#also to the person who talked to me in line is out there hi you were very chill and i need more people to talk about dan and phil with

[marauder-misprint]

Eek I’m the one that asked about requests, so excited you’re taking them!

My idea was fem!reader x whichever marauder you want (not Pete sorry not sorry) where the reader is flirty but not in a hitting on everyone and pickup lines type of way. It’s in a she’s very friendly, likes to give out compliments just cause she wanted to, and is just warm and open to people type of way.

Ngl im a sucker for some angst with a happy ending so if that somehow works with whatever idea you come up with that would be cool but no pressure!

I hope this sounds like something you’d wnjiy writing but again no pressure at all<3

I hope this has that kind of vibe you were going for! Thank you for being my first request - I'm very excited and very nervous for this. ♡

Sunshine Incarnate

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

1.8k words

cw: fluff, angst

“God, she’s such a fucking tease,” Sirius sighs, leaning back in a plush armchair in the library.

“Who is?” Remus asks, not looking up from his book.

“Her,” he answers, gesturing toward you. “Little Miss Sunshine herself.”

Remus’ gaze shoots up, first looking at Sirius and then at you. You were talking with some Ravenclaw boy, absorbed in the conversation and oblivious to the rest of the library.

“A tease?” Remus asks.

Sirius hums. “Whenever you talk to her, she gives you these eyes. Then she’ll give you some flirty comment and walk away. Fucking. Tease.”

“Don’t talk about her that way,” Remus growls, still not looking away from you.

“Remus, you’ve experienced what he’s talking about though, right?” Peter asks. “She sits next to you in Herbology.”

Remus has experienced the eyes that Sirius is describing. When you talked to someone, they had your entire attention. You were fully engaged. He’d also been on the receiving end of your compliments before as well; he replayed them in his head when he was feeling low. But Remus would be an idiot to ignore that you did this with everyone. 

“Oh my god, I love your hair like that!”

“That’s brilliant! You’re a genius.” 

“I haven’t read that book before. Is it any good?” “Yeah, It’s my favorite.” “Yeah? Tell me about it.”

It’s who you are. As Sirius had called you, you are Little Miss Sunshine. You brightened every room you entered and made everyone feel important. Remus didn’t think there was a single person in all of Hogwarts who didn’t like you. How could they? 

“Remus?” Peter repeats, tossing a crumpled piece of parchment at him.

“Huh? What?”

“Wormy asked you about Sunshine’s eyes and you zoned,” James says. He’s busy working on an essay that the rest of the group had already finished. 

“Of course. Yes. Although I think it’s called active listening,” Remus says, sounding more irritated than he intended. “Something you could work on,” he adds on in a grumble. 

“My ears work just fine, thank you very much,” Sirius says. 

Then his face lights up and he waves at you. You had briefly turned away from the Ravenclaw boy and Sirius’ wave caught your eye. You wave back, excuse yourself and make your way to the Gryffindors. 

“Hi!” you say cheerfully. “Remus, that sweater looks really soft.”

His face flushed at your words. He could barely mutter out a thanks. 

“What’re you working on?” you ask, standing next to Remus. You’re looking at the pages of the book he’s reading, hoping to see a title at the top of the pages but there’s nothing to go off of, not even a diagram to say if it was a Herbology or Charms book. 

“That damned Potions essay,” James answers. 

“Good thing you’re not too shabby in that class then,” you say with a smile. “Can’t be too difficult.”

James looks up from his essay to return your smile. “It’s not. Just annoying to do.”

“Annoying to do is my Divination dream journal!” you reply with a giggle. “Like I need a teacher knowing what happens in my subconscious.”

“I’d like to know what happens in your subconscious,” Sirius says, now leaning forward. 

You give him an eye roll. “Become a Divination tutor and maybe. Remus, did you do that Herbology worksheet yet?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did. Yesterday.” 

“Shoot, I was hoping we could work on it together. You’re so much better at Herbology than I am.”

“Oh, it’s not too difficult,” he says, briefly looking up from his book to give you a smile.

You’re already looking at him with those eyes and a smile. Butterflies take flight in his stomach. He has to look away quickly, despite not wanting to. 

“Okay,” you say, bouncing on your toes. “I’ll see you later.”

As you walk away, Peter hits Remus with a roll of parchment.

“Are you daft?” he whispers, unsure if you’re out of earshot yet. “She was flirting with you.”

He shakes his head. “No, she wasn’t.”

“She wanted to work on Herbology homework with you.”

“Because we share the class? And I’m smart?”

“You’re daft,” James confirms.

The rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Remus is replaying the conversation. Had you been flirting with him? Actually flirting or being your kind self? Even if you were flirting with him, you’d certainly stop as soon as you found out that he was a werewolf. Sunshine incarnate could not be with someone who turns with the moon. He was Moony for goodness sake. But she had complimented both his sweater and Herbology skills in one conversation with only James also receiving a compliment. How had he earned two compliments over Sirius? With all of your kindness and Sirius’ natural charisma, you two usually bantered like an entertaining yet sickening tennis match. 

“You know, the things I would do to her if she said the word,” Sirius says, bringing Remus out of his thoughts. 

“Still on about Sunshine, are you?” James asks.

“Still on about Evans?” Sirius retorts.

“Would it kill you to shut up and stay away from her?” Remus snaps.

Sirius and James shoot him a confused look. He had been mostly quiet since leaving the library, but it was Remus. He just did that sometimes. 

“Stay away from her?” Sirius repeats. “From Madam Sunshine herself? Why would I do that?”

“She’s the sweetest,” James adds with a smirk. 

“Yeah, I know,” Remus grumbles. “She doesn’t need you assholes to bring her down.”

“I’m not bringing her down,” James says defensively.

“Just leave her out of your… fantasies.”

“Why?” Sirius presses.

“Just, it’s… it’s you,” Remus says, gesturing wildly. 

“Yeah, and?” Sirius asks, leaning forward toward Remus with narrowing eyes. 

“You’re messy.” Remus pauses. “We’re messy.”

“So we’re all staying away from her?” Peter asks. 

“I, uh, I guess so.” 

Remus couldn’t tell his three closest friends to stay away from her because they were messy and not include himself, possibly the messiest of the group. But, god, he wanted to be close to you. He wanted to hold you and be held by you. He wanted to kiss your perfect smile that was ever present on your perfect lips. He wanted to be the reason your gorgeous eyes lit up. He wanted you to look for him in the room. He wanted you to be his sunshine. 

Sirius shares a knowing look with James and Peter that Remus misses. Though he had tried to be subtle, his friends know when Remus is down bad, and he is for you. 

---

In Remus’ presence, you’re no longer a topic of discussion. The boys successfully steer all conversations away from you. Remus doesn’t think anything of it, assuming they actually listened to him and are staying away from you and all your perfectness. 

That is, until you walk over and sit next to Remus at lunch. You set your books down gently and give the boys a smile.

“That’s our cue to leave. See you in Dark Arts, Moony,” Sirius says with a grin. James and Peter follow him away from the table, leaving you alone with him. 

“That was… weird,” Remus mumbles, watching them leave before turning his attention back to you. 

He tries to hide the confusion on his face, but you see it anyway.

“Did you not… did you not ask me to practice nonverbal spells with you?”

Remus stares at you blankly. “No?”

You pull out a piece of parchment and hand it to him.

“I got this at breakfast.”

It was a note, in Sirius’ handwriting no less, asking you to meet at lunch to practice spells. When he looks up from the note, you are biting your lip with a hopeful look on your face. 

“Even if it’s not from you, would you mind practicing? I’m rubbish at them and, well, you’re great at everything.” 

Remus feels his face heat at the compliment. 

“You’re not rubbish at them.”

“No, I really am! I try them all the time and they never work! I’ve tried to levitate notes to you in Transfiguration and the stupid notes never lift more than a centimeter off the desk!” you ramble.

“Notes… to me?” 

It’s your turn to blush. You had never successfully passed a note to him. The notes that never made it to him often had compliments on them; the most recent had been to ask him to Hogsmeade. But when you continuous failed to get them to him, you had taken that as a sign from the universe that it wasn’t meant to be, but you weren’t one to give up easily. Maybe you were misreading the signs and you needed to go to him for help. So when you received the note from fake Remus, you were over the moon. 

“Oh, yeah. Just little comments about lessons. Nothing too important,” you lie. 

“You were trying to give me notes…” Remus mutters, still in disbelief that you were writing notes to him in the first place, even if they were ‘little comments.’

“Yes?”

You’re not sure what gives you the boldness, but you dig through your bag again and pull out some of the notes. You’re not sure why you kept them, but you did. 

“Okay, little comments, yes. About the lessons, not really.”

You hold out one for him to take.

You mastered teacup to gerbil quickly. You’re amazing!

“That, uh, that should be the first one.”

His hands are shaking as he reads it over and over. 

“You kept them?”

You nod, a little unsure. He reaches out and takes the rest from your hands. You feel your blush grow as he reads each other. It’s only a slight comfort that his blush is also increasing with each note. 

He looks up at you with a curious expression that’s topped with hopeful eyes.

“You were going to ask me to Hogsmeade?”

You open your mouth to speak but words don’t come out. You nod.

“If the offer still stands, I’d, uh, I’d love you. I’d love to. Ahem. I’d love to go to Hogsmeade with you.”

You’re certain your face is as red as his. 

“This weekend then?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. 

You lean in and kiss his cheek, your own boldness surprising you yet again.

“We can, erm, work on nonverbals later. I’ll see you later, Remus.” 

He watches you leave the Great Hall in a hurry. His hand slowly comes up to touch the spot where you had kissed him. Maybe, just maybe, you had been flirting with him. 

---

“How did that go, Moony?”

“You are bastards. All of you.”

“How did it go?”

“She kissed me,” he says, still blushing furiously.

“I told you!” Sirius cheers. “I told you he was projecting.”

“Projecting?”

“Mate, you called us messy. I mean, yeah, we are, but it’s your tell.”

[rebelliousstories]

Rain Check

Relationship: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of a Case involving a Child (No Mentions of Death)

Word Count: 1,672

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Summary: When the team gets called out of town the day before Thanksgiving, Aaron has to beg for forgiveness from his wife. But the next week they’re home, he learns that he shouldn’t have felt guilty.

Consider Donating: Here

“We should certainly count our blessings, but we should also make out blessings count.” Neil A. Maxwell

Oh, his wife was going to kill him. This is how he went out. Aaron Hotchner, the formidable Unit Chief of the BAU, was slightly panicking as he was packing up his briefcase to take with him on the plane. His phone was out to call his wife, who was preparing for Thanksgiving dinner the next day, to tell her that they had been called out of town.

He sighed as he ran a hand across his forehead, already feeling the stress headache coming on from having to call her. This was going to be their first Thanksgiving as a married couple, and he had just hoped that they were able to have it. But, of course, that was not what the psycho and sociopaths of the world have in store for him.

There was one, two, three rings before her sweet honeyed voice answered with a cheerful, “Mr. Hotchner, to what do I owe this midday personal call? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Hey, honey. I’m uh- notgonnabehometomrrow,” he mumbled as fast as he could, causing her to have him repeat it.

“I won’t be home tomorrow for Thanksgiving. The team got called out to Nebraska on a child kidnapping case.” Aaron heard her take in a deep breath, and release it in a long sigh on the other end of the line.

“I am so sorry, honey. I know we had all those plans made, and you can still go have dinner with your family. I just… the team.” The longer he tried to justify his actions, the worse he felt about himself.

“Do you know when you’ll be home,” came her soft ask.

“No. These things, especially kidnapping cases, we never can predict how they’ll turn out. I’m hoping we’ll be home soon.”

“Okay. I’ll take Jack with me to dinner tomorrow. We’ll be fine, Aaron. Just focus on catching the bad guy.”

How he wished he could have. It had been five days since they touched down in Kearney, Nebraska. Five days, and they were right back to square one. Firstly, this unsub was crafty. He managed to throw suspension off of whomever it was and get another guy arrested. Every lead was turning out to be a dead end. And Aaron was pissed.

He had talked with his wife a little bit every morning and every night that he had been gone, but it did not hold a candle to the need he felt to be home. As he sat around the conference table they had been granted, Aaron pulled a bit on his tie to get it to loosen. A cup of mediocre cop shop coffee was placed in front of him, and an Italian sat next to him.

“I’m not gong to ask if you’re alright, because I know the answer to that. But I will say, it’s going to be fine.” The wisdom in his voice caused the younger man to stare him from where his chair was leaned back.

“I just want to go home, Dave. I want this case over with, and to go home. We never take this long on kidnappings. There has to be something that we’re missing.” The unit chief lamented, turning his face to the ceiling and shielding his eyes with his hands.

“We’ll catch him, Aaron. We always do. Don’t worry. Whether it’s a blessing or a curse, we haven’t found a body which means the kid is probably still alive.” Dave reassured, watching his friend closely.

“I know you were looking forward to spend the holiday with your lovely wife, but this is the job. Besides, she is more than likely not as upset as you think. Just put your head in the game, so we can get home sooner.” Rossi patted his knee, and left, shutting the door behind him. All that was left in the room was Hotch, the evidence board, and his own racing thoughts.

As much as he tried to remain focused, he could not help but think of his wife. And in doing so, he thought back to Hailey. She had only been able to take so much of him as unit chief before she threw in the towel. Would his current wife do the same if he kept having to cancel major and minor holidays for the sake of the team?

That was something that he never cared to think about, but it was a very real possibility. Hotch grabbed the cup of coffee and turned to the board behind him. The girl that had disappeared was the same age as Jack. She needed him now. Aaron really needed his head in the game. But the longer he stared at the evidence board, the more questions he got.

Had this girl been a newborn, he would have thought that this was a female abduction. Like a lightbulb flicking on, he sprang from his seat, and called the rest of the team in. From that point on, it was only a matter of time.

Coming home after six days away was like a breath of fresh air. It was late, almost midnight, when Hotch dragged his tired bones to the front door of his apartment. When he got inside, the sight made him chuckle as he disarmed his security system.

His wife was asleep on the couch with a bunch of laundry spread out around her. It honestly looked like a little nest that she had made for herself. Setting down his briefcase, and carefully stepping over the piles, his hand made contact with her arm and gently shook her awake.

“Aar, you’re home,” she mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah, I am. Let’s get you to bed, Mrs. Hotchner.” Aaron picked his wife up with little difficulty, before turning and making their way to bed. He placed her underneath their sheets, kissed her head, and went to take a shower.

His memory never recorded himself falling asleep, but he knew he did. Purely, for the simple fact that he awoke the next morning in his bed, with his wife already out of it. However, after checking the time on the clock, Aaron rushed to get ready to go into work. He took the fastest shower, put his suit on in record time, and was rushing to lace up his shoes.

“Good morning, dear. Why are you in such a hurry?”

Aaron paused in between doing the laces from tying his left shoe to look up to where his wife was standing in the kitchen. His mug was sitting on the table with some steaming coffee in it. A plate was in front of it filled with eggs, sausage, and toast.

“Um…” he trailed off, “going to work? It’s Tuesday.”

“Dave got you and the team the day off. Go change into something more comfortable, sweetie.” She giggled as she waved him off, back to the bedroom. As he did, he saw the counters filled with different preparations of side dishes. It confused him, but he was just thankful for the day off.

Coming back, Hotch was grateful that he could enjoy his day with his wife. He took his plate and pressed a kiss to her cheek while she went to sit with her own plate beside him. While they ate, she asked about the case they had just wrapped. Normally, this was not something that he liked bringing up, however, it felt nice to get it off of his chest.

Occasionally, when cases are this rough and long, it takes longer for him to decompress after the fact. Figuring out that someone was kidnapping a young girl to protect his wife that could not grapple with the fact that their daughter was dead; it was not something that you could easily comprehend. But, being able to talk to his wife and not a bureau mandated therapist was defiantly preferable.

Being able to go pick his son up from school was a welcomed change. However, his wife made sure to tell the Hotchner boys the second they got home to go get changed. He did not know why. All he knew was that the two adults, and Jack, were grabbing warmed dishes and heading out.

“Where are we going,” came his ask.

“You’ll see,” she replied.

The further they derived, the more he began to recognize the route they were on. Rossi’s mansion was quickly coming into view as they made the final turn into the driveway. Grabbing the dishes, the Hotchner’s went to the front door, and were greeted by their favorite Italian.

“Señora Hotchner, how I have missed you beautiful.” Dave pulled her in and took the dish from her hands with a kiss to each cheek.

“And I have missed you, Mr. Rossi.” Jack and Aaron followed after them. They were also greeted by Dave, and they placed their other dishes on the table outside, where a bunch of other food was already.

However, there was a sight that he never expected. The entire team was outside in the backyard. It was a massive party that he had no idea was going on. Garcia was with Derek and Emily already drinking wine. Will sat with Spencer who was shouting Henry magic tricks in the mean time.

Turning back to look at his wife who smirking an impish smile, he was confused, and knew it showed through on his face.

“I know you were upset about missing Thanksgiving last week. So I talked with Dave about maybe doing a redo.” Before he could stop himself, Aaron swooped down and kissed his wife passionately.

“Well, that is definitely one way to say thank you.” She said with a dazed smile.

“Come on, love birds. Let’s get this started.” Dave guided them to their seats, while Aaron was just thinking how thankful he was to have a wife like he did.

Catherine Pulsifier said, “Give thanks not just on Thanksgiving Day, but every day of your life.”

[accio-victuuri]

goodnight song is what we thought it would be and more 🌙

even before this was fully released, we already had expectations and clowning related to it. and a line from this song was the first real clue we had that the rumored album was actually true. so cpn aside, this track will always be special. there is an official explanation to this song and everyone is free to keep it that way because it’s a perfectly good message that goes well with the entire album. however, as with all other kinds of art, it is up for interpretation. and who’s to say there aren’t alternative meanings. it’s not like he can publicly say that oh, this is about the loml. anyway, while i was reading through some reactions to it i found one that perfectly describes it:

There is not a word about love, but every sentence is filled with love. Every word in the lyrics is a clear love story that people who know can understand at a glance.

and that’s the beauty of this song. it doesn’t have love in big bold letters but to those of us who have paid attention for years, we can see it.

so what did we see? …..

let’s look at the lyrics. 📝

Using a bowl of noodles, a bowl of soup

To flush away this piece of sorrow that warms the heart

Thinking again of her, or of him

Just think of it as an after-meal refreshment

i was already freaking out with the first line! sure, you can say he is talking about a comfort food that makes him less lonely but then the next part goes that he is thinking of someone. who could it be? who was the someone who nagged him to eat noodles? not only that, the same person who always asked him to eat well? YIBO.

i think this is common knowledge by know. the infamous wonton noodles. even his solos cannot deny what they saw in the cql bts. even in lrlg, this is a usual scenario.

🟢 "I'll cook noodles for you"

🟢 “Get off the car and eat noodles”

🟢 "Mom said, when you come back, let me cook noodles for you."

🟢 "I'll cook noodles for you. Where can you eat your first meal if you're not at home?"

yibo making sure that xz is eating well and vice versa. as a cpf, this is one of those clues that made me side-eye their relationship. it’s not even the fact that wyb made sure he eats cause any friend can do that — but the lengths he would go to make sure xz did. it was different.

and now xz gave his answer of how he saw that. in this first line alone. it warmed his heart. it was and is an act of love in it’s most basic form 🥹🥹🥹🥹

i also feel like this is a case of if you know, you know. if that first line didn’t hit you in the head then no amount of explanation will.

Don't be too pessimistic; need to try to become habituated sooner or later

The one left behind has no choice but to bear it

A 'good night' left for my past

this to me is him having to get used to the distance from a lover because of his work. but they have no choice but to bear it and try to live through it by the good night from the last time they met/spoke.

How many people, must take how many corners

Before being able to find their other half

Don't retreat, seeing your single-mindedness

Is able to disperse my anxieties

xz acknowledges how hard it is to find your soulmate. your twin flame. and most likely, harder to keep it. but as explained here, that person’s single mindedness or maybe you can say that person’s devotion towards him is enough to soothe his anxieties.

when you hear single mindedness or maybe single minded focus, doesn’t that remind you of yibo? and i love how cpfs went back on how persistent yibo was when it comes to xz (evidenced by mostly cql bts). some saw it as being a gremlin or him being a naive boy with a crush but clearly xz was comforted by it. most likely even now. as yibo said, what he decided when he was 21, he will continue on till 81. that level of commitment to xz is what he needs to drive away the anxieties.

Using a short phrase, a bowl of food

To take away the entire night's loneliness

Time to stop speaking, the sun's about to rise

Thank you for the warmth you gifted me

Thank you for the 'good night' you gifted me

there we go with the sunrise again 🌄 and love and affection equated with warmth.

this is a really sweet way to describe love. it’s not about someone being with you at night but one who can take away the loneliness with just a good night. no kiss. no hugs. nothing barely physical mentioned. but something as simple as a good night. that at the end of a long exhausting day, or whatever happens, he has that someone who will wish him a good night.

i’m gonna cry 😭😭😭😭😭

and oh someone pointed out that the lyrics, you can see Y & B. YIBO. what a coincidence!

-END.

P.S: feel free to interpret this song however you want. this post is not a space to argue about what other meaning it could have. if you want the official meaning, his team already released that. there is no point in debating or trying to convince me of whatever. this post is on the cpf side so if that’s not you, why are you even reading this post lol.

[zepskies]

Awww yeahhh!! Again, I'm so happy you're reading this little Russell series--thank you again, and Happy Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it)! 🥰💕

I can't wait to dive into the rest of your thoughts on Part 1...

I love their friendship so much 😂 And kudos to Dory. It takes a lot to agree to this. It could potentially get very awkward 😝

Aww I'm so glad you love her and Dory's friendship! They've become that "ride or die" best girlfriends, and Dory strikes me as someone mature enough to handle her best friend dating her formerly estranged brother. loll It really does take a lot! Which is why the reader is being so cautious about even going on a date with Russell. 😅

God, I know. This is honestly what I think about the most when I watch Tracker. The whole story line is insane and intriguing and... 😅 I have a thousand questions, and there's so much you could do with it in fics. I love it (clearly) 😂🤍

Right?! That's what kept me watching, honestly. I still have so many questions, and even in this series I mostly go off of what we know so far in the show while exploring a couple of my own headcanons. Like you said, you can go in infinite directions with their family past, and even Russell's background!

I do think Russell knows a lot more about their past than he lets on. Also, he was way too chipper for someone who was accused of patricide by his own brother for twenty years. The dynamic between the brothers is just... interesting 👀

Oh yeah, definitely. Their mom is VERY SUSS as well. 🤔🤔

Oh, she's going full Reagan! 😂 I sense some trouble coming from the brother, though...

LOL you're spidey senses are correct. Charlie's a piece of work. 😬

Well, I hope he already picked out his casket... 🙈💀

Omgg but you killed me with that scaredy Dean gif from season 1. 🤣🤣 Like I said, Charlie's a piece of work, an addict, and unfortunately, lashing out at the one person still holding him down. 💙

I'd be a puddle before I even made it to the damn seat 🫠 And they are literally so cute together! I'm full on swooning over here 😍

Ughhhhhh girl SAME. Stick a fork in me with a slab of butter, I'd be DONE.

Ah, yes, the family business. Love that sublte hint 😆 Would be a good name for a brewery, tho 👍

Omgg I'm so glad you caught that!! lmao

Oh yeah, that's catchy. I could so see that on a draft label. 😜🍻

I like that you emphasized the darker parts of his life. Like I said, I don't buy his whole "I'm happy and funny and quirky" act. There's a lot more stirring beneath the charming surface 😅 (Another thing he has in common with Dean lol)

That's definitely not all there is to Russell, so thank you for pointing that out! SO many Deanisms in Russ, but it was pretty clear to me from the get-go (and especially in 2x02) that this guy has an edge, and a lot of experience with the darker shades of the military, despite his bouncy charm lol.

And oh, don't we love a good cry on the first date? Poor thing 😂🤍

Oh God yeah, she was mortified. 😂😂 I thought it would be understandable though, given what just happened with Charlie. 🥲💙

Indeed 😂 I would've loved to be a fly on the wall when Dory had this conversation with her lol How he very eloquently avoided talking about Colter accusing him of murdering their father. I wanna be a fly on the wall for that future convo too 🤣

Ha, ikr! Maybe I'll flash back to that convo in a future ESC story. 🤔

Oh he dodges that real well, doesn't he? 😂 He's going to continue hiding that aspect of things with Colter (I have plans for another sequel story in the future), but he will get into the circumstances around his father's death with her later on...

Loved that she got a punch in before even Russell got there. He might have actually killed that pig lmao

We love a strong heroine, right? 😘 Plus, as the sister of an Air Force/military guy, I felt like Charlie would've taught her how to defend herself. But oh God yeah, Russell might've let his hand "slip." 😬

I'm having vivid flashbacks to Smoke Eater 🥵🔥

Aahahaa I had hoped that moment where he holds her hand would be a nice little Easter egg for people who read Smoke Eater. 😘❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Probably one of my favorite scenes is when characters are so hot for each other they lean against a car. There's just something so incredibly passionate about it 🔥🫠

Clearly we have similar taste on this stuff, because girl YES. 😮‍💨😮‍💨❤️‍🔥 Melts me every time I see/read it...

Oh, Russell, this is not what the lady wants to hear. Bless him tho 😂 And I figured she wanted more than a one-night-stand or fling. His job and lifestyle truly is a bit of a problem. But he wanted out anyways, so... 🤞

Bless his heart, he tried to make it sexy loll. And yeeep, not only does she want to tread lightly because he's Dory's brother, but she also isn't typically one for a fling, being an introverted nerdy type lol. Not to say that professors can't get down like that, but this character in particular is more the cautious type. 🤣🤣

I loved their first date! 😍🤍 Hopefully, they'll see each other again soon and might give this another shot. I have a feeling it's gonna involve her brother's bullshit somehow 😅

Aww thank you, friend!! I had so much fun writing their date lol. You already know they're gonna see each other again soon 😏 and your instincts are spot on as usual! Charlie's about to get himself into some trouble that he might just need some help getting out of... 😬😬

As always, reading your lovely, thoughtful and hilarious comments put a huge smile on my face! 😉💓💓

Every Second Counts - Part 1

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the first one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: Finally, here we are at Part 1! Remember that A Line and a Half functions as our prologue here.

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for some mature thoughts. Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, drug use, mentions of drug addiction and alcoholism, skeevy men, and a tinge of spice.~

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 1: "Permission Granted"

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips. 

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still at the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

After brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, she went to you and set her hands on your shoulders.

“You have my blessing,” she said. “All I ask is that you don’t scar me with any gushy details afterward.” 

Your face began to heat up in a blush. You crossed your arms.

“All right, no one said there was going to be any of that,” you replied. “It’s just a date. Barely a date, mind you.”

“A-huh,” Dory said with a sneaking smile. “Out of curiosity, what was it about him that hooked you? You’ve been dodging Chris’s valiant attempts for like a month now.”

Chris was a French and Spanish professor. His office was on the same floor as yours, so you two occasionally crossed paths whenever you ventured into the teacher’s lounge.

He usually caught you in the morning while you were grabbing your free coffee fix at the Keurig. He’d chat you up about his classes and his dog and his new boat, and all the while you’d struggle to get a word in edgewise. Despite that, he was good-looking and pleasant, for the most part. It was just…

“I don’t know. He’s not my type, I guess,” you shrugged. You kind of liked conversations where both people got to speak.

“And Russell is?” Dory said, in a teasing tone. You chewed the inside of your lip, fighting a smile.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Kind of want to find out though.”

“Okay, well, let me know what you find,” Dory said, more wryly. You caught a bit of melancholy when her gaze drifted off. Your brows furrowed in concern as you drew closer, setting a hand on her arm.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She was hesitant, but she eventually answered you with a confession.

“You know, it’s been about twenty years since I’ve seen him,” she said. “We’ve had entire lives already. I see him now, and there’s some of the Russell I knew when we were kids, but…there’s just a lot I don’t know about him, who he’s become.”

You could understand that. You squeezed her arm in sympathy.

“Well, he really seems to want to know you now,” you said. You remembered all the questions he asked you when he helped you carry your files back to your office after lunch today—most of them about Dory, about her career, your friendship, and ultimately, if she was happy.

“What happened to you guys?” you asked. “Why are you all so distant? Colter included.”

Dory’s face tightened. “It’s a long story. I’ve told you some of it. But basically, after our dad died, nothing was ever the same again.”

You dimmed at that. You knew their mother still lived in the cabin they grew up in, but Dory had never quite been able to tell you what happened to their dad. You’d never pushed the subject. You knew better than anyone what kind of pain that was. 

“I just wish we’d been able to stay with each other. Me and my brothers, at least,” Dory said. But she adopted a smile for you, before she returned to her desk.

“Okay. Go on your non-date at your favorite bar with Russell. I’ll be here, grading papers until Judgment Day,” she said, with a small laugh that felt like a coverup for thoughts she no longer wanted to think about.

You let her do it. You grabbed your purse and work bag off the spare chair in front of her desk.

“So you’re sure,” you wanted to confirm. “One last chance for me to tell him I came down with food poisoning.”

Dory collected her stack of midterm papers and gave you a cheeky look that said, class dismissed. Then she clicked her red pen and pointedly looked down at the first batch of papers to read through.

You smiled. Okay, you thought, giving her a little wave goodbye when you turned to leave. You had just a couple of hours to drive home and get ready to meet Russell.

“Goodnight,” you called.

“Goodniiight,” Dory replied.

You heard the smirk in her voice without even having to look back.

After fighting through rush hour traffic, you were exhausted when you got home from work. Your tentative excitement and nerves about tonight gave you some new energy though, even if you thought those nerves were silly to have.

Barely a date, you reminded yourself, as you unlocked the door to your house. Barely a date, barely a date.

The Ring Camera beside the door chimed when you entered the house, signaling your arrival. You had to wrinkle your nose at the dank-ass smell that greeted you.

Frowning in annoyance, you dropped your stuff on the kitchen table for now and shucked off your heels. You made a beeline down the hall, to the bedroom that lied across from yours. You pushed it open without knocking. There you caught your older brother, Charlie, snoozing in his bed with the covers half pooling on the floor.

His room was a mess, as usual. Your gaze locked on the evidence of half a blunt on his nightstand and two smoked roaches beside it. You were glad it wasn’t remnants of white lines of powder, like times before, but there was also a large bottle of whiskey. It was almost empty, and hanging loosely from his hand.

He managed to raise his head a bit when you came in.

“Hey,” he said, blinking bleary eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to sit up.

You shook your head and picked around piles of dirty clothes and a couple of used paper plates on the floor. You swiftly grabbed the bottle from his hand and slammed it on the nightstand.

“You promised me, Charlie,” you snapped. “You promised me for the hundredth time that you’d quit all this shit. Where even were you last night? You weren’t home when I left for work this morning.”

He sighed, frowning at how loud you were, and sat up in bed. He swung his legs over the side and held his swimming head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair. It was nearly black, like Dad’s had been, but he’d inherited Mom’s lighter eyes.

“I got invited to a party,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know. This is the last time.”

You expelled a frustrated breath and shook your head.

“You’re a grown fucking man, Charlie! Do you really need me to give you the just say no speech?” you said. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it,” he said. He shut his eyes tight, probably trying to fend off a headache. 

Good, you thought. Let that be a reminder of how bad he’d screwed up again. 

“And while we’re at it, what about your half of the bills? You’re a week late,” you said, testily crossing your arms.

“Yeah, I’m a little behind,” he said. Once again, he cleared his throat past a wad of phlegm. He was still a bit crossfaded too, you could tell. “You know they cut my hours to part-time at the museum. I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking into getting another job—”

“I already paid the phone bill. And the internet, the water bill, the electricity,” you said. “The house may be paid off, but the least you can do is pay your half of living here.”

The longer you stared at him, seeing the guilt hidden behind drunken eyes, you realized he wasn’t just late on his half of the bills.

“How much?” you asked.

He frowned up at you. “What?”

“How much do you owe?” you said. Your voice was as cutting as your gaze. Charlie lowered his.  

“It’s okay, don’t worry—”

“How much,” you pressed.

He looked up at you again, this time with pursed lips. After a beat, he sighed and gave in.

“About two grand,” he admitted.

You raised your eyes heavenward, muttering a curse. Your hands went to your temples as you had to pace the room. You were angry and exasperated in equal measure.

“Who the fuck do you owe two grand?!” you asked.

Charlie shook his head. “It’s better that I don’t tell you that.”

You paused. As you looked down at him, your anger dissolved into sadness, like it always did.

“If Mom and Dad could see you now, they wouldn’t recognize you,” you said.

Charlie fought not to react to that, his brows furrowing. Instead, he just looked down, unable to answer you.

“Charlie, you need help. I can’t keep doing this with you,” you said. Your shaky breath gave way to the burn of tears.  

His red-rimmed eyes became glassy as well.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

He was always sorry. And you always had to be the one to nurse him back to health, pick up the pieces, pay the bills. You were exhausted. The bone-deep kind of tired that felt like gravity wasn't so much keeping you down, but pushing you.

“I’m going to ask for two things: do what you need to do to get paid, and clean up your shit. If you can’t accomplish that, then I’m taking you to rehab,” you said.

“You know I’ve tried that,” Charlie said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Didn’t really work for me.”

“You left the program after two weeks!” you retorted.

“I did it on my own! I’ve been clean for months,” he argued.

“And what happened? You go to one party and all your good sense, all your training, mentally and physically—that all goes out the window?” you said. You had half a mind not to believe him.

“Yeah well, maybe just for one night, I wanted to relax without you harping on my back,” he said, glaring up at you. “Is that too much to fucking ask? For you to give me some goddamn slack?”

Your mouth fell open incredulously.  

“I’m on your back?” you said. “Okay. I’ll get off. Do whatever the hell you want, Charlie. I’m done.”

You left his room in an angry huff. You headed over to your room so you could take a shower and start getting ready to meet Russell at Howley’s. 

By the time you got to your bedroom, you heard the front door slam closed.

The truth was, you were no longer in a mood to have fun when you pulled up to Howley’s, but you needed to escape your house. Also, you weren’t someone who canceled on people last-minute, especially not on Dory’s own brother.

You found Russell waiting for you at the bar. He waved to you with a fifth of whiskey in hand and an easy grin. He’d saved you a seat beside him.

You found yourself smiling. Your mood began to lighten as you went over to him. He looked more or less the same, but this time the jacket and jeans combo was navy blue and dark wash, respectively. His hair was swept back, lightly gelled. You smelled the familiar, rich woodiness of his cologne when you drew near, along with a hint of spicy soap.

“Hey, there.” He greeted you with a warm hand on your back. He helped you into your seat.

“Hey, yourself,” you replied, and thanked him for the assist onto the tall stool. You’d opted for jeans and a blouse, paired with your favorite leather boots. It was less dressy than he’d seen you before, but that was “work mode.” This was a more casual affair, even if you’d spent at least twenty extra minutes on your makeup.

You were glad he picked a spot at the end of the bar though. It put some distance from the group of guys getting rowdy as they cheered at the football game playing on the TV.

“How was the rest of your day, Professor?” he asked. “And what’re you wanting to drink?”

You let out a long sigh and turned toward him, resting your elbow on the counter.

“Awesome. I’m going to need two shots of tequila and an order of something fried, and preferably covered with cheese, please,” you replied.

Russell’s grin deepened. “Okay, I’m thinking ‘awesome’ is code for something. But we can get started on that order of Forget Today’s Unfortunate Events.”

He flagged down the bartender with a raise of his hand, but he shot you a glance.

“Though I’m hoping it’s not all of today that you wanna forget,” he said.

Your lips threatened another smile, as the memory of your hand being swept up into his, and soft lips meeting the back of your hand filtered through your mind.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s possible,” you said.

After about ten minutes of playfully debating the appetizer menu (you swore by the pretzel and beer cheese, but Russell had his eye on those spicy wings), he finally settled on ordering both.

“When in doubt, don’t go without,” he’d remarked.

You swept a pretty coil of hair over your shoulder and downed your tequila shots with a lime wedge. Meanwhile, Russell tried not to linger his eyes on the way your tongue swept over your finger to catch a drop of lime juice. Your nails were manicured, and the shade of the polish matched your lipstick.

Russell didn’t pretend to know the art and science of a woman’s wardrobe, but everything about you was thought out, it seemed, falling in line with what he’d expect from a (sexy as all hell) college professor. You’d also told him at lunch today that as of last year, you now had two doctorates: History and Ancient Studies.

Even with all that under your belt, you also seemed refreshingly down-to-earth, a lot like Dory in that sense. He could see why you two were friends.

“So, are you from here, or are you a transplant, like my sister?” he asked.

Dory hadn’t come to live in Wyoming until their aunt and uncle took her in, when she was about eight years old. Before last month, Russell hadn’t seen her since. It hurt his heart to think about, but he tried to focus on you.

You now seemed to be staring a bit listlessly at the glass of whiskey in his hands. He laid a hand on your arm and called your name.

“Hmm?” Your brows rose as you blinked to attention. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes, I’ve lived here pretty much forever.”

“You okay?” Russell asked. “Tequila hit ya a little hard?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry…”

You raised your hands up to your temples. You debated whether you wanted to open up about this, but…considering who Russell was, you thought he might just understand.

“Dory told me you’ve been trying to reconnect with your brother, right? Colter?” you said.

Russell nodded. He wasn’t sure how much Dory told you about their family business, but it dimmed his mood.

“Well, you could say I’ve got a brother issue of my own,” you said, laughing humorlessly. “You don’t have to talk about yours, but maybe you’ll understand… My brother is a veteran too. He was a Captain, air force pilot. He fought in Afghanistan, mainly.”

Russell processed that with a nod. “Yeah, I was there too. Special Ops.”

“Wow, okay. Then you know what it was like for him, coming back home,” you said. Your gaze fell to your empty shot glasses. “It was hard, after…”

“After?” he prompted.

You sighed. “Near the end, he lost half his unit in a raid, off of some flawed intel.”

Russell’s brows knitted together. Hmm. Grief, survivor’s guilt, feeling like you don’t belong.

He was starting to get a clearer picture of who your brother was. It struck at familiar chords inside himself that he wasn’t so comfortable with. He shifted in his seat, fingers flexing over his glass on the counter.

You didn’t notice, but you did push the shot glasses away from you.

“I helped him the best I could,” you said. “I got him a job at the museum I interned at when I was in undergrad. He’s there as a security guard, but it’s not really enough, you know? It’s like, nothing satisfies him. I just…I don’t think I know how to help him anymore.”

You couldn’t help it. Emotion bubbled in your throat, making it close up on you as tears stung in your eyes. Your lower lip wobbled, and you tried to turn your face away. Embarrassment coiled up in your chest and made your face hot.

You felt a hand cover yours on your thigh, squeezing warmly. You looked up and met Russell’s gaze, both sympathetic and understanding.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, trying to calm your shuddering breath. “This isn’t exactly first date material. I can’t believe I unloaded on you like that.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Believe me, I get what your brother’s going through.”

He pushed the plate with the last piece of soft-baked pretzel over to you.

“You finish that if you want, then you go ahead and pick something else off the menu. I won’t even argue with you this time,” he promised with a grin.

It got you to laugh, at least, and he gave you a napkin for your tears.

God, get it together, you told yourself. You’re a damn mess.

“Thanks,” you said. You managed to smile as you blotted at one corner of your eye. You hoped you hadn’t just irreversibly smudged your mascara.

Russell surprised you by brushing his thumb against your other cheek, wiping a stray tear away. Your face began to warm with a blush.

“Again, I’m sorry for dumping on you. We had a fight right when I got home,” you admitted.

“What’s his name?” Russell asked.

“Charlie.”

“Older or younger than you?”

“Four years older,” you replied. “He enlisted a few years after he graduated high school.”

Russell flickered at a smile. Enlisted, huh?

Yet another thing he and Charlie had in common, except Russell hadn’t made it through high school in the classic sense.

“What do you think?” you asked.

“I think your brother sounds lost right now. I’ve known a lotta guys like him, unfortunately,” Russell admitted. “Walking back into civilian life, it ain’t easy. That I know my damn self. Just like I know a thing or two about being an older brother. He’s probably doing his best to keep it off your shoulders.”

You shook your head at that. Trying, maybe.

You weren’t even sure of that anymore. Still, it made you all the more curious about Russell and his family.

“I know I said I wouldn’t ask this, and you don’t have to answer. But did you and Colter have a falling out or something?” you asked.

Russell expelled a deep breath and took a sip from his glass. How was he supposed to navigate this minefield with you?

“You gotta understand that me, my brother, my sister, we didn’t grow up like a normal family,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “Dory’s told me some of it. It sounded…rustic.”

He snorted. “Putting it mildly.”

He shook his head and drained the rest of his glass. 

“Well, my brother’s got an idea about me that isn’t true,” he said.

Your head tilted in curiosity. “Which is?”

His lips briefly raised in a wan smile. 

“We don’t gotta get into that one tonight. But uh, the truth is, I’ve tried reaching out to him several times now. He just doesn’t wanna hear from me,” said Russell.

You considered him for a moment. You laid a hand on his arm, covered by his jacket. 

“Don’t give up,” you said, with a sigh of your own. “Despite some things I said to him today, I know I can’t. My brother’s the only real family I have.”

Russell grew curious then. “What about your parents?”

You gave a weak smile.

“They passed away when we were young, but…we don’t have to get into that one tonight,” you said, borrowing his words. 

His expression fell. “Jesus. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” you accepted, twisting the napkin around your fingers.

An awkward lull of silence fell between you, until Russell nodded and blew out a breath.

“Well. Heavy, huh?”

You chuckled and rested your head against your hand.

“I know. Again, my fault,” you replied. 

“It’s okay, swee—. Mmm,” he cut himself off, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Were you about to sweetheart me?” you asked playfully, nudging his hand. “You know how I feel about that.”

“No, ma’am. Not at all,” Russell shook his head. His smile gave him away though. You laughed and grabbed his arm.

“Come on,” you said.

He allowed you to lead him out of his seat. He already had a tab open, so he’d settle up with the bar later. “Where we going?”

“You’re gonna lose to me at pool,” you said with a smirk.

Russell laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist instead.

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna give you a run for your money, though,” he promised.

And he was true to his word.

Russell Shaw turned out to be a more than worthy opponent. You studied the board as you changed the angle on your cue stick no less than five times.

“You gonna make a move, or we going to be here all night?” he said.

He was smiling as he leaned against his own cue on the other side of the board. His clever moves had left you in a difficult position to get your three remaining solid-colored balls into the pocket.

“You hush. I’m thinking,” you said, fighting your own smile.

“Careful, you’ve got steam coming out of your ears,” he teased.

You shot him a narrowed look for that. But then you smiled, as the answer came to you. You walked around to his side of the board and nudged him with your hip.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Russell made way for you, but his eyes followed the way you bent over to line up your shot. Namely the curve of your ass in those tight jeans. He could see you knew exactly what you were doing, in more ways than one.

You shot your shot. The solid green ball leapt over his white-striped blue one and managed to sink into the pocket. You straightened up and gave him a triumphant little smirk.

He tried to temper his smile (and ignore the way his cock twitched).

“All right, go on, do your little victory lap," he said. "But remember, I let you go first.”

“Like that matters,” you quipped back.

You went back to the other side of the board to line up your next shot. Russell noticed a pair of drunk men ambling your way from the bar, but before he could make a subtle move to put himself in between, one of the men’s gazes slid down your form and gave into the base urge to let out a low whistle.

And he slapped you right on the ass.

You gasped, grabbing hold of the pool table. Then your shock melted into ire.

Russell was already heading toward you with an angry frown of his own, but even he had to stop short, when he watched you throw a punch that cracked the drunken man across the bridge of his nose.

Good form, Russell thought, when the guy reared back with a howl. His nose dripped blood when his hands came away from his face.

His buddy started to raise his hackles, but that was when Russell stepped to your side. He angled himself toward you and loosely gripped his pool cue by his hip, like it was an extension of his arm. He was fully prepared to use it like one.

“Fucking bitch!” said the one who was still dabbing his nose in vain. He glared at you, his eyes watering involuntarily, while his friend tried to keep him upright. You rolled your eyes.

"You're the one who's crying, bitch," you returned. Russell held in a snort. He cleared his throat and looked on at the pair of idiots.

“I’d have a little sit down if I were you,” Russell told them, with a smirk. “Let that be a lesson to ya. And if it don’t stick? Well. Whatever you start, I can damn well finish.”

His steely gaze reinforced the promise of his words. The other men were still angry, but even drunks had some sense of self-preservation. They ambled toward the back of the bar to find another pool table.

Russell focused his attention back on you, finding you looking down at your hand, rotating your wrist and flexing your fingers.

“Well, look at you, slugger,” he said. You met his smile with one of amusement.

“That’s just what I needed tonight. A broken hand,” you quipped.

“Aw, it doesn’t look as bad as all that. But can I see?” he asked. You allowed him to take your smaller hand in his. Your knuckles were red and tender to the touch when he gently pressed. You hissed in pain.

Damn, she really gave it to him, Russell thought.

“Sorry,” he said, but your hand felt fine, at least. More than fine. His gaze flicked up to yours as his amused grin deepened. “Good hit though.”

If he liked you before, he might’ve fallen half in love with you right there.

You laughed through the pain. “Yeah, my brother did teach me something. Shit.”

Russell led you back to the bar after you grabbed your purse. There he called to the bartender for some ice. The guy nodded; he’d seen the entire exchange and was sympathetic.

You knew this sort of thing was just par for the course at this kind of bar, but they had the best drinks. Charlie had to carry you out of here on your twenty-first birthday, drunk off your ass. Not to mention, he’d punched out two handsy dicks that night.

You recounted the story to Russell over a couple more drinks. Your conversation was lighter then, filled with laughter and a warm, companiable feeling. He was still rather evasive about his job, but you supposed he had to be, since it was government contract work.

Private security, mainly. Or so he'd said. This man made you infinitely curious, and a bit apprehensive, if you were honest.

And yet, at some point while you two shared and laughed and split a hot sandwich with another round of beers, you realized it.

I like this, you thought. And I like him.

However, the night had to come to an end sometime. Your third involuntary yawn told Russell it was time to call it.

"I'm okay," you tried.

"Nah, you've gotta work tomorrow," he said. He signaled to the bartender. "Let me go ahead and close out my tab."

“Oh, I can pay for half,” you said, reaching for your purse now hanging from your hip.

“You kidding me? Put that away,” he said, guiding your hand with your wallet aside.

Smiling, you accepted his generosity with a small thank you. Then, you let him take up your sore hand again, just to carefully press the half-melted bag of ice over it.

“Feelin’ better?” he asked.

Your smile became softer. “Yeah.”

You had no doubt that this man, tall as he was, with his broad shoulders and the controlled way he carried himself, could’ve laid both of those drunken assholes onto their asses. His intimidating gaze had promised as much.

But his hands were gentle for you.

“I was about to win that game, no contest!” you said, laughing as you and Russell headed out of the bar and into the parking lot.

“Hey, hey, I still had time to win it back,” he argued. “I only had three more balls to go. I could’ve sunk that with my eyes closed.”

“Three balls, huh?” you said slyly, and maybe, a little tipsy. “Might wanna get that looked at.”

Russell snorted. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“Hey, you laughed!” you said, pointing at him.

He shook his head, despite his amusement. He slowed to a stop in front of his car.

“Where’d you park, huh?” he asked.

“Over there,” you said, pointing several parking spaces down. Your eyes were drawn to his car, however. “Wow. This is your car?”

Russell grinned and patted the top of his black Chevy.

“Aw, yeah. That’s my baby,” he said. “She’s a Chevelle, 1967.”

You didn’t know much about cars, but you could see this was a classic beauty. You passed a hand over its sleek paint job without touching, so you didn't get any fingerprints on it. Though you quirked a smile over your shoulder at him.

“She?” you intoned.

“That’s right. She,” he confirmed.

You smirked and crossed your arms. You paused in front of the passenger door, and when Russell drew in closer, you had to crane your neck up to meet his warm gaze.

“Now, if I go in for a kiss goodnight, are you gonna deck me?” he asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

You tilted your head, your own eyes dancing.

“I’m sure you’re brave enough to find out,” you said.

Russell decided he’d take that bet.

He leaned in slowly. He made a show of hesitating, raising a brow, as if waiting for a blow. You were tempted to laugh.

But then he let loose a true smile, and he bowed his head to press his lips against yours. Your eyes fell shut, and your hands moved to flatten against his chest. A firm fucking wall. Jesus.

He circled his arms around your waist, bringing you in closer. Your fingers wound up in his hair, while he tilted his head to kiss you again. You met him with the same fervor with each new kiss, and the feel of your body, soft and pliant under his hands, each little sweet sound that you made, it all drove him to delve in deeper.

You moaned into his mouth at the first warm swipe of his tongue against yours. He tasted like the burn of good whiskey.

You pressed yourself flush against him on instinct. He found no other recourse but to back you up against the side of his car. His hand tangled into your hair, gripping, then easing through the soft strands.

Russell veered away from your soft mouth after a while, just to burn a line of warm, wet kisses along your jaw, and down your neck with the added rasp of his beard.

His lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. He kissed and sucked at your skin, even grazing with his teeth. You gasped softly in his ear, shuddering against him. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his strong back out of a need to feel him.

His hands were heavy along the curve of your waist then, squeezing your hips. It all felt incredibly right. And by right, you meant body tingling, warmth churning in your lower belly, and wetness growing between your legs, for sure dampening your panties.

You tugged him back by his hair, so you could reach him for another steamy kiss.

“I’m staying at a motel, if you wanna…” he said, between kisses.

You paused against his lips, parting from him softly.

“Or not," he added. "Just thought I’d mention.” 

You giggled, catching your breath, and then smoothing your hands down his chest. The faint throb of your core was telling you one thing, but the warning signals of your more cautious mind were telling you another. You thought for a moment…but then you sighed. 

“How long are you really in town?” you asked.

His wet lips tugged to one corner, ruefully. “A few more days, probably.”

“Right,” you said with a frown. “Russell, I like you. I actually, I really do. If you were sticking around for a while, it’d be one thing. But you’re my best friend’s brother, and I—”

“No, I get it. I can’t predict when I’m gonna be able to swing back into town, and you’ve gotta live your life,” he said, but not without care. He curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. 

Your heart tugged, almost painfully.

“You’re a good guy, Russell Shaw,” you breathed. “Why can’t you be a good guy who’s staying?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Then he cringed, knowing how you felt about sweethearting men. “Ah, sorry—” 

You smiled and covered his mouth with your fingers. 

“It’s okay. You have permission to sweetheart me.” 

After blinking his surprise away, his face eased into a grin.

“Then I’ll wear that badge with honor,” he said. 

Your shoulders shook with laughter when you let your forehead fall against his chest.

Russell remained what he had been throughout the entire night: a gentleman, who accompanied you over to your car.

After another stolen kiss or two in front of your sedan, you parted ways from him with a bit of a heavy heart. You wondered if you made the right decision, or if you should’ve just gone for it for once, instead of second-guessing yourself like usual.

You did know this. The rumble of his Chevelle driving down the opposite road would be imprinted on your memory.

When you returned home, you realized that the house was empty, and in complete darkness.

Charlie still wasn’t home.

Worried, you flicked on the lights and began to text his cell, only to find a note for you on the kitchen counter.

And it worried you even more.

I’m sorry. I’m going to make it right. 

— C.

AN: 😬 Well then! lol We're diving straight into the drama and feels on this one. What did you think of her "barely a date" with Russell? 😂

And where do you think we're going next with Charlie?

Next Time:

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[mawofthemagnetar]

Also available below the cut, for those who prefer to read it on Tumblr.

Keralis lined up the crossbow, closing one eye to narrow his aim. 

Joe, his back to a tree, folded his arms and tried not to move too much. The apple on his head was already wobbling crazily, and if it fell off again Keralis would win this round by default. 

“Hold still,” Keralis said, sticking his tongue out as he lined up the shot. From the slit in his back, a few tendrils the width of a finger slithered out, snapping at the air to help him focus.

He pulled the trigger-

The arrow smashed into the tree a good two inches above the apple, and Joe took the apple off his head as Keralis loaded a fresh arrow. 

“You missed.” Joe said helpfully. 

“I know I missed!” Keralis muttered, “This crossbow is all wrong.” 

There was a pause, as he reloaded and Joe put the apple back on his head. 

And Joe hummed. 

“Y’know,” He said, “Last night, I was talking to Cleo.” 

“Sweetface,” Keralis grunted, as he lined up his shot again, “That is completely redundant. Last night I had some food and went to bed. We know.” 

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Joe sighed, “But I was…I guess I was just thinking, right?” 

Keralis nodded, the crossbow bobbing up and down. 

“And? What were we sinking about, hmmm?” 

Joe hummed. 

“You ever heard that poem? The measure of a man?” 

“...No.” Keralis said, “Enlighten me?” 

And he fired. 

The arrow did not hit the apple. Instead, it smashed right into the middle of Joe’s forehead, and Joe winced and rolled his eyes up to look at it, sighing mightily. 

“You missed.” 

“I get three shots!” Keralis protested. 

“Keralis, I’m on half a heart. I thought we said no enchanted crossbows.” 

“It’s not! It- oh, maybe it is. Who enchanted this?” Keralis scowled, “I didn’t want an enchanted crossbow! I’m sorry, Joe.” 

He stomped over to the nearby chest, dropping it in, and pulling out a fresh one. He examined it and, after an approving nod from Joe, he strolled back to the firing line and loaded another arrow. 

“Anyway. You were saying? The measure of a man?” Keralis asked, as the arrow clicked into place. 

“Yeah, the measure of a man. It’s a poem I read a long time ago. Don’t know who it’s by. It’s sort of…you know, how do we measure what a good man is? And, like, obviously that’s incredibly reductive, because not everyone’s a ‘man’, but-” 

Keralis lowered the crossbow. 

“But?”

“But let’s say ‘man’ in the, like, the poetic sense. Right?”

Keralis shrugged.

“Joe, neither of us is “a man” in any sense.” He said, “I’m not even human, you’re…you… So are you sure we have a say in this?” 

Joe shrugged. 

“It’s worth the discussion. And besides, if we redefine ‘man’ to be a poemy ‘person’, then…whatever. Anyway, take your shot. I want to have my turn.” Joe gestured, and Keralis shrugged. 

He lined up again, and fired. 

This arrow hit Joe in the neck, and he burst into code, instantly respawning in the bed beside the tree. 

<Joehillssays was slain by Keralis1 with William Tell 2> 

“You were saying?” Keralis said, handing Joe the crossbow and walking over to the tree, picking up the apple and putting it on his head. 

“I was saying, right. So we’ll go with “man” in the poetic sense, to refer to a person. Right? So, in the poem, you can’t measure a man by his treasure or his creed. You measure by what he gives and how he helps those in need. But…I feel it’s missing something.” 

Joe loaded the crossbow with an arrow, and approached the firing line. 

Keralis snorted. 

“So what? You sink we find a way to measure a man? They invented that, Joe. A metre stick and a scale.” 

Joe snorted. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re very clever.”

“Spank you, sweetface!” 

“And not even slightly smug.” 

Keralis giggled, and Joe rolled his eyes fondly.

“Anyway. I more meant, you know. Character?” 

Joe lined up his shot, and fired. 

Keralis grunted as the arrow struck him in the stomach, and foul ichor started to leak from the wound. He sighed, everting a thin black tendril from his slit, and wrapped it around the arrow, ripping it out with a gush of more foul…stuff. The tendril snapped the arrow in half, and tossed it away with an errant flick. The wound continued to bleed, and Keralis frowned. 

“You missed. Five hearts.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway. Thoughts?” 

Keralis hummed as Joe loaded another arrow.

“I sink a man is a man by what he does,” Keralis hummed, “A man is a man because he says he will do a thing, and then he goes and does it.” 

“But that can’t be it, either,” Joe said, as the arrow clicked into place, “Because, like. A guy can say, ‘oh I’m gonna go run a world eater over the spawn village’ and go do it, and then, well, then he’s a terrible person.” 

Keralis nodded. 

“So maybe not deeds? But with that example, how can it not be deeds? Doesn’t a man doing a bad thing tell you a lot about him, too?” 

Joe fired, and this arrow struck Keralis in the shoulder, prompting another gush of black ichor and a hiss of pain. 

“One heart. And you missed.” Keralis muttered, the apple wobbling crazily on his head. 

“Sorry.” Joe said, as Keralis again pulled the arrow out and snapped it. 

“Don’t apologize. It’s the game.” Keralis shrugged. 

Joe shrugged, and loaded another arrow, letting it click into place. 

“So we can, to a point, measure a man by his deeds.” Joe said, “Because… like, you can also force people to do bad things. So to a point. But thoughts lead to words lead to deeds. Right? But that’s not everything. We’re missing part of it.” 

“Sure?” Keralis shrugged, as Joe lined up another shot. 

“I dunno. Thoughts?”

“Well. Thoughts, I suppose?” Keralis offered, still leaking toxic black goo on the ground from his wounds, “If a man says he will do a thing and does another. If he goes and tells lies, then he’s not a good man. So we can judge him by his truths too?” 

“Yeah, but…hang on. Hold that thought.” 

Joe fired again, and this arrow hit Keralis square in the eye, prompting a hiss of pain and an instant respawn. 

<Keralis1 was slain by Joehillssays with William Tell 2> 

The apple fell straight down, bouncing off the grass and rolling away, and Joe sighed. 

Keralis walked over to him, making grabby hands, and Joe handed the crossbow over and picked up the apple, putting it on his head. 

“We can’t measure a man on his thoughts,” Joe said, “‘Cause, like, I don’t know about you, but I get CRAZY intrusive thoughts, all the damn time-” 

Keralis stopped loading his crossbow and nodded frantically.

“Yeah! Yeah yeah yeah. Like, if you measured me on the thoughts that pop into my head, I’d be such a bad person. I want to eat people’s faces sometimes! But I never do. Even if they look tasty, I never would. Because…that’s…evil?” Keralis said, loading the arrow with a click.

“Yeah, or like, you’re on top of a high build with Doc and the voice in your head just blurts out “push him off” and you’re like, hey, where did that come from?” Joe said, as Keralis lined his shot up.

“So not thoughts,” Keralis said, aiming carefully, “And deeds, maybe. But… I dunno, Joe. I was always a bad philosopher.” 

“Yeah, well, we all are, in the end.” Joe said, as Keralis fired. 

The arrow slammed into Joe’s heart, and he grunted, taking seven hearts of damage in an instant. Keralis winced. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Joe grunted, as a gush of red blood poured out of the wound, “I agreed to this.” 

Keralis frowned, and lowered the crossbow. Behind the tree, he could see other Hermit’s builds, and more importantly, Jevin scurrying around doing…something. He was being chased by Cub, so clearly it was important.

Keralis’ frown deepened, and he gestured between himself and Joe.

“You agreed. I agreed. But I don’t think anyone else agreed. Do you wanna-?” 

“Put up a wall? Yeah, I was just thinking that,” Joe said, chugging a health potion and then rummaging in his inventory for a few stacks of blocks. 

A few minutes of fussing later (In which Joe attempted to build a plain cobblestone wall, Keralis had an apoplectic fit, and redecorated it into a clean white modern wall with delicate minimalist wall-lamps and soft banners) they had a barrier put up behind the tree, and Joe took his place against it. 

He put the apple back on his head, and folded his arms.

“See, now, THAT,” Joe said, “You agreed, and I agreed, and we’re doing this. But, like, Jevin didn’t. So-” 

“Can’t have Jevin get hit. He’s not playing William Tell,” Keralis agreed, loading another arrow. 

“So what does that mean, for our measure of a man?” Joe hummed, as Keralis lined up another shot. 

“It means…we care? I guess?” Keralis said, lining up some more, “I am not good at this, Joe.”

“Well, I guess. But like…Hmm.” 

Keralis fired, and the arrow slammed into Joe’s shoulder, prompting a hiss of pain. 

“Eight hearts left,” Joe gasped, and Keralis nodded. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” 

Joe hummed, as Keralis loaded up the crossbow with another click. 

“I sink,” Keralis said, “that the measure of a man is how he treats others.” 

Joe nodded, and the apple wobbled crazily.

“See, now we’re on to something. You can only measure a man by the actions you can see. The world in someone’s head is, y’know, completely invisible to you. But like…” 

“But what a man does, is what he thinks for himself,” Keralis said, “So when I think, “I should eat a face”, but then I DON’T, it’s because I know I never will and I shouldn’t.” 

“Exactly. And you do that, because…” 

“Because I care,” Keralis said, “I do it because I don’t wanna hurt people. Besides, uh…” 

Joe burst out laughing, hard enough to knock the crossbow bolt loose. A splash of blood hit the ground along with it, and he giggled a bit more.. 

“Keralis, once again, we both agreed to this. Besides, this minigame needed testing.” 

“So do the philosophy debates come free with the game?” Keralis asked, and Joe laughed again. 

“William Tell’s Philosophy Class. Yeah, I think it does.” Joe snickered, and Keralis lined up again. 

Keralis closed his eye and stuck his tongue out, lining up his shot on the apple with care.

“So I think, to sum up,” Joe said, “You look to deeds to inform knowledge of thoughts. And you look to see how a man treats every person he meets, to see what lurks in the depths of his heart. And that, I guess, is how you take the measure of a man?” 

Keralis fired. 

The arrow flew, perfectly straight, and smashed clean into the apple. It split in half, each piece hitting the grass on either side of Joe, and the arrow embedded itself an inch deep into the tree. 

“Bullseye!” Keralis cheered.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow part 53

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 50, part 51, part 52

“You’re moving?” Dustin yells louder than he should in the middle of Family Video.

Steve just shrugs, like he didn’t drop the news of the century. “My parents are selling the house. Kinda means I have to move.”

“What he means,” Robin interrupts, slamming the new box of tapes onto the counter, “is that they are kicking him out.”

“They are not kicking me out.” Steve takes the first few tapes off the top of the box and starts loading the cart. “They’ve been talking about selling the house for years now, the only reason they haven’t is because I still lived there.”

“You still live there now,” Robin presses. “What changed?”

Steve sighs. Ignoring the question by bringing the mostly empty cart into one of the aisles. Refilling the shelves.

“Well?”

Another sigh. “They just, we had a deal that if I didn’t go to college in a year, that they weren’t going to support me anymore. Including the house. It’s been a year. Time’s up.”

Dustin really hates Steve’s parents. He’s never said it out loud, it’s been the silent thought in his mind. But it was true. He hated them. He hated them without ever needing to meet them in person. The soulless eyes in the one family portrait told him everything.

His mother would never kick him out for societal failures. She loved him for everything he did. Mistakes and all. There wasn’t anything he could do to make that change. Even if she knew all he’s been through, all he’s seen and done, he’d still never lose that love.

Steve, from what Dustin’s heard, had to earn it. It was titles on sports teams and cheaply made trophies. Medals and accolades. Something to brag about at business meetings. Something physical to pin their pride.

When it all stopped, so did their love. He became a leech that lived despite them. Now instead of lines upon lines of achievement to brag about, it was all about the son who failed to keep up with his father’s shadow.

Even when Steve is so much more than their rudimentary required achievements. When asked what Steve has done, who Steve is, awards aren’t in Dustin’s top ten. Steve was so much more than they could even pretend to appreciate. He was so much better than them.

“So making you pay rent the past year wasn’t enough?” Robin’s anger echoes off the walls of the store. Thank God there weren’t any customers. “Now they get to kick you out with nothing.”

Pay rent? Dustin didn’t know about that.

“I don’t have nothing,” Steve tries to defend. But the fight turns to defeat in his shoulders. “I can take anything but the furniture.”

How many times has Steve paid without Dustin even thinking about it? He had thought it wasn’t a problem for Steve. He thought that all the money Steve made was extra. His parents still paying for the house, his groceries. Providing for their child.

That was all Steve? He’s been paying them, paying for himself, for a year and Dustin didn’t notice.

“You don’t have a roof, Steve.” Robin radiates an anger that Steve doesn’t even begin to have. He just seems so resigned.

“Could you just drop it, Robin.” It’s the highest Steve’s raised his voice this entire conversation. Veering on yelling. “There is nothing I can do to change it. Nothing.”

Robin pinches her mouth shut. Angrily slamming tapes onto her cart. Each one with a dull thump.

Steve was moving.

“I know,” Eddie spits when Dustin asks him about it. “Got the call about it yesterday. Didn’t even know they were selling the place.”

Wayne walks in on his way out to work. “You still pissed about that?”

“I’m pissed for a lot of reasons, kinda hard not to be.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Eddie clenches his jaw, fists clenching and unclenching. “I just wish he told me. We promised to be more open about stuff that was bothering us, and he didn’t.”

Dustin was following, but there was more to this conversation than he knew. Something that also explains the closeness that Steve and Eddie have had in the past few weeks.

He could assume. With what he’s heard, when he definitely was not supposed to be listening, it sounded like Steve might have had a thing for Eddie. Which grosses Dustin out for so many different reasons, but it’s fine. He can’t control who Steve dates, it’s just going to happen.

The thing was, he didn’t want to assume. He already felt weird about it when the school gossip was about who was dating just because they were close. It was another thing to speculate if people were gay. It just wasn’t something Dusitn felt right doing.

Even if he did suspect. His curiosity getting the better of him, and making him wonder. But the wonder was useless because he can’t just ask. Asking was wrong, and to the wrong person, would be dangerous. For reasons Dustin doesn’t fully understand.

So when Steve comes home and Eddie immediately gets off the couch to bug him. Dustin just shuts his brain off and forces himself to have some respect. If they were something, if Dustin’s stupid brain made correct assumptions, he was just going to wait for them to tell him. If they wanted to, they would.

He just hoped he made it clear enough that he would be safe to tell. He’d still love them if they actually murdered someone this time. That had to be enough to show them this wouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t it?

“I’m not talking about this right now,” Steve says while Dusting is slipping on his shoes. “I already got yelled at by Robin , I don’t need to hear the same from you.”

“How do you know it would be the same?” Eddie insists, following Steve to the stairs. Dustin didn’t notice before, but he’s not walking with his cane. Just himself. “I could be bringing it up in a completely different context.”

Steve sighs, crossing his arms. “Don’t care. I already heard enough about it today.”

He starts to climb up the stairs, Eddie continuing to shout after him.

“You know, you can’t hide upstairs anymore. My physical therapist said I can start thinking about doing stairs again. And I’m thinking of trying that right now.”

Eddie, not as hesitantly as Dustin would want him to, starts to climb the stairs. Slower than he has in the past, but he does it. Follows Steve into his bedroom, like what he just did wasn’t a major accomplishment.

“Jesus Christ this wallpaper is terrible,” Dustin can make out right before the door closes.

Wayne grabs his keys, nodding at the door. “Come on, I’ll drop you off on my way to work.”

“How long has he been able to do that?” Dustin can’t help but ask.

“I guess right now,” Wayne explains, pulling out of the drive. “He’s been stepping on some blocks as part of his exercises, but I didn’t think he was ready to do a whole staircase yet.”

He shakes his head. “No, I meant walking around without a cane. I thought he was going to use it all the time.”

“Yes and no. Yes, he will need to use a cane, and his crutches, on days when he needs it. Sometimes they can help with the pain, sometimes he needs them for the balance. But other days, especially if it’s a space he’s comfortable with, he can walk around without it. Really just depends on how he’s feeling that day.”

He was getting better. Again. Dustin thought he hit the peak of his progress, but he didn’t. There was still room to grow. To gain more strength. To find a way to act, and be, the way he was back at the beginning of the year.

Dustin forgot how it felt to look at Eddie walking around without any assistance, mainly because it felt like nothing at all. Before, it was just the norm. Now Eddie’s sucked into the world where the norm changes every day.

He’s grateful that things are getting better. He’s grateful that things are starting to get back to normal. But after having a reminder as big as the fourth, it’s hard to imagine that life can ever go back to perfectly normal.

But maybe, just maybe, if Eddie can adapt, if Eddie can continue to return back to the state of peace, Dustin can too.

Note: Here starts the last Dustin pov chapter. I keep saying these, but I can't believe it's almost over. I'm trying to get all of the parts of this fic out before the end of the year, so I'm starting to write the Steve and Eddie pov chapters. You guys are not ready for those.

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

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[quill-of-thoth]

The Saga of Great Uncle Asshole And The Priest From Hell

It's thanksgiving (in the US) so have a family gathering disaster that is old enough to be funny. Almost a decade ago, after a life of stirring up drama everywhere she went, my grandmother died. She was an unhappy woman who tried to be better to her grandkids than she was to her kids, and didn't always succeed, and she's the reason that when I smell cinnamon tic tacs they're accompanied by the reek of an illusory cigarette. This is not a sad post. This is a post about the fact that her funeral was a fucking disaster and it was ultimately about 50% her fault. See, my whole family was at one point or another catholic. Grandma really enjoyed going to church in her last years because it got her out of the nursing home, and priests have to listen when you tell them about the husband you divorced and the children who think they know better than you. Grandma did not consider the fact that the local priest she'd latched onto like a talkative moray eel in a cloud of nicotine smoke was an unmitigated bigot. She left instructions that she wanted her funeral to be at that specific catholic church and for that priest to do the sermon. It didn't occur to her that the person who would be organizing her funeral would be her gay daughter and her daughter's wife.

Shit started getting real about when the doors opened to recieve mourners. Over the course of ten minutes, my aunt summoned:

her elder sister, a paralegal

my father, who has never seen a conflict he would not cheerfully walk away from

Their younger brother, in order to swear at the priest

My mother, who hadn't had a good opportunity to fight a priest since we left our own church and was game to do it again.

This left me, the eldest grandchild, in charge of the receiving line, despite the fact that I knew approximately no one there. My brother and cousins were woodenly shaking hands and then whispering "who's that?" "I don't know." My aunt's husband was escorting the elderly and infirm up the stairs one at a time. My uncle's wife was also around but she knew even fewer people and was mostly listening at the door of the ongoing argument.

So when my brother and Boy cousin went to see if we could pry someone who knew who was related to us out of the argument and I was busy trying to convince an octegenarian that she did NOT need to figure out which of her cousins had married one of grandma's siblings before sitting down, Girl Cousin was alone at the door.

Great Uncle Asshole arrived in a storm of curses and a faux-coonskin cap. He blew past Girl Cousin, thumped his cane up the steps, and seized my hand. It was like shaking hands with an extremely strong mummy. "You look just like your mother! It's the hair, what a bird's nest. Where's your daddy? And the rest of Helen's brood."

I muttered something about them finalizing details with the priest.

"Well, they'll come see me soon enough. Bet you don't know who I am!" I didn't know who anyone was. Everyone older than me was having a verbal cage match with a member of the clergy or escorting some other old fogey to their seats, everyone younger than me had even fewer clues, and my only hope was to wrap this conversation as fast as possible. "Nope!" I said, "I haven't seen most of the people here in years." If I had ever seen them in the first place. He was going to be mad, but I figured if I had to be the bouncer I could probably take an eighty-something year old guy who breathed like the surgeon general's personal warning to smokers. I could at least shut the door on him.

"Of course you wouldn't! Your gran wouldn't have told you. I'm your great uncle Roger, and I'm here to bury the hatchet, by which I mean your grandma! She and I swore over our father's casket we'd never be under the same roof again while we both lived, and by god I kept my oath!" People were starting to stare, and it was at this moment that a thirty-something man in a suit sprinted up the stairs, and my uncle's wife, with a look of dawning horror, called her husband. "Roger's here." The middle aged folks descended immediately. Here is a snapshot of the ensuing conversation: "Roger, why don't we find you a seat?" - my mother in her best teacher voice "Glad to see you're doing well enough to make it" - My father, in his best 'good god I want to be anywhere else' voice. "Take me to the coffin! I want to see her with my own two eyes!" - Great Uncle Asshole, "And hang up my **** hat! Killed it myself!" "I'm so sorry, I didn't know he could walk that fast" - strange suit man "If you are QUITE finished, I am starting the ceremony in ten minutes" - the priest

As my father and his brother towed a grinning and cursing old man to the furthest reaches of the family section, my mother and my oldest aunt caught all the cousins up on the argument with the priest. My youngest aunt was still crying while her wife stared fixedly at the stained glass panes and periodically handed over tissues. The upshot of it all was that my aunt and her wife would be allowed to attend the funeral (on pain of the whole family literally walking out on the priest) but would not be allowed to take communion, because the priest didn't believe in their marriage. My aunt's wife had neglected to point out that, being Jewish, she wasn't going to take communion anyway. "That's fucked" said boy cousin, and the four of us immediately resolved in whispers to refuse communion as well. The priest opened his sermon with pointed remarks about the older generation's devotion and respect for the church. He continued on through psalms and all that until he got to the blessing of the eucharist and asked the family up to receive communion. My father, who hadn't taken communion since I could remember, stayed seated. My mother stayed seated. My aunts and uncles stayed seated. The cousins stayed seated. About a third of the church didn't move. "Well father, I'll have mine! These young folks think hey have all the time in the world to get right with the lord, but you and I know better!" The priest, who had been visibly hoping god would smite us, turned a wincing glare on my great uncle and the series of distant relatives and nursing home neighbors who were now shuffling up. The service dragged on. We were lined up to say goodbye to everyone, while the suit man (who would turn out to be my second cousin) bodily hauled great uncle asshole and his coonskin cap down the stairs. "I should have known my sister wouldn't manage to raise any good Catholics! Horrible woman." he said loudly as he was stuffed into a car driven by suit man's apparent twin. The priest approached as we were finally ready to leave, to ask why we were so stubborn that we deprived ourselves of communion. After all, unlike my youngest aunt, we weren't obvious sinners! "Oh, I'm Lutheran" - My eldest aunt. "I'm an atheist" - My uncle "I don't think you're qualified to bless anything." - My mother, who learned her religion primarily from a horde of socialist-leaning nuns.

With that, we left the wreck of my grandmother's funeral behind. "Helen," said my mother, very deliberately, when we were safely in the car, "would have HATED that." My dad started laughing. "Are you kidding? She would have loved that! It would have been all she complained about for years!"

[elkian]

More about GGG's finale and core plot (that is, BIG SPOILERS BELOW)

One recurring trend is loneliness. King's actions help connect people, and our protagonist continues in her footsteps, but the loneliness of the characters who play antagonists is especially notable.

The God Awards (which I've mentioned before, the whimsy of them made me totally blip over the red flags and implications) mention Inspekta doing everything for them. What would they be without him, Capochin asks?

"Lonely!"

Inspekta gathered the lonely hearts together. Gave them purpose. Gave them a charismatic leader to follow.

Saul is one of the most antagonistic non-Bizzy humans, and a recurring refrain in Milldread is how lonely everyone is. How gatherings are now somehow either discouraged or outright illegal (hmm, wonder whose idea that was). In fact, most of the Milldread citizens only have good or at least compassionate things to say about him.

(Sometimes I feel like the antagonists are shown a little much compassion given the way this plot goes, but it is also important to remember that deprogramming cultists etc. is based around showing compassion and reminding them that the world is not innately hostile to them. And there's only so much a single game can say in the span of a few hours, so, like, I get it.)

In fact, you have to insult Saul twice to progress in Milldread. How do you do this?

One, you get a dog to make a dog noise, and Saul loses it and comes over to harass the dog (and fail).

Two, after this point, he'll say that he "hates that shaggy little man". This is the line you need to give Budd to progress. When he asks for an insult levied at Saul, you can travel the town... and find that everyone has good things to say about him. He's misled, he's actually very sweet, his friends miss him.

It's very telling that the only way to effectively insult Saul to Budd is to use his own words to do it. Even writing this, I realize that this also implies a bit of a persecution complex with Saul - the people around him don't hate him, or even think he's particularly incompetent. They're worried about him. They understand that he's stressed. He was lead astray by a bad element but he snaps out of it (with help) in time to rejoin his community.

And speaking of throwing words back in faces...

Capochin shows a pretty regular skill for recognizing voices when you fling words at him - it's funny, because a lot of people in this game don't, so he's an outlier and that's amusing. In the battle against him, it means you have to work around him - you can't use his own words against him directly.

Instead, you put words in "Inspekta"'s mouth and bring that to Capo.

He shows an awareness, to a level, that this isn't really Inspekta talking. But this realization is a long time coming, and he can't repress it anymore. He can't deny reality when it's thrown in his face, when he's all alone, when nobody wants to work with him anymore. When even his god is only using him, spending more time with the Godpoke, leading him astray.

The Bizzyboys (and Hector; Yugo Limbo said that all of them come from Drain, hence them looking alike(?) ) evoke a very specific type of person, to me: the incel. Or at least, something adjacent. They're all referred to as "he" as Bizzys (I'm of a mind that Bizzyboys are all he/him while Bizzy, as, like, an honorary gender, mostly because it's just a silly idea; though in retrospect it also meshes with the enforced similarity situation). They're all lonely. They've banded together under a mutual purpose, but they don't really support each other.

And when they start to, between Hobbyhoo and BuzzHuzz? When they begin to collaborate, talk about taking a break from all this fash shit "investigating"?

Capochin shuts them down. Hard.

And Patty says he's scared of Capochin, but the other Bizzies say he would never hurt any of them. But when Capochin blows his top, all of them get really timid.

Capochin not getting involved in the violence until there's literally no one else to hide behind is so cliche that it almost just seems like a joke, until I took in the rest of the story.

Playing this game makes me think a lot of Fallout: New Vegas, a game where you can also destroy fascism and avert a cataclysm as a vaquero-themed courier.

One thing that becomes achingly clear in FNV is how the Legion is a cult of personality: it's not just the Legion, it's Caesar's Legion. Legate Lanius is terrifying, yes, but nobody talks about him as a leader so much as a warrior. Once Caesar dies, it seems obvious to me that the entire thing is going to crumple like a house of cards. Caesar didn't leave any backup plans, any true heirs, because the whole thing was his vanity project. There's no point to the Legion without Caesar, and he never once considered that there should be.

Inspekta and the Bizzyboys work very similarly. The whimsy and goofiness of the setting, which we also see in Smile For Me, lead me to miss some major red flags (I am also just. very dense.), which is a known problem in real fascism - the use of cutesy facades to cast absurdity on any claims of propaganda.

Anyways. My point is that the Bizzyboys seem at first to be a group, but are really more underlings in a cult of personality. Everything falls apart when faith in the system - in Capochin, in Inspekta - is lost. And Capochin is the Joshua Graham to Inspekta's Caesar; both of them culpable, both of them seeming in charge, with Capochin primed to take the fall as soon as things go wrong. But he volunteered for that! He wanted to be Inspekta's #1! The right-hand chump! The prime goon! He's getting everything he ever worked for, so don't question the system, Capo, because that's the same as doubting Inspekta. And doubting Inspekta means you're not a good Bizzyboy. Means you're ungrateful. Means that maybe what you have should go to someone who'll appreciate it.

They literally have their names stripped away - and I think the constant belittling and name-withholding of Patty, who genuinely displays real competence and intelligence at points if you pay attention, is a deliberate ploy. You don't want to be like P. You don't want to be a failure. Look at you, earning your letters! You almost have a full name! Not like that loser at the bottom of the barrel. You're a real winner, here.

And you, P? You need to try harder. Look how Alexei has his whole name back for doing hardly anything! How can you fail to get even a single letter back, compared to him? When Patty asks for his name back in Milldread, Capochin mentions solving mysteries - mysteries of "what does Capochin want for lunch", etc. It's silly, but it's also sinister. It's the most overtly self-centered bit of Bizzy lore we get for maybe the whole game. Capochin outright says he comes first and we laugh because of the delivery.

(The videos are fantastic, because they really set up the reveal in a lot of both subtle and unsubtle ways. Even the very first video, where Capochin insults Patty for asking a scripted question, before moving into the answer, is foreshadowing for the constant emotional abuse all of the Bizzys and Patty in particular are subjected to. There's probably much more I'm forgetting.)

Under the whimsy and humor of the game is a very real statement about cults and fascism and the kinds of people they recruit, and how they do it. They amplify the concerns of the disenfranchised and alone, people who have difficulty connecting with a community. They give those people somewhere to belong, ideals to uphold, and targets to gang up on.

Anyways. Good game.

[supremechancellorrex]

Nope, you can't trespass online. When you post something, anyone can respond. And I only engaged with you because I was initially curious why you'd want Katara to punch "Azula/Mai" which does give the impression that you see them as two sides of the same coin. I wondered if you were referring to Mai before getting together with Zuko or after, so I asked. Would you say curiosity killed the cat?

This is really going out on a limb. Mai never actually helped Azula capture Zuko, she's a part of Azula's team as the princess would habe demanded regardless (as we saw with Ty Lee), but it's speculation to say if she had run into Zuko what would have happened. I also want to point out this is pre their relationship, at best when she had a crush on him, and before she does develop as a person (even though you don't like that development). And, even with that, we can guess different things on what would have happened if Mai and Zuko ran into each other in Book 2, who knows? And if you're by chance referring to Ba Sing Se, Zuko returned to the Fire Nation of his own volition at Ba Sing Se. Mai can't be blamed for that either, if that is what you're indirectly referring to also.

You accused me of "miscontruing" you, so pot, kettle. As for the other thing, you say that if she were male, what she says "would absolutely be considered abuse". You say she tries "bullying" Zuko back into a relationship. You keep talking about how she allegedly says "nasty" things and deserved to be punched in throat by Katara and put her on the same level of Azula in the original post:

You are calling Mai an abuser (and also downplaying her good points as a tactic to feather that nest).

And I was willing to agree to disagree, but I changed my mind after another one of your responses. I might change my mind again. Although calling me "nasty" seems rather unnecessary. I just said that "nasty" seems to summarise what Mai is to you, meanwhile you seem to throw it directly at me like a slingshot like a stan would.

You did though. Seems like a Motte and Bailey argument on your end. And I could say the same of you. It honestly feels like you're making stuff up, from what Mai says being "considered abuse" to how Mai "helped capture Zuko" to how Katara "would hate Mai" to saying Suki and Sokka "have never been in a relationship and only met once" when that's not true by the point Suki is captured.

This is rather semantic. I can't say the Dai Li "peeing" line is exactly hitting. Seems in line with Ty Lee also praising Azula in that scene for her speech. As for ordering servants around, that is to cheer Zuko up, who was enjoying it initially, and she visibly deflates when it later doesn't work because he's concerned about the war meeting. And as for your other point, Zuko is in an abusive environment with Azula and Ozai, yes. Mai is too, considering she even says that she does "fear" Azula. This is why she initially, early on, acquieces to Azula quite easily when Azula says that unconvincing "braid" lie, only able to send her a dirty look behind her back. Over time this escalates to yelling "You want me to express myself? Leave me alone!" after Azula mocks her childhood trauma in the Beach. There are a number of indications that Mai herself felt trapped. Her parents shut down her opinions in her formative years for her father's political career, she was dragged to Omashu clearly without wanting to be there, she at best can only disobey Azula behind her back. Azula even says in Azula Alone (if we have to keep talking about the comics) how much her 'friends' should be grateful a princess gave them the time of day, so there is an unequal power dynamic where Azula is controlling, mocking and abusive. Mai and Zuko's situations aren't that different in ways, and they both resent their situations, which is another part of why Mai really doesn't have much hang ups choosing Zuko. They actually have something in common.

You can compare Azula and Mai, talk about "dark humor", but it feels rather pointless when they are so different, not just not on the "same level", fundamentally different.

Fallacious argument with a seeming tinge of condescension. We never see a scene where Mai attempts to kill Zuko, because it doesn't exist. If you reread my post, you would also notice I refer to Mai's role as a villain earlier and so I don't need to "admit" something as if I'm keeping something under wraps. As for your conclusions on how we should treat characters that were villains and never villains, that's your opinion of course but not a hard and fast rule in any way.

The writing is ridiculous. We can't just give Zuko a free card for bad comic writing, yet rip Mai to shreds for bad comic writing. It would be a double-standard, almost opportunist. I think the intentions of the writers of the original show and the writers of the comics don't synchronise, which makes all characters' actions in the comics dubious. "He wasn't a real threat" is ridiculous, but it's the sort of ridiculous I would expect of Gene Yang's reasoning considering. She beats them up and leaves in Rebound. She is on Zuko's side in the argument with her father, telling Ukano he should have been "grateful" to Zuko, being derisive to Ozai loyalists and then beats them all up. I very much doubt they wrote that finale scene with the idea Mai's a Tanke or Hitler Youth and that's what she's thinking, same with the scenes in the show finale. Mai also later supports Zuko against Azula and Ozai loyalists. Ukano complains about how he essentially hadn't managed to indoctrinate her to the "duties of Fire Nation Citizenship early enough" because she is not acting imperialist or fascist. Post-War Mai is definitely not a fascist, or even imperialist at this point, she is not baying to extend her country's border through colonisation or military force. She didn't even seem to really bay before really. She is against the New Ozai Society that wants to do so and thinks they should shut up. She has also spoken out against Sozin and Ozai in the Ashes of the Academy comic, saying "The less we uphold from Ozai and Sozin's reign, the better the Fire Nation will be".

Do I think the writing could be better at points? Sure, the show had flaws, the comics have giant holes. But I really can't find your specific opinion of Mai that impelling. But you can continue to believe what you feel. I feel I'm done with this conversation, so I actually won't respond beyond this point.

"I think Katara would get along with Azula/Mai because female solidarity!"

Cool. I think Katara would punch fascists in the throat.

[numberonetribble]

Some Continuation Errors and Other Hmmmm's I spotted in TF One! (this is for funsies!)

- When Orion broadcasts the news to Iacon we hear Sentinel say, "I'm working my miners as hard as I can, I swear I will get you the rest!" Revisiting the scene, he doesn't say this!

Instead the closest we get is; "I know what I promised you, but our mines, they're running out! There's barely enough Energon for us! I swear I will get you the rest!"

Which the miner line is super raw, I really like it, but why would they cut it? Maybe it's to convey to the audience that things are even bleaker ON TOP of the Quintessants being there? It's an interesting choice to keep both lines in!

- Staying in this scene, Orion plays the "I took his cog for myself." line. He was not there for that. Unless he'd digging around in her memories and this is first and foremost in her brain, he wouldn't know to look for it. Which also, it took me several rewatches for me to figure out WHY he thought she was the key. Thing is, other than that first line, he plays lines that he personally witnessed, Orion did not need her memories for this plan to work. Maybe one could argue he wanted hers as his would be considered bias to the public and Sentinel's Right Hand's are undeniable. But the citizens don't see that.

- During the race we see Elita moving crates around as if she's at work. Sentinel said that there would be NO work for all shifts. Yes she's a workaholic. However, she's not alone. There's at least two other bots working with her. Maybe they're also workaholics? Maybe their supervisor told them no you still have to work?

My only guess, it's the next day and they're trying to get those trains loaded as Sentinel has a delivery scheduled. However, these trains should've been prepped and ready to go WAY before this. It's too important to leave last minute. At MOST D-16 and Orion are in the infirmary for a day. They're un-cogged and barely injured, during triage they would've been put last to attend to. So at best, Sentinel is back for 2 days before leaving again. Not nearly enough time to load that many trains.

- When we meet B-127 he says that the new Shift Manager doesn't like distractions. We the audience know he's referencing Elita. She's been there for maybe 2 days. (This isn't really a Continuation Error more like, really interesting? It implies that the timeline was different in an earlier draft as that's very fast for her to establish herself to this division especially during a national holiday. Sure she's the kind of person who would but, you know, this is for funsies)

- The opening narration tells us the audience that the Matrix is needed for Energon to flow. Orion knows this, the citizens know this. Sentinel sees it as an object that can be taken and dismissed the lore of how it works. But why make this recording?? Maybe it was for new Sparklings to watch on their first day alive, but it's in the Archives now. Orion hadn't seen it before, meaning it got phased out. Why not destroy it?

Orion is so insistent that there might be data to help Sentinel, but he never stops to think that Sentinel already knows everything in that Archive.

These are just some thoughts I've been chewing on! I've been watching it everyday after work and these are what stick out to me the most. It's still a really good movie and I love it alot I just want to talk about this stuff 👉👈

[pillowspace]

csd ask about that cool concept you had for the end of the fic? may we know any more about it? :3

OH. HEY WAIT, DID I EVER SAY WHAT THAT WAS? I don't actually know what you're referring to exactly, but I can guess

Y/N was never actually from that universe. The CSD universe. They were never even from it. I don't know if you remember the frankenfate au but this was a little secret I held that made frankenfate funny to me, because... because Vale kinda was from a soulmate AU. It just wasn't of the soulmarks or red string variety.

Y/N had a destiny in a modern mer!DCA world, but they were taken from their universe as a toddler to eventually give Sun and Moon a weakness years down the line. I... I know it was William Afton's doing, I think Henry had trapped him someplace and he needed the power of multiple gods to escape or something like that? So he was using Eclipse to get his way, but he secretly had plans to also kill Eclipse once it was all done? That was probably it??

Being brought into this universe, it was like... forcefully jamming together two soulmates when Y/N's narrative was meant for a different Sun entirely. Y/N would find this out later, and although it'd be horrifying to them, they'd eventually decide that it didn't matter if this bond was planned with ill intent, they cared about Sun and Moon now so they had to HELP them! Once William or whatever the hell I planned to call him had trapped both Sun and Moon and gotten what they needed out of Y/N, William would just... send them back off. You've completed their role in this universe. Bye bye now.

So Y/N would've been sent back to their original world. Lost and horribly confused. They were only human. They didn't know how to go back. They're still reeling from realizing that they had been a trap since the moment they met Sun. They could just... stay here, even if they're too scared to approach their own family. Knowing how their life was meant to play out, it's not hard for Y/N to stick close to the sea and soon meet the Sun and Moon they were fated to meet. And it feels like something's clicked, they had always been drawn to water, but they also feel so... empty. Their wants conflict with their fate because a god had decided to tamper with it. They miss their universe, this isn't the home they were raised in, they want to go back!!

And then they meet Michael and Elizabeth. Two gods who Y/N had met in godly disguise before, so they don't recognize the siblings. But Michael recognizes them, and after some conversations, Michael picks up on the fact that Y/N isn't some parallel version but instead the very same person he had met before. So Michael makes an offer. I can't get you directly back to your universe, it doesn't work like that. But it does work like a staircase. Each step is a different universe, and if you'll let me help you get through each world having fulfilled a goal, you'll be able to move on to the next. At the end of that journey will be the universe you truly see as home.

Y/N agrees, and later has a heartfelt goodbye with the mers. I'll... note that the mers don't really talk, so it was just Y/N thanking them, apologizing, and wishing them well in life.

Truthfully, I know I had a reason for how this happens, but I can't remember it: CSD Eclipse also travels with Y/N. They're there, I can't remember why 😭 But their dynamic is... easier then. The two (three?) of them bicker back and forth, but that's a lot healthier than whatever Eclipse had going on previously.

Fun fact!! One of the universes they would end up in on their journey back to the CSD Universe would actually have Sunna and Meno. Y/N would've gotten to meet them separately. Eclipse would've had... feelings about that universe.

I didn't want to drive in the idea of soulmates being this big and necessary thing, so Y/N would eventually come to learn after their happy ending with the gods that the mers are now happy with friends of their own. Everyone got what they wanted, even if the whole rhythm of life got disrupted into a new story.

SO? SURPRISE? CSD Y/N WAS FROM A MER UNIVERSE THE ENTIRE TIME? I hope this is coherent, I'm fighting for my life to sound even remotely coherent in any of this

[decepti-thots]

☕ ~ trans woman whirl?

I love trans Whirl headcanons but I think I love them for totally different reasons than I usually see, tbh? That is- I think a lot of the time the fandom just goes 'oh! Girl Holoform Spotted! now this character is girl, and we can say character is trans girl because in the comic they are called he/him' and tbh I find that attitude as fandom often implements it annoying for a couple reasons; one, it often feels like a kind of 'if character Looks Like Girl, well, character Is Girl' deal which tbh feels kinda shallow to me ngl, and two, it (and similar under-expanded upon headcanons) not infrequently seems to be a way for the fandom as a whole to justify the general lack of content for the very explicitly canon trans characters by instead being like 'all the material we make for these characters not treated as such in canon proves that we definitely love trans characters. don't think about how lug or anode or arcee don't get that same attention, or that this content only offhandedly actually deals with transness 90% of the time', you know? Bit mean, but I can't help but feel that's a repeated tendency in the fandom, tbh. I would feel less like this if the fanon trans headcanons did not just vaguely go 'oh. also ig they are trans, how nice' with no follow up and instead actually treated these characters as having opinions about being trans, but in too many cases they unfortunately... don't. (And no, them being robots is not an excuse. Anode has opinions on this. Arcee has opinions on this, a lot of them!) But we're here to talk about Whirl, and I want to talk about why I do love trans Whirl, so.

I love trans Whirl for reasons far outside of that, and I think taking that approach to the idea does it a disservice tbqh. Specifically I like trans Whirl for the same reason I like reading Verity as trans, because it adds to Whirl's character arc about being denied agency over identity and clawing it back on purpose in a way where the trans reading feels especially resonant and like it genuinely adds to the overall subtext of her arc. Whirl's entire character is one where the violent removal of agency in her life is so much a focus it changes the course of history; Whirl refusing to let the functionists that ruined her life win is why Elegant Chaos plays out as it does. Whirl is a character whose entire sense of self as a person with the ability to make any choices at all was viciously ripped away from her, and in turn a character whose response to that is to make her ability to choose exactly what she does so utterly undeniable that even if you hate her, even if you think she's repulsive, even if you want to throttle her, you cannot pretend she is not in control. In that specific context, adding in the idea that she would choose her own gender, in defiance of a Cybertronian culture that implicitly treats gender as an alien unwelcome influence, so she can have what she wants- that rules. There's also such a line to be drawn there between Arcee's arc and Whirl, I think, that is so great. That's where I see why it is so good. Being seen as just a gun to be aimed that everyone professes distaste for but still wants to stick around and do dirty work, but you insist upon your interiority being seen as just that; your interiority. And all the things the people who want to do to you which you hate being what you embrace. It's fantastic. I simply prefer that as an angle through which to view the ideas than like... haha well Whirl's holoform is Girl With Guns how funny. You know?

And one of her most "humanising" moments is when she extends that to someone else. I'm thinking of when she tells Tailgate that Cyclonus was lying about his injuries; that part where Cyclonus is trying to protect Tailgate in a way that is ultimately toxic for them both. Sure, everyone else agrees that the best way to handle this is to lie for your own good so you don't make a decision people don't want you to. But that's not fucking fair, and who gets to decide what's "your own good"? Viewing that in light of a Whirl who is not just vaguely a woman but specifically linking that to the way Whirl's rigidly defined role under a functionist heel ruined her sense of identity, because they know what's best for you whether you like it or not- damn, that is COMPELLING. And I find that just. So much more compelling than what fandom so often does with the idea. Whirl, above all else, knows how important demanding agency is. I think that makes Whirl a character ripe for a reading as trans, and I love that for her so much. she'll grab you by the throat and make you acknowledge her. and she's right every step of the way, no matter how much you want to look away. i love her.

tl;dr WHIRL TRANS WOMAN GOOD. LOVE IT. no really i just, it's so good.

[seraphsfire]

///ARCANE s2 finale SPOILERS ///

LONG POST

SO. THAT VIKTOR ARCANE LEAGUEOFLEGENDS GUY HUH.

some observations that are my personal opinion and/or interpretation of viktor's transformation and physical state. (my screenshots, idc if u repost them or whatever just don't say they're yours, etc)

minor edit: added a sentence i could've sworn i'd written that i hadn't and so my paragraph made no sense lol

love love love the aspects of body horror and character design going on with viktor's post-sourdough-starter cyborg body here, so i was trying to get a better look at it to maybe sort of figure out how his body was transformed, and what it's made of now (metal, magic, a third secret thing, idk)

so it looks like, in general, his skeletal structure and the metal parts in his back brace and his leg brace were fused together and then fused *into* his musculoskeletal structure, not just sort of copied by the hexcore. You can see here he has actual bolts in his spine before he got robot-ified, and to me it seems like this could have been a way for his brace to hook or snap onto his spine more securely to give him extra support.

I think the circles in the middle of the brace over his sternum might have also snapped into bolts in his chest, and you can see them better here

the cloth and leather parts of the brace have either dissolved or been turned into metal.

--I just want to take a side note here to note what im sure other ppl have mentioned but I haven't seen talked much about at least recently, is that viktor's disability wasn't just his mobility issues and bad respiratory health, that he must have been in terrible pain to have a procedure as extreme as bolts being put into his spine and/or chest deemed necessary / beneficial to his quality of life.

In the scene where he tries to destroy the hexcore, he can barely push himself up, and it takes all of his strength to lift a stool over his head that's only a few pounds :(

He later asks jayce to destroy the hexcore because he can't, and ive seen most people interpret that as him not wanting to destroy his life's work, but i always viewed it as him not physically being able to--the hexcore was too strong, and it snapped out at him and knocked him over just at the threat of him destroying it.

That circles over to another thing i thought was interesting, is that when he comes out of the goop he still seems very weak and unstable, even though he now has his back brace and leg brace fused to his skeleton. He still has to use his crutch to walk toward jayce and make effort to straighten his legs, because they're still twisted. It makes me wonder if the hexcore didn't so much heal him as dull his sense of pain so he couldn't feel it, and its energy forced him to move.

That's something i thought was interesting, and it made me think of his line about not feeling cold--he then says he feels something that is exactly how I'd describe coldness to somebody who's never felt it before, it just seems like now, his nervous system doesn't process it in the same way as he used to recognize the sensation of coldness. Interestingly, he still describes it as "unpleasant"

back to the design of viktor's body: what exactly is it made of? Here's where the body horror aspect of it comes in, because i think there's a possibility that's still mostly his body and what we're seeing here is exposed, preserved muscle fiber, because the hexcore either burned or melted off his skin or it literally rotted away while he was in the goop. There's a few artsy little flourishes from the hexcore magic peeking through, but except for the slightly darker color, it looks eerily like how muscle fiber on preserved cadavers looks, down to the way the little filamenty veins are. Granted it could just be a metallic structure the hexcore created, visually mimicking human muscle structure. Or the sourdough starter could have been something super gross like magic sentient cosmic energy formaldehyde--that also makes sense to me because of how when his hair grew out some of the tips had lost color, like they'd been bleached.

anyway the visual aspect of his resurrected hexcore appearance that makes me think of a reanimated cadaver most was how strange and unsettling i found it that he's completely gray and glowing with purple sparks, is that for some reason he's still got a bellybutton and almost a normal skin-like surace to that part of his stomach.

On the other hand, his hip socket and the rest of his pelvis is bony and skeletal. You can kind of see his pelvis not being attached with muscle fiber to his hip socket in that lower corner, it looks the same atp as when he's in his cosmic form.

the jokes about "jayce hugged him with his whole ______ out!!!!" just make me sad bc obviously any extraneous soft tissue was completely obliterated, (I say obviously but idk how many ppl literally believe they were censoring human body parts here.)

Like, he doesn't even have fingernails anymore. The only reason he has a stomach still is because abdominal muscles are a skeletal support structure.

That gives the he heebie jeebies so good, honestly, and what an fascinating choice by the design team instead of giving him idk, age of ultron steel robot shaped abs, which i've seen a lot in like human--robot transformations, he's this horrifying mix of petrified/preserved cadaver tissue, magic metal, and sentient cosmic energy. (Even more tragic and sad if you think about it that way and that jayce might have been hugging his dead friend's preserved, skinned corpse)

the "reanimated corpse" idea fits into the interpretation that viktor's emotions and thoughts are still his, but they've been very dulled by the power of the hexcore, because a reanimated cadaver body isn't going to be able to work as effeciently that way anymore.

or idk maybe the idea that he was still sort-of there, faintly is one i like because it makes me feel better, i can at least pretend some part of him felt comforted being held in such a horrific situation. had to post this screenshot bc that sad little face when hes getting hugged is destroying me

Anyway. many thoughts, many feelings, many possibilities and interpretations. Do with this what you will. I, for instance, will be walking into the sea and never returning probably

[furiousgoldfish]

I want to talk about a situation that happened when I was a kid, and even though this particular instance did not traumatize me (that I know of), it still deals with traumatic themes, such as physical abuse, attempted murder and severe neglect, so be careful if you're reading on! I'll explain at the end why I'm talking about it, and also psychoanalyze what I think was going on.

When I was about 6-9 years old, I had a strong conviction that my father was going to kill me. He would lock me into the basement and hurt me, and even though the injuries weren't lethal, I could feel the intent, he was out of control, not watching where he was hitting, if he was going to break my bones or not, it was erratic, terrifying. I love how I prefaced this with 'oh this didn't traumatize me' and then I started with that, but it's just the context to the actual story. That first part did probably traumatize me, I remember little of it.

Since I felt that my life was in peril, I decided, logically, that I needed to kill him before he kills me. It was justified I would defend my life with all I had. So I sneaked into the basement room, and searched for something that I could use for a weapon, next time he shuts me in there. I found one, memorized where it was, and then I was ready.

It came soon after, the event of me being alone with him in the basement, him out of control, attacking me, and again, I felt like I was about to be killed. So I grabbed a metal pole hidden next to the fireplace, used my full strength and hit him on the head with it. He fell down, and stopped moving.

I panicked then. He looked dead. I let myself out of the basement (I knew where the key was) and yelled for mother, telling her that I killed him, but I had to, because he was going to kill me. When we got back to where he was lying down, blood was trickling out of his nose. But my mother wasn't panicking like I was, she could probably see him breathing. Then he sat up.

I was even more scared then, because if he wasn't dead, then he knew I just tried to kill him, and would come after me even worse. But he didn't. He didn't even look at me. He wiped his nose, seeming completely calm, rage from before completely gone, talking only to the other family members, who seemed concerned about him.

I was told, that it's good for me that I didn't kill him, because had I done that, I would have been imprisoned for murder for the rest of my life. And other than that, everyone ignored me. Nobody talked to me, or had anything to say about the entire event. Father ignored me as well. I was not punished. Nobody was even mad at me. Nothing else was done.

The 'you'll go to prison forever if you kill him' line worked on me, because I didn't know the law, I didn't know that we don't incarcerate little kids; I was underage. They lied to me. So next time when he got me close to that feeling of 'I'm about to be murdered', I had no way to defend myself. If I killed him I would go to prison. I had no choice but to just let him do whatever and not retalliate in any significant way. Sad and painful.

Thinking back later on this event, it was bewildering to me that I was not punished whatsoever for a murder attempt, despite getting punished for bullshit like 'talking back' or 'having an unpleasant face expression'. This was common; I could be severely punished for leaving a door open, but when I did something big, like hurt a sibling, or threaten someone, or hit my father with a metal pole in the head, there was no consequences whatsoever, nobody would have even talked to me about it. I wondered if this was just because they loved that shit, they loved watching me grow into the same violent, brutal and sadistic person they all were, because then they could go 'you're no different than us', and be right. But, unlike them, once I knew something I did hurt another person, I wouldn't do it again; I did horrible things just because I was a kid, and all adults around me were horrible, and I mimicked them, as kids do. They wouldn't punish me for mimicking their awful behaviour because they approved of that, and they didn't care if my siblings were hurt because they loved hurting children anyway.

This also reinforces the theory that punishment is just an excuse to hurt a child, because these were the legitimate reasons to invoke consequences, but they never did, punishments were dished out when they felt like torturing someone and at that point, any face expression could have been an excuse enough. They didn't care about raising a kid or teaching them right and wrong, it was all just self-serving acts of sadistic pleasure.

But to let a murder attempt fly? I thought about it more today, and realized that maybe, they were shocked I did that. Maybe it was an unpleasant surprise to find out, that under severe stress, I would make an attempt at their lives. Maybe finding out that I just tried to kill one of them, made them not want to immediately try and do more violence to me. Maybe they were concerned that I injured their family member, and were more preoccupied with that. Maybe the logistics of 'this child just attempted to kill someone' made them slightly less secure in their 'beating children is normal and good' culture, maybe it signaled to them that beating children could be, in fact, a little dangerous. Of course this didn't make them not wanna do it, they just needed to persuade the child to take it and not retalliate, thus 'you'll go to prison if you do that', and afterwards they felt comfortable again, sure that justice is on their side. To make things more sinister, beating children was not even illegal in my country during that time, so what they were doing to me wasn't punishable by law. But if I retalliated, I was a criminal, according to them.

Hitting children did become illegal by the time I was 9, but conveniently nobody bothered informing  me, and I would live many more years in belief that violence towards me was normal, necessary and completely legal, hell I believed that even killing me was legal, because everyone was acting like it very much was and were threatening it left and right.

So the reason I'm thinking about this event, is that I just got some great news. My father has colon cancer. He's currently hospitalized about it. I don't know what stage it is, but the mortality rate for it is high. He might die. He might die.

I am overjoyed. I am hopeful, I am thrilled, I could not be more happy about this. What I started with that pole in the basement, might get finished. If he dies I am free. If he dies, my version of what happened is the only one to exist. I would be safe.

I think my reaction is interesting. Because I know other victims of abuse feel some sort of grief, some sort of pain and guilt for their sick or dying abusers, especially when they're parents, because of the parental bond, and trauma bonding, and victims generally having a lot of empathy and humanity towards abusers. Not me! Apparently my father managed to never even develop the basic parent-child bond with me, and I was ready to kill him by the time I was 6. What kind of shitbag human do you have to be so that your small child tries to kill you with a metal pole and when they hear you're dying, it's the best news of their life? That's such inhumane stuff that all my basic child instincts of attaching to my caretakers got overwritten by the necessity of protecting my life. You did it so badly you messed with human DNA there! Biological instincts voted against your parenthood! Self defense murder was invoked against you. You are ruled out as a bad parent and a life threat by my tiny child instincts.

[casual-praxis]

I have a new random "theory" that barely has legs to stand, but I'll share it anyway. Just don't blow on it or it'll probably implode.

Is it possible that Red could tell Shadow was impersonating Vio in the Tower of Winds? The only reason I started thinking about this was because of this line here, back in chapter 6, when Blue is trying to convince Red the other two are fine.

This may or may not just be foreshadowing for the actual scene where Shadow does impersonate Vio, but Red's note that the Vio they encountered in the Temple of Darkness seemed real is interesting. Mostly because he was right -- that was the real Vio. But did he actually have a way of telling, or was this just Red going through his five-second depression arc?

This got me wondering, so I went and checked the interactions between Red and Shadow during chapter 11 (just noticed chapter 12 is also listed as chapter 11 for some reason) to see what they were like and...honestly, I can't tell if this is even Red or not, but it would be the only dialogue spoken between them if so.

Why didn't they color the speaker in, literally everyone else in the panel is, but I digress. After staring up at the hidden person up in the corner and aggressively comparing the (wildly inconsistent) tunic coloring, I'm like 60% it's Blue trailing after everyone and Red who's talking to Vio. Could be completely wrong though.

Assuming this is Red, then he's checking in on "Vio" since he's acting off. The phrasing stands out a little to me since neither Red nor Blue was there when Green originally asked if Vio was okay, but the emphasis on "sure" could easily be Red affirming for himself Vio is okay.

But wouldn't it be funny if Red were just asking indirectly if "Vio" knew he was acting suspiciously?

This final image is completely speculation, but doesn't it kinda look like Red is staring at Shadow and not Vaati like the others are? Granted, if you zoom in literally none of them are looking in the same direction, and there's a good chance Shadow isn't even actually standing where Red can see him. But still. Interesting if it does line up.

Shortly after this, the real Vio appears and Red seems to run past Green to meet him. So it's possible Red was reacting to the real Vio appearing and not Shadow, which makes the whole theory kinda fall apart right there lmao.

Then again, Red running to the real Vio could also imply he knew the other was a fake? It doesn't look like his sword is out (from this angle), so he ran into stabbing range unarmed. What if this had been the fake? Literally what was he thinking, unless he just knew?

The absolute faith, I could never.

What say y'all? It could be a fun concept to play with if nothing else.

[lazy-sixteen]

Still on my pathologic kick, anyway, character relationships we don't talk enough about but that make me insane, Artemy addition

Artemy and Capella

First off, just the fact that she can, has, and will psychically, unconsciously SOS him across town. We need to talk about that,

and like the fact it's unconscious, please image post-canon Capella accidentally summoning Artemy bc she and Khan had a fight. Giant, angry doctor on call at any moment against both their wills

Their first conversation where she tells him about curling up in her mother's coffin, "of course we're friends", presenting herself as still weak and coming into her powers vs. their conversation at the Cape, denying an emotional connection, "we're not friends", saying she can do it all on her own - I'm insane. I don't even think it's manipulation, I think she wants an adult who treats her like a child - not a reincarnation of her mother- but gets frightened at the possibility of losing even a drop of her control. The way she specifically denied seeing Artmey as a father.

Capella desperately wanting to be her mother and to have an adult's responsibilities as a Mistress and the children of the town's mother (the way she calls Artemy's list, "our children" - like they are both adults) vs. Artemy seeing how much Capella can resemble her (shitty) dad and being the one person reminding Capella she's not her mother and she is a child, and he'll treat her like one.

The role of the White Mistress based on Victoria's Tomb as "being" the town vs. Artemy specifically talking about the Town calling him - He'll always hear Capella's troubles and pain

And we're back to the psychic SOS thing, but like from a humorous standpoint she really could do the "projecting my period cramps meme"

Artemy and Khan

Okay this is shorter, because they don't interact much but their conversation after the House of Death where Khan gets mad at Artemy for letting him and Notkin go into the dangerous house makes me want to scream

Like not in a bad way - Khan has a point that it was irresponsible to let him and Notkin do that (as does Artemy in that he couldn't really stop them), but just ....

Super independent Peter Pan-meets-child dictator character's first response being "Why didn't you (an adult) stop me (a child)?" is wild

He gives very similar vibes to Capella in which they will loudly declared they don't see Artemy as a parental figures and don't want him to be one, while simultaneously desperately (and likely unconsciously) really wanting the safety net of an adult who will selflessly care for them - something they don't have due to their (1) weird families' expectations of them as future mistress/Kain, (2) their own hyper-competence and independence

Artemy and Andrey

This isn't as serious, I just think it's funny that Andrey has suggestive lines at Artemy in patho1 and patho2. Also is like genuinely pretty friendly with him in both (he'll give you Tyrwine for checking on Peter and he's outright help in his 1st Patho 1 sidequest)

Also just straight up, doesn't believe Artmey if he takes credit for destroying the Polyhedron

Like in fan depictions, I often see them not getting along, but I'm 99% sure Andrey's impression of Artemy is "My Hot and Helpful Weed (Twyr) dealer" - outside of Dankovsky, he's the Utopian who probably likes Artemy the most

Meanwhile Artemy gives off strong "i am choosing to barely register a word coming out of this man's mouth for my own sanity" vibes

Aspity and Dankovsky vs. Aspity and Artmey

Okay, mixing Pathologic 1 and Pathologic 2 here a bit which might not be fair as Aspity in general does seem more serious in Pathologic 2 (even for Daniil in the Marble Nest)

BUT the sheer whiplash of Aspity calling Daniil a prickly prick and monologuing suggestively about naked women at him in Patho1 vs.

Declaring herself Artemy's spiritual elder-sister/mother, keeping his inheritance safe, trying to save him from a cruel fate with Patches even at the cost of her life in Patho2

The whiplash is wild, I want to lock the three of them in a room and see what she does

Artemy and Taya

I love that being the co-ruler/enforcer/parental figure mix to one weird-magical little girl ruler who can magically communicate with him wasn't enough

Taya subconsciously yoinking Artemy into her dreams to play dolls or tell her stories - he hasn't slept in a week

Also I think it would be really interesting post-canon to look at how they are doing as the two big spiritual and political leaders of the Kin