like she’s fighting to stay awake.” 

“I am awake,” you argued, trying and failing to haul yourself into an upright position. 

Rhysand huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t even be awake after having two high lords in my mind. Go rest. We will talk in the morning.” 

Azriel assisted as you stood on unsteady legs, but the attempt was futile. The shadowsinger gathered you into his arms as you sent an accusatory finger in Rhysand’s direction. “Liar.” 

It wasn’t until you were alone in the hallway, your head against Azriel’s shoulder, his arms beneath your body, that you spoke again.

“Azriel?” 

He hummed in response. 

“What’s a mate?”

Part 7 ☆

[ahqkas]

“YOU HOLD ME WITHOUT HURTING ME — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! you show jason it’s okay to bleed sometimes

WORD COUNT! 3.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! wounds, mention of blood, fluff, reader’s hair mentioned, kissing + lmk if more found

NOTES! i tried to base this on that one tasm1 scene of peter and gwen where she patched him up , header below belongs to @/v6que !

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE SOFT HUM OF THE CITY OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW HAD QUIETED TO A RARE WHISPER TONIGHT, a lull in Gotham’s usual chaos that felt like a blessing. Sirens, so common they were practically part of the soundtrack of your life, had faded into distant echoes, while the occasional honk of a car horn or the rush of tires on wet pavement seemed farther away than usual. It wasn’t complete silence—Gotham never truly slept—but it was as close as the city could get, a fleeting moment of stillness.

Inside, the warmth of your room cocooned you in a comforting contrast to the winter outside. The radiator hummed softly in the corner, its gentle heat mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle you’d lit earlier to help you focus. The flame flickered now, casting shadows that danced along the edges of your desk and walls, though the main light came from the golden glow of the lamp beside your bed. It bathed everything in a soft, inviting yellow light, the kind that made you want to sink deeper into your blankets and let the night carry you away.

But there was no time for that—not tonight. Your bed, usually your sanctuary, had become a battlefield. Textbooks, notebooks, flashcards, and stray pens were scattered like the aftermath of an academic storm. A bright pink highlighter sat capless somewhere near your elbow, while a pile of dog-eared textbooks loomed over you, threatening to topple if you so much as shifted the wrong way. You were surrounded on all sides by the evidence of your late-night cram session, the weight of the information you were trying to absorb pressing down on your already heavy eyelids.

The soft cotton of your oversized sweater brushed against your arms as you adjusted your position, tucking one leg beneath you and letting the other dangle off the edge of the bed. You propped your chin in your hand, squinting at the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred and swam on the page, merging into an indecipherable wall of text as your brain fought against the exhaustion creeping in.

Your eyelids drooped again, the soft weight of exhaustion pulling them down as if gravity itself was conspiring against your efforts. You blinked hard, shaking your head slightly to snap yourself out of the haze creeping over your thoughts. The neat black ink on the page swam in and out of focus, words smudging together in a taunting blur. Focus, just focus. But no amount of repetition could make the phrase "mitochondria: powerhouse of the cell" feel less like a mantra from a far-off dream.

“Powerhouse,” you muttered again, your voice low and groggy, as if repeating it would anchor your wandering mind. “Powerhouse of . . . ugh.” You tossed the pen down onto the bedspread with a soft thud and buried your face in your hands, groaning into the quiet sanctuary of your room.

Your head sank forward, pressing against the cool surface of the open textbook. The faint scent of paper and ink tickled your nose as you let out a long, frustrated sigh. The night had started with so much ambition—a cup of coffee you swore would keep you awake, a meticulous plan to conquer this section of the syllabus—but now? Now, all you could think about was how soft your pillow looked, just a few inches away from your outstretched arm.

At least it was quiet tonight. Quiet enough that you could hear the rhythmic hum of your radiator and the occasional groan of the building settling. The sounds wrapped around you like a soothing melody, a rare lullaby in the city that never stopped moving. There was no blaring of police sirens, no shouting from the streets below, no low thrum of distant helicopters scanning the skies. It felt almost unnatural, this stillness, like the city was holding its breath.

But it was a welcome kind of calm. For once, there were no distractions, no sudden noises to pull your focus away from the monumental task at hand. You adjusted your position on the bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath your weight, and let yourself soak in the serenity. Just you, your books, and the glow of the lamplight. Quiet enough to think, to study, to—

A faint creak echoed outside your window, cutting through the silence like a needle dragging across a record. You froze, your hand halfway to turning the page, and lifted your head slowly, ears straining to catch any further sound. The fire escape of your apartment didn’t creak like that, but you knew the noise well. It was the sound of weight shifting against metal, deliberate and steady, and it was coming from outside.

Your pulse quickened, and you instinctively turned toward the window, where the dark glass reflected nothing but the warm glow of your room. Shadows danced faintly against the curtains, swaying with the breeze outside, but nothing seemed out of place. You frowned, brushing the thought away as paranoia. Maybe a branch had fallen or some stray cat had climbed up the fire escape again.

Jason wasn’t supposed to visit tonight. You’d both agreed on that earlier in the day, a mutual understanding that life—his, out on the snowy streets of Gotham, and yours, buried in exams and deadlines—was too demanding right now. He had patrol; you had textbooks. It was supposed to be a quiet night for both of you, separate but enduring, each fighting your battles alone.

So when you heard the soft scrape against your window, you froze, heart leaping into your throat. It wasn’t loud enough to be an accident, too deliberate to dismiss.

And there he was.

Jason stood there on your fire escape, the shadow of his imposing figure framed by the glow of your bedside lamp spilling through the curtains. Snow clung to the edges of his black and red suit, catching in the mess of his dark hair, the frosty crystals melting into droplets on his skin. His helmet was gone, his bare face illuminated in the low light, and for a fleeting second, you could almost convince yourself he looked shy, hesitant. But no—Jason Peter Todd didn’t do shy. Not really. He was here for a reason, even if it wasn’t the one he’d planned.

Your breath hitched as your gaze dipped lower. His jacket was torn along one sleeve, the fabric shredded, and beneath it, a wound marred the pale skin of his arm. Fresh blood seeped through, staining the snow-dusted fabric and dripping slowly down to the black of his gloves. The edges of the wound were jagged, raw, like it had been inflicted during a fight—one that he’d won, no doubt, but not without cost.

You were on your feet before you realized you’d moved, the fortress of textbooks and notes forgotten in an instant. “Jason,” you whispered, his name barely audible over the rush of your pulse. He wasn’t supposed to be here tonight, wasn’t supposed to need you like this, but here he was, leaning against the window frame as though standing upright was an effort.

Your fingers hovered near the lock on the window, hesitating for only a moment before you slid it open. The cold night air rushed in, biting against your skin and making you shiver, but Jason barely seemed to notice. He stepped inside with a deliberate slowness, his broad shoulders slumping slightly as he moved past you and into the warm glow of your room. His boots left faint, wet prints on the floor, the snow melting quickly in the heat.

“You’re bleeding,” you said, the words tumbling out instinctively, your voice tinged with worry. It felt stupid to say—it was obvious, painfully so—but seeing him like this had your mind scrambling to keep up. “You weren’t supposed to—what happened?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His lips quirked into a faint, almost sheepish smirk as he glanced down at the wound on his arm, as though it wasn’t worth mentioning. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, brushing it off in that gruff, nonchalant way of his. But the way his hand pressed against the injury, as though to stem the bleeding, told you otherwise.

You crossed your arms over your chest, fixing him with a look that you hoped conveyed both your concern and your impatience for the truth. Because nothing didn’t leave his suit ripped to shreds and blood dripping onto your floor.

“Jason, sit down,” exclaiming, your voice was firmer than you thought it would be. Worry surged through you as you closed the window behind him, sealing out the chill. The warmth of your room clashed against the icy snow clinging to his battered suit, the droplets melting and dripping onto the floor. You barely noticed. All you could see was the wound on his arm and the way his jaw tightened like he was trying to pretend it didn’t hurt.

“I told you, it’s fine,” he muttered, brushing past you with a tired shrug, his usual swagger diminished by the faint limp in his step. He leaned against the edge of your desk, scattering a couple of your neatly stacked flashcards with the motion. His gaze flicked to you then, softening just slightly, like he knew exactly what you were about to say and was already bracing himself for it.

“It’s not fine.” You stepped closer, reaching for his arm. He tried to pull it back, but you were quicker, your fingers ghosting over the torn fabric and the angry gash beneath. His muscles tensed at your touch, but he didn’t stop you. Not completely. “You’re bleeding all over my floor. At least let me—”

“Later,” he interrupted, his voice low and firm, but soft for you. “I’ll deal with it later. It’s just a scratch.”

Your eyes narrowed at his deflection. “Jason—”

“[Name],” he countered, your name falling from his lips like a warning and a plea all at once. He reached for you then, his uninjured hand brushing against your wrist and tugging you closer with gentleness that contrasted starkly with the blood dripping from his other arm.

The shift was dizzying, pulling you from worry to something softer and harder to resist. You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get the words out, he leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your cheek, and the sharp edges of his usual bravado softened in the intimacy of the moment. “I didn’t come here so you could play nurse,” he murmured. “I just . . . needed to see you.”

Your heart clenched at the quiet honesty in his voice, but you refused to let him distract you so easily. “You needed stitches,” you shot back, trying to keep your resolve, though the way his thumb traced slow circles against your hip wasn’t helping. “Jason, you can’t just—”

Whatever you were about to say was lost as he kissed you. His lips captured yours with a sudden intensity that left no room for argument, silencing every worry you’d been about to voice. His fingers trailed from your neck up, landing on your cheek with a gentle caress, anchoring you to him, and for a moment, all you could do was melt into his touch. You felt his tension ease slightly, the weight of whatever he’d been carrying fading just enough as he pressed closer, as if kissing you was the only medicine he needed.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead still resting against yours, you opened your eyes to find his staring back, dark and unreadable but softened by something raw and unguarded. “See?” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “I’m fine.”

You sighed, shaking your head, your hands instinctively resting on his chest. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” Jason teased, that cocky grin returning even as the blood continued to drip from his arm.

You groaned, pushing lightly against his chest. “Fine. But I swear, if you pass out on my floor because you were too stubborn to let me help, I’m drawing on your face while you’re out.”

His laughter was quiet but genuine, and for a moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. You didn’t give him the chance to argue this time. Grabbing the first-aid kit from your bedside table, you set it down on the desk beside him with a decisive clatter. Jason raised an eyebrow at your determination, the faint smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth, but you were too focused to care.

“Jacket off,” you mumbled, your tone leaving no room for debate.

He sighed, tilting his head back slightly like he was preparing for a lecture, but he complied without protest. With a grunt, he shrugged off the battered leather jacket, hissing slightly as the movement pulled at the torn edges of his suit. You caught the flash of discomfort in his expression, but he said nothing, tossing the bloodied jacket onto your chair.

“And the top half,” you added, gesturing toward the suit. Your voice was softer this time, less demanding but no less insistent. His hands hesitated briefly at the hem of the torn fabric before he pulled it up and over his head, revealing the pale, scarred skin of his chest and shoulders. The gash on his arm looked even worse without the fabric covering it, the torn skin deep and angry. Blood smeared across his bicep and dripped onto the floor, and you had to swallow the lump in your throat at the sight.

Jason glanced at you, the teasing light in his eyes dimmed now, replaced with something quieter, more vulnerable. “It’s really not that bad.”

“Jason, it’s bad,” you countered, shaking your head as you grabbed a clean cloth and antiseptic from the kit. He didn’t argue this time, watching you silently as you tended to his wound. The warmth of his skin under your fingers was a reminder of how human he was—how breakable, despite the armor he wrapped himself in every night.

The first dab of antiseptic against the wound made him flinch, a soft hiss escaping through his teeth. “Sorry,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. Just do what you need to do.”

And so you did. Your hands moved with careful precision as you cleaned the wound, biting your lip in concentration. Jason stayed still, his muscles tensing under your touch but his expression relaxed—at least outwardly. You knew him well enough to see the subtle shifts, the way his eyes darted occasionally toward your face, as if he were studying you just as much as you were tending to him.

“Why didn’t you do this yourself?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. “You have supplies at your place. You didn’t have to come here like this.”

He was quiet for a moment, the question lingering between you like smoke. Then, finally, he sighed, his voice low and rough. “Didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

The simplicity of his words made you pause, your hands stilling briefly before resuming their work. You didn’t press him further; you didn’t need to. Jason never came out and said it, but moments like this told you everything you needed to know. Beneath the sharp wit, there was a part of him that needed the quiet comfort of your presence, even if he didn’t know how to ask for it outright.

“Well,” you said gently, wrapping a bandage around his arm with practiced care, “you’re not alone now.”

His gaze softened, green eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He reached out with his uninjured hand, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the touch lingering longer than it needed to. “Thanks,” he whispered, the word heavy with meaning.

You smiled faintly, finishing the bandage and tying it off securely. “There,” you said, leaning back to admire your work. “Good as new. Or, at least, good enough to stop bleeding all over my room.”

Jason chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you felt the tension in your chest ease slightly. “You’re wasted on studying,” he teased and with that, his smirk returned. “You could make a pretty decent field medic.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you packed up the first-aid kit neatly. “Yeah, well, let’s not test that theory any further tonight, okay?”

As you turned to put the bloodied gauze and scattered supplies away, Jason’s hand wrapped gently around your wrist, stopping you mid-step. His grip wasn’t firm, but it was enough to tug you back toward him, enough to make your heart lurch at the vulnerability written across his face. You froze for a moment, your eyes meeting his. The usual sharpness in his gaze was softened now, dulled by exhaustion, pain, and something quieter—something unguarded. His bravado, the cocky smirk and dismissive sarcasm that so often served as his shield, was gone. He looked at you like he was searching for something, something only you could give.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, but steady enough to hit you square in the chest. “Thanks. For . . . this. For being here.”

The words felt heavy, like they carried more weight than just tonight. They weren’t just gratitude for the bandages or the antiseptic or the quiet space you’d made for him in your small room. It was more than that. It was for the safety, the warmth, the acceptance you gave him so freely, no matter how broken or battered he was when he came through your window.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you just looked at him, your throat tightening at the raw honesty in his eyes. “Jay,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly. You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to put into words how much it meant to you that he was here, that he trusted you enough to let his walls down like this.

Instead, you slid your hand over his, the one still wrapped around your wrist, and gave it a gentle squeeze. You leaned down slowly, your fingers brushing against the edge of his jaw as you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. His skin was warm beneath your lips, and you lingered there for a second longer than you meant to, closing your eyes as a quiet promise settled in the space between you.

“Always,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with every ounce of certainty you had.

When you pulled back, his eyes followed you, still searching, still vulnerable. His hand shifted slightly, his thumb brushing lightly against your pulse point like he was grounding himself in the feel of you. For a man who was usually so composed, so quick to hide behind sarcasm, he looked achingly human in that moment—like he wasn’t Red Hood, wasn’t Gotham’s vengeance, but just a man who needed someone to remind him it was okay to bleed sometimes.

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do 🤍

[kaszuma]

Bad Habits | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 6 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: Soshiro wanted to set things right by you, so he planned a date that would've gone perfectly. Had a Kaiju not appeared in front of you.

warnings: Mentions of Blood, heavy detail on Injury and Pain. Breathlessness and lots of claustrophobia related to crowds, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Slight Kn8 Manga Spoilers

wc: 6,552

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note: Please inform me if I missed any warnings, It has descriptive injuries so I don't want to trigger anyone who's willing to read this.

Part 7 will be a direct continuation of this. So that's why I dubbed it as a Hurt/No Comfort fic for now. The comfort will come in another part because things have been going too smoothly in the relationship. And I don't want that. Anyways, look forward to the next part. I will be adding a tags list. So if you want to be tagged. Please tell me.

Also, thank you for a hundred followers 🫶

–

Today was the day Soshiro had decided to finally make it up to you.

After weeks of moving between bases. Handling Number 10’s strange quirks in its new prototype suit. It had been an understatement to say that he had kept himself rather busy in the wake of his occupation. His attention often divided between the lousy paperwork stacked against him, as well as his individual training.

One that he had always upheld to keep his body sturdy and his reflexes sharp. Not once acting careless in his response to a Kaiju attack. Especially now where he was equipped with a powerful and sentient combat suit, bloodthirsty for war. Willing to pick a fight with anything remotely breathing in his direction.

By all means, Soshiro could not afford to slack off. And if there was a miniscule chance that he did, he'd be minced alive for sure.

Just when his hard work had started to pay off too.

Now that he had been recognized as a numbers wielder no less. He'd be one of the few melee specialists that Japan could rely on in the case of an emergency. The proof of his existence. That he wasn't just a reject of the Hoshina Family's line of descendants.

That he was more than capable to wield a blade that could slay Kaijus that came after him. And he had succeeded. He had fulfilled his place in the hierarchy. His place solidified beside Captain Ashiro who was an even stronger ally than he was.

But despite his successes. Despite the satisfaction he got from climbing to the top with only the swing of his blade.

That had not been enough for him.

It had not been enough to prove his existence to the world.

And although that had been a major goal of his. To surpass people's expectations of his limits. His boon to keep fighting. To keep swinging his sword despite the odds stacked against him, had also been the downfall of many past relationships that could not blossom because it had gotten in its way.

And you had been the first to stay.

The first to understand his sentiments.The first to clear a path for him when everyone else had all but given up.

And yet here he was. Being a stellar lover and prioritizing everything else above you.

It had been weeks. Practically an entire month since he's spent some quality time with you. Sharing the occasional kiss in the hallways where you'd start your day off. Or acknowledging each other briefly when he had been stuck in the confines of the training rooms.

Beating the lessons right into rookies' bodies when you'd pass by. Or better yet, the daily coffee you had somehow managed to squeeze in despite your equally tight schedule. His favorite blend had always been waiting for him. Ready at his office on the days he burned the very wicks of the midnight oil.

And what had he done in return?

Nothing.

Not since that incident with Kaiju no. 10 at least. That of which he worked so hard to erase any evidence left in its wake. The fake report had at least been a piece of cake to do. And they had to do over the entire prototype testing just to make sure Number 10 was usable in its current state.

And unfortunately for him, it proved to be a much more difficult task to complete. Day by day he had not once made progress in raising the Suit’s combat power. Leaving Kaiju no 10 to mock his defenses and other battle related tactics whenever it could. But that had been the least of his worries.

In all honesty, he had been feeling guilty since that day.

Although he'd be remiss to say he didn't enjoy the feeling. Soshiro had not been in the right sound of mind when he found himself getting closer to you. Drunken by your scent, he had practically seen images flash by his mind. Courtesy by the Kaiju that had seen through his desires. And one thing led straight to the next. He found himself in a troublesome situation that he had been afraid to know the consequences of.

He had desired her. Yes. That much was clear. But he wanted the relationship to evolve slowly. At your pace. One that made you most comfortable.

But he had breached that space. The inch you had given him had turned into a mile. And he was lucky he still held some sort of restraint before he did something stupid and regretted his past actions.

And somehow, you still forgave him.

You enjoyed yourself even. Welcoming him with open arms for the next time around when they had managed to squeeze in the time between work. Open to the idea of a more sensual intimacy. In the privacy of someplace else. And Soshiro had wanted that too.

He wanted to correct his haste. To properly love you right.

But not everything had been picture perfect in the way he had planned. His bad habits showed in the ways he'd prioritize everything but you. And just when he built up his courage–Built up the resolve to face you. To do right by you.

Of course, things just had to get in his way.

Things always got in his way before he could properly apologize and make it up to you. Or atleast, that was the excuse he'd find himself feeling guilty of.

And that is where he found himself outside the premises of the Tachikawa base. Strangely out of uniform and in his civvies that he had managed to find beneath the sweatpants in his closet. Dappered in a simple black turtleneck and a white overcoat. Befitting of the cooler weather Japan had been facing in recent times.

He had been waiting for you to show up with a picnic basket in hand. A few paperback novels that he thinks you might enjoy. Added with a few sweets that he hoped would lighten up your day perhaps.

The plan had been simple.

He’d already done the nerve-wracking part. Stopping you midway as you finished giving him the stack of blueprints for the Combat Suit you had worked on upgrading. His hand reached to touch the soft skin of your knuckles. An action that made you look back at him in turn.

“Is something wrong?” You had asked curiously. The softness in your voice remained. One that made Soshiro want to melt into a puddle.

He smiled. Somehow the words got stuck on his tongue. And he had to remind himself that you were his lover. Who of course would agree to a date. Should he suggest it, Right?

He gulps. Suddenly feeling a little irritated at the way his stomach had dropped and a plethora of nervous butterflies had resurfaced.

Normally he'd have no problem taking out hordes of Yoju that came his way. Boasting the highest individual kill count for slaying midsized Kaiju of his generation. Yet somehow, his reason had gona askew. And he found this situation a little more terrifying than he anticipated.

“Hey, I was thinking..”

“Uh oh- That's not a good sign.” Your comment makes him smile. His eyes rolling to give your shoulder a playful squeeze.

“-That you and I need to have a talk.”

“About what?” You had replied with a tilt on your head.

“I got a few paperbacks in the mail yesterday. I was hoping we could grab a bite to eat while we read through ‘em?” He smiled. His usual grin did not falter in the way he spoke to you. Though you could tell that he had an inkling of nervousness by the way he reached up to scratch the side of his cheek.

“Oh. And here I thought I was in trouble.” You chuckle. “So you're finally inviting me out on a date, Vice Captain?”

He had moved to stand much closer to you. Hand already at the shape of your hip, habitually writing his name on the waistband of uniform. “Is that a no I hear from ya’”

“Now when did I say that?” And it makes you smile knowing he had been trying despite the busy schedule he had.

You had long since understood his place in the hierarchy. Soshiro may have not realized it, but he was far too important of a person in the Defense Force to have been kept away from duty.

His life alone had been the cost of a thousand who'd live due to his sacrifices. And whether or not his insecurities had blocked his view of his own self-worth. You were able to see it clearly.

So despite the difficulties. Despite the yearning you felt for his proximity You did the usual and prioritized his work. Letting him handle things when command had already put so much weight into his daily responsibilities. Not that he seemed affected by it, no doubt already used to the pressure of a hectic battlefield. Much less a hectic work environment.

But of course, you wouldn't reject an offer out on a date with your lover. Not when he so sweetly asked.

And if he had the occasional free time to invite you out. Who were you to say no to his offer?

“Soshiro!” You had called out. Appearing just beside him who stood nearest the entrance of the underground metro station. And he smiled turning towards you with his usual cheeky and cat-like grin.

“You shoulda’ texted me. I would've picked you up by the train stations.” He had moved his free hand to pinch your cheeks. And it makes you chuckle. Revealing yourself completely to him.

Where his eyes had raked over the surface of the cute outfit you decided to purchase the day before. Hand already twirling a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear. Admiring your very soul. Your entirety in front of him.

“And miss your startled face? Fat chance I'd miss that opportunity.” You laughed.

Soshiro had rolled his eyes in turn. His heart pounding as his free hand immediately intertwined with yours.

“If it makes ya’ happy Sweetheart.” He didn't waste this opportunity to gently pull you close. Kissing your temple which had been nearest his lips. “You look pretty.”

His compliments had made you brighten. Your face visibly beamed when his eyes drank your figure. “Damn straight. I wasn't about to let you one up me in the looks department.”

“Alright, alright.” He found himself chuckling. “Let's get moving before the desserts I bought ya’ go bad.”

You had half a mind to drag your feet while he took you out of the metro line. Acting stubborn just to stall and ruffle his feathers for a bit. As payback for neglecting you all those days ago.

But you had decided against it, the crowded train station was far too busy in the early hours of the afternoon. And you would not risk losing each other and wasting the rare day Soshiro had all planned out for the both of you to do.

“Lead the way.” You had smiled, giddy at the mere thought of a time well spent together. And Soshiro had shared that very sentiment. Already leading you away from the busy horde where lines of people had been waiting for the next train stop.

Upon your words, he had gently walked forward. Leading you by the hand.

His grip on you was firm and you can see the way his back had engulfed and weaved through the crowd much more easily than you ever had. Broad in his strides as he tried not to go too fast. Matching your pace since he knew you weren't as built in stamina as he was.

You had admired the little details of his nape. The one mole peaking through the skin of his turtleneck, where his hair had shown every detail of his jugular. One that you had marveled at when he wasn't looking.

Just as you were about to offer your help. Reaching for the sling of the basket on his free hand.

A shiver ran down your spine. The hand that had tried to reach for the basket had paused in heavy response.

And you had suddenly flinched as a loud gust of wind had blown past you. Making the indoor lights of the metro begin to pop and flicker abnormally. An eerie buzz emitting from each light source as if the electricity had all short circuited, simultaneously.

The temperature underground had strangely heightened. Unusual for the cool metro station during this time of day.

And the crowd that had busied themselves passing each other by, had all but stopped. With people's stares directed behind the both of you in a frozen and frightened state. You look around, almost confused. And Soshiro had gripped his hand harder against yours. As if he already knew the exact dread that overcame him.

The exact thing that had been staring right back at them.

And somehow you had that inkling too.

But denial had only been your first problem. And the rest of your body seemed to know the truth. Your very palms began sweating like bullets, and you had hesitantly looked behind you. To prove to yourself that it had not been what you think it was.

But Soshiro who had somehow read your mind. Had moved much quicker than you had.

Pulling you behind him, already pushing you to the exit when people had started panicking. Screams had been the accompaniment of hasty footsteps. With people of all different ages, running in the same direction. Away from the stairs leading down the metro line.

A mere glimpse is all it took for the hair on your skin to rise. And the face of a humanoid Kaiju had looked in your direction. Its skin peeled like oranges, unlike the gritty leathery texture that surrounded its cheeks. And although it had a terrifying grin on its face. It remained calm. Observant. It seemed ecstatic in the way it reveled in the attention it had gotten. Whilst Soshiro had pulled you from your trance.

“Run. Get going!”

Soshiro had strangely screamed. Already pushing you to evacuate, weary that the Kaiju could attack you at any given moment should it wish to. But the Kaiju had a strange way of showing its excitement. Gurgling at every noise it heard. And Soshiro's yell had all been reduced to a mere whisper against your ear. The sound of a panicked crowd was all too encompassing for you to actually make out his words.

Soshiro had kept a firm grip on your shoulders. Still trailing close behind you with his gaze fixated on the Humanoid Kaiju.

Its legs had hovered mere inches above the ground. Crinkled like an old vegetable that was left out in the freezer for too long. It had double the arms, one that resembled old branches with no leaves. And although it looked sickly and frail, he was sure the damn thing was capable of major damage given the right opportunity.

But instead of grabbing onto the nearest person like Soshiro had anticipated. It surveyed the area. Weary of its nearest surroundings.

It's molars and gums chattering against each other. Echoing throughout the underground halls of the metro station. It looked as if it was occupied with something. A far off look in its beady eyes. As if it were communicating with someone.

Perhaps it had something to do with Number 9? Shit.

If that's the case, Soshiro needed to get you out of here as soon as possible.

“I can't get through. They're all pushing..” You had gasped. Feeling yourself stumble back when another person pulled at your shoulder and leaped forward. Using you as leverage to get to the exit.

Soshiro, who had seen this, was quick to catch you before you could fall. Your back against his chest in a protective stance.

He couldn't move. Not yet at least.

More than anything he'd like to handle that thing as quickly as possible. But to leave you nearby in such close proximity too? There's no way in hell he was going to let that happen. So all he could do was fixate his eyes on that Kaiju.

This thing was clearly sentient. Soshiro had seen the way it lingered to read one of the signs nearest the exit. But I didn't seem interested in conversing, let alone leave if he had asked. And he wasn't about to take his chances.

He needed to get rid of that thing now.

“Hoshina here.” He had fished out the white earpiece that he hid on his overcoat's back pocket. Pressing the small item down to his ear to contact operations.

“There's a Daikaiju sighting in the Tachikawa-Kita Station. Requesting permission to use Number 10 to neutralize it.” He spoke seriously. Unlike the usual light hearted conversations you'd have with him. And it makes you stare up at him with raised eyebrows.

It had been weeks since you had worked on Number 10. It was still far too early to be used as a plausible weapon out in the field. And yet here he was, indirectly telling you that he had worn it out in public.

“You what?” You had gasped out. Eyes blown wide whilst his hand remained on the small of your back.

Much to your dismay, Soshiro had not answered you.

Simply moving you closer to the wall, to let other people get through. His hand still pressed against the intercoms whilst he waited for a reply from Operations.

Soshiro had been focused on shielding you for the most part. The crowd was pushing, but it seems they had still been making progress in evacuating the area. Save for a few rumbles that had happened when the Kaiju had suddenly implanted its branch-like fingers onto one of the pillars. Cracking the surface of the solid cement that held the pillar in place. And you couldn't help but worry at the close proximity you both had been.

Right in range of where the Kaiju was looking at.

“Permission granted.” Okonogi’s faint voice could be heard. Likely already booting up Number 10's system underneath Soshiro’s civvies. The bioweapon would slowly regain energy which kept it from its usual conscious state.

“Do you, or Do you not have Number 10 on?” You had asked incredulously. Prying his arms off of you to peel off his shirt. And his larger hand stops you before you could see the peak of red in the place of where his skin should be.

“As a precaution m'dear.” His reply was immediate.

And he suddenly grabbed you by the wrist. Ushering you forward along with the thinning crowd. The stairway had all been emptied now. Save for a few runaways that had tripped or were pushed earlier.

“Higher ups wanted me to get used to it. Releasing this thing’s combat power, I mean.” His voice had been an octave lower. His smile, although present, had not been enough to reassure you. And you had a feeling he was trying not to have you panic on him.

“That is stupid. Command shouldn't have let you wear it. Number 10 is still unstable. What if you go berserk and lose control?” You sighed, running your hand through your hair.

“You did try to argue with command right?”

…

“Right?”

Soshiro did not answer you. Already pacing to drag you out of here before things could escalate.

Meanwhile, you had all but looked at him once over. Now it made sense why he chose to wear an overcoat when the weather had only been a little chilly this afternoon. It had surprised you that he was able to hide its tail from emerging from his legs. But then again, he probably had his blades tucked away in that too.

“Soshiro..”

“Listen, I'll explain things later. Take this and get to the nearest shelter. I ain’t havin Number 10 going berserk. I'll be fine. Just let me handle the Kaiju first, okay-” His sentence was cut short by your scream.

A broken chunk of the large pillar had been thrown towards you. And it had startled you enough to drop the basket he handed you. Soshiro had been quick in his motion to shield you. Wrapping his arms around your shoulder to let his back hit the brunt of the pillar.

But before it could hit and crush the two of you to bits. The faint sound of number 10 chuckled inSoshiro's suit. And its weaponized tail lashed out to strike the pillar back. Destroying it before it could scratch you both from its debris.

The sharp end had all but ripped Soshiros overcoat to shreds. And he was quick to remove the unnecessary fabric on top of his combat suit. Revealing the distinct eye hollowed out in the middle of his chest.

“Lucky this bonehead woke up on time.” Soshiro had chuckled darkly. And it was followed by its immediate reply. Tail haphazardly swinging around from behind him.

“Stop with your meaningless trifles and get to fighting swordsman! My patience is thinning.” It sounded almost like a child. Though its voice had been a deep and rambunctious chatter like usual.

“You heard the darn thing.” He sighs, pushing you forward before another attack could come in.

And you shook your head, placing your firm hands against the suit of his chest. Just beside Number 10's glowing eye. Your gaze fixated on his usual smile, one that you had grown accustomed to hearing cheery laughs from. “Are you serious? This thing isn't ready for an actual fight.”

“Do not mock us Woman. By the time you have escaped our opponent would have been ripped to shreds by me.” It screamed.

Making you roll your eyes in turn. And Soshiro had all but chuckled. Already letting you get a head start as you stepped out of the underground Metro line. “Just go. I promise you I'll be jus’ fine.”

“I’ll come find you later.” He had spoken. Already turning his heel to grab the swords he had hidden on his back.

You knew this was his job. The unavoidable was bound to happen. And as much it pained you to leave him alone with a Daikaiju with only a misaligned prototype of a suit as an ally. There was bound to be trouble afoot. But what can you do other than run?

You weren't a fighter like he was.

Your use was only in the presence of a laboratory, as a technician. Paving the way to enhance his equipment. To heighten his chances of survival, even if it was a measly one percent of it.

That had been better than none after all.

So with a heavy heart. You nod. Glancing at his form for a second longer before you began running. Taking careful steps to the opposite direction where you knew the nearest shelter would be at. There was never a shortage of Defense Force Officers there. Maybe they'd be willing to let a few assist Soshiro before things could go awry.

Captain Ashiro had always made quick work of any Kaiju that appeared. The third had always been quick to respond to action. Not once arriving late when the Tokyo district needed them the most.

Soshiro would just have to hold out before then.

Deal with Number 10's strange habits and hopefully manage to unleash the suit's combat power which had proven to be a tricky feat for a while now. And if he were lucky, maybe he wouldn't need backup at all.

The optimistic side of you wished to see him make quick work of the Kaiju. Have him return to you, maybe with a couple or bruises to sport but nothing serious.

He'd smile at you. Holding peace signs with his fingertips out as a form of comfort. To tell you that he had been fine and the Kaiju had easily accepted defeat, ending the story in a clean neutralization.

You'd even be willing to hear Number 10's inflated boasting in the background. Telling you that they had sliced it to ribbons before you even had the chance to reach the shelter.

At least that's what you hoped to imagine.

Just as soon as you arrived at the familiar street. You passed by the multitude of shopping districts in the area. And you see the familiar crowd of people being ushered into the sturdy underground bunker of the shelter. Far away from the premises of the Metro Line where Soshiro’s battle had taken place.

You had immediately stepped up. Trying to fall in line with the rest of the crowded spaces that led up to the entrances of the bunker.

But somehow the temperature rose once more. And you feel the familiar rumble in your chest as a gust of wind had blown behind you. Your hair going in all sorts of directions before your eyes settled on the familiar looking Kaiju floating in the very back of the crowd. Nearing you inch by inch.

What was it doing here?

Everyone who had equally felt the same tension had been paralyzed from fear. Its beady gaze had been burning holes unto the crowd. And its neck cracked as it tried to tilt its head to the side.

This had been enough to get rid of the stupor on everyone's expressions. And another wave of panic ensued. Leaving you and a few others to be pushed around in the wake of everyone's panic.

“Report. Kaiju has been spotted here in Shelter 1121. Requesting permission to engage.”

You had heard one of the Defense Force Officers yell. The few that had been present were already aiming their firearms at the chattering Kaiju. It's head convulsing as it floated ever so closer towards the crowd. Its branch-like fingertips grazed the road. Eerily dragging its long limbs down the cement. Its pace is slow and tantalizing as if to tease your inevitable demise.

You had groaned.

Feeling yourself be pushed down to the ground. Palms hitting the coarse texture of the cement roads. Knees scraping the rough surface as you stopped yourself from falling face flat onto the floor. Luckily the crowd had been mindful enough not to trample you. With most of the citizens already crowding the entrance as Soldiers had blocked the Kaiju's path from going any further.

But you saw the way it moved.

In a blink of an eye the Kaiju had made quick work of the Officers. Sweeping them off like insects thrown to the side. Their bodies hitting the nearest surface available in the area. And you had tried to back away. The itching pain that had surrounded your knees was like putting salt on an open wound. Still fresh from the poor landing you had from earlier.

But there was no time to focus on that. Its beady gaze already staring at you and his next target had been made clear.

Just as you had tried to get up, you saw the way a car had been thrown right above your head. And you had been a hair away from being hit by the force of its pitch. Landing on a few people who had crowded up against the entrance of the base.

Likely crushing a few people in the process.

Shit.

The dizzy unease you felt had all but dazed your mind's eye. And somehow through the fire and the panicked screams. A force had thrown you off the ground.

And suddenly your body had slumped against the nearest wall. Your back landing on the very glass of a fashion boutique. Your weight had shattered its surface upon impact when you were thrown against it.

A shockwave on the ground had likely thrown you a few feet back. And you whimpered. Feeling the shards of glass puncture your shoulder and arms. A few cutting your legs that had shamelessly bleeded against the floor.

You could feel a much larger injury on the small of your back. But as it stands, you couldn't really focus on a specific area. Not when it had hurt all over.

It had hurt to stand up. Let alone to crawl away.

You were not in the safety of the base. And Soshiro had not been here beside you. Even if it hurts like hell. You knew that you had to move. You had to get away and find some help before the situation got worse.

But somehow, it had only gotten much more difficult to breathe. Your eyes which had blurred from the blood flow on your head had suddenly cleared a little bit. Just enough for you to inspect your surroundings. And you noticed it had gotten significantly darker upon your landing. Everything, even within the confines of the boutique, had been covered in a thin layer of smoke that you could've sworn wasn't here before

The scent had been weird. Both earthy and a little rusty for your liking. But it had a distinct bitter smell, like something had gone rotten in the area.

And suddenly your throat lurched. Coughing at the sheer difficulty your lungs had inhaled. Like suddenly oxygen had all but ran out and you were left with a gas that had been invading your system entirely.

Your hand had shakily reached up your throat. Trying not to panic as the breaths you made had gotten shorter and shorter.

Was this poison?

Did the Kaiju have anything to do with this?

Where was Soshiro? Was he dead?

Only panicked thoughts plagued your mind. Not entirely aware that the pain had made you almost delirious as you try not to cry from all the overwhelming sensations you felt.

Your only thought had been to gather your bearings and find Soshiro. Damned the injuries that weighed your body. Damned the poison gas that made you want to throw up your lungs.

All you needed was Soshiro.

Yet somehow, you find yourself back on the ground. With your cheek pressed up against the shattered glass. Eyes slowly fluttering to a close from the sheer exhaustion alone. And your body, had never accepted sleep more than this moment had.

–

Who knows how long you've been laying there. A few gunshots sounded out from the distance before it ultimately quieted down. A roar rumbled to the far east of where you had rested. But the sounds had gone silent a few minutes after.

And here you were, dizzy from a concussion. Bleeding from your arms and legs. And your breaths barely audible from the amount of toxic gas you had inhaled.

You didn't know whether or not your lungs were barely functioning anymore. But with the slow rise and labored falls of your chest, you were sure you had still been okay. Though it's a miracle you were still half awake.

You could still make the odd gasps and silent plea for help. So you couldn't sleep. Not yet at least. Not when help could so easily arrive and your chances of actually surviving would lower.

The smoke had not cleared up from where you had laid. And for a moment, you see the shadow of a figure step hastily through the broken boutique. Staring down at you with gritted teeth.

“Found you..”

Your breath hitched. Suddenly the blinding numbness had been replaced with a fresh bout of soreness and burning pains. And Soshiro, who had stood above your half-conscious body, had stumbled a bit.

Not used to the way your body stood so still. Arched upward from the shard of glass punctured nearest the back of your waist. His breath was stolen away, as he could only imagine how the pain must’ve felt when you were thrown off balance to crash a building no less.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, c'mere.” Soshiro's familiar voice was much clearer now that he had stepped much closer to you.

The clang of his blades had dropped beside you as his hands were already fumbling to remove the straps of his respiratory mask. Rushing to place it atop your mouth and nose. Hoping it would help you breathe properly.

“Someone get the medic. Get the medic.”

Soshiro screamed. Glancing behind him for a moment before his focus had been fixated on you. His other hand gingerly lifting your head from the ground to assess the injuries you sustained.

And his eyes. The wine color of his eyes…

You could've sworn it had darkened. Brimmed with the fear of losing you. A cacophony of unshed tears that would usually be closed and cat-like in its features.

“..Soshiro?” You croaked out. Voice a little raspy from whatever gas that Kaiju had decked out. And your lover immediately pulled you closer. Rocking your body to keep you awake.

His first instinct was to secure the straps of the respiratory mask on your face. Letting you take a few filtered breaths before you try to speak once more. Though he hushed you right after, in the case you’d drain the little energy you had left in you.

And from the deadweight he felt. He somehow feared the worst.

“Hey, hey, Shhhh. You're okay.” He spoke with a shaky voice. As if he were assuring himself more than he did you. “I'm here now. We're gonna fix ya’ up brand new. I promise.”

His words had been loud. Desperate even. But for some reason, it went in and out of your ears. Not entirely sure if he had been screaming at somebody else, or he had been talking to you in particular. His reassurances got softer and softer from the minute your ears began to ring.

The sound of his voice, which you would normally find comfort in. Had your head spinning around. Making you wince in turn.

You had wanted to reach out. To pull him close and check for his own injuries. But your arms and shoulders would twitch in pain anytime you had tried to move a muscle. The poison in your system had made it all the more heavier for your body to move. Chained to the ground as if restrained by your own powerlessness of the situation.

“You're done?” You had managed to groan out. Wondering if the Kaiju had been neutralized.

And his immediate response was to nod in your direction. Pulling you much closer so that his leg would be able to support your weight on the ground. Away from the edged shards of glass that had scattered about.

“I'm okay baby. Yer’ the one that needs the help here..” He lets out a dry chuckle. Not entirely convinced that his jokes were actually landing. His panic was more evident in his tone than it had usually been, and for some reason. That hurt more than the physical wounds you endured.

“I know.” You hissed. “Hurts all over..if you couldn't tell..”

“Shit. Medics are on their way. I'm gonna lift you up okay? You'll be fine. Just gonna meet em’ halfway..” He had started. With Soshiro gently hooking his arms underneath the knees of your legs. And just as soon as you were an inch off of the ground. You winced.

Your teeth gritted together as you tried not to cry from the pain you felt when your body had raised from the ground. His hands, although they had been careful, were far too firm against the cuts on your body.

And the pain on your back, where the glass shard had punctured your organs, had a burning sensation you wished would go away.

Soshiro who had seen the way you panicked. Stopped in his actions. Putting you back down on the ground where his leg had cushioned your bleeding head.

“I know, I know jus’ bear with me, alright? Keep your pretty eyes open.” The string of curses never left Soshiro's lips. And his hand which had gently held the cheek where the respiratory mask met the skin of your pale face. Hoping that your breaths would get steadier. The mask recording all the slow inhales you'd take.

In and out. Labored but at least it was still there.

“Breathe..jus’ breathe for me, okay?”

Your eyes had tried to blink rapidly to remove the fatigue you had felt. But somehow, you were fighting a losing battle. And you couldn't help but give into the darkness. The fatigue would feel much nicer since you didn't have to worry about the pain. And with your lover here. It was okay to relax now. No longer did you need to have your guard up to combat the fight or flight situation.

And Soshiro found himself panicking even more at the way your eyes grew distant. Screaming at his intercoms for a medic on-field. Likely already on their way to the location he had sent to Operations moments prior. Okonogi in particular was trying to reassure the Vice Captain, but to no avail.

Not when his focus had all but fixated on your wellbeing. Eyes already closed as you drifted to an unconscious state.

His hand had reached down to your cheek. Already running circles against the bags of your eyes. Running across the dried tears that brimmed your eyes. Denying that this moment had a possibility to be your last.

And without hesitation, he started lifting you up again. This time not a peep from your mouth.

He was gonna fucking take you to the neareat hospital himself if he had to.

Like hell he was going to let you die. Right?

Right?

“Shit. This ain’t funny. Wake–Wake up!”

He hears Okonogi speak on the other side. Something about how a few officers had already turned the corner nearest their location. And he found himself running to their direction, your head leaning against his shoulder leaving small blood stains on Number 10's plated armor.

Help was close. But Soshiro's mind wasn't eased by that fact. Not at all relieved.

Not when your head had still been bleeding and a shard of glass as large as his hand had been punctured just below the small of your back.

And as he ran, he had wondered what he could've done to avoid this.

Should he not have asked you to go out today?

No.

You had been far too eager for this moment. It had been his fault for neglecting you. For not prioritizing the wave of affections you gave him in turn.

He had promised himself that he was gonna cherish you. Dedicate entire days just for you.

And yet here he was. With his plans, ruined beyond repair. And he finds himself going back to the root of his bad habits.

His work, his ambition to be seen as someone capable. Someone who existed in the hands of the world who did not see his strength and dedication. It had held him by the collar, forcing him to face elsewhere. Trapped him from doing right by you.

And now?

His bad habits had now suffered the consequences of his actions. No longer did he have the chance to do everything once over.

And his apologies had fallen to deaf ears. Hoping for the chance you'd get to hear him again.

He had a bad habit of doing you wrong. And now, he hopes you'd be awake so he can set things right.

[sinybird]

MİDHEALT - PLATİN (2)

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[planetpedri]

If you want to — Lamine Yamal.

Pairing: Lamine Yamal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lamine noticed you hadn’t been sleeping and offers to spend the night with you so you aren’t alone. But you hadn’t expected his presence to relax you so much.

Word Count: 1.8K

Disclaimer/s: all fluff <3 talks of not sleeping (insomnia), cursing.

A/N: This is based off “If you want to” by Beabadoobee!

A nudge to your shoulder had snapped you to attention, your heart rate skyrocketing as you’d just been woken from a half-sleeping state. Rubbing your tired eyes, you turn your attention to your best friend, your eyebrows furrowed. “What? Did I miss something?”

A quiet chuckle leaves Lamine’s lips as he nods his head to the rest of the classroom. Everyone was packing up their things before shuffling their way out of your maths class.

“You practically slept through the whole period.” Lamine notes as you begin putting your own things into your backpack.

Even then, you were moving at a sluggish pace. “My bad.” You sigh, tugging on the metallic zipper with an irritated huff. It’d got caught on the fabric, not budging no matter how harshly you tugged on it.

Before you could lose your temper, Lamine gentle takes the black backpack from your grasp. You watch with a frown as he slowly and gently fixes it, zipping it all the way down without any more of a struggle.

He hands it back with a teasing look, “next time don’t try to rip it apart and maybe it’ll cooperate?”

“Shut up.” You huff, standing up to tug the straps onto your shoulders.

Exiting the classroom, you walk beside Lamine. It was now lunch time, which meant you had the whole thirty minutes to possibly nap in the Library while the athlete got his fair share of carbs in.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” The boy beside you asks, his eyebrows dipped in concern.

Chewing on your bottom lip you reply honestly, “three or four, give or take. Probably closer to three.”

You wish you were joking, but unfortunately your insomnia was taking a tole on you. Getting worse and worse since the school year had started. It was pretty evident in your face as well, as Lamine had pointed out a few times before. Large purple eye bags and heavy eyes had now become your normal. No makeup could conceal the tired look that was always on your face.

Lamine nods his head slowly, opening the light washed doors for the both of you. He says your name in a drawled out tone, cocking his head to the side as he watches you walk past him and into the bustling cafeteria, “you gotta get more sleep, man.”

“I know that!” You groan, “but I just can’t sleep, like ever. It sucks too because I get so bored, but my brain just doesn’t shut off.”

“What if I come over tonight? I’ll hang out with you and we can study for the exam on Monday, maybe it’ll tore you out?” Lamine suggests, his smile genuine as he grabs the red trey before entering the short line for food.

“Really?” You perk up, “I mean, only if you want to, don’t feel obligated or anything.” You add on quickly, grabbing your own trey.

Lamine laughs, “if I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have suggested it.” He grins, his elbow lightly tapping your bicep, sending a flurry of something new to your stomach. Something you definitely needed to ignore.

—

That night, Lamine texted you to inform you he’d be over right after he helped his mom clean up dinner. You smiled as you typed back a quick response to let him know the door would be unlocked.

It’d taken very little convincing for your parents to give the all okay when you’d asked if Lamine could stay over, as it was a very normal thing between you since you were kids. Plus, it helped that it was a Friday night.

You were sitting comfortably on your bed, the TV on and playing season three of Criminal minds (your second rewatch of the month), when your door opened without a knock. Lamine’s pajama clad figure entering soon after.

“Hey—“ He stops short, looking to the TV with a disappointed look. “Didn’t you just finish season fifteen like.. last week?”

“Technically, five days ago actually.” You shrug, watching as he makes his way around the bed, setting his backpack on the edge of the bed before slipping onto the bed.

He grabs the remote, pausing the episode. “Have you ever considered that damn show is why you can’t sleep?” He quirks his eyebrow, pressing the red button at the top of the remote, turning the TV black.

“Hey—! I was—whatever, ugh.” You slump back onto your many pillows with a huff of air. “It is just background noise, honestly.”

“Whatever you say..” Lamine sighs, reaching for his laptop in his backpack, pausing and turning to you, “are you going to get yours or..”

You blink, realizing you’d been staring at him without a thought in your head. “Oh! Right.. Homework and studying.. how fun.” Not.

For the next thirty minutes you attempted to focus on the work in front of you, but your mind was trailing off to earlier that day. You’d felt a strange sensation at his touch, one you hadn’t felt before and it was consuming your thoughts now more than ever as he sat beside you, your legs touching.

With a defeating groan, you close your laptop. “I can’t do this. I’m so sick of school, I just want to sleep.” Your frown deepens on your lips as you tilt you head to the side, resting it against the wall as Lamine mirrors you.

“Then sleep?” He offers obviously. “Without the TV on.” He quickly adds, a small grin on his face.

“I’m gonna hit you.” You scowl, but begin to put your laptop and textbook onto the side table.

Lamine does the same, setting them aside and getting comfortable under your large white blanket. Once the two of you were settled, you close your eyes, begging sleep to find you easily.

It doesn’t.

You toss and you turn and you huff and puff, yet you cannot sleep.

A loud yelp escapes your lips as Lamine rolls over, placing an arm around your waist and securing you against him, forcing you to stop moving.

“You’re being loud.” He grumbles through a sleepy voice. And that was enough to shut you up.

Lying in his arms, your heart beat rapidly slowing in your chest the longer he held you. And then the unexplainable happened, you fell asleep, a small smile on your face at the feeling of his soft breaths on your shoulder.

—

Your eyes flutter open, immediately clamping shut as the bright sunlight that burned your eyes. Letting out a loud whine, you move to face away from the sun, only to find your movement halted by the weight of an arm around you.

Right.

You open your eyes again, slower this time as they adjust to the sight in front of you. Lamine was silently scrolling on TikTok, his phone resting against your pillow, his head still resting beside yours.

A smile creeps onto your face, “what are you doing?” You laugh, moving your head to catch sight of his.

“Watching TikTok, what does it look like?” He quips, a humor filled grin on his face as he stares into your eyes, drinking in the way the sunlight hits off your face. He finds himself getting lost in the way your eyes are twinkling with amusement.

Clearing your throat, you face his phone once again, “well turn up the sound, weirdo.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He says, clicking the side of his phone till it’s at the perfect level. Butterflies attack your stomach at his words, but you push the feeling aside as you two watch his for you page, laughing at the stupid and funny ones, occasionally teasing him when an edit of himself pops up.

It’s not until your eyes flicker up to the time when you gasp, “Lamine! It’s 1:30? Why did you let me sleep in so long!?”

“I didn’t want to wake you!” Lamine argues defensively, “you needed your sleep.” He says the last sentence a lot more softly, more out of care than to actually prove a point.

Your bottom lip juts out, “wait, thats sweet. Appreciate it.” You grin, turning around to place a peck on his cheek, which was a normal thing you did, but this time he hadn’t expected it.

Lamine turns to face you, just as your lips were supposed to connect with his cheek, his lips are suddenly in the way. Soft lips instead of soft cheeks catches you off guard, your eyes widening as you quickly pull away.

“Oh fuck—“ You stutter out, “i’m so—“

“No! No—it’s okay!” He’s stumbling over his own words, both of your cheeks are flushed as you look at each other in shock.

It’s quiet for a moment, both of you staring at one another with slightly parted lips, the silence deafening. You were still in his arms, he was still holding onto you, neither of you dared to move.

“I’m so sorry, I genuinely didn’t mean to do that.” You finally cough out, your eyes narrowing with worry. Did you just fuck everything up?

Lamine’s chocolate eyes soften, “don’t feel sorry.”

Maybe you were reading too into things, but was he trying to say something more?

“I just kissed you..?” You cringe at the way the words that come from your mouth, you sounded like an idiot. This was humiliating.

Lamine’s mouth opens, then closes, then he gives you that look. The one he gave you every time you were slow to catch a meaning behind something. The one that made his lips pull back and his cheeks puffed a little. A look you loved.

God, you loved it. You loved him.

“What? Why are you making that face?” You say through a nervous giggle.

“I don’t want you to be sorry for kissing me, I just want you to do it again.” Lamine says, a bit more confidence in his voice as he does so. He was looking at you with longing in his eyes, and you couldn’t deny him any longer.

Your lips press against his again, feeling the way his lips form a smile as he kisses you right back. His hand snakes through your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. The second you pull away, he’s peppering your lips with mini kisses, grinning like an idiot all the while.

You fall back against your pillows, a lovesick smile on your face as he leans over you, brushing stray strands of your bed hair out of your face.

“You look like a goof.” You tease, hand reaching up to touch his that was cupping your face.

“You’re not allowed to make fun of me, I just helped you get the best sleep of your life,” he points out, mater-of-factly before adding, “loser.”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his hand away, “ohhh, don’t let it get to your head.”

After a few more bickering exchanges, you both agree to start your day officially, both exiting your room to go make some ‘breakfast’.

Sickeningly sweet smiles on both of your faces as you make your way downstairs, Lamine’s hand never leaving yours.

(DT) @halfwayhearted ILY. Thank you for helping me on this my bonkkkk💟.

[anghraine]

Ok, I've been thinking about this question a lot and there's not enough evidence in P&P to fully support any answer, but I wanted to hear yours: What is the Gardiners' economic status/How rich are the Gardiners?

Obviously, Mr. Gardiner is a tradesman, but I'm desperately curious to know the extent of his wealth. Does he have a similar income to Mr. Bennet but is just more frugal? Would he have been able to take in his niece(s)/sister when Mr. Bennet died? Does he have Bingley-level tradesman wealth without the massive lump sum Bingley inherited from his father? Darcy assumes that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are gentry - but like, Bennet gentry or Woodhouse gentry or Lucas gentry. JANE SKIMPED ON THE GARDINER INFORMATION AND NOW WE'LL NEVER KNOW. So what are your headcanons surrounding the Gardiners' wealth?

Really, the most important Gardiner headcanon that the Gardiner children are immediately charmed by Darcy and think he's like ~the coolest~

thanks queen <3

Six months later: hi!

My opinion is that the Gardiners are very well-off in terms of the usual incomes of the gentry. It's difficult to pin down an exact income range because I'm not a historian or economist, but the literary evidence is pretty suggestive IMO.

For one, Mr Bennet has no trouble believing that Mr Gardiner could have shelled out ten thousand pounds for Lydia; the problem is the struggle of repaying him, as Mr Bennet would feel morally obligated to do. The impression I get is that this would be a lot of money for Mr Gardiner to come up with, but everyone accepts that he could quickly do it, where Mr Bennet could not. And Mrs Gardiner does insist that Mr Gardiner would have paid the money if Darcy had let him, which again suggests that it was reasonably doable for him.

When Elizabeth and Jane first pass the news to Mrs Bennet and try to express the debt of gratitude they all owe Mr Gardiner, Mrs Bennet's response is a bitter remark about how if her brother had not married and had children of his own, "I and my children must have had all his money, you know; and it is the first time we have ever had anything from him except a few presents."

Aside from what this reveals about her character (especially given the remarkable understatement of "a few presents" given everything they've done for Jane and Elizabeth), I think "all his money" suggests an awareness that there would have been quite a bit to inherit if Mr Gardiner hadn't had the temerity to, uh, have children.

The summer tourism journey also doesn't seem to represent a severe expense for the Gardiners, though it would be outside the realm of possibility for some. They're not super frugal, but they're also not going to pull a Sir William Lucas and abandon the source of their income, or take an estate or something to distance themselves from trade, and end up unable to provide security for their children or any significant luxuries for their loved ones and themselves. So the Gardiners do make practical decisions like living near Mr Gardiner's warehouses and continuing his business in town.

Darcy (in Elizabeth's opinion) mistakes the Gardiners for "people of fashion" rather than gentry per se. This is interesting because Darcy originally considered the entire Meryton neighborhood, including the local gentry, as people noticeably not of fashion. This concept of people of fashion is typically more about fashionable high society than trade vs gentry IMO.

For instance, Mr Hurst is described as "a man of more fashion than fortune"—i.e. someone with high society credentials from his family, but not a lot of money, though he has enough to maintain a house in Grosvenor Street. (I think the implication is that the Hursts considered their status and Louisa Bingley's 20,000 l. from trade a fair exchange.) So likely, Darcy is not confusing the Gardiners for minor rural gentry, but even higher-status people if Elizabeth is analyzing his reaction correctly, based on their appearance, apparel, demeanor, etc.

This is definitely a time when wealthy people in trade could pass for people of fashion, but I think it would ordinarily take some doing, and though the Gardiners are stylish and relatively young, they aren't trying hard in the way that the Bingleys are. Yet Darcy, who went on a whole tangent about trade cooties during his proposal, can't even identify the Gardiners as people in trade upon meeting them—that's important.

(It's also significant, of course, that he's surprised to discover their exact connection aka that they're Mrs Bennet's relatives, which is honestly pretty fair. In any case, he evaluates Mr and Mrs Gardiner on their own considerable merits by this point.)

So again, I get the sense that the Gardiners are quite well-off people who spend their money on nice enough things that they can be mistaken for a completely different class than their own, but are not specifically aiming for that or super extravagant, either. Their habits seem rather similar to Darcy's, actually—I don't think they're anywhere near as wealthy, but they're wealthy enough that they can approach major expenditures fairly casually, as he does. But unlike Darcy, it will always be contingent on Mr Gardiner's business success and they have to plan around his work and the possibility of sudden changes in terms of his work.

I personally think that Mr Gardiner would undoubtedly have been able to take care of his sister and nieces in the worst case scenario. Six women used to a high standard of living (we know Mrs Bennet is extravagant; it's only Mr Bennet's frugality that keeps the Bennets out of debt as it is) would probably be a strain, but I don't think beyond the income level indicated, even accounting for the needs of his immediate family.

When Mrs Bennet is dramatizing herself during the Lydia disaster, she tells Mr Gardiner, "if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do," and he assures her of his affection for both her and her entire family. This could be seen as a sort of empty redirection that avoids promising anything, especially given that her catastrophizing fantasy scenarios are extremely unlikely, but I think that's a misread of his character.

I see his reply as a tactful assurance that, in the (improbable) event of Mr Bennet dying in a duel, his affection for her and her daughters would indeed ensure his protection of her and her daughters. There's no doubt from anyone that he's capable of doing this, though it would certainly mean a change in their style of living that Mrs Bennet would vocally resent.

So while this isn't super-specific, I hope it helped!

Normally I don't need to do this, but I would like to add a sort of credit/disclaimer: I didn't initially notice all these signs and my understanding of the Gardiners' standard of living and general circumstances was, I believe, strongly influenced by JulieW of the Life and Times board at Republic of Pemberley back in the earlyish 2000s (maybe about 2006?).

The L&T board is sadly gone (or was the last few times I checked), though ROP clings to life, but she knew a lot more about Georgian history and culture than I ever will, and these references to the Gardiners' prosperity seemed really glaring once she pointed them out.

(Her analysis of Pemberley's age, architecture, and general class significance was also really influential and I'm still really sad that I have to rely on the perfidy of memory about it.)

[heartpiratedrabbles]

Kids Anger Part 2

Part 1 ~ Part 3 Part 4

Kid X Fem Reader X Killer

It had been a couple of days since you disappeared and life on the Victoria Punk hasn’t felt peace since. Kid angrily stomped through the ship, breaking every door behind him and plenty of holes throughout the walls he passes. It was a stupid fucken fight. Kid was angry, he was pissed, He’d teach you a lesson about running away after he found you. He’d make sure you’d never be able to leave him again.

        Killer on the other hand had been the one actually handling the crew and ship, trailing behind his awestruck lover. He was anxious after not seeing you, and unlike Kid had noticed you were injured from the beginning. But he had thought, even with your hot headedness, that you’d treat yourself before doing anything stupid. The only evidence of you ‘dressing’ the wound was a bloodied shirt you had left behind, no medical supplies were taken.

        Heat approached Killer, avoiding the irrational captain, “We should make landfall in a couple hours.” Killer knew what this meant, the Vivre card he had handed heat to help track you down must’ve pointed towards to island. And if you were further, well they’d need to stock up on supplies before continuing, not to mention fix some damage to the haul that they barely fixed after the battle with the marines.

        “When we get there, we’ll go our separate ways, you get everything ready to depart as soon as possible,” Killer said gesturing down the hallway to where Kid had stormed off too. It should hopefully only be a matter of time now.

        “The island has a military base on it” Heat says while handing the blonde the vivre card back, Killer stops a bit. He looks at the card and notices it’s gotten smaller, the edges seemingly burnt and his stomach drops.

        “Get us there as fast as possible Heat” Killer makes quick steps to get to Kid, his trail of destruction leading the first mate to his workshop. He practically kicks the door open, ignoring the red head’s anger boiling over. Before Kid can get any real words out Killer lands a punch on him, “Get your fucken head out of your ass.” Holding up the vivre card Kid stares at it a bit more.

        “She’s the one that ran away” Holding onto his hateful pride still in the end, “If she dies that’ because she can’t protect herself.” Kid lets out a huff only to be met with another punch.

        “You’re the one that told her to leave Kid.” Killer kicked his captain. He was beyond pissed, “We’re breaching land soon.”

~~~

        You woke up in a dark cell, a chain around your ankle. After you had passed out on the row boats a backup battalion of Marines found you and captured you. They had blamed the entire incident on you and have tortured you for any information pertaining to your previous captain for a lighter sentence.

        You lay there, too tired to even sit up. The only thing you’ve had to eat since you left the ship was a moldy piece of bread and some water. The whip marks on your back ached and the wound in your shoulder has long since turned into an infection.

        The guards had mentioned your execution coming up and how you were stupid for not ratting out Kid to survive. You let your mind wander, thinking about how Kid would take up the entire bed by stretching out, or how what little room was left, was then taken up by how big Killer was. You missed snuggling in between them, in the crevices left between their bodies. It certainly would be more comfortable than this floor.

        You wonder if they are even worried about you. You’re sure Killer had a couple of words for Kid but it didn’t seem like he went after you either. You hear a jingle of Keys come closer and a loud kick against the bars jerk your eyes open.

        “Y/N, if you just give us some information we won’t execute you. In fact we’d be willing to ship you off to the West Blue and let ya live your life” The commander of the base stared down at you through the bars snickering at your predicament. “You’re gonna need some treatment if you want to survive… If you don’t want to tell me anything now you could, always offer something else.”

You watch as he unlocks the door and walks in, crouching down next to you, picking up your chin with one of his hands. He starts leaning in but before he can get any closer you spit in his face, “I’d rather die miserably than stoop to your level.” The man punches you before standing up.

“Face it y/n, the Kid Pirates sacrificed you. You’re nothing to them,” He stares down at you, placing a foot on your infected shoulder, putting slight pressure on it, smirking as he sees the pain in your eyes.

You gasp, gritting your teeth, “Just kill me already. I won’t tell you anything.” The man glares down at you. He kicks you in the stomach before leaving again. You hear the walls around you become silent as he leaves. Seeing black spots in your eyes you allow yourself to pass out.

~~~

        Kid and Killer were making a mess of the marine base, only stopping to take a breath after getting lost inside the building. When they got to the island, they had heard about an upcoming execution for one of the Kid Pirates and knew they were close to finding you.

        “Where do they keep coming from?” Kid yells while punching another marine straight into the ground, “Can’t the fuckers lay off for a second.”

        “We’re in this mess because of you” Killer grunt, slashing one out of the way. He grabs your vivre from his pocket, growing increasingly concerned at the smaller its getting. Kid grumbles before running in the direction the card shifted.

~~~

        You awaken to a loud thud of the door and groan; you didn’t have the energy to deal with him anymore. You didn't have energy anymore, you just want to sleep. You’re back towards the cell doors and with as much strength as you can muster, “I’m- Not. Talking,” You have to breathe a bit between each word, every movement more painful than the last, “Just kill me already.” You don’t hear anything behind you. You didn’t like this silence of being watched and slowly glance over your shoulder. To your surprise, you see Kid stunned silent, “That’s a first,” You mutter before letting yourself relax for the first time in days, your body falling limp.

~~~

        Kid finally managed his way to the cell block and surprisingly there were no guards around, must’ve taken care of them already, The onslaught of bodies behind him was a testament to how determined he was. He glanced back at Killer who was still taking care of a few guards and decided to run ahead.

        He broke open the door, slamming it open. There in front of Kid is what he can only assume to be a dead body, the deep gashes along the back only adding context to how the ground was so severely stained red. Kid takes a couple of steps forward when he hears you talk, his breath hitches and he can’t seem to move anymore. What did they do to you? He watches as you slowly turn your head to face him and he can only watch as you put on a smile to him and weakly say, “That’s a first,” before going limp, lying flat on your back.