#Francis is gonna be really interesting but I can already tell I'm gonna be so traumatized by him 😭

[froggieco]

Some controversial thoughts about the Peachyville Horror

I've been seeing how everyone is reacting to Francis's moment in the bathroom in this latest episode (episode 7) and I thought I might as well add one more.

Francis is someone who is mentally unstable, yes. I think this is something we can all agree with. He's surrounded by people who seem to either enable his actions in one way or another or they're on a list of people he keeps which we can only assume is something like a hit list. He's been looked down on by his parents, bullied by his peers, and generally just beat down by everyone around him including himself at this point. Then he won that trophy. That's where everything shifts. He's the one to take it home and it's obvious that by how Will was describing that trophy, something about it had negative energy.

⚠️Now I get into some gory details in this next part so fair warning ⚠️

Now, Francis had his dream and suddenly became violent to an extent that he would joke about it and people would feel threatened. Relistening to episode 5, he threatened a man after scooping his eyes out with an ice cream scoop by kicking him in the balls and then grabbing his eyeballs and threatening to squeeze them. Now, I get it this is a horror comedy podcast but if we are gonna analyze a character I'm taking everything into account and really this is the first and really an extremely violent thing for a person to do, especially when this is the first actions he's been known to take.

Getting the gun and instantly he seemed to know exactly what he "needed" to do. On a dime, the Francis we knew just a few episodes ago was already so different.

Now that brings us to the bathroom scene. People have been saying it was a mental "snap" or "break" which doesn't line up, like how most others have pointed out that this was something that was premeditated. He planned out this whole thing and followed through with it. And to those who think he did this so Shane wouldn't bother him anymore, he didn't see Francis at all through the whole attack, which yes, Francis could go back and claim he did it but I still this it's important to note we don't know if Shane will believe him.

That being said, with every increasingly violent act that Francis had done up to that point it made sense within the confines of his world. It was in his character that things have played out this way so far. And really I think it's going to make for a really interesting character arc. He isn't going to to be a character that we have seen before, which when we just had a season of teens that were just coming into themselves Anthony is getting his chance to get his character in, and it is a horror series. This doesn't make any of the actions acceptable by any means and this should not encourage people to romanticize any of the actions he does. There is a way to like a character and not romanticize their actions, some of these posts remind me of posts of people romanticizing real murderers and shooters, which is rather disturbing.

TLDR

Francis suddenly got violent after bringing the trophy home, having a dream after being under his teacher's bed for 4 hours, and now he's suddenly he's on a bloody rampage and those around him are either enablers or in his line of fire and that's an interesting new character to think about. But don't romanticize that shit.

Extra

• Another idea I saw floating around was that Francis got switched with his reflection in the trophy, which I love the idea of this one. It can keep the idea of mental health slightly but it brings the story back into it. But, I understand that even without evil trophies, people like Francis exist in our world.

• Also having him practice with his bully's face as the target was really the warning. I personally didn't know the scene was going to be that graphic but now looking back I get the horror side of the podcast now. As someone who lives in America it was something that shocked me the first time listening to it, knowing that the usual stuff that the guys bring up I can laugh off. This scene most definitely felt different and I'm sure that it's going to be a huge turning point for a lot of things.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep3 Musings - Loumand

Last post, I promise; I needed another nap; this ep's a freaking rollercoaster. And these two queens nearly gave me a stress ulcer!

DEBATABLE, Louis. I can think of FAR worse vamps than you, love.

Why're y'all having this whole conversation where anyone can hear?

They got Sartre's wall-eyes down; good makeup this season, team! 👌

DreamStat's a Loumand bed-death truther, jfc. 😭

I wanna know EXACTLY what Armand sees--or "feels"--whenever DreamStat pops up in Lou's head. Cuz he clearly knows precisely where Les is; he looks right in his direction. But does he HEAR Les too? (God I hope not, this song would've had me SEETHING--Back to Hell with you! 😅)

"Oh dear" indeed; I was HOLLERING.

SAM WAS DEVOURING THIS SCENE HOLY GOD GO AWAY DEMON

Armand looked PISSED, I was scared for Louis' life! And he DOES know, actually, yes Lou. I can almost GUARANTEE that he knows PRECISELY where Lestat is AT THIS VERY MOMENT, yes Lou.

If only you knew.... 😬

Claudia's suffered more than Christ. And nice cut to Daniel sneaking around with Raglan James as Armand talks about Furies punishing "human wrongdoing." It's really interesting that Armand told the lawyer that LOUIS is the owner of the paintings. Is he the owner of the penthouse too? HOW MANY DEEDS DOES HE HAVE, ROLIN?

I wonder what AMC might be saying about Loumand's art collection, not just wrt what we know about art heist!Armand (which we'll likely see a nod to in Ep4 at the Louvre); but also wrt what we know about Dubai's godawful neocapitalist hellscape economy, and Loumand's "moralizing" about Parisian black markets in S01E02.

I wonder if that's the excuse Armand'll give the coven when Louis shows up for dinner in Ep4--very much NOT dead; and rips out Santiago's tongue.

WILD voice-over, cuz you KNOW that's what Santiago was thinking, too, LOL. (You wish, Francis.) But yes: Louis' finna end your whole career. XD

Another TERRIFYING jumpscare from the coven, like in Ep2 with Annika. Louis, I am shocked & appalled--can you not HEAR all these vamps planning your bloody murder around you? CLAUDIA! WTF!?

But this is how you know Armand's true personality--he hates getting his hands dirty. He kills all the time, but he makes his victims' deaths pretty. He'd rather sit back & let Lestat/Louis come in and wreck his whole coven, even though he has the power to just light those mofos up all on his own! I wish AMC emphasized a bit more that Armand not only writes/directs the plays--he's an ACTOR, too. And istg he's an expert at PRETENDING to be helpless, meanwhile he's the strongest vamp that's NOT one of the Children of the Millennia (thanks to how well Marius made him).

Armand, that is LOW; waiting until Claudia's stuck under the oaths b4 you tell her she's guilty of breaking Great Laws she doesn't even know about yet. WTF?

How TF you gon' hold Louis accountable for following the Laws when he wasn't even allowed to be in the effing room when they were read!? He's not even a member! WTF! (I get it--any rogue vampires are subject to death, yadayada; we know it's a stupid policy.)

I love how he plans to leave by himself here--it had nothing to do with picking "another one" over Claudia. He just didn't want to hold her back anymore. And his presence was causing problems. 😭 It's so cute that Louis' stipulation about London was that if it's "too large" he'd leave and go to Ireland (?!?)--he's become agoraphobic or something? He just wants to be alone in his hermit hole--MOOD. 😭

Good to get confirmation that the Fire Gift here is Armand and blessedly NOT Santiago--so why's he zooming around in the sewers?

Look, sometimes folks make terrible first impressions--Lestat was being hella racist, Louis' always playing defense, Armand was finna kill Louis in a gay public park. It happens.

Foreshadowing like crazy, as usual.

WILD thing to say. I'm gonna cry, please stop.

(What kinda hypocrisy is that, when you were made young your dang self!?) She's already 30+ years old--maybe she'll last a little longer if y'all (read: sexist, racist, ageist, ableist, etc society) don't eff around tryna make her life even harder! But AMC's deliberately cutting Claudia's life in half, compared to the books, cuz misogynoir's real and Claudia gets NOTHING out of vampirism, not even a fair chance. And y'all let her into the coven KNOWING how much she loves y'all, and KNOWING y'all were gonna kill her. EFF THIS WHOLE COVEN, ARMAND INCLUDED. (Lemme calm down--this kind of betrayal is exactly how Lestat must've felt in S01E07; I get it; they're getting a taste of their own medicine. But LESTAT EFFING HAD IT COMING. The coven should've just told them: y'all got til sunrise to GTFO our territory, you're not welcome here. This whole bit's unnecessary.)

THE PARALLELS ARE PARALLELING

SKILL ISSUE. Cuz Louis' got the least power, and he's finna clear that whole bish out in just a couple episodes. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Louis, love, ARMAND DON'T GIVE A EFF ABOUT RAISING SOME OTHER MAN'S OFFSPRING. This is the call of the wild, as Alphas KILL the children their stolen Omega brides had for other Alphas/Betas, so he can restart the gene pool with HIS DNA instead. I know y'all had National Geographic back then already--READ A BOOK, Louis, it's what you're best at.

Incredible. After all of that Louis said Lestat never broke him. BENT BUT NEVER BROKEN, that's right! 💪😤

Boy, we're not talking about some little (unrequited) CRUSH over a man you only knew for a few months (which you've CLEARLY not gotten over yet). Louis was MARRIED to the man for 30 YEARS. This is his MAKER. Lestat knew his whole family; went to the Black cookouts and everything! They literally built a home AND business together! They raised a child together! WHATCHU KNOW ABOUT THAT!?

And that's LESTAT'S DAUGHTER TOO--how much can you possibly love EITHER of them while planning to knock her off!? I can't listen to too much more of this. *hands Louis the torch and scythe*

Beautiful end of this STACKED episode. Incredible work, AMC! Jacob acted his PANTS off; he excels at the trembling voice, agonized facial expressions, and utter mental breakdowns. He's pulling DEEP within him, holy god; it's so raw, it's almost hard to watch. EMMY WHEN?!

[ishtates]

TNMN NIGHTMARES as various Jianhao Tan quotes I remember ( occasional arcade mode appearances )

Teutates: there is only ONE option left..

Yog: drop out ?

Teutates: no not that one-

Yog: give up ?

Teutates: ok- there are THREE options left..

-------

Ishtar: hey.. what happened ? It's not like you to get such a low score ?

Teutates: .. it is like me

Ishtar: yes it is like you-

------

( Ishtar opens an envelope for Lilith )

Ishtar: nine fifty

Lilith: that's not that bad.. who do I owe this time ???

Ishtar: you owe an explanation to your parents

Lilith: D :

Ishtar: THESE are your exam results

-----

Yog: so, Ms Ereskigal; if a right angle triangle is 90°, then does that mean a left angle is -90°

Ishtar: Yog !! I know I said there were no stupid questions but that was just pretty..

Yog:

Ishtar: interesting..

-----

Angus: what about this room ? It says " arkiveh room ✨ "

Francis: Arkiveh... You mean " archive " ? There was an ARCHIVE ROOM and you didn't tell us, Angus ?!

Angus: oh you mean it's not arkiveh ?

Francis: what could arkiveh possibly mean, Angus ?!

Angus: I dunno, it says " arkiveh room ✨ "

( everyone dying inside )

Francis: alright, alright, let's go..

Yog: I'm gonna kill him.. I'm gonna kill him.. !!

Yan Luo: ( huff ) humans..

Francis: I- he's- he really doesn't represent us-

-----

DDD: I'm sorry Lilith, but you failed.

Lilith: that's ok ! I can always apply to another school, orrr you can take another look-

DDD: I've looked through this 5 times already..

Lilith: that's ok, I'll try again !

DDD: yes, but not in Titan Academy

Lilith: it's ok I'll just go home now !

DDD: you can't leave yet

Lilith: it's ok I'll just sit back down :>

-----

Orcus: do you even know what you're doing ? Just use the number pad

Francis: huh, wow number pad, sure. We're just going to RANDOMLY guess out of 10000 possible combinations the number, right ? The 4 digit number ?

Francis: what's it gonna be ? Henry's birthday ? We don't even know that ! Then what about your doorman's birthday ? Birth year ? Birth second ?! What's it gonna be, Orcus ?? We're just going to guess any number ?!

Yan Luo: uhmm.. let's try 0000 ?

Francis: hahaha ! Listen to yourself, sire ! How obvious would that be ?? But you know what ? I'm just gonna try it for you, just to show you that it doesn't work.

( beep beep beep beep beep )

Francis: look-

( safe opens )

Yan Luo: haha :> told you >:3

-----

Lilith: oh, and look ! There's Yan Luo ! ... Or is it.. ?

Yan Luo:

Yan Luo: yes it's me, Lilith.

-----

Anazareth: hi, I'm Anazareth, but my friends call me Anaz

Quachil: hi. My name is Quachil. But my friends call me Quachil >:(

Anazareth: .. hello Quachi-

Quachil: DON'T TALK TO ME I'm not your friend >:(

-----

( Ah Puch trying to give Yog the heimlich maneuver )

Anazareth: O_O

Ah Puch: oh- hi it's not what it looks like ! He was choking on the balls !

Anazareth:

Ah Puch: the pearls-

Anazareth: 🚶‍♀️

-----

Nightmare Doorman: nightmares, it is that time of year again-

Barbatos: Christmas : D ?

NM! Doorman: .. no.. ?

Abducius: my birthday !

NM! Doorman: no ?!

Abducius: y.. your birthday ?

NM! Doorman: no ! It is time for-

DDD: end of year exams- !!

NM! Doorman: WOULD YOU STOP INTERRUP-

DDD:

( gasps )

NM! Doorman: please continue..

-----

Teutates, blow torching some ice:

Ishtar: so.. what's happening here ?

Teutates: you said you wanted to cook pasta, right ? And what are we going to boil the pasta with ?

Ishtar: water

Teutates: water ! And how are we going to achieve the state of water ?

( Ishtar points to the sink )

Teutates: by melting ice ! It's ok just give me a bit of time.. and we are on our way to cook ze pasta- !

( Ishtar takes the bowl and pours water into it from the sink )

Teutates: ah.

Teutates: okay let's cook some pasta :>

-----

DDD: hm.. Lilith ! Why don't you answer the question ?

Lilith, panicking a little: ]:

Orcus, raising his hand: I've got it, Madame DDD !

Lilith: : D my hero !!

[thenonbinarydetective]

I don't like Frank in the games. More specifically how he is in the later ones. I hate how his entire character becomes entirely dependent on Nancy and Joe. He's barely his own person. He's a dude with a crush and an annoying younger brother. He's static. He's stale. He's boring.

I usually love Frank Hardy. He is a good an interesting character. Until Her Interactive gets to him. He's a young man who's eager to learn, eager to please, and eager to be responsible. He's faced a lot of pressure in his life, maybe from himself more than his family. He has a father who is somewhat unreliable and more accident-prone than anyone I've ever met. A father who disappears for weeks on end, leaving his son to take more responsibility in their family. Switch sister to brother in the song "Surface Pressure" and now it's about him. He supports his mother when she fears her husband might be dead or dying from yet another injury. And it didn't matter if that father would show up to ever soccer game or school play because he still missed other shit because other people needed his help. He's mature because he's faced a lot of shit, probably even some that's been kept from the readers. There's no way he had a stable childhood. We can tell.

And yet even with his maturity, he's still a teenage boy. One that likes to play sports. Have fun with his friends. Go to the beach. Learn new skills that could be useful. Or just a hobby that he falls madly in love with and he can't stop thinking about it. Or doing it. Or sometimes even focus on mysteries because of it. Sometimes he's got far more autistic coding than Sherlock Holmes. He likes fun. He likes parties. He likes dancing. He likes doing things that other teenagers do. No offense to anyone specifically, but I am so DAMN TIRED of trying to headcanon or just talk about Frank doing normal teenage boy things and people basically telling me that I'm wrong for it. He's young. He likes to play video games and goof off the same as Joe. He's fucking 18, not 80. Treat him like it.

But when you get the the games Her Interactive flattens him with a fucking hydraulic press. Some of you might not even see it because you have your own version of canon or your brain is too clouded by shipping to see it because you just like seeing him having a crush on Nancy. You all know I don't really give a shit about Francy. That doesn't fucking matter with this. Or maybe it does because I (and others) blame it for affecting how Her Interactive messes up his character. If Frank isn't defined by Joe he's defined by Nancy.

Which is a real fucking injustice in my book because the Hardy Boys have their own goddamn franchise and are main characters in their own right. Literally they don't share copyright with Nancy. They're not her sidekicks. They're not just flat, boring characters. I've argued this with Ned dozens of times and I know y'all are tired of it cause it doesn't match your idea of what canon should be, so maybe I'll try someone new.

The games Frank Hardy sucks and shipping ruined him. So here's some water because this is gonna be a hard pill for some of you to swallow. I already swallowed mine with Ned and with Frank so don't even try some snippy comment. I know how catty y'all are about this.

[bijackkellys]

thunderstruck ; part one

lazarus, or the return of jack kelly

Fandom: Newsies (All Media Types) Relationships: Jack Kelly/David Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer Word Count: 1,651 Dedications: a huge shoutout to my gf, beta reader, and number one fan @mistyw273​, and to @dimenovelcowboy​ for supporting me endlessly. tag list (if you’d like to be added to this list just send me an ask or dm!): @santa-fe-maniac​ @pulitzers-world​ @yo-let-me-get-a-milkyway​ @verified-dumbass​ @jewishdavidjacobs​ @agentsnickers​ @thetruthabouttheboy​ Author’s Note: hey readers! i want to start by saying thank you so much for all the support and interest so far—i was honestly not expecting to get so much feedback with just the introduction but i'm really thrilled so many people are here for the ride! i figured i would go ahead and put part one up; this is the only back-to-back update i'll be doing, but i wanted to have more than the prologue out there. from this point forward i'm going to try bi-weekly updates on tuesdays and fridays (that's tentative and subject to change depending on how things carry on, though!). again, thank you for your interest and i really really appreciate the feedback, it honestly means the world to me. with that, let's get on with part one! 

read it on ao3

five months later.

JACK DOESN’T KNOW WHEN he started running, and doesn’t know where to stop.

Right now the world is this hazy, deafening thing. The streets loop endlessly around him, too bright and too loud, a mix of over-saturated colors and sounds he can’t pull apart. In the middle of it all he feels as if he’s drowning. He’s drugged up to his eyes, this much he can tell—there’s little else that he’s aware of, though, except for his feet pounding against the pavement and this base, animalistic instinct in the back of his brain telling him to go. To run and run and keep running. 

So he does. Buildings and road signs and people dissolve into background noise as he tears through the streets. Someone is after him; as disoriented as he is, he’s sure of it, and it’s that hot rush of fear that keeps him going more than anything else. A spike of adrenaline pushing him forward.��

Maybe he’s lost them miles ago, but it’s not until the moment he thinks his legs will give out underneath him that he collapses against the back wall of an alleyway, sputtering for a breath. His lungs burn and he feels dizzy, but Jack pushes past the blurred images in his head and the low ringing in his ears to catalog what he knows. His name is Francis—no. He swallows dryly and starts again. His name is Jack Kelly. He’s eighteen, maybe nineteen, now, depending on how much time has passed. He’s an art student, and a superhero, and there was a fire, and then—

And then everything fills up with static and the feeling of hands on his skin and this harsh, chemical smell. His stomach turns. 

Jack hates feeling like this, like he’s been separated from his own thoughts. The lack of control that comes with the clouded figures where his memories should be is enough to make him vulnerable in a way he hasn’t felt in years, exposed like a copper wire that’s been stripped of its casing. 

And the current—that’s gone altogether. There are silver cuffs biting into the skin of his wrists; the seam that held them together is broken along a jagged edge, but the slim band of green light lining them means they’re still suppressing his powers. Jack aches for the buzz of electricity to come back, needs them off. He twists his hands desperately and in doing so, makes his drug-addled brain suddenly aware of a cold piece of metal clenched in his fist.

He opens his palm. It’s a flash drive. His mind dredges up a fuzzy memory of ripping it from a computer port in what he thinks might have been a control room. He doesn’t know what it contains, but if he’d held onto it so desperately that it became second nature, then it must be important. He needs to find a computer, he thinks abruptly, and then stands up and immediately sways on his feet. 

Okay—okay. Not yet, maybe. Before that, he needs food and water and rest. He needs the lodging house, except he has no idea where he is, and in the state he’s in, he barely knows which way is up. He needs—he needs to call Crutchie.

Jack is struck suddenly by the overwhelming desire to hear his pseudo-brother’s voice, strong enough that his chest physically hurts from it. It’s been—weeks, maybe? months?—the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other since they were kids. If he can get his hands on a phone and get Crutchie on the line, he thinks, then powerless and drugged or not, he’ll be okay. 

It’s not much of a plan, but it’s a start. All he has to do is find a phone. This is easier said than done, though; there’s still a payphone booth left next to a nearby subway station, rusted from lack of use, but he doesn’t have any money. He’s aware of how he must look, a boy in tattered clothes with cloudy eyes and words slurred together, begging for change. More than one person threatens to call the police. Most of them just push him away. Jack feels his desperation pitching upward quickly, tightening in his throat.

When a stranger finally hands him a few quarters with a wary look, he’s not sure if it’s fear or pity or some combination of the two that makes her do it. He’s grateful all the same. He rushes over to the booth, blood roaring in his ears from the anticipation. His hands are shaking so hard that his fingers stumble over the keypad, but he knows Crutchie’s number by heart, is sure he could dial it in his sleep. It goes to voicemail and Jack shoves the receiver against his ear.

“Crutchie, it’s me—it’s Jack. Please pick up.”

When he slides the second quarter into the slot and calls again, it barely has a chance to ring.

“Jack is dead.” Crutchie’s voice comes through, wavering. Jack almost chokes on his relief.

“I’m not,” he says, and there’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and then a noise that sounds like a broken sob. 

“No—”

“Crutchie, I’m here. It’s me. I’m not dead.”

“How…”

“I don’t know,” Jack says, truthfully. 

“You—you can’t—fuck, Jack.” And in the middle of everything, Jack is caught off guard because Crutchie almost never swears. There’s a long quiet, broken by just the static-filled sound of Crutchie crying. Jack’s own cheeks are wet. “It’s been five months,” he gasps finally. “I thought—we all thought you died in that fire. Holy shit. Where have you been?”

Jack’s head spins. He hadn’t even realized how much time has passed. Five months...it’s June now, then, and the spring semester of classes is already over, and he’s nineteen, and there’s this gaping chasm of lost time in his head—

“—ck? Jack.” 

He realizes that Crutchie is calling his name abruptly, and Jack blinks, trying to clear his thoughts. “Yeah, I-I’m here. I don’t—everything’s fuzzy, Crutchie, I don’t know what happened, where I’ve been—” His words trip and stumble over each other. “I’m gonna try and find my way back to the lodging house, I’ve just gotta—”

“No, no, wait, you can’t,” Crutchie cuts him off, suddenly fierce. Jack pauses.

“What do you mean?”

His response is quieter this time, tentative. Slow, like he’s walking on his toes. “Jackie...how much do you know about what’s been going on?” 

Dread pools in Jack’s chest, hot and fast. For as long as they’ve known each other, he’s only heard Crutchie sound like this, scared and small and hesitant, a few times before. Something has gone deeply wrong; he knows it in an instant, maybe should have realized it even before now. “What is it, Crutchie?” he demands.

Crutchie takes a shuddering breath. “They said you set the fire,” he says, and Jack’s stomach plummets. “It was all over the news—they said the hospital wasn’t an accident, that Strike—that you—had planned the whole thing, did it on purpose.”

“No...” Jack feels nauseous, dizzy, sure in that moment that he’s going to be sick all over the pavement. His memories of the hospital brim with fear and heat and voices that echo in his skull, and the idea that the public believes he’s the cause of that, of all that death and destruction, hurting innocent people—he can’t stomach it. Doesn’t know how to.

“Jack, people were angry. Really angry. Not just at Strike—there was a whole new anti-super wave, worse than it’s ever been before, and now everyone thinks supers are dangerous and they started... taking people.” Crutchie’s voice goes even lower as Jack feels his heart crawl up into his throat. “They—we call them Snatchers, we think they’re in league with the police—they’ve surrounded the lodging house and swarmed half the city, dragging kids with powers off to someplace called the Refuge.”

Everything goes hot and sharp for a moment, a quick snap of recognition that burns like fire. Jack tastes metal in his mouth, chokes on it. “That’s where I was,” he says hollowly. He knows it even through the fogginess in his head.

“Oh, Jackie,” Crutchie begins, but Jack doesn’t let him finish.

“Are the others—is everyone okay? Race, Specs, Elmer—did they get taken?” The lodging house is a frequent stop for super kids who need a place to spend the night, but the three of them and Jack are the only permanent residents that have powers. If the Snatchers found them, they’d have been dragged off to the same fate that Jack has only just escaped. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Crutchie says yes.

“They’re holed up with Spot in Brooklyn,” Crutchie replies, and Jack lets himself exhale. “I haven’t been talking to them a whole lot, because they’re trying to stay under the radar, but the last time I heard from them, they were okay.” He gives a rattled sort of laugh, devoid of humor and more exhausted than anything. “Shit, Jackie. Everything fell apart without you.”

Jack passes a hand over his face, wants to cry. Wants to scream and tell Crutchie that he’s lost and drowned and terrified, that he feels more helpless than he’s ever been, that for all the time he’s spent playing hero he doesn’t know how to save anyone from this. Instead, though, he sets his jaw. “I’m gonna fix this, Crutchie,” he says, half-promise and half-prayer. He’ll find a way.

“Jack—” Crutchie begins, but what he’s going to say next Jack doesn’t find out. The timer clicks, and there’s a robotic female voice in place of Crutchie’s that tells him the call has timed out. 

The line goes dead and then Jack is alone all over again, the vow he made weighing as heavy as the shackles on his wrists. 

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 4 - Penny Ante

Catch Perfect by George deValier

CHAPTER FOUR

PENNY ANTE: A frivolous, low stakes game.

Berwald was quickly coming to the realisation that he would have to get used to sleepless nights. After spending ten minutes locating his glasses - which he had knocked to the floor in surprise the night before - he pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, fastened his pocket watch, and managed to drag himself from his alcove. Tino's room was empty, and Berwald hoped he hadn't left for school. Seeing Tino in the morning and evening were already the best moments of Berwald's day.

As he walked down the hallway Berwald noticed a previously closed door left open. Curious, he peeked in to see a large bedroom, completely empty except for a twister mat in the middle of the floor. He took a very deep breath, forced himself to keep walking, and tried not to angrily kick the wall.

Berwald headed down the stairs and out onto the front lawn, picking up a few stray empty bottles on his way to the mailbox. The sun already blazed brightly and, combined with the clear sky, promised a hot day ahead. Berwald deposited the bottles into the garbage bin on the curb, retrieved the mail from the box, and was just flicking through it when someone practically jumped in front of him. Berwald looked up and blinked as though he was being blinded.

"Good morning!"

"Uh… mornin.'"

He was smiling cheerfully. He had light brown hair with one untamed curl flying free. He spoke with an Italian accent. He had no pants on. "Did you really move in with Denmark? Wooooow. That's crazy. You're completely crazy. Welcome to the neighbourhood!"

"Uh…"

"I mean really, I thought I knew crazy, but choosing to live with him is a whole new level of crazy, you know? Wow. I mean really. Crazy."

"Uh…"

"What's your name, crazy man?"

Berwald couldn't hold it in. "Y'have no pants on," he blurted out.

"Huh?"

"Pants. Yer… not wearin' any."

The brunet looked down at himself. "Oh, again. I always forget to put them back on after sleeping or showering or having sex."

"Uh…" Why did every person Berwald meet here throw him off guard? And it wasn't just the house, now. It was the entire street.

"So? Your name?" asked the pantless brunet.

"B'rwald."

"Hello Beryl, it's nice to meet you."

"B'rwald," Berwald repeated.

"I heard you the first time. I'm…"

"Feliciano!" A tall, muscular blond man came running across the street with a frown on his face and a sheet in his hand. When he reached Feliciano he threw the sheet around him and tied it forcefully at his waist. "Mein Gott, you stupid Italian, check the list on the door before you go outside. Item three, pants!" The man glared at Berwald. "Who are you?"

"Ludwig, this is Beryl, he's moved in with Denmark," said Feliciano merrily.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "Really? Huh. Good luck with that. Come on, Feliciano, you cannot just stand in the street naked. You're turning into Francis."

"Bye Beryl!" Feliciano waved as Ludwig pulled him insistently across the street.

"It's B'rwald," said Berwald again, though he didn't think they heard him. He cleared his throat and looked at his feet, uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed, even though he was now alone. His first suspicions of this street were fast being confirmed. It was not his sort of place.

Berwald headed back inside and threw the mail down on the side table beside the sleeping Greenland and Faeroe. It contained nothing much of interest except for a few white envelopes with the word OVERDUE stamped in big red letters.

Entering the kitchen, Berwald's heart did a familiar little jump. Tino stood at the bench, stirring a mug of coffee, dressed in a startling combination of pink denim, green stripes, and… camo boots. A yellow SpongeBob backpack sat on the counter beside him. Looking up at Berwald, he started to take a step back, but stopped himself at the last moment. Instead, he smiled timidly and held the mug across the counter.

"Milk and sugar? Is that all right? That's how I made it last time, and you liked it, so…"

Berwald didn't mention that he would have liked it made of mud if Tino had handed it to him. He just took the mug, skin burning where their fingers brushed briefly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Tino reached for another cup and Berwald tried not to be obvious that he couldn't tear his eyes away. Tino emptying a spoonful of coffee into the mug… filling it with boiling water from the jug… brushing the hair from his eyes which seemed even brighter than usual in the light that flooded through the open window... Get yourself together, man. Berwald took a seat on a bench stool and forced his eyes to focus on the counter.

"I think I'm going to need a lot of this today," laughed Tino, replacing the coffee tin on the shelf. "Did you get any sleep?"

Between Denmark and Norway's deafening and, frankly, horrifying vocalisations, and the subsequent screaming fight that had broken out between Norway and Iceland, he'd barely managed to get any. "Little bit," he answered. "You?"

Tino did not have a chance to answer before Denmark practically bounced into the room, an overstuffed backpack thrown over his shoulder with a thick, pink book poking prominently out the top. He was followed by Norway, yawning loudly and looking like he'd had as little sleep as Berwald. He headed straight for the fridge, ignoring Tino's wave of greeting. Denmark, however, grinned manically.

"Good morning, fellow Scandinavians! Isn't this a beautiful dawn? I am so very cheerful and optimistic about the glorious day ahead! Do tell me how you are this very fine Friday morn!"

"I'm exhausted because you and Norway kept me awake all night having obnoxiously loud sex," Tino replied calmly. Berwald nearly choked on his coffee. "I was a bit surprised, really, 'cause normally on Thursdays you're done in like, fifteen minutes."

"What can I say, Norge baby can't get enough of me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Tino." Norway rifled through the fridge then slammed it shut behind him. "As if I'd ever let that bastard touch me."

Denmark stared at the egg in Norway's hand. "Rule number nine, Norway. Does Mr. Egg have a smiley face?"

"Rule number twenty-two, Denmark. Norway is exempt from all of your stupid rules." Norway turned on the frying pan and cracked the smiling egg into it.

"Rule number twenty-two is still pending examination and approval!"

"Okay, then how about rule number twenty-three. Norway does not give a shit." Norway leant on the bench and looked out the window into the backyard. "And you need to mow the back lawn."

Denmark groaned. "But I don't wanna."

"I don't care. It's like Pripyat out there. Deal with it."

"No."

Norway turned slowly, tilted his head, and raised one eyebrow. "Do it or else." His words were like ice.

"Or else what? You'll give me a spanking?" Denmark flashed a toothy grin and Tino made a small noise of disgust.

"You wish, you freak. Do it or I'll…" Norway's eyes fell on the book poking out of Denmark's bag and he made a sudden grab for it. Denmark quickly dodged but it was too late. Norway triumphantly held the book above his head. Berwald blinked at the cover – a tartan-clad warrior with rippling muscles holding a buxom blond by the waist. He missed the title, but caught the word 'Harlequin' stamped above the picture.

"Don't even think about it," Denmark attempted to growl, but just sounded anxious.

"Do it, or so help me, I will ruin the ending of this piece of trash."

Denmark dived for the book but Norway easily sidestepped out of the way. "Don't insult my story! It's shiny, and romantic, and totally hot, and…"

"I've read things on toilet walls with more literary merit," Norway spat disdainfully. Denmark gasped, hand flying to his chest as though he'd been wounded. "Now," continued Norway, "Promise me you'll mow that lawn or I will tell you exactly what happens to Sir Lifts-a-Lot and Maid Mammaries in minute detail."

"You wouldn't dare!"

Norway opened the book and cleared his throat. "The naive yet feisty heroine is rescued from the band of thugs by the gruff yet gentle highlander."

"Haha, I've already read that bit."

"Is this for real?" Norway muttered, skipping forward a few pages and taking a smooth step out of the way when Denmark tried to rush at him. "And then they have… sex, I believe… of some description. Urgh."

Denmark hand flew to his chest, scandalised. "Before they're even married?" He tried again, unsuccessfully, to grasp the book from Norway's hands. "No! Don't tell me! Give me back my story!"

"And then…" Norway skimmed toward the back of the book. "Oh, man, you're not gonna believe this, it turns out…"

Denmark pressed his hands against his ears. "Don't tell me! I'll do it! I'll mow the lawn! Just don't ruin my glittering beautiful Scottish romance!"

Norway's expression remained unchanged but for the subtle triumph in his eyes. He tossed the book at Denmark, who caught it frantically and clutched it to his chest like something precious and fragile. Norway went back to the frying pan, flipped the egg onto a piece of toast, and carried it from the room. "The lawn, Denmark. By this afternoon."

Denmark stroked the book gently. "It's all right, my precious, I won't ever let him near you again."

Berwald glanced sideways at Tino, who just shrugged and stirred his coffee nonchalantly.

"Sweden." Berwald glanced back to find Denmark staring at him intently. "There has been a slight reallocation of duties. Due to your professional qualifications the backyard is now your responsibility. Any objections?"

"Uh…" Berwald looked apprehensively out the window. He hadn't paid much attention to the backyard since he had arrived. Now that he did he saw that it was an unkempt mess, the grass nearly waist high, the small garden plots around the edge of the fence wild and overgrown. It looked like no one had set foot in it for years.

"I know, I know, it's a bit of a mess. Fin tried to start what he claimed was a garden, but apparently no one ever told him that plants need water."

"I always wanted a garden," said Tino absently. "With herbs and flowers. And a swing." He stared dreamily out the window as he spoke. He seemed to have forgotten he was still stirring coffee. He seemed to have forgotten where he was. Once again, Berwald could not tear his eyes away.

Tino wanted a garden. By God, Tino was going to get a garden.

"Sweden!" Denmark barked loudly. "Rule number eleven, Sweden!"

Berwald blinked and hastily looked away. "Uh, yeah, sure. No pr'blem."

"Great, hop to it, Groundskeeper Willy. That lawn needs to be done by this afternoon. Now if you will excuse me, I have… important study… to do." Denmark slowly left the room, caressing the book and muttering something which sounded suspiciously like, Wish Norway was a highlander...

Berwald's eyes immediately gravitated back to Tino, who still gazed obliviously out the window. "It's not that I forgot to water them, I just kept hoping for rain, and drowning would be so awful. And I couldn't decide whether I wanted flowers or herbs, so I planted them both, but the basil didn't get along with the lilies. Then when the roses withered the daisies died of grief. Maybe it was all for the best." He was still stirring his coffee.

"Um... 'kay." Berwald tried to form a response. "Ye're the first Finn I've met that talks more than me."

Tino looked puzzled for a moment before noticing Berwald as though for the first time. Then his eyes lit in understanding and he laughed softly. "You mean at all."

"'xactly."

Tino laughed again. "My dad always said…" He broke off abruptly.

"Why don't ye live with yer parents?" The second he asked it, Berwald could have kicked himself. Why on earth had he asked that at a time like this, a few days after they had first met, on a sunny Friday morning in the kitchen? Then he wondered if there was ever a good time to ask something like that.

Tino just shrugged and looked into his coffee. "They kicked me out. And told me never to come home again."

"Oh." It was strange feeling, to be suddenly so angry at people he had never met. "Why?"

"They walked in on me kissing my best friend…" Tino took a deep breath, "…Eduard." He raised his eyes slowly, hesitantly, as though unsure of Berwald's reaction.

"Oh." Ohhhh… Oh. "Oh," Berwald repeated. A hundred thoughts and feelings attacked him at once. "S'rry."

Tino looked faintly relieved. "It's okay. Really, it is. I'm lucky Ice got me this place to live. And remember I told you, Eduard lives next door, so I have lots of friends around."

Berwald nodded, still trying to digest the knockout information he'd just been given. Tino had been kicked out of home for kissing a boy. A boy who was his best friend. A boy who, apparently, lived right next door.

"Sorry I'm late, Tino." A young blond in glasses walked into the kitchen, a backpack on his shoulder and a laptop case in his hands. "We'd better hurry up if we're wow, he really is scary, isn't he?" The blond stopped short when he noticed Berwald.

"Eduard!" Tino gasped, dismayed.

A boy who was standing in the kitchen before him. Berwald's hands clenched and he almost felt his eyes flash. Eduard took an immediate step backward.

"Okay, I, uh, hi. Nice to meet you. And I'm backing up now." Eduard whispered loudly through the side of his mouth, "Seriously, Tino, come on…"

Tino drained his coffee, picked up his SpongeBob backpack, and smiled awkwardly at Berwald. "Bye, Berwald."

"Bye, Tino," Berwald replied, not taking his eyes from Eduard backing out of the room nervously. He could hear their conversation drifting back as they left the house.

"He's the guy who's moved in here? He's terrifying!"

"Stop it, I don't think he means it. He's actually really nice."

Watching them go, Berwald couldn't help wondering resentfully what sort of relationship Tino and Eduard actually had. They were the same age, they were best friends, they obviously had far more in common than Berwald and Tino ever would. And yet if they were together, that was their business. What right did Berwald have to feel angry or upset about it? It wasn't like he had a shot in hell with Tino, anyway. All he was doing was torturing himself. Berwald sighed, cleaned up the coffee cups and Norway's mess, then headed to get ready for work. He was already late.

.

That evening, Berwald walked home from work to find the street entrance blocked by several cars - including his own – and the sound of raucous cheering erupting from down the road. He could think of only one explanation.

"Denm'rk."

Resigning himself to the worst, Berwald made his way past the parked cars and towards the house. It looked like the entire student population had turned out to stand in excited groups, staring and cheering at some commotion occurring in the middle of the road. A short, strangely familiar man with shaggy yellow hair wandered up and down the side of the street, waving a small notebook and shouting, "Place your bets!" Drawing closer, the crowd parted, and Berwald got his first look at the focus of everyone's attention.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Denmark. In the middle of the road, two men stood in front of two average sized sedans. Berwald recognised Ludwig, the German he'd met briefly earlier; the other man was not familiar - a tall, grinning blond in glasses wearing an American flag t-shirt. Each of them had a makeshift harness around their chest, connected by rope to one of the cars.

Oh, they could not be serious… Was there a single sane person living in this street?!

"My money's on the German." Denmark's voice carried across the lawn as Berwald walked warily towards his four housemates. Tino smiled and waved, but the others ignored him. Denmark clutched a piece of paper and stared at the two contenders intently. "Can't lose."

The crowd grew noisier, cheering and calling for the race to begin. Across the road, Feliciano stood with a group Berwald didn't know, including a white-haired man who shouted encouragement into Ludwig's ear. Next door, Lithuania and Poland watched the proceedings with Eduard. Berwald had to stop his fists clenching into fists at the sight of Tino's 'best friend.'

"Den, is it really a good idea for you to be betting?" Tino's voice brought back Berwald's attention. "How much do you have on this?"

"Like I said, can't lose this one. Look at the muscles on that Kraut!" Denmark shouted, "Oi, Germany, you potato eating bastard! You'd better win this or I'm going Viking on your ass!"

"Screw you, Denmark," Ludwig shouted back.

"No chance, I know what you're into and even Iceland doesn't go for shit that kinky."

"Not cheaply, anyway," said Iceland flatly.

"How did you get Ludwig to agree to this?" asked Norway in a bored tone. He was, as usual, reading a book – Schopenhauer, this time.

"Remember that barbeque the Germans had last week?"

"The one you weren't invited to but jumped the fence and ate their food and drank their beer and got beaten up by the Hungarian girl?"

"Yeah, that one. I bet Germany he couldn't eat ten sausages in sixty seconds. He couldn't, and here we are."

"And Alfred?"

"Asked him if he wanted to tie himself to a car and race a German. And here we are."

"Den, gambling is how you got us into this mess…" Tino started.

Well, that was interesting. Before Berwald could think too deeply on it, the crack of a gunshot ripped through the air. The green-clad referee held a gun above his head. The race had begun. "Too late now!" cried Denmark cheerfully. "Move it, Germany! Kick some American ass!"

Berwald was rather surprised at how fast the two men moved, dragging the cars behind them. They were obviously both incredibly strong. The crowd went wild, whistling and shouting and waving the small pieces of paper in the air frantically. Feliciano was jumping up and down and waving a German flag. The white-haired man kept pace with Ludwig, shouting at him the whole way.

Loud cries of "Come on Alfred!" came from the next house over where three men, all of them blond and one dangerously close to being naked, cheered from the lawn. One of them, a short guy with a tweed suit and massive eyebrows, walked to the finish line and held something aloft. Berwald squinted; it was a hamburger. "Oh, Alfred!" he called seductively. "If you win I'll let you eat this off my..."

"What the hell?" Denmark interrupted, face turning red as he shouted. "What does England think he's doing?"

The bizarre strategy worked. The American, Alfred, picked up in speed and just moments before the line managed to pull in front of Ludwig. He crossed the line to deafening cheers, happily grabbing the burger with one hand and England's waist with the other.

"The American wins!" shouted the referee. He was immediately swamped by half the crowd pushing their pieces of paper at him insistently.

"Cheating! Lies! Subterfuge!" Denmark stormed over to the finish line and practically blew up in the referee's face. "What the HELL was that?! In what race on Earth is it acceptable to use bribery to get your guy over the line?! I request, nay, I DEMAND a rematch!"

"No one said it wasn't in the rules, wanker," said England, a smug grin on his face. "Now pay up, Vash, I had a hundred quid on this." Alfred simply focused on devouring the burger.

"Oh, this is bullshit!" Denmark turned to the white-haired man beside Ludwig. "Prussia, back me up."

"I hate to do it, but I have to agree with Psycho here," said Prussia angrily. "Honestly, Vash, we were not informed we could use these tactics or we would have had Feliciano naked at the finish line waving a wurst in the air."

Denmark threw his hands out. "You see? Give me back my money, Switzerland, this was rigged!"

Switzerland did not look up from taking papers from those around him and checking them against his notebook. Berwald suddenly remembered where he knew him from: Vash, the Rifle, possibly the fairest and most unbiased dealer in the entire underground card circuit. Berwald barely recognised him without the cloud of smoke and the smell of bourbon. "It wasn't rigged. Your guy lost. Deal with it."

Denmark crumpled his paper and threw it to the ground. "This is not over. Oh, this is SO not over!"

Vash turned his back on Denmark as he distributed the winnings amongst the crowd. "Denmark. Take a deep breath, and ask yourself this question. Which one of us is currently in possession of a gun?"

Denmark paused for a moment then stomped on the ground and marched back, leaving Prussia to take over the argument. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

Tino shook his head, glaring at Denmark with a look of frustrated pity. "I told you, Den."

"Great," said Norway, tucking his book into an inner pocket of his corduroy blazer. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any stupider. How much have you lost us now?"

"But that was a sure thing, how the hell did he lose?! Hey Germany, you owe me now. Are you listening? You owe me! And don't think you can get away without paying like you did after 1945!" Ludwig shouted an angry response but Denmark turned his back and ignored him. "Okay, okay, it's all good, I have an idea. Rematch. Can't use the Kraut though. Now let's see…" He paused, turned slowly to Berwald and looked him up and down, excitement dawning in his face.

"No."

Denmark whined. "Come on, Sweden, you're even bigger than that German bastard! You can beat that skinny Yank!"

"No." Berwald looked away and noticed, with a cold jolt of shock, that Ivan had appeared on the next door lawn. He narrowed his eyes and watched as Ivan put an arm around Lithuania and glanced over, smiling smugly. Tino followed Berwald's gaze, and the entire atmosphere shifted. Tino nudged Norway, who elbowed Denmark, who looked from Berwald to the Russian with an almost murderous glare. But the most interesting reaction came from Iceland. A look of pain, sadness, and almost fear passed across his face, and he took a step behind Norway.

"Come on," said Norway quietly. He headed towards the house, his arm reaching for Iceland. Tino followed, but Norway had to bark, "Denmark!" to get the Dane to move. More than happy to leave this uncomfortable situation behind, Berwald trailed after.

They were nearly at the door when Berwald felt a firm, cold hand grasp his arm. He scowled furiously, spun around, and found Ivan Braginski smiling cheerfully, dangerously at him.

"I know your type, Berwald. I know you." The words were a challenge.

Struck still, Berwald silently panicked. His eyes involuntarily flicked towards Tino, paused on the doorstep with the others. But Berwald could play this game, so he kept his face blank, even as he wrenched his arm from Ivan's grip. "Ye know nothin'."

"I know we both live in two worlds. I know you think you can make a clean, honest start. And I know you'll be back." Ivan smirked. "You always come back."

Berwald's jaw clenched so tightly it was painful. Bluff. "Don't know what ye're talkin' 'bout."

"Him?" Ivan nodded at Denmark. "Silly boy. Maniac, who does not know what he is doing." Denmark opened his mouth angrily but Norway silenced him with a look. "But you, Berwald, are a professional. As much as you try to hide it with your nice, normal, respectable job as a… what was it? A cleaner?"

Berwald felt the beginnings of anger in the burning of his neck, the involuntary clenching of his fists. But he could play this game. "Gard'ner."

Ivan snorted. "Of course, a gardener."

"What are ye doin' here?" Berwald leant forward and hissed, hoping he couldn't be heard by those around him. Both his and Ivan's housemates were far too close. "Livin' with these kids, pretendin' ye're normal…"

Ivan laughed outright. "I could ask you the same thing."

Berwald felt a growl rise in his throat. "I'm nothin' like ye."

"Aren't you?" Ivan smiled, and it made Berwald's stomach turn. "I don't think I need to ask what you are doing here." He glanced openly, unmistakably, towards Tino.

Berwald felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Ivan was exceptional at reading people. He hid it behind a smiling face, behind a falsely innocent exterior, but he was not a phenomenal poker player for nothing. Berwald could play this game, but suddenly, it wasn't a game anymore. "Back off, Br'ginski."

Ivan's eyes crinkled in cold, hard amusement. "Do you think he'd look at you twice if he knew who you were?"

Berwald's anger rose higher, heat infusing his cheeks. "I'm warnin' ye." He barely kept his voice controlled; his heart was in his throat, and his veins boiled with rage.

"Criminal." Ivan leant closer, ugly words hot against Berwald's ear. "Do you think he'd blink at you with those big eyes? Smile with those pretty lips?" Berwald was speechless with rage. A vein throbbed dangerously in his temple. Ivan wanted him to react, he was pushing him, but this was…

"You think he'd open those legs for you?"

…too far. Something snapped. Berwald snarled, clenched his hand into a fist, pulled his arm back… He felt it stopped by a strong hand. He turned his head to see Norway gripping his elbow, a warning in his serious eyes.

Awareness slowly seeped into Berwald's brain, until he realised that the entire street had gone silent. Everyone was staring at him. He pulled his arm free, and took a step backwards, the fury in his veins drowning any embarrassment.

Ivan laughed. "Angry boy you've got here. I'd be careful. I don't think even little Ice could handle this one." Ivan smirked at Iceland, hard and cruel, and winked. Iceland fled into the house, Tino following close behind.

Denmark stepped forward, enraged. "I mean it now, you sick bastard, I will rip your…"

"Ivan." Norway's voice was calm, deadly, and it silenced Denmark instantly. He took one step closer to Ivan, levelling a glare that was even more terrifying for its lack of expression. "If you ever, even once, look at my brother like that again – I will kill you. Do not think for one second that I am not serious. Come on, Sweden. Den, move it."

Berwald did not tear his gaze from Ivan's smiling face as he let Norway pull him into the house. His anger refused to subside. Why the hell was Ivan living in this street? Why did those kids live with him? What was going on between him and Iceland? One thing was certain. Ivan did not belong here. But Berwald could not stop the small, nagging voice inside him which whispered, neither do you.

Berwald had taken the job at the university because it was normal. It didn't pay much, but he didn't do it for the money. It was the opposite of everything he was used to, everything he had been involved in for too long. It was a new start, a fresh beginning, a way to put the past behind him.

But Ivan was right. Berwald had not been able to stay away from that life before - how was he supposed to do it now? He could try and run from it, but he would always be a criminal. If Tino knew who he was, he'd want nothing to do with him. Tino should be with someone nice and normal… someone like that Eduard kid. Berwald ignored the way his blood boiled at the thought of it.

Once inside, Norway and Denmark immediately disappeared. Tino and Iceland were nowhere to be seen. Berwald was left standing alone in the front room, slightly disoriented and thrumming with rage.

Greenland looked up from the couch and blinked at him a few times. "Ah. Sweden, right?"

Berwald glanced at him vaguely. "B'rwald."

Greenland waved a hand. "Right, Berwald, right." He stretched and yawned. "Drama on the front lawn, Sweden?"

"Uh… somethin' like that."

"Oh, the never ending Ivan saga." Faeroe sighed, stretching and sending a few empty cans flying to the floor. "This is the only reason I hang around here… better than any soapie, I tell you what."

"What, um…" Berwald felt a little guilty for asking, but he was still so confused right now. "What happened b'tween Ivan'nd Iceland?"

Greenland and Faeroe exchanged a heavy glance. "Really not our place to say," said Faeroe.

"Yeah. We just sleep here," added Greenland.

"You seem angry about something. Everything all right?" asked Faeroe, tilting his head.

Berwald shook his head absently. "It's nothin'."

"Just remember, my friend," said Greenland, "'Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it; you are the one who gets burned.'"

"Yes," said Faeroe, "For 'we are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.*'"

Berwald furrowed his brow, stared at the wall, then nodded tersely. Just when he thought things couldn't get stranger, the guys on the couch start quoting Buddha at him. "'kay. Thanks."

He headed to his alcove. It was small, it was cramped, it was blocked off from the rest of the house by a curtain. But damn it, it was his, and it was one place where he could avoid the entire blasted world. He fell onto his bed, placed his glasses on the side table, and pressed his palms into his tired eyes. Despite everything, he could not shake that feeling. Berwald knew he didn't belong here. He knew he never should have moved in.

But from the second he'd laid eyes on Tino, he knew he didn't have a choice.

.

"Berwald?"

Berwald's eyes shot open at the sound of Tino's voice. He shook himself from his drowsy daze, unsure how long he'd been drifting half-asleep. The sky outside his window was dark. He quickly stood, put on his glasses, and parted the curtain to Tino's side of the room.

A few bright lamps lit the room, and Tino stood at the window, struggling with an old-fashioned pull-down contraption with a latch at the top. He bashed it a few times with his fist before smiling at Berwald apologetically. "The window's caught. Can you help me pull it free?"

Berwald stood still a few moments, heart pounding in his chest. "Sure." He forced himself to move, grasped the top of the window, and pulled. It did not budge.

"Um, you need to hold here..." Tino touched the centre frame of the window. "And hold it steady while I pull this part down."

"'kay."

Berwald held the frame steady. Tino was so close in front of him Berwald could smell his hair and feel the heat from his body. It was making his head spin and his mouth dry; he could not control his breath, his pulse, his thoughts.

Tino pulled on the sliding window and suddenly it flew down, slammed, and Berwald nearly lost his balance before steadying himself at the last second.

Tino laughed, somewhat shakily. "This old house is falling apart!"

Berwald didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. He just looked out at the moonlit backyard over Tino's shoulder… and realised he had forgotten to mow it.

Tino noticed at the same time. "You didn't mow the lawn."

"No. S'rry."

"Don't apologise. Denmark shouldn't make you do the yard."

"I don't mind. I'm goin' t'make ye a garden." The words came out before Berwald could stop them.

Tino turned slowly, his face unreadable. They were still so close, but Berwald did not move. "You're... going to make me a garden?" Tino looked surprised, confused, and slightly flattered all at once.

"Uh. Yeah."

"Why?"

"'cause... 'cause ye want one."

Tino stared at him. Berwald stared back. Surely those violet eyes could not grow any wider.

Suddenly, a devastated scream echoed down the hall, followed by a cry of, "Oh my God, she did what?!"

Berwald realised just how close he was still standing to Tino, and forced himself to step back.

Tino laughed, clutching the lower window frame behind him. "I think Norway just ruined the ending of Den's book."

"Oh. I didn't mean t'…"

Tino smirked. "Den deserves it."

Berwald couldn't help but agree. "What was he readin' anyway?"

"Denmark's got a thing for romance novels. He's on a bit of a historical time-travel kick at the moment."

Berwald didn't know what to say to that.

"Feliks loves them too, but he prefers regencies. Eduard says it's all heteronormative garbage." Berwald felt his fingers twitch at the mention of Eduard. Tino continued easily, "Something happened between you and Ivan too, didn't it? It's just, when I saw the way you were talking with him before… Ivan seems to have that effect on a lot of people. Making them angry, I mean."

What was Berwald supposed to say? He's someone I gamble with illegally and he enjoys ruining my life? "It's really nothin' t'worry about." Then he remembered the way Ivan had looked at Iceland. "Is Iceland okay?"

Tino didn't reply for a moment, face uncertain. He answered slowly. "He's all right. He's tough. Not as tough as he thinks, but still tough. Ivan and him…" Tino stopped. "I'm sorry, I really shouldn't…"

"O'course," Berwald said quickly.

Tino took a shaking breath and looked down at his fluffy purple slippers. "You know how this morning, when we were talking in the kitchen, and I told you how my parents walked in on me kissing Eduard?"

Not exactly something Berwald could forget... "Yes."

"I… I want you to know that I'm not… um, I mean… we're not together. He's not my boyfriend or anything, we're just friends." Tino's cheeks turned an even darker shade of red. "I just wanted to know what it was like… kissing, that is, and…" Tino's eyes went wide and he suddenly seemed to panic. "…and I know you don't care at all and I'm sorry I said anything, please forget it, that was really stupid…"

"No," said Berwald. Sure, it was strange, but… "Nothin' ye say could ever be stupid."

Tino's brows furrowed, and his head slightly tilted. "You're not really that scary, are you?"

"I don't try t'be."

Tino nodded, a little ashamed. "I know. I'm sorry. I must seem so rude to you."

"No. I know how people see me."

"That's unfair though, isn't it? For people to just look at you and think they know who you are. I never thought I would be like that. Not when I know people do the same thing to me."

"But ye're not like that. I think ye see through that."

Tino bit his lip and brushed his hair from his forehead, familiar, endearing gestures that made Berwald's heart twinge in hope and warmth and yearning. Outside the window, a cloud obscured the moon; the room darkened slightly, even with the light of the lamps inside.

"Thank you for helping me with the window."

"Ye're welcome."

"And Berwald, if you find this all too much and choose to move out – I understand. And I'm really glad to have met you. But I... I hope you don't."

Berwald tried to respond, but his throat was completely dry. Tino sounded like he really wanted Berwald to stay, and Berwald physically ached to reach out and touch him. He eventually managed to respond. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

Tino smiled, but he didn't look convinced. "It's probably getting late. Have you been asleep?"

"Sort'f."

Then, utterly unexpectedly, Tino reached out and took Berwald's pocket watch from his front pocket. At the feather touch on his chest, Berwald felt like he'd been struck to his centre; as though his thumping heart could not take much more. Tino did not notice. "It's nearly ten. Guess I should get to bed, too."

Berwald just nodded, speechless.

"It really is a beautiful watch." Tino smiled as he handed it back. "Where did you get it?"

Berwald forced himself to speak. "It was m'fathers, and m'grandfathers."

"Cool, like a family tradition!" Tino looked genuinely interested. "Are you close to your dad?"

Berwald paused a moment. "I was. He's dead now."

Tino's face fell, mortified. "I'm sorry. That was stupid of me, I shouldn't have assumed…"

Berwald had to stifle a snort of laughter at the way Tino kept apologising. "'s'okay."

"No, it's not. I always say the wrong thing. I didn't, I just, I mean…" Tino stopped short, closed his eyes briefly, and took a deep breath. Then he looked directly into Berwald's eyes. "I'm sorry about your dad."

For a few seconds, Berwald couldn't breathe. "Thank ye."

It almost seemed like Tino was going to say something else; but he just blinked, averted his eyes, and turned away. "Goodnight."

Berwald told himself to move, choked out a 'G'night," and disappeared behind his curtain. He put a hand to his chest, feeling it pound heavily against his skin. He was suddenly hot, too hot, and had to tear his shirt over his head, careful to first place his pocket watch on the desk. Then he fell backwards into bed, palms pressed firmly against his eyes.

Berwald no longer cared that Denmark was wildly insane. He did not care that Norway seemed sociopathic. He didn't care that he could not figure out the mystery of Ivan and Iceland. He didn't care about the Buddhist loafers on the couch. All Berwald cared about now was Tino.

Tino, who made it all worth it.

Strange, awkward, breathtaking Tino, who he was deeply, startlingly, desperately in love with.

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[macguires]

I'm so late but I sure hope you're still doing that ask meme because if you are I'm giving you Hannibal and Star Wars. Because I know you too well and I know you'd be waiting ;D - tattlecrimc

YESSSSSSS EDEN BLESS U (i’m assuming you mean this one bc that’s the only one i’ve reblogged recently)

i will ramble horribly on the hannibal one and i’m very sorry about it so i’ll leave that for last so i can put it under a read more

i should probably warn u that the only movie fresh in my memory is the force awakens so all of this is gonna be answered through a v tfa-heavy lens but ok

star wars

three favourite male characters: poe dameron, kylo ren & general hux (DON’T KILL ME i know kylo & hux are awful, the fandom paired w/ my pre-existing love for domhnall gleeson did this to me and i am v ashamed). finn, han solo, bodhi rook, cassian andor, chirrut imwe & luke skywalker are also v dear to me. listen i just have a lot of love to givethree favourite female characters: jessika pava (i’d better see So Much of her in ep8), phasma & padme amidala. & also rey! ‘Needs More Girls’ is my opinion on most franchises but especially star warsfavourite pairing(s): finn/poe, kylo/hux, rey/jessika & han/luke! i also like obi-wan/anakin in the sense that i don’t actively go looking for stuff abt it but when i do see it on my dash my heart does a lil “!!”notp(s): r*ylo is like one of the only ships on my blacklist so that probably tells u something. i’m also p Ew about rey with any of the villains, so that also rules out rey/hux & rey/kylo/hux which i see way too often all over the place. also you wouldn’t think snoke/kylo would be a thing but i’ve seen fics & i’ve seen art and i’ve like cried every single time, experiencing that was my tragic backstory and now i’m a jaded & cynical anti-hero who’s seen Too Much™least favourite character: snoke who’s like me: i’ll hesitantly say padme amidala? i saw the prequels when i was too young to be properly interested in them and i haven’t rewatched them yet so 99% of my knowledge is secondhand, but from what i’ve seen she’s the most relatable most attractive: jessika pava tbh, yet another reason behind me hoping she’s around a lot in the next movie, i am Absolutely in love alreadyfavourite moment/scene: THAT’S MY JACKET(also lowkey the whole starkiller/hosnian system scene, that was shot so impressively w/ the whole ~greatcoat blowing dramatically in wind~ and the brief reaction shot of the people on hosnian prime and the lights shooting across the sky and damn)favourite quote(s): LOTS

“so this is how liberty dies. with thunderous applause.” - padme

“if you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people.” - maz

“mm. lost a planet, master obi-wan has. how embarrassing.” - yoda

“are you kidding me? i’m blind!” - chirrut 

“there’s a problem on the horizon. …there is no horizon.” - k2-so

“so you’re with the resistance?”“obviously. yes, i am. i am with the resistance, yeah. i’m with the resistance.”“i’ve never met a resistance fighter before.”“well, this is what we look like. some of us. others look different.” - rey & finn

“lieutenant, get back to your station!”“just look! we won’t survive. even hux is gone!” - rodinon

“through the ages, i’ve seen evil take many forms: the sith. the empire. today, it is the first order.” - maz

“where is my boyfriend? […] i like that wookiee.” - maz

ok right. now for my favourite thing in the world. the show i don’t shut up about. the universe to which my heart belongs

hannibal

three favourite male characters: will graham, hannibal lecter & anthony dimmondthree favourite female characters: chiyoh, molly graham & reba mcclane (also beverly katz. and freddie lounds. and abigail hobbs. and literally every other girl)favourite pairing(s): hannibal/will, margot/alana, reba/molly, abigail/marissa & jimmy/brian are the ones i pay most attention to, but i’m honestly also down for literally any other f/f ship u can imagine from this shownotp(s): there isn’t anything i would specifically call a notp, but i’m not a huge fan of will/alana or hannibal/alana i guess? just bc as much as i love will & hannibal, alana deserves 1000x better and i lovelovelove her with margot. i also dislike mason with literally anyone for what i would hope are obvious reasons. i also tend to be kinda cringey about abigail with will or hannibal in a romantic/sexual sense bc it’s made very clear that their relationship with her is parent/child and that she’s a teenager so it feels v creepy to meleast favourite character: i like them enough as characters but i’ll say francis dolarhyde & mason verger. bc everything mason does ever makes me feel vaguely ill and my first impression of francis dolarhyde was him stretching and grunting @ his mirror in briefs w/ Glistening Muscles and i was done with That and ready to move on in under 0.00002 seconds but it just….. kept happeningwho’s most like me: peter bernardone, abigail hobbs & s1!will graham most attractive: chiyoh! i was literally Gone from the second we saw her through will’s goddamn binoculars favourite moment/scene: literally every second of dark!will i am so here for that. every moment from when he attacked freddie in the barn and then. u know. ate randall tier with hannibal, the whole ~i’ve given up good & evil for behaviourism~ conversation and the knife exchange in the kitchen. also him bringing randall’s body to hannibal in the middle of the night like some dog looking for approval wtf. and obviously him & hannibal double-teaming & killing francis in the season finale and running the fuck away together and then coming back to eat bedelia like I JUST REALLY LOVE DARK!WILLfavourite quote(s): i have SO MANY. some of them i just think are gorgeous and thought-provoking, some i like for shippy reasons or bc they were super chilling or Ominous on a rewatch/paired with later context, and some i just find straight-up hilarious

hannibal: “i’ve always found the idea of death comforting. the thought that my life could end at any moment frees me to fully appreciate the beauty and art and horror of everything this world has to offer.”

hannibal: “the essence of the worst in the human spirit is not found in the crazy sons-of-bitches. ugliness is found in the faces of the crowd.”  

jack: “you remember when you decided to call hannibal?”will: “i wasn’t decided when i called him. i just called him. i deliberated while the phone rang… i decided when i heard his voice.”jack: “you told him we knew.” will: “i told him to leave, because i wanted him to run.”jack: “why?”will: “because… because he was my friend. and because i wanted to run away with him.” 

hannibal: “you cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love.” 

will: “i’ve never known myself as well as i know myself… when i’m with him.” 

hannibal: “when the fox hears the rabbit scream, he comes a-running. but not to help. when you hear jack scream, why will you come running?”

chiyoh: “you have a taste for it now.”will: “for what?”chiyoh: “harm.”will: “do you?”chiyoh: “i was violent when it was the right thing to do. but i think you like it. […] if you don’t kill him, you’re afraid you’re going to become him.”will: “yes.”

freddie: “i’ve interviewed enough serial killers to know one when i see one. […] a very specific brand of hostility. i see it every time i look at will graham.” 

gray: “there is no god.”hannibal: “well, not with that attitude.” 

hannibal: “hello! i love your work.” (YOU NEED CONTEXT FOR THIS ONE BUT I LOVE IT)

guest: “it smells divine!”hannibal: “it is! i say that without ego. i don’t require conventional reinforcement.” 

hannibal: “that may have been impulsive.”

hannibal: “a paradox.”alana: “freddie lounds thinks the two of you are a paradox. she sees something no one else sees.”will: “and what’s that?”alana: “that neither of you is the killer she’s writing about… but together you might be.” 

will: “i’d pack my bags if i were you, bedelia. meat’s back on the menu. […] ready or not, here he comes.” 

freddie: “what will understands is that if you can’t beat hannibal lecter… join him.” 

hannibal: “what’s the meat? veal? pork?”will: “she was a slim and delicate pig.”hannibal: “i’ll make you lomo soltado. we’ll make it together. …you slice the ginger.” […]hannibal: “this meat is not pork.”will: “it’s long pig.” (RIDICULOUS. now they’re both making puns while eating people)

will: “is hannibal in love with me?”bedelia: “could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you? yes. but do you ache for him?”