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popculturebuffet · 9 months ago

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Batmarch!: BTAS: See No Evil Review

Hello all you happy batpeople and welcome to batmarch! For the next few weeks expect some caped crusader content same bat whenever I get to it, same bat blog all through march! This fine theme month came about thanks to Kev having a bunch of bat-ideas, me wanting to cover the 89 film for it's anniversary, and it all swirling around till eventually it became a theme month. I want to give bat-credit where it's due after all.

To kick it off we've got a return to what's become a recurring guest on this blog: Batman: The Animated Series. Last time I covered it after the sad loss of Richard Moll, I talked about wanting to cover this episode and when the theme month came up.. well.. I couldn't resisist.

See No Evil is one of my faviorite episodes of Batman the Animated Series and a great showcase of just about everything that makes the series as good as it is: Letting sitcom stars try out something diffrent that shows off their dramatic chops? Check. Awesome animation. Check. A great unique premise masterfully staged in 20 some minutes yup. An intresting and hearbreaking villian? Yupppp. This is one of the most stacked episode sof the series and rewatch only made me find MORE to love about it. And if you haven't heard of this one... your in for a treat. I highly recommend going to watch it first as my review isn't a substitute for the full episode. It is worth a look under the cut to spotlight WHY this episode shines so much.

We open in a little girl's bedroom. Her name is Kimmy and she has a special friend. His name is Mojo

No not him. He didn't exist yet. No Mojo is an invisible man, and Kimmy is played by future star Elizabeth Moss... who sadly would not escape being stalked by invisible men in high tech suits as an adult, but would get at least another amazing story out of it. Or we would.

Mojo then finds out some news that while he tries his best to hide his reaction from Kimmy, clearly bothers him: Their moving soon and Mojo may not be able to find her.

Before he can give up the game, Mojo disappears when Kimmy, the girl in question,'s mom shows up: Elizabeth, played by the legendary Jean Smart of Designing Women and Hacks royalty. It's neat to see her in a dramatic roll like this, and despite growing up with Desining Women.. I NEVER knew this was her but i'm happy she's here. Elizabeth assumes Mojo is just imaginary.. even though a kicked can and movement in the earlier scene shows not so. Granted while Imaginary Friends are possible in the DCU, it's still at the early point where I get her not going to that: Most of batman's rogues are criminals with gimmicks and what few meta human foes he has are downplayed a bit here in their powers: Ivy isn't at full control plants levels yet, using more toxins and trained plants, Killer Croc just has a skin condition and Clayface.. well okay clayface still counts. But most every day people probably don't know every foes batman's fought and evne if they had don't assume this is one of those situations. I bring this up because after so many damn works where "oh well this can't be real even though superheroes exist" come up, it's refreshing to see one where that's.. actually entirely plausable and you don't feel like the characters an idiot for not knowing this. Most superheroes in this setting hadn't publicly debuted yet and those we know had by this time like Zantanna or Wildcat were either other street level heroes, or in zantanna's case protected by the veil of stage magic.

Mojo's next target is a jewlery exchange.. which has low security for anywhere, especially Gotham: Costumed Crime Captial of the World. I was going to gripe about this scene as Mojo's big plan for having an invisiblity suit.. is to just straight up rob people with it, stealing the jewelery as their brougth out of their cases and basically doing a smash and grab. But I realized something as I wrote this: Mojo being this clunky with his suit.. is deliberate. Mojo is, as we'll find out shortly, is a petty criminal. He dosen't have the need for theatrics Batman's normal rogues have, and he dosen't have the experince to pull off an elaborate heist. Of course he's going to see an invisiblity suit as more of a blunt tool to use rather than the very dangerous and versital one it is.

He's not entirely stupid, he knows how to use it as we see when Batman, who naturally was at the exchange as bruce either on rich person buisness, wayne corp buisness or "oh my god these idiots barely hired any security better be ready" buisness, fights him. Bruce is thrown off as even if he knows from Mojos's crimes t his opponent is cloaked that .. dosen't really help when your cowl dosen't have infared or anything. It just looks dope. And yes later cowls do but this one clearly isn't high tech to the gils like later entries, it's just dope as fuck. Batman does do the obvious when fighting an invisible opponent: Spill shit on them, in this case plot convience paint... but whoever built Mojo's suit thought of that or Mojo himself did as he has a setting to melt it off, a clever subversion of the usual tactics that gets batman a batassbeating. And that again shows Lloyd's style: even though we don't know exactly what he went away for, his style is all smash and grab: blunt force. He only beats the more experinceed combatant bruce in one on one. .because Bruce can't see him and dosen't hav etime to listen closely.. and even if he did it'd be too late. It's what makes "Some guy what got an invisible suit" work as a batman villian: Yes he's not as flashy and yes he has a simple gimmick.. but sometims all you need is a simple power. It's something I never thought about before but most of batman's clever gadgets.. are sight based. Even the gas bomb would only be mildly useful at figuring out WHERE he might be and with a full face mask, it woudln't do any actual damage, while Lloyd could pull down batman's gas mask and make him go sleepy bye. Batman.. isn't invincible and his stories are at their best when the writers remember that.

Mojo slinks back to his place and we get the shocking reveal that he's...

A guy who looks like a human ventriquist dummy? Did Slappy finally become human and end up fighting batman? Because i'd pay good money for that instalment of goosebumps, just saying.

No this.. objectively weird looking man is Lloyd Ventrix aka Kimmy's Dad. As a kid I found the idea of mojo creepy.. as an adult I find it deeply unerving. Part of this is having a passle of nieces and nephews, so the idea of an unstable man, let alone one the parent dosen't want seeing thier kids, sneaking to see them in a way their unaware of and that the kid impliclity trusts is fucking terrifyign. Part of it is just the idea of a person your trying to escape being able to find you and do whatever he pleases no matter how far you run is fucking horrifying. It's why the 2020 invisible man film is so good.. and so terrifying I haven't watched it since I saw it theatrically. It is a LOT on the nerves. It's also why both can coexist as this episode captalized on a different kind of fear: instead of an abusive ex, it's an abusive ex spouse who you are COMPELTELY unaware is contacting your kid till it's too late.

It's also what brilliantly creates the episodes tension: by the first commerical break WE know who this invisible man is to a point and what he wants, but not HOW he got invsible, or if Batman can solve the mystery of the how and who in time to get to Llloyd before he kidnaps Kimmie.

Before we move on i'd like to spotlight Lloyd's voice actor: While I always loved the performance here I didn't know the man behind the invsible man until this review.. and it was a nice reveal too: Michael Gross of Tremors and Family Ties fame. It's the latter that helps this role as in his scenes as "Mojo", Lloyd has that same kind warmth Gross had on Family Ties as Steven.. when he wasn't comically breaking down or reacting to his children's shenanigans. And that.. makes it ten times creepier coming from someone whose activley manipuating and stalking a child.

Not only that he transitions well to Lloyd in the rest of his life, wether it's his cockiness ast his power when fighting batman or his assuredness when trying to win back elizabeth, which we'll get to in a second. It's a brilliant performance that makes me wish he could've come back or they'd brought him back in another roll: Gross is just damn good portraying a man whose determined to get what he thinks he's owed no matter what it takes.. but can't understand WHY no one wants him around.

Case in point, that trying to win back his ex wife thing. He shows up at her work, and his defense to his wife understandably not wanting anything to do with him isn't "i'm changing as a person I just want a chance ot see my kid" or "I know I screwed up and you have every reason not to listen to me but hear me out" You know stuff that shows your contrite and genuinely reformed. Instead Lloyd shows he learned nothing from prison a his only response is "I got why you needed the restraining order when I was a bum but i'm bigger now". Yes really. Elizabeth tells him to shove it and stay way from his daughter then to just "disappear" unfortunately for her she's in a horror story and said something tragically ironic.

The good news is she's also in a batman story and thanks to plot convience turns out the inventor of the cloak of invsiblity pitched it to them last year, and he has his tech guy bring up the info on the man's assitant.

Batman decides rather than talk to said assitant, who could be the invisible man, to .. rifle thorugh the guys cabinets

Naturally when the man hears Batman bat rifling through his shit, he tries to throw a rack on him.. and batman's response to this entirely resonable reaction is

Gee your just.. so likeable bruce. Thankfully he does actually stop when the guy makes it clear he was here the last few days. And look jokes aside I get bruce dosen't know if this guy did it.. but there are more subtle ways to deal with this shit or someone understandably thinking your trying to rob them than the bat fist. There are better uses for the bat fist. And yes I meant that sexually, I will not be taking questions.

The Science Man explains that he's actually destroying all the fabric. Turns out while he was able to make it turn stuff invsible it's highly toxic. He was trying to correct that problem but coudln't, so he's destroying it. And i'm baffled why there was an entry on tv tropes saying "Well why can't he use it on cars" as we see it used. And to this I say this guy is picking up his old mentor's work, probably sunk a lot of money into remaking this and testing it, and has had some time to do so. If he COUDL salvage this project he would've.

Turns out Floyd was their old assitant though in a pompus way Science Man says he was "really more of an errand boy". Gee I can't imagine why he stole from you. Such a puzzler.

At any rate this slightly douchey science man has given Batman all he needs and he goes to talk to Elizabeth. To Bruce's credit his prorities are in order: he wants to save Lloyd from dying rather than get the jewels back.. I mean he will, he's the goddamn batman, but he'll save the guy who stole them first. Maybe punch him a bit.

Elizabeth connects the dots about the invsiblity suit and mojo.. but Lloyd's already one step ahead as during this scene he's been talking about taking kimmy to a special place

She does as he takes her to a drive in theater nearbye and plans to take her away but she dosen't want to get into a car with an invisible man. So he takes the mask off.. and credit to Kimmy she instantly realizes "Shit this wasn't my imaginary friend". I mean granted it probably wouldn't be BETTER if it was

Fun fact: I did not realize this was coming out the same week as this review. Dates are fun

Anyway, Kimmy realizes it's not just her imagination and won't run away with him, so he reveals himself as her father.. and her reaction is not what he expected

Yeah it turns out Elizabeth isn't stupid and it's something I love about the episode: Elizabeth didn't make that mistake you see in 87 percent of tv parents who don't trust their shady ex. She TOLD kimmy about him. She didn't hide it, she didn't try to keep ti as some dark secret so he can manipulate it later: She just told her in terms a kid would understand: her dad is a bad man and should not be trusted. Granted the fact he looks like if archie andrews became a vampire should tell her that but the point stands.

This is also the great tragedy of Lloyd Ventrix: he wants his family back.. but he can never understand WHY they don't want him back. Floyd could've worked his way back to his daughter by staying clean after prison, staying at his job, finding another if he didn't work for Errand Boy Man, which is a fair thing not to want. Am I saying it would've been remotely easy? No, our country isn't set up to help ex-cons and treats them like pariahs, like every former prisoner is lloyd when some genuinely want to change and others were victims of circumstance. But he could've had his daughter back or at least a CHANCE at it had he genuinely tried. Elizabeth is reasonable, while she wouldn't want him around the guy she'd at least give him a chance to see kimmy if it was shown he really changed.

That's the rub though: Lloyd dosen't WANT to change. He's a smash and grab guy and that's who he wants to be. It's in most things he does: He has an invsible suit.. yet uses it for smash and grabs and his fighting style when fighting the bat is hit him with a blunt insturment. or maybe it's more of an object. But i'ts blunt hard and blunt. He says he's not a two bit hood when talking to elizabeth.. but that's relaly ALL he is. He could've conquered the gotham mafia, conquered the city, or even gone the other way and became a hero himself, fighting to make the city better. He has all this power.. but he still thinks in terms of "how can I smash this thing in my way" "what can I grab". He's emotinally and creatively empty.. and thus he can't understand why Kimmy won't accept him just for being her dad.

As a production note, the only one I have for this episode Kimmy was SUPPOSED to be in the final chase scene for a bit, but standards and practices were like

Because a child's lost criminal father pretending to be her best friend and her being in danger every time he's in the room? That's fine. But oh no she can't have a car chase.

So Kimmy runs home to her mom and Batman and Llloyd begin tussling, with Lloyd turning the car invsible with him and a passerby assuming batman can fly now which.. is fair. I'm suprised he dosen't have a bat jet pack.. wait did he have a bat jet pack? Questions for later

Bruce takes another beating, begging lloyd to consider but it's clear he's drunk on his own power and we see while he's a blunt intersturment/object/whatever he is it's hard and blunt, he gets this suit means no matter where Elizabeth and Kimmy go they'll neve rbe safe. Thankfully for him Lloyd made the mistake of fighting batman on a water tower and Batman's able to douse him, shorting out the suit. It's a clever set up: While water is also a common invsiible man fighting tool, when explaning how it worse it runs on an electric currrent. It's probably why it has the dohicky to steam stuff off.. but LLoyd can't get rid of that much water and he's out

The ending is masterful as we get a repeat of the opening scene: Kimmy is once again talking to a special friend, telling him that their move is final and Lloyd will never find her again. The vistor exits.. but thankfully it was batman, and we get a nice echo of the first scene: this time instead of playing it off.. elizabeth's relieved. Kimmy lost an imaginary friend, lost a father.. but gained a batman.

See No Evil is excellent and highly underated: It's a tense tightly packed 20 minutes with a nice twist on the usual batman detective formula the show uses: we know WHO did it but it's all about HOW and if Batman can find out in time. Smart and Gross are fantastic in this and it results in a tense, eerie little tale packed with tension. It's 22 minutes of perfection and worth checking out if you have max.

Thanks for reading and i'll see you some bat time, same bat blog.

#batman #batman the animated series #see no evil #kevin conroy #dc comics #dc #jean smart #michael gross #elizabeth moss

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theloniousbach · 2 years ago

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THE FOLKS OF FOCAL POINT: RANDY FURRER OF JAKE’S LEG

Since 2010, Jake’s Leg, one of the longest running Grateful Dead cover bands in the world, began playing an annual gig at the Focal Point Traditional Arts Center.

Huh?

These are acoustic shows, just as the Dead themselves did in 1970 and 1980, but still, folk and roots music?

Hear me out, but I think so.

Randy Furrer, with fellow guitarist Dave Caspar a founding member of the band, points out, “These are great songs. There about something deep, sometimes even mystical. They aren’t pop songs.” Indeed, the Focal Point stage has heard “Black Muddy River” from no less than Norma Waterson who found it on an unmarked cassette and then recorded it with Martin Carthy and their daughter Eliza Carthy.

The Grateful Dead drew on Focal Point music—bluegrass, blues, traditional folk songs—as well as rhythm and blues, jazz, and rock’n’roll to make their own varied contributions to music. In December, Jake’s Leg was joined by Gerard Eckert of the Mighty Pines for Peter Rowan’s bluegrass song, “Panama Red.” It worked, of course.

With Jerry Garcia’s death in 1995 and the forthcoming end of touring by Dead and Company which includes three surviving members, their songs continue to fill the air as new generations of musicians take them on and make them their own. It’s the folk process; they have become part of the broad repertoire as blues tunes, fiddle tunes, Woody Guthrie songs, border ballads have.

Jake’s Leg though was one of the first, getting started in 1976, just a year after Focal Point itself. And over the years, they’ve developed a book of 300-400 songs, honed over more than 7,000 shows. “Dave says it’s 8,000, but I’d say 7,200,” says Furrer. “It’s never the same way twice, that’s what we took from them.”

Such improvisation requires fine coordination, most of it on stage. “We practice when we have a new member,” but they changed drummers 17 years ago when Ryan Wilhite joined. But keyboardist Bill Noltkamper has been ill for a couple of years, so they have some talented substitutes. “So we get together and break them in before the shows.”

The band lost 76 gigs due to the Covid lockdown, but a streaming gig via Focal Point kept them connected.

A testimony to this material is that their audience continues to grow and regenerate itself.

Our conversation happened at a bar and our server admired my Grateful Dead cap. I thanked her but said that Randy played in a GD cover band. She had heard of Jake’s Leg. Of course. She wouldn’t let me pay for our drinks or rent on the corner of the bar we occupied for an hour. That Randy comped her into an upcoming show was payment enough.

#2023 #folks of focal point #focal point

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rayereil · 2 years ago

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So true! It’s one of the tragedies of Bleach. I’ve always interpreted the destiny Ichigo inherited/the destiny Ichigo and Rukia share as being one of two people cross paths and fate is forever changed. It happened with Isshin and Masaki (two people who never should’ve met happened upon each other, forever changing and intertwining their destines), and it happened with Ichigo and Rukia in a similar fashion. And this destiny is present as part of the themes for Substitute Shinigami arc, SS, HM, I’d even argue FB since Ichigo spends a lot of time tormented by the loss of this ‘destiny’ and trying to find a way to get it back. While this is usually romantic, Kubo didn’t go that route. Which is fine, even great if well executed! It’s not what I’d prefer or what I think works best narratively in Bleach, but Kubo doesn’t need to care what I think.

This could have been a subversion of the usual soulmates trope. Isshin and Masaki were romantic soulmates, Ichigo and Rukia were platonic soulmates… but Kubo didn’t give us that in the end. There’s so much buildup for it! But by TYBW, Ichigo and Rukia have minimal screen time together and while their bond shines when we see them together/when they think of each other, that’s about it. They don’t even fight together in the end despite Rukia being the other MC. I’d also argue the theme of shared destiny isn’t as prevalent. We see it in EBTR then it’s gone. Ichigo is going to fight Yhwach with his “new” power, one that Rukia wasn’t even involved in helping him get this go around. Then Ichigo’s off on his hero’s journey without the other MC… Rukia isn’t even there to encourage him or wish him luck (like HM).

And like OP said, Ichigo and Rukia seem distant post Time Skip. All of the characters are relatively OOC too. We only get a glimmer of their old selves, when Yhwach shows up again at Ichigo’s happiest moment (when he’s bickering with Rukia again for the first time in forever).

This is Kubo’s end to their shared destiny? A destiny that involved getting the power to protect? A destiny that cleared Rukia’s grief and Ichigo’s depression? A destiny that gave two people a purpose, something they’d been searching for??? Ichigo could protect the world and all of soul society with his power! Rukia could finally get some agency (she fights for herself and her beliefs now! She isn’t drowning in grief because of Kaien, she isn’t quietly accepting her fate as a Kuchiki…) - even her brother finally reaches out to mend their bond! Yet it ends with these two estranged and quietly settling into a life without each other. Again - it doesn’t even have to be romantic! Like OP said, they’re not even drinking buddies or friendly enough to have met each other’s kids before the epilogue… what was the point of it all, Kubo? Why give them such tropes of shared destinies and soulmates if you weren’t going to let them at least be friends at the end? Why build their bond and show their constant platonic love for each other (even in FB! Rukia works hard to get Ichigo his powers back and even snaps him out of his depression like always! She’s once again shown as the only person who knows how Ichigo works. She’s the only one who knows how to bring him out of a slump…) only to then throw it all away and give us nothing in TYBW and the epilogue? It truly is a tragedy. It’s character assassination. It’s theme destruction. It’s one (of many) reasons TYBW ended up being one of my least favorite arcs, despite some badass fights and it’s focus on Uryu and the Quincys (which I love).

There are those in the fandom who love to talk about the strong platonic friendship between Ichigo and Rukia. They’re so thankful a mangaka included platonic male/female friendships… I’m with OP though. I’d love to have it. We even had it at the beginning… So where can I find it now that we’ve reached the end?

The Two That Share Destiny

What destiny do Ichigo and Rukia share? They didn’t share a ‘‘professional’‘ one, as they didn’t share in a great victory together.

They don’t share a platonic bond of friendship, as by the final chapters their BFFs f became Renji and Orihime respectively . They don’t even talk too often on the phone, as Rukia shows in the hell chapter.

They see each other once every half decade or so, Ichigo didn’t meet Ichika until she looked like 6 or 7.

And a romance, for which words like destiny are used in literature and other types of art, AND even in everyday speech, was cut.

Cut, in my opinion, around the soft reboot provided by the fullbringer arc, when Rukia was absent for almost all of it. We didn’t even get a filler episode of her becoming a lieutenant. We don’t see her thinking one time about Ichigo.Not even ‘‘Ichigo, my bro, my hommie, how is he doing?’‘

So WHAT is that shared destiny? No really, I want to know.

Let’s be honest, when the idea that two people have one destiny appears, normally appears in the sense that they are meant to be together, to be a couple.

Even if that, ‘‘wasn’t’‘ the author intent, the text speaks for itself, and that is the most natural reading.

But the saddest thing at all was that the two didn’t share any kind of destiny in the end, not even the destiny of being drinking buddies that see each other once a week to complain about their work.

Yes, I do like male-female friendship. I’ll take that tank you were is it?

#ichigo and rukia #ichiruki #anti bleach ending #Ichiruki could’ve been friendship or romance i honestly would’ve been happy either way but we get neither #we get the horrible epilogue instead #I’ll continue to ignore the epilogue like always

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solomons-finest-rum · 2 years ago

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“Great Libraries of the Ancient World” (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader) — Part 2/2

READ PART 1 HERE

SUMMARY — Dark Academia AU. When you accepted the position of a librarian in an elite boarding school, you weren't exactly prepared for the mess that your predecessor had left in said library, and most importantly—for a certain Literature professor that would soon turn your world upside down.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is written for the 600 Celebration Event for the lovely Lee from @zablife! 💗💗💗 Towards the end there I decided that Alfie deserved his own bit since his point of view is, as always, thoroughly mad! (in the best possible way, I hope 🙈)

WORD COUNT — 6,896

Masterlist

A couple days passed since the last time you saw who you thought was just the strangest character this school had thrown at you yet. Unbeknownst to you, though, that competition came to a close once you really got to know the resident nurse. You two getting to know each other better was, as she had put it, inevitable—though simultaneously the oddest experience that surpassed even Alfie Solomons himself:

“The library’s closed, go back to bed,” was the first thing you said to her, without even looking at who it was that came through the door that particularly rainy evening.

“Good thing I’m not here to read, eh?” she chirped and you finally raised your head at the sound of her voice, having determined it couldn’t have been a student roaming the corridors after lights out.

“Oh, pardon me,” you gave her a small smile and she reciprocated, “I didn’t realise staff would be coming here at this hour.”

“Ah! But I’m not here on any official business either,” she replied and your frown got even deeper.

“Then how can I help you?”

“Don’t let me disturb ya, love, finish your work, then we’ll talk,” the nurse said as she waltzed in and took a gander at the rows and rows of books before her, with the numerous bookcases and wooden stacks reaching all the way up to the ceiling.

“My, my, a fine job you did here, eh? ‘T was like a pigsty when she ran it before ya, to tell ya the truth.”

You finally put your pen down after that, as until then you never heard someone speaking about your predecessor with such open contempt. Well… No one but Alfie dared to, let alone with such a strong Irish accent. But then again… There was still a lot you had to learn about your colleagues.

“Excuse me?” you said, with that carefully crafted gentle tone you would use on your mother on her worst days.

But the nurse just smiled, in a way a cat might just before swallowing his prey whole, as she all but danced towards your desk.

“Now then,” she announced, as she slammed a bottle of gin right before you and you jumped at the force of it, not to mention the contents. “I say it’s high time us girls got to know each other a little better! Don’t you?”

You took a second to reply, but since you’ve never really had a close confidante before and the notes you were working on got incredibly tedious and boring, it was easy to comply with the outrageous proposal.

Even though you’ve never had a drink before in your life.

“You do realise we might be let go if anyone sees us drink?” you whispered to your new friend, but all she did was laugh.

“Then you better close that door, and fast!”

And so you did. You put down your pen and when excitement crept in to substitute your initial inhibitions there was no looking back. You took the lamp off your desk and walked towards the entry, looked both ways around the empty corridor and quickly locked the library doors. You followed the other woman to your tiny office, though much like Alfie, it seemed that she knew the way already.

“Now, where did she keep the glasses, let’s see,” the nurse, whose name you still tried to recall from the faculty meetings, but it somehow slipped your mind continuously, rummaged through your cupboards until she finally emerged holding two dusty port glasses. “Aha!”

“Miss…” you started to say, but she cut you off immediately as she wiped the glasses with her skirt and then poured your drinks.

“Well, it’s actually missus, and the worst part of it is, I’m Mrs. Miss. So I implore you to call me Margaret.”

Your confusion must have been palpable, because as soon as she said it, she laughed and handed you the drink.

“My husband’s name, strange as he was, was Mr. Miss,” she downed her drink and immediately poured herself one more, “and then the old bastard had the audacity to die and leave me with it.” She waved her hand around with flourish. “May I smoke?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” you said quickly and just in time, for she was just about ready to light one.

“Damn, how silly of me.” She chuckled and put her cigarettes away. “It’s a library!” she announced as if it was a surprise to you both, then took another sip.

Strange as she was, she was also the only other woman at the school, and she did seem friendly—and by God, you really needed a friend. And so you decided to bear the strangeness, since it felt like you haven’t spoken to another human being in days. In terms of speaking, Alfie, you have decided, didn’t count.

Even though he had saved your life. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t dwell on it too much. And if the thoughts wouldn’t leave, as they so threatened to do ever since your first encounter, then you would just have to be an adult about it and re-read “Wuthering Heights”.

“So your name is… Margaret Miss,” you said, attempting to change the subject.

“That’s right,” she gave you a wicked smile and since you understood less and less of it while sober, you felt there was nothing else to do but to follow her lead. So you drank the liquor and gasped when it burned your throat, to the amusement of your new friend.

“You’re not used to this, eh?” Margaret laughed and refilled your glass. “Don’t worry, love, gin’s actually good for ya.”

“Is it?”

“Oh yes!” She nodded and drank some more, then gave you a wink and you shrugged before doing as she had once again. “I’m a trained nurse, love, you can trust me.”

It turned out, while by all rational judgement you should not have trusted Margaret Miss in the slightest, you ended up very glad you had.

She was great fun and knew too many stories about the school to even count. As you both drank and giggled, you listened intently to the gossip she told you about each member of the faculty:

“So,” you cleared your throat as you felt your speech slur a little at that point, “the headmaster drinks.”

“Oh yes,” Margaret nodded and emptied the last of the gin into your glasses. “Even more than I do.”

“And the Arithmetics professor…”

“Mr. Teague.”

“He’s not really married.”

“Goodness, no! I maintain my point.” Margaret downed the rest of her drink and so had you. “I think the wife’s entirely made up!”

“But the Geography professor is?”

“Yes!” Margaret chirped. “Now, he is an actual university professor, as far as I can say. We still don’t know what in hell he’s doing here out of all places, and I’ve seen the woman only twice before. She doesn’t even live here, can you imagine?”

“And who is Alfie?” You finally asked the question you really wanted to ask, unconstrained this time thanks to the gin bottle you had both polished. But as soon as you asked, you felt your cheeks go red and the regret swept in.

“Well then,” Margaret’s grin, however, got even wider and she reminded you once more of a wicked cat, “he caught your eye already? My, my, that man works fast…”

“What?” you gasped at the blatant suggestion, which only caused your new friend to giggle.

“Don’t worry, love, I won’t tell!”

“Tell what? I don’t… He came by the library the other day, I thought he was the groundskeeper, I wasn’t—”

But then you realised you did exactly as she had wanted you to and said entirely too much—in which case, you were assured in your conviction to keep Alfie having saved you a secret.

Only, as you soon noticed, Margaret’s intentions weren’t nefarious at all. She was a gossip, yes, but solely because she was of a naturally curious disposition. The fit of giggles that soon followed your hurried explanations wasn’t meant to humiliate you at least.

“Oh God, I haven’t laughed like that in ages!” Margaret whined and wiped her eyes, giving out one last chuckle. “Alfie Solomons, the groundskeeper…!”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you whispered and she turned towards you with a sour expression.

“And who would I talk to, do you think? None of the men give me the time of day. They’re too busy being studious and important,” she huffed. “But I must say,” she laughed again and shook her head, “that image is too accurate!”

Then, your new friend finally explained to you that the reason for her giggling fit was that Alfie Solomons was actually a professor. His subjects were History and Literature, the fact which made you want to squirm with embarrassment even more.

You felt like you might have made even a bigger fool of yourself before him than you initially thought, and even though you told yourself the man’s opinion didn’t really matter, deep down inside you realised it was a lie. Because you did care what others thought of you; immensely so.

“But tell me,” Margaret interrupted your thoughts once more. “What are you doing here, exactly?”

You knew what she meant. What was a girl like you doing here, playing a librarian at a boarding school in the middle of nowhere—with your manners and the posh accent and the way of being that must have been infinitely odd for someone like Margaret. But, to be honest, you’ve had entirely too much gin and were too far away from your parents to let their own judgement control you. So you decided to tell the truth:

“My father has no heirs.”

You shrugged after that confession and Margaret nodded slowly, processing the information. And even if she decided to pass it forward later and gossip, you in turn decided you didn’t care much about that bit.

“So it’s like that Jane Austen novel then?”

Margaret surprised you with that statement. She grinned at you widely and you couldn’t help but laugh at the comparison.

Because yes, you realised, it sounded exactly like an Austen plot. As soon as you did, you fell into a drunken fit of giggles yourself—not unlike the one Margaret had. Your life finally resembled a novel like you always wanted; the only problem being, this one just wasn’t your favourite.

Alfie returned to your library (as after these past few weeks that’s how you felt it should be called) precisely on the next day—when you woke up sick to your stomach and with your head spinning; all thanks to Margaret Miss and her infernal gin. Safe to say, you didn’t feel like being productive at all, and even if you wanted to be, you knew your body wouldn’t let you.

Thankfully, you didn’t have any supervisors breathing down your necks, not to mention that usually the library didn’t get any sort of visitors at all. You were safe to suffer in silence behind the desk then, and that’s how Alfie found you—sick beyond belief and only pretending to remain amongst the living.

“Mornin’, luv! Got a second to spare?”

Alfie’s greeting was, just like the rest of his person, entirely too loud to endure, even when not hungover. You sighed and fixed your glasses, just to make sure if he wasn’t perhaps a figment of your cruel imagination.

“Yeah, you alright there, sweetie?”

Apparently, he wasn’t. Alfie Solomons was, regrettably, still very real; standing in your library and grinning at you while you groaned and rested your cheek against the ledger.

“The library’s closed,” you managed to utter, but that of course wouldn’t satisfy the insufferable man in the slightest.

“You not feelin’ too well or somethin’?”

“Evidently,” you said bitterly and closed your eyes, then faked an unconvincing cough. “Might be influenza…”

“Ah,” you couldn’t see it, but Alfie’s grin got only wider. “Dearie me, that’s just horrible, innit.”

“Best stay away, Mr. Solomons,” you “coughed” again, “or you might catch it.”

Pitiful performance, one that any of your mother’s foul moods could put to shame in a matter of minutes, and it did nothing to convince him either.

“So ya know my name now?”

You opened one eye and did your best to sit upright; Alfie’s altogether unreasonably smug disposition irking you even more than before.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I asked you first, didn’t I?”

And then he took a step forward and outstretched his hand to, as you realised with horror, check your forehead. You clenched your teeth as you felt sick again, and you told yourself that was in reaction to the man’s forwardness—but you knew it to be untrue.

“Nah, no fever,” Alfie said, smirking again. “But ya might think of goin’ to see the nurse about that.”

You groaned then in a completely unladylike manner—something this man made you do more often than you would like to admit. Alfie chuckled at the reaction and you knew he solved the puzzle.

“She did that then.” He leaned forward on his elbows and you leaned back, unprepared for any more closeness. “Yeah, some advice, darlin’, don’t catch yourself drinkin’ with her again, alright?”

“Get out, please,” you whispered then.

“What?”

He was taken aback at first, and you couldn’t blame him exactly, because you weren’t really the most forward of people—if you were feeling like yourself, that is. But you very much weren’t. Thankfully, when you covered your mouth and felt another wave of sickness getting closer, Alfie must have understood. He uttered one last “ah” and finally left the library.

After that unfortunate day, you avoided Alfie like the plague. Utterly and completely mortified at your own behaviour, and too sure he would find some way to embarrass you about it even more, you resolved on the old and tried pretending he didn’t exist.

A treatment that, as it soon became apparent, wouldn’t go unpunished in his book. You didn’t seek Alfie out, but by now you knew enough about him to know there would be consequences.

However, your own explanation for him still insisting you paid attention to him was that he surely must have still been searching for the remaining two books the previous librarian had promised him. But what were you to do, you reasoned, when your pride was still wounded and your humiliation had reached such heights? Surely, that was much more important…

“Are ya ignorin’ me then?” Alfie asked you for what must have been the third or fourth time within the hour, and then, as he would, he proceeded to disregard your every answer.

“I’m not ignoring you, Mr. Solomons, I’m just very busy,” you explained, doing your best to indeed seem so.

You actually had some students present in the library that day, to Alfie’s infinite annoyance and to your enormous satisfaction. Nothing picked up your spirits quite as much as shushing the teenaged menaces every quarter of an hour.

“That so?” Alfie grumbled, clearly not used to things not going his way.

“Yes, that is so.”

You huffed when he leaned forward to rest his elbows on your desk; a thing he really seemed to like doing and something you tolerated (because you realised by then that the man enjoyed seeing you annoyed with him most of all).

But that, of course, had to be remedied once one of the students came to your desk. You straightened your back and tried to look competent, while the boy glanced at you meekly.

“Please remove yourself from my desk, Professor,” you commanded Alfie.

The boy had clearly been trying to get your attention for some time, but at the same time did his best to avoid colliding with Alfie.

“Aye, what do you want?” Alfie shot the boy a look of such malice that you yourself was taken aback by it.

“Professor!” you exclaimed and outstretched your hand to take the books from the student—though by now, the boy was clutching them tightly, as if trying to shield himself from the mean professor.

Alfie grunted something and looked at you, but saw you wouldn’t budge and so he finally stepped aside.

“Be sure to give these back by the end of the week, dear,” you instructed the student as you filled out his library card and shot Alfie one more disapproving look.

The boy, still feeling Alfie’s gaze on his back, nodded ardently.

“Yes, Miss!”

“And please be careful with the cover, this one still has a tear…”

“Yes, Miss!”

“All right, you enjoy!” You smiled at the boy and waved goodbye, but as soon as his books were checked out, he grabbed them and ran out as fast as he could, only to be out of Alfie’s reach.

“I suppose you think yourself funny?!” you huffed at Alfie as soon as you two were alone.

“What?”

“That poor boy! He was just trying to get himself some books, and you…!”

“Me?” He grinned.

“It’s bad enough these boys don’t read, but you’re their teacher!” You shook your head and pointed your finger at him. “You should encourage their reading!”

“Naaaah, most of them are rich arseholes that’ll replace daddy in the parliament, so there’s no point, innit,” Alfie smirked once more. “It’s real cute you think that, though.”

“Uh!” You let out a tired grunt, really frustrated with his cynicism. “But what if one of them isn’t?! Then you just—”

“Lower your voice, luv, this is a library.”

Outraged, you threw your hands up and left your post to go stock the shelves, hoping that Alfie would understand the message.

But he didn’t. Because of course he didn’t.

“Nah, what I did was mostly a favour, right, that poor lad was nearly pissin’ himself when he tried to speak to ya, don’t think he ever saw a real woman up close—”

“Oh, stop it!” you scoffed and turned around to face him, holding out a book like it was a weapon. “I know you’re a menace, Alfie Solomons, I can see the way these boys run away as soon as they see you!”

To your dismay, the man looked rather pleased at the description.

“Right, and?”

“And! They’re scared of you!”

“Good.”

“Good?!” You shook your head and pushed past him to put the book on the correct shelf. “I don’t understand you at all, I swear.”

“Then ask me.”

You turned around, still as confused as ever.

“Get to know me,” Alfie grunted, but took a step back when you pointed your finger at him again. “Wha’?”

“I don’t have to, Alfie Solomons, I already can tell you all about you!”

“That so?”

“That’s right. Now move, you’re in my way.”

You squeezed past him again, something you could tell he was counting on, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you blush.

Then again, as expected, Alfie followed you to the next shelf.

“Right, you’re clearly mad about somethin’...”

“Clever man!”

“Yeah, care to share with the class then?”

You scoffed for the hundredth time and just shook your head before you disappeared between the stacks again. Alfie’s voice followed you.

“‘Cause then I thought to myself, okay, thought I, what could I have done to ya to be deservin’ of such treatment?” Alfie continued his thought, obviously thoroughly unbothered by your growing annoyance or orders. “‘Cause the way I see it, yeah, so far I’ve saved your life, been nothin’ but nice to ya, an’... Well, I’m keepin’ the business goin’, aren’t I?”

“What?!” You turned around and noticed that you and Alfie were a shelf apart from each other; he bent down to look at you from the opposite side of the F section of Science & Physiology.

“I’m the only one who reads around here, luv, except for you.”

You shook your head and pretended you didn’t care, only to be met with an all too happy smirk from him again.

“What on earth do you mean, Professor?”

“Ah, so it’s professor now, is it?”

“That is your title, is it not? I’m assuming you are a professor here, seeing as you’re still teaching? When you’re not stalking my library, that is.”

“Oh yeah, I am, yeah… Just never pegged ya for a person to bother with all that nonsense, ‘s all.”

“What nonsense would that be?”

“Ah, titles an’ sh… Stuff.”

He stopped himself there and you frowned, a little surprised at his restraint. You wondered then how exactly Alfie spoke to his students and how was the headmaster even allowing such language from him.

But then perhaps Alfie’s delightful vocabulary was only put to use when you were concerned.

“Right, so I’ll take these then.” Alfie produced three books seemingly out of nowhere and you got even more suspicious. He must have picked them at random along the way.

“What?” he asked, clearly pretending that had been the plan all along.

You glanced at the titles and snorted.

“Why would you even need these?”

“‘S a good read, luv, don’t be snobbish.”

“Dracula?”

“Gotta brush up on the classics, sweetheart.”

“And… A Christmas Carol?”

“Just ‘round the corner, right, thought it’d get me in the mood faster.”

“It’s October.”

“Right, that’s why I got…” He frowned. “This.”

You laughed at him, though not too much. The last one was actually your personal favourite, so you didn’t judge that too harshly. But then again… Alfie didn’t have to know.

“Well then,” you decided and chuckled once more. “Who am I to judge your choice in literature, Professor?”

Alfie raised one brow and you shook your head, realising he really didn’t need to explain himself and you really didn’t need to prolong the discussion by asking. The sooner you checked out his books, the sooner you could get back to your real work—one that didn’t involve Alfie Solomons.

And so you relented and got back with him to your desk.

You reached for the card he gave you and busied yourself with all the formalities—even though you didn’t need to, not really. Alfie meant what he said by “keeping the business going” and he was painfully right in it. He truly was the only one who used the library, besides the occasional one or two students seeking solitude. Even though his main reason for it seemed to have been annoying the living daylights out of you…

“Will that be all, Professor?” you sighed once you handed him the books.

“Right, how long you gonna punish me for?” he scoffed.

“Punish you?”

“Yeah.”

“What on earth…”

But just as you asked that, Alfie was already leaving, muttering under his breath something you knew full well you wouldn’t be interested in hearing.

The peculiar behaviour from Alfie didn’t stop after that. Him disrupting your work became a somewhat daily occurrence—and how was the man even able to do his own work during the day remained a mystery. He came by the library every other day or so, each time demanding your undivided attention and checking out more and more outlandish titles. Sometimes you thought he only did that in hopes to coax a laugh out of you, or maybe he just really liked getting on your nerves. The real issue, however, came when you noticed that most of the books he checked out were returned past the deadline or not at all.

When confronted about it, Alfie always had a playful remark ready, never really letting you get a straight answer out of him. So you danced around each other for weeks, until one evening you decided you had enough. It was the first Saturday of the Christmas break and the school felt more or less deserted. It was time to reclaim the library’s rightful possessions.

As far as you knew, the only people left in the building were you, the headmaster, and all the ghouls in the dungeons. But you also found yourself hoping that a certain professor had stayed for the holidays as well, because he was certainly due a thorough talking down.

You were armed with exactly two excuses to talk to Alfie, one of them being all the overdue library books, with your favourite one amongst them. And yes, of course you had your own copy, but this you felt belonged to you by proxy; since you were the sole custodian of all these ancient volumes and manuscripts. Secondly, you finally found the two other books that Alfie was promised by your predecessor and you couldn’t get rid of them fast enough. If push came to shove, you were prepared to make a bargain.

So, after you finished your daily library inventory and had a bit of Margaret’s gin for courage, you ventured down the dimly lit corridors on a mission to find Alfie’s office. As you did, you sometimes stopped to look out the windows and watch the intense blizzard, suddenly very glad you chose to throw a jumper over your dress. Scratchy or not, winters in the countryside were nothing like in London. After a while, the farthest you could see was the courtyard; the rest covered in thick, foggy whiteness.

Books in hand and a map that seemed to disappoint every other turn or so, you finally arrived by what you thought was the correct door. You knocked twice and patiently waited for the answer, though as your nervousness grew, your patience diminished. You were reminded of all the times Alfie had simply barged into your library or your office as if they were his own, and suddenly so emboldened by your annoyance, you pressed on the handle. The door was closed, though, and you huffed at having come all this way only to be disappointed.

Then, a familiar raspy voice resounded from the other end of the corridor:

“Lookin’ for me, luv?”

You yelped and nearly dropped the books you were holding, feeling yourself blush under the scrutiny. It was as if he did all of this on purpose only to mess with you… And judging by the smirk on his face, your suspicions weren’t very far off.

Alfie looked even more dressed down than usual, obviously thoroughly enjoying the lack of students around. His beard was as shaggy as always, though you couldn’t say you didn’t exactly enjoy the sight of it. He was so different from the prim and proper society that London had to offer…

“Come on then,” he said to you as soon as he unlocked the door and pushed it open for you.

Reluctantly, you stepped into his office, all of a sudden wishing you had had more of that gin. The room was dark, impossibly so. The only source of light seeped in from the corridor and gave the surroundings twisted, spooky shapes. Alfie walked in behind you and lit a match, then put it to the lamp sitting on his desk. It was old and obviously required cleaning, as the light it gave was no better than a sooty fireplace. Speaking of which, Alfie’s was entirely cold and suddenly you felt cold even despite the jumper.

“So, how can I help ya?” Alfie asked then, grabbing your attention as he tended to do.

He lit another lamp and only then were you able to take a somewhat proper look around—and as you did, you were reminded of the previous state of your library. It was that same type of chaotic mess, with books and various trinkets spread around the desk and stacked on both windowsills. There were pictures and photographs hanging above the fireplace, though you couldn’t make out most of them due to how dark the office still was.

“I…” you started, but then quickly lost your plot. So you took a step forward and carefully placed the two books on top of the stack on his desk.

Alfie watched you do it and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

“That why you came all the way down here, darlin’?” he grunted, somewhat amused at your unexpected shyness.

Because that was just the thing. You weren’t shy around him, not usually. You were just about the only person who had no reaction for his loudness, lack of manners or the strange speech. That was one of the reasons he liked you so much, the other one being—you were absolutely his type. Which was precisely why Alfie was having such a hard time figuring you out. Because he wanted to figure you out so badly that it completely dulled his usually sharp wit.

In Alfie’s personal opinion, he had been making this all too easy for you. He liked to think that the reason you sometimes joined in on the nonsense and argued with him when he stopped by was that maybe, just maybe, you liked him, too. At least as a colleague.

But as the days passed and the library seemed to have blossomed under your careful touch, he in turn found himself going slightly insane. Even more so than other people liked to call him.

So, while you could say he had fantasised about you coming down from your princess tower and at least having a drink with him instead of that infernal gossip, Margaret, Alfie wasn’t really prepared for that fantasy to come true. Until now.

And, as it happens with fantasies, he barely knew what to do with himself, now that he had you here with him; with the school deserted during the holidays and no students threatening to pull you away from him to ask their moronic questions about how the catalogues worked or if Dickens would be found under “c” for Charles.

Because Alfie had heard them ask those types of questions and he was honestly on the verge of giving out detentions for the nonsense of it alone.

But coming to the question of you… No. Despite his usual boldness, he had no idea what to do with you. Not to mention that you have somehow fulfilled his ridiculous book list—one he had invented on the spot, the second he caught you from your fall and you landed in his arms; much like a gift from gods that otherwise (of that Alfie was certain) hated him with a passion.

The list was entirely made up, you see, and it consisted of the three titles Alfie was certain you wouldn’t be able to find (not for a long time at least) and he would have an excuse to bother you about it whenever he pleased.

As it turned out, he had once more thoroughly underestimated you and your abilities. He knew you were capable of course, but when it came to your person, Alfie seemed to have misplaced his brain somewhere. He remained convinced your very presence replaced at least half of it with cotton and sawdust.

“Well then?”

Your voice brought him back, somewhat at least, and he winced instead of admitting he never heard one word you said to him.

��How ‘bout a drink then?” he said quickly, figuring you were just about to leave.

As it happens, you weren’t. You sat down in the armchair next to the fireplace; his armchair to be precise, and crossed your arms defiantly, shooting him one of your stubborn looks.

“Fine,” you said finally, at which Alfie frowned a little. He wasn’t prepared for you obliging him, but clearly there was something there that he was missing about the entire thing.

Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to waste his chance and took out a bottle of rum from the cupboard, along with two glasses—therefore reaching his office’s capacity for company. As he placed a drink in your hand, he noticed your curiosity at its contents.

“It’s rum,” he explained.

“Huh.”

You swirled the drink around the glass and sniffed it curiously. He wondered then if this was your first time drinking, but then he remembered he had seen you hungover. So perhaps it was just your first time with rum, in which case… Alfie was more than eager to share any of your firsts.

You took a sip and nodded appreciatively, your features smoothing a little. Alfie felt a little smug, having figured he just won with Margaret’s gin.

“You’re not one for company, are you?” you asked him then and he realised that indeed, he had been looming over you a little there since you pretty much occupied the only seat in the room.

To be honest, you weren’t that far off. He wasn’t one for company, in fact… His one and only friend in the world was probably the headmaster of this school, though Alfie couldn’t tell if that really counted since technically the man was also his employer. But no, he didn’t much like company and his office was designed that way. It seemed that, much like with everything else, you were proving to be an exception to the rule.

“Nah,” Alfie said finally since the silence between you lasted long enough.

“I’m not going anywhere, I hope you know that,” you informed him then, though much too sharply to mean it the way he wanted you to mean it.

“You’re not?”

“Not without my books.”

And then it hit him that he had probably missed half of the tirade about having kept them past due, which to be honest a part of him regretted. There was nothing quite as captivating as when you got properly upset with him. Not that Alfie really wanted you to be, but in his twisted understanding it was really the only way to make you pay any attention to him.

“Starting with this one,” you announced all of a sudden as you got up and took the book resting on the mantelpiece.

Alfie watched as you flipped through the pages and inspected it more thoroughly. Each time you noticed a tear or a folded edge or a pencil annotation you let out a gasp, and Alfie honestly never heard anything more endearing. Safe to say, he was obsessed.

“What did you do to it?!” you exclaimed when you were done with checking the damage, but judging by your looks, you clearly demanded an explanation.

“Loved it a li’l too well, I reckon,” Alfie grunted.

“And do you always destroy the things you love?!”

He frowned at that and you clasped a hand over your mouth, obviously too emboldened either by the witnessed damage or the drink.

“What sorta question is that?” Alfie scoffed and gently pried the book from your hands.

“Good God, I apologise,” you gasped. “That was so inappropriate of me, I—”

“Nah, no bother, luv,” he lied smoothly and took one more look at the thing before placing it as far away from you as possible.

“Well,” you sighed and looked at him with what almost looked like pleading eyes. “I could fix it, I suppose. Or do my best to try. But I do not appreciate you writing in my books!”

Alfie blinked at you slowly and hummed as he took a sip of his drink.

“I’m serious!” you insisted.

“Oh, I know you are, yeah.”

“Don’t you at least want to…”

“What?”

“Well, at least explain why you did it?”

As it happened, Alfie wasn’t exactly the sort of man to explain himself. To anyone. To be quite honest, you were beginning to wear out his patience a little, but he endured it because despite what he kept telling himself, he really was that fond of you. He could tell you really didn’t mean to judge him; it looked like you were genuinely that obsessed with books. So Alfie decided to bear it. For you.

“It’s the pages I like,” he murmured, adding an affirmative grunt that was meant to highlight this to be the extent of his explanatory abilities.

“What, all of them?” You shook your head. “But you only checked it out a month ago. So you either did it on purpose just to vex me or… Or I don’t know. Why did you do that?”

That was the moment that everything clicked for him and suddenly it was no more cotton or sawdust. Alfie chuckled and put down his glass to lift up the book again.

“No, it’s ‘cause this one’s mine, luv.”

He then showed you the last page and your eyes widened in pure horror. There was no library stamp there, but Alfie’s name instead. You traced it with your fingers as if expecting this to be a trick.

“No, but… This can’t be true,” you simply decided and Alfie chuckled at your defiance.

“Afraid it is, yeah. I do read, y’know.”

“No, but… But what do you mean you loved it?”

For some reason you insisted on knowing that bit and Alfie was beginning to regret his initial wish for you getting to know him a little better. As it happened, he found the notion to be known deeply uncomfortable and was kicking himself for having said otherwise.

“Right, ‘cause it’s probably my favourite book.”

“No, but it can’t be!”

“I… dunno what to tell ya.”

“No, because it’s my favourite book!”

You suddenly stood up from your seat and Alfie found himself a little puzzled; as he often did in your company, to be perfectly honest. But there you were, looking at him with those doe eyes and demanding an explanation he simply couldn’t give—the prolonged agony of which was only heightened by how close you two were standing. Alfie decided then to do the thing he will most likely come to regret, but sod it. He really wanted to.

He leaned in and kissed you, knowing full-well that, you being you, the night would end with him getting a black eye, as well as being sacked. Probably.

Only… You kissed him back. Or perhaps it was the rum, Alfie couldn’t really tell that feeling of a headrush apart from being drunk—but then your hands were at his sides and you were pulling him in by the shirt and maybe it was the rum, but he distinctly felt you kissing him back.

He obliged you and deepened the kiss, cupping your face in his hands, because honestly… As of late, not a second went by when Alfie didn’t catch himself wanting to touch you. You pulled away first and he almost expected you to run away from him, but you didn’t. You were smiling and so he leaned in closer and gently traced your lower lip with his thumb, savouring the moment that he was pretty sure covered all eight of his gifts for the year.

“I’m…” You tried to say something, but clearly your words escaped you.

It was fine by him; usually not one to stay silent, Alfie felt himself enjoying the feeling. He couldn’t tell if that was your first kiss or not, but he wouldn’t really mind if you decided never to kiss anyone else but him for the rest of your days.

“I really wouldn’t mind another drink, to be honest,” you said then and Alfie hummed in response, letting you go.

He poured another two and came back to stay close beside you, deeming the concept of personal space no longer in existence.

“And maybe a fire?” you proposed, accepting the drink with another bright smile.

“If you’re stayin’,” he replied, the underlying message being that if not, he couldn’t really be arsed; not tonight.

If you two were to have another drink and you’d leave, then that was fine by him—but he wasn’t about to take his eyes off of you for even a second.

“I can’t,” you stressed, understandably, and Alfie nodded with a little smirk.

“I know.”

You frowned before you took another sip, because this… Whatever this event turned into, it definitely wasn’t just having a friendly holiday drink with a colleague.

“You’re not…” You hesitated again and Alfie wondered if perhaps this was a thinly-veiled question whether he would kiss and tell.

He needed you to know that he wouldn’t.

“Listen, alright…” He huffed and looked down, uncharacteristically hesitant. Usually he was one to jump into a situation head-first, but when it came to you… Yeah, sod it. He came this far, he could give in one more inch.

“If this isn’t somethin’ you wanted, then nobody needs to know, right, we’re still colleagues.” Alfie took a step back to give you your space and put down his glass on the mantelpiece; just in case you wanted to bolt for the door and he was in your way.

“No, that’s not it.” Gone were the doe eyes and back with the frown, you looked away; leaving Alfie with exactly nothing. As per usual, he couldn’t figure you out.

“I simply can’t believe your favourite book is my favourite book,” you explained and smiled at him brightly, then touched your mouth a little absent-mindedly. “I suppose… Isn’t that something?”

Yeah, it really was. To be perfectly honest, Alfie was just about ready to dig up Emily Brontë from her slumber six feet under and give her a proper “thank you” kiss, Heathcliff style.

“Yeah, luv. I think it is,” he agreed, pulling you back into an embrace.

For the time-being, he was perfectly content just as he was—with you close beside him, your eyes smiling at him so full of promise and possibilities.

(And by fuck, he really was going to get a second chair for his office—first thing, in fact.)

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hangovercurse · 4 years ago

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You work at the preschool next to Casie’s middle school. One day, you catch Colson’s eyes while working, and lucky for him you happen to know his daughter.

Request: “Hi!! Let me start out by saying that you are so so so talented!! I was wondering if you’d write something about colson falling for a preschool teacher? like he just sees her one day while he’s picking up casey from the middle school and he’s all soft seeing her interact with the kids and he makes up excuses to keep coming to see you!?”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: Cursing (maybe?)

A/N: I did that thing where I write too much… again.

Word Count: 2394

Colson tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, drumming softly to the beat of the music coming from his radio. He pulled into the school parking lot, the line already a million cars long it seemed. But he promised Casie he would pick her up whenever he wasn’t working so she didn’t have to take the bus. If that meant spending thirty minutes in a line of slow-moving cars, so be it.

As he was jamming, he glanced out the passenger window, finding a smaller building with a chain link fence outside, surrounding a child’s playground. The door happened to swing open while he was looking, and from there time seemed to move in slow motion.

Out of the door came a dozen or so toddlers, waddling their way outside, surrounding the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. The sun bounced off of your skin perfectly, making everything around you seem so much brighter.

Your skirt flowed with the slight breeze, making the scene more picturesque. He watched as you reached down, picking up one of the toddlers and holding him in your arms. The small boy seemed to be crying, over what Colson couldn’t tell.

You seemed to be speaking to the boy, bouncing him up and down in your arms to comfort him. Meanwhile, a little girl with pigtails made her way over to you. You spoke to her brightly, reaching the arm that wasn’t holding the boy to hold her hand.

Colson’s eyes followed you as you let her drag you over to the playground. You supported her as she climbed the small rock-climbing wall and reach the landing for the slide. You then smiled as she made her way down the slide, telling her good job when she made it to the bottom.

You then turned your attention back to the boy in your arms, making silly faces at him until he laughed.

All it took was those few moments for Colson to get hooked. If there was one thing he found attractive above all else, it was women who loved children. He refused to date anyone who wasn’t supportive of his relationship with Casie, so you were already ahead of everyone on his list. It also helped that you were breathtakingly beautiful.

Colson just got good vibes from you. From his brief observation of you, he could tell you were compassionate and kind, but also childlike and fun, much like himself.

The blonde man was pulled from his thoughts as the car in front of him started moving, signaling the line was moving.

The next day, Colson had a plan. Instead of driving into the school parking lot, he pulled into the pre-school. He checked himself out in the mirror, praying he would see you working. He stepped out of the car, putting on his best confused dad face, and walked into the building.

And by some miracle, you happened to be speaking with the woman at the front desk.

You were even prettier up close, eyes meeting his and stopping him dead in his tracks. You smiled kindly, voice ringing out, “can I help you, sir.”

He returned your smile, “I was looking for the middle school but I have a feeling I ended up in the wrong place.”

You giggled slightly, “just a little. The middle school is just next door.” You pointed to your right. “Are you picking up a sibling?” You asked.

Truthfully, the man had caught your eye the moment he stepped into the door. It was rare you saw someone your own age, and he was exponentially more attractive than most men. What would it hurt if you got to know him a little bit?

“My daughter, actually.” He spoke, fiddling with the key in his hand. You tilted your head, his face seeming vaguely familiar.

You hesitated before speaking, “who’s your daughter? I substitute over there sometimes and you look vaguely familiar.”

He bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t blown his cover. “Casie Baker.” But surely, he’d have remembered you if he’d met you.

Your eyes widened at the name, “Casie? She’s my absolute favorite!” You grinned at the man, realizing immediately that their similar features made him feel familiar. “She’s awesome.”

Colson smiled, letting out a nervous chuckle, “thank you. Yeah, she’s great.”

“She tells me about you. Whenever I sub in her classes, she talks about how cool you are.”

Colson blushed lightly, rubbing his neck. “I’m Colson.” He reached out an arm to shake your hand, mentally kicking himself as soon as he did it.

You found it endearing, shaking his hand “Y/N.”

A few days passed and Colson still couldn’t get over how soft your hands were, or how your touch sent electricity running through his body.

He felt ridiculous, leaving rehearsals and recording sessions to pick Casie up with the hope that he gets a glimpse of you.

After a few days of nothing, he almost loses that hope. Until he happens to arrive at the school a little bit early, windows rolled down to let the cool air in. He hears the sudden sound of children laughing, pulling his attention to the playground next door.

And there you are, in all your beautiful glory. Guiding the kids out, helping them into swings and onto the stairs.

Colson must’ve pleased some God because you looked over your shoulder and found him. Of all the cars in the line, you found his, eyes locking immediately. You smiled softly, reaching a hand over to him and waving. He waved back, trying to keep his cool. But really, he was freaking out.

He thought about saying something, or mouthing something, rather, as you were too far away to hear him, but he was stopped by the beautiful brown hair of his favorite girl in the world. Casie plopped herself down on the seat next to him, her backpack falling to the floor with a frown on her face.

She looked up to her dad, about to complain about her day when she saw his preoccupation. She followed his eyes, finding you in the playground. Immediately her mood was lifted, and she turned back to her dad with a grin on her face.

“Daaad?” She questioned, her voice lifting at the end of her question. The blond man looked down to her a soft smile in his face.

“Hey Case, how was school?”

“You think she’s pretty, right?” Casie ignored his question.

Colson scoffed, rolling his eyes, and shifting his car into gear. “She’s… pretty. I guess.” He mumbled, pressing lightly on the gas.

Casie continued smiling up at him, “that’s Ms. Y/N. She’s the coolest.”

“Put your seatbelt on.” He said, pulling out of the parking lot. “And I know, I met her the other day.”

Casie’s eyes lit up at the thought of her two favorite adults meeting. “Really? How? Did you like her?”

Colson chuckled at his daughter, “I went into the pre-school parking lot by accident and she showed me how to get here.” He blushed, knowing Casie would easily spot his lie.

And that she did, “I’ve been going here for almost two years, how did you accidentally go into the wrong parking lot? You pick me up all the time.”

Colson coughed nervously, “so, how was school?” He tried to change the subject.

Casie gasped, “did you go to the preschool just to see her? You like her!”

“I just met her Casie.”

“You like Ms. Y/N!” she sang, dancing in her seat.

“How was school, loser?” He asked, laughing at her.

She ignored him, again. “Does she know you’re my dad? Did she say anything about me?”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself at her excitement. “Yes, she does, and yes, she did.”

“What did she say?” Casie practically yelled.

“She said you were the worst student she’s ever substituted for.” He smirked, flinching lightly as Casie slapped his arm.

“She did not say that!” The girl pouted, “Ms. Y/N is my favorite teacher in the whole world.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her affection for you. “She’s not even technically your teacher. But she did say that you were her favorite student.”

Her eyes twinkled, “really?”

Colson nodded, “she also told me that you talk about me in class.” He looked at the girl, raising an eyebrow, “any reason why?”

Casie sunk into her seat, a guilty expression on her face. “No.” Colson looked back to the road, but his eyebrow was still raised, “Okay, fine. I just think it’d be really cool if my favorite dad and my favorite teacher were… friends.”

Colson laughed, “I am your only dad, first of all, and second… don’t be weird.”

“But you said you liked her!” Casie pointed out, making the man’s ears turn red.

“I said she was pretty, that’s not the same thing.”

Casie sang again, “whatever you say.”

He rolled his eyes again, letting out a sigh and dropping the conversation, knowing he would lose. “Are you gonna tell me how school was or not?”

Casie sighed, hitting her back against the seat, “Mr. Clemmons was being mean today again. He said he’s not gonna curve our test even though only 2 people got an A on it.” She crossed her arms and huffed.

Colson pouted, bringing a hand to rub her shoulder, “what’d you get on it?”

She mumbled out, “a B.”

His eyes went wide, “dude, what? That’s awesome, that’s above average. You should be proud of that!” He always tried to encourage Casie, knowing the insane amount of pressure people put on their kids nowadays and not wanting her to feel that.

Casie shrugged, “yeah but my guidance counselor says if I want to get into a magnet program in high school, I have to get all A’s. And I have to get in a magnet program high school to get into a good college.”

His eyes went wide as he pulled into his driveway, “woah, woah, woah. You’re 11 years old! You don’t need to worry about that stuff and whoever is telling you that is wrong. Getting a B or even a C isn’t gonna stop you from getting into whatever program you want, I promise.”

Casie sighed, opening the door, and sliding out. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Can we go back to talking about how you like Ms. Y/N?” She asked, her shoulders slumped.

Colson rolled his eyes, climbing out of the car and following her inside. “I don’t like Ms. Y/N.” He groaned.

“Whatever, but next time she substitutes my class, I’m texting you and you’re gonna bring me lunch and talk to her.” Casie said, going to her room and throwing her backpack onto her bed.

A week and a half later, Colson was sitting in his car in the school parking lot, staring at himself through his rearview mirror. He looked at the bag of chick-fil-a in the passenger side seat and sighed. His phone buzzed, a text from Casie coming through.

Lunch is starting, where are you???

He chuckled and texted back.

Going to the office now, calm down

He grabbed the bags and drinks, opening his door and stepping out. He made his way through the office, getting his visitor’s badge, and moving towards the cafeteria. He opened the door, searching through the sea of children for his daughter, only to find your eyes instead.

You smiled brightly, head tilting as if to ask why he’s here. He returned the smile, holding up the bags to answer your question. Casie appeared next to you, waving her hand. Colson made his way through the pre-teens, trying not to crush any of them.

Casie and you giggled at his struggle, joking with each other. Eventually he reached you two, setting the food on the table that Casie had reserved just for you three. The girl took her place across from him, motioning you to sit down next to him. You laughed but followed her directions.

Colson took the food out of the bag, passing Casie her sandwich and fries and pulling his food out of the bag. He turned to you, a smile on his face. “Woah, they must’ve given me an extra sandwich.” He held it out for you to take.

You obliged, giggling lightly. “How strange.” You commented, your smile never leaving.

“Oh, right. Ms. Y/N, this is my dad, Colson. Dad, this is Ms. Y/N, the best substitute ever.” Casie said, pointing between the two.

Colson chuckled, “yes, Casie. We’ve met.” He looked over to you, hiding his laugh behind his sandwich.

“Yep. Someone got lost and found me at the preschool.” You said, your voice exaggerating. Shit, Colson thought, you were onto him. “Speaking of, Casie. I know you’ve been talking about needing volunteer hours. If you want you can come by after school some days and help me with the aftercare program? I can take you home afterwards if your dad can’t pick you up.”

Casie smiled brightly, nodding her head. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

Colson watched the interaction, fondness in his eyes. If he wasn’t sure before, he was now. He was falling hard.

You turned to him, kindness in your eyes, “if it’s okay with your dad.” You said and he nodded.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind having her around. I’m cool with it.” He tried to hide the blush on his cheeks as you continued to look at him, taking in his features.

Casie squealed, “thank you!”

You simply smiled and shrugged, “it’s not a big deal. I get some extra help and I get to spend some more time with my favorite 11-year-old. Maybe her dad can even stop by and help sometime.”

You turned to the man next to you, who was sure he’d turned very red. He was never this nervous around women, but something about you made him incredibly self-conscious, like he had to impress you.

He mumbled out a quick “huh?” before registering your question. “Uh, yeah, sure. If you want me to come help. I’d be cool with that.” He turned to meet your eyes.

You giggled, holding the eye contact, “I do want you to. I’d like it a lot if you did.”

Casie looked between you two, suddenly regretting what she’d done, “are you two done? I’m trying to eat my sandwich.”

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker fluff #colson imagine #colson baker x reader

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worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 4 years ago

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Unfaithful | Final Chapter

Series Summary: After dreaming of your perfect wedding since you were a little girl the big day is almost here. But after meeting the priest you start to question your relationship.

Pairing: Hot Priest x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2718

Warnings: all the angst with a side order of fluff, FINAL CHAPTER

A/N: this is it, the series finale. I really hope you guys enjoyed the series and that this ending does it justice. Thank you for the lovely comments on previous chapters, I love you guys! Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Part Five | Masterlist

- - - - -

“We need to talk”

“I think you said enough yesterday” I say dismissively as I stand up.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

“But you did!”

“I know this is no excuse but I was really drunk”

“You're right, that isn’t an excuse. What you said to me really hurt”

“I know and I am so so sorry. I think I thought that if I could make you hate me then it would be easier for me to not love you.”

I pause, trying to make sense of what he’s just said.

“That’s stupid”

“I realise that now, but at the time my alcohol infused brain thought it was genius.” He says and I can't help but be slightly amused “Look Y/N, I need you to know I didn’t mean any of what I said yesterday. And I really hope you don't hate me, though I don't blame you if you do”

“I don’t hate you” I take his hands in mine and look deep in his eyes “I could never hate you, you mean too much to me now. I couldn’t have got through the past few weeks without you, so you're not getting rid of me that easy”

I give him a gentle but sincere smile and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“It didn’t work anyway” he says and I respond with a confused look “My genius plan failed… I still love you”

Before I can say anything else Eva appears at the door.

“There you are!” She calls and I quickly release the priest’s hands as I turn to look at her. She looks from me, to the priest and back to me “everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. This is the priest who’s doing the wedding.”

“Oh uh, actually… I’m not anymore” he says, suddenly awkward again.

“Can you give us a minute?” I say to Eva and she nods before disappearing back inside the house. I turn my attention back to the worried looking priest “What do you mean?”

“I can’t be there today”

“Are you serious? We need you!”

“I know it’s unprofessional to pull out this late but so is kissing the bride behind the groom’s back, so…” he lets out a small nervous chuckle “I’ve arranged cover already. Father Crilly. He’s a good priest, he’ll make sure it all runs smooth”

“You're a good priest! You can make sure it runs smooth!”

“I can’t” he says, looking down at his feet

“Of course you can”

“No I can’t!” He snaps, looking back up at me. I notice tears starting to form in his eyes. “I can’t because I want it to go wrong. I want there to be a reason for this wedding not to happen, for you not to marry him… instead of me”

My breath catches in my throat as I look at him, not knowing how to respond.

“Father…” I almost whisper “I- I don't know what to say”

“You don't have to say anything”

“You know how much mean to me-”

“Please don’t” he interrupts but I carry on

“-but I can’t leave Daniel. I’m sorry”

“I can’t pretend to understand why you would marry a man who treats you the way he has, but if you love him even half as much as I love you… then I respect your decision. I’m not going to get in your way.”

He turns to leave but I grab his arm gently stopping him.

“Are you gonna be alright?” I ask and he gives me a small nod

“It’ll pass”

I watch as he walks out my driveway and disappears down the road, taking deep steadying breaths before putting a smile on my face and heading inside to get ready.

After all, today is to be the happiest day of my life. Right?

— — — —

So far the rest of the day has run smooth. I explained to Eva and the rest of the bridesmaids that the priest had to pull out last minute, making up some excuse about a family emergency, but that he’d arranged cover so there was nothing to stress about. Eva, as my substitute maid of honour, took on the job of alerting Daniel to the last minute change so there would be no confusion when he turned up at the church and found Father Crilly waiting for him.

A few hours later I descended the stairs in my beautiful white dress to the sound of the girls showering me with compliments and my aunt Lynda sniffling into a hankie.

“You look like a princess” she says, pulling me into a slightly too tight hug.

It wasn’t long till the cars arrived and we were on our way. The bridesmaids pilled into one while me and Aunt Lynda got into the other. Lynda rambled on about something but I couldn't really hear her. Too busy staring silently out of the window. The closer we get to the church, the more I can feel the panic rising in my chest.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” She asks as she squeezes my hand gently, pulling my mind back into the car.

“Yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” I reply as convincingly as possible.

“It’s okay to be nervous. Hell, I was more nervous the second time than I was for my first”

“I didn’t know you were married before uncle Steve?”

“Yeah! It was long before you were born. We were school sweethearts. Like you and Daniel, only less in love. We thought we were in love but looking back now I realise we were too young to really know what that meant. Your dad tried to warn me. Said Troy and I were better off as friends, but we didn’t listen. He was great for relationship advice was your dad, bit of a self proclaimed love expert.” She pauses, going watery eyed again “I’m sorry he’s not here”

“Me too”

“I’m sure wherever he is, he’ll be watching over you today. Your mother too. They’d both be so proud” she squeezes my hand again and smiles tearfully.

“Don't make me cry. If I ruin my makeup Eva will kill me” I laugh, wiping under my eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She says, handing me a tissue “no more crying, this is a happy day!”

— — — —

By the time we arrived at the church the bridesmaids were waiting outside with the photographer and the new priest. The photographer camera flashed at me as Lynda helped me out of the car and lead me to the church. Looking up at those wooden doors, I was glad I had Lynda to cling onto. My legs felt like jelly.

Father Crilly introduced himself to me before heading inside the church. The bridesmaids, Lynda and I waited outside until we heard the music start, signalling the beginning of the ceremony. The bridesmaids began their walk up the aisle and before long the music changed again to the bridal chorus.

“Here we go”

We walk into the church, stopping just inside the doors. I glance up to the front of the church to see Daniel looking back at me, a smile spread across his face. A smile I can’t make myself return. Instead I keep my eyes down, focusing on the floor as we walk up aisle. I can feel every set of eyes on me, but I keep mine fixed on my feet that carry me closer and closer to my future.

We reach the top and Lynda gives me a kiss on the cheek before going to join the bridesmaids on the front row. Daniel takes my hand in his, whispering “you look amazing” into my ear as Father Crilly begins the ceremony.

His opening speech goes by in a blur. I try to listen to every word he’s saying, to keep myself planted in the real world but my mind is spinning and my heart is pounding. I can’t stop thinking about what Lynda said in the car. What if Daniel and I aren’t in love? We just think we are because we’ve been together so long. We’re just used to being with each other.

I also can’t get the priest out of my head. Worrying about him. Wondering what he’s doing now, whether he’s thinking about me. I replay our last conversation in my head.

‘I still love you’

‘I want there to be a reason for this wedding not to happen, for you not to marry him… instead of me’

I try to push his words from my mind, focusing instead on his final ones.

‘It’ll pass’

But what if it doesn’t.

“If any person present knows of any lawful reason why this marriage can’t take place they should speak now or forever hold their peace” Father Crilly pauses.

A tense silence fills the room.

I look out across the crowd of friends and family sitting silently in their seats, a small part of me hoping the priest will burst through the doors dramatically declaring his love for me as he sweeps me away to live happily ever after.

I shake the fantasy from my mind and turn my attention back to the man I’m actually about to marry. Daniel is also looking out at the church crowd. He looks nervous. I give his hand a gentle squeeze and he looks at me.

“Are you okay?” I whisper and he nods, but I can tell he’s not. As he looks away from me again my mind starts to spiral, panic rising in my chest. I can’t do this.

‘It’ll pass’

I think I’m making a mistake.

‘It’ll pass’

These feelings are too intense to ignore.

‘It’ll pass’

These feelings of love. Not for Daniel. For the priest. I don't want them to pass.

“I object” I say quietly, staring down at my hand enclosed within Daniel’s. I can feel his gaze on my face as a wave of gasps and shocked murmuring works its way through the church.

“What?” He says, a nervous laugh escapes his lips but the smile fades as my sad eyes lock onto his.

“I object”

“To- to your own wedding…?” Father Crilly asks, voice full of confusion.

“I can’t do it. I can’t start a marriage with a lie.”

“Y/N? What are you talking about?” Daniel asks, gripping my hands tightly in his own, afraid to let go.

“When you marry someone, there shouldn’t be any secrets. You have to be able to confess anything, trust them with everything… I need to be honest with you.” I pause, building up the courage to say what I need to say next. “Daniel I-”

“I cheated on you” he blurts out, earning another gasp from the crowd

“…what?”

“I’ve been having an affair…” Daniel repeats “Tiff and I… we, uh-”

“Tiffany? My best friend Tiffany?” I ask and he nods “How long?”

“Maybe we should continue this somewhere else” Father Crilly tries to move us but I ignore him.

“How long Daniel? How long have you been sleeping with my best friend behind my back?”

“A few months I think”

“You think? What, you don't even remember?” I bring my hands up to my head, rubbing circles on my temples as I turn my back on Daniel and take deep breaths.

“Y/N, please listen to me. I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you-” he puts his hands on my shoulders but I shrug him off.

“You say that a lot for someone who has repeatedly hurt me. Emotionally…” I turn back to face him “physically. And every time I make excuses for you, brush off the insults, hide the bruises because I thought I was in love with you. But I’m not. I don't love you. I haven’t loved you for a long time. I was just too scared to leave you. But I'm not scared anymore”

“I really think we should talk this through somewhere private” Father Crilly tries again but I shake my head.

“I’m done.” I take Daniel’s hand and look him straight in the eye “Thank you for finally setting me free”

I remove my engagement ring and place it in his hand before turning and walking back down the aisle to exit the church. Daniel runs after me, stopping me once we’re outside.

“Y/N! Please just let me explain-”

“Did you ever stop to think how I would feel?” I spin around, taking him by surprise “When you were with her, did you consider me at all?” I pause, giving him the chance to respond but he doesn’t “See that’s the difference between you and me. All I ever do, all I’ve ever done, is think about you and how you’d react. A few days ago I kissed someone-”

“What?! Who?!” He yells, anger creeping onto his face

“Don't you dare get angry with me after what you’ve done!” I respond and he takes a deep breath “I could’ve done more. I had the opportunity to sleep with him. But I didn’t. Because I kept thinking about you, about how you would feel. And what you would do to me if you ever found out”

“I love you”

“No you don’t. If you did you wouldn’t have slept with my best friend. You don't love me, and that’s fine. I don't love you either, cause if I truly did then I wouldn’t have kissed the priest. I think we both just convinced ourselves we were in love because everyone else thought we were this fairytale love story. But maybe we were better off as friends.”

“Maybe” he says quietly, deep in thought “I’m really sorry, about everything. I treated you…terribly”

Hearing a sincere, genuine apology from him, I finally feel at peace with it all.

“It doesn’t matter now” I say, giving him a small smile “do you love Tiffany?”

He thinks for a moment before gently nodding his head.

“I think so, yeah”

“You should tell her” I say, gesturing behind him as Tiffany comes running towards us.

“Eva texted me.” She says breathlessly “Y/N, I am so sorry I should have-”

I cut her off by pulling her into a hug.

“It’s okay” I say, releasing her and she looks at me in shock as I hand her my bridal bouquet “I hope you two are happy together. Really I mean that”

I turn and walk away.

“Where are you going?” Tiff calls after me.

“To get my happy ending”

— — — —

“Y/N?!”

The priest looks at me confused as he answers his front door.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“You lied to me” I say deadpan “you said Father Crilly would make sure it all ran smooth. But it didn’t. Something went very very wrong during the ceremony.”

“What happened?” He looks genuinely concerned

“Well a few things. The bride objected, and then the groom confessed to cheating with the former maid of honour. Then the bride confessed to kissing the former priest and they both confessed to not loving each other.”

He stands looking at me for a few moments, taking it all in.

“Wow” he finally says “so not smooth then?”

“No” I burst out laughing and the priest joins in before turning serious again.

“Are you okay?” He asks, searching my face.

“Yeah” I say after a moment, “more than okay, I’m great. I feel like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders”

“That’s good”

There’s a comfortable silence before I speak again.

“You know, during the ceremony I kept hearing you in my head. Saying ‘It’ll pass’. And I realised something”

“What?”

“I don't ever want this feeling to pass. This feeling I get when I think of you, when I’m with you.” I pause to take a breath “I love you”

“I love you too Y/N”

I smile.

“So what happens now?”

He takes a step toward me, closing the gap as he brings his hands up to my face and crashes his lips to mine.

— — — —

I started this story by saying every girl dreams of her perfect wedding day.

Well mine ended up being far from perfect.

But as I lay here wrapped in the priest’s arms, for the first time in a long time I’m happy. I’m free.

And I’m in love.

#fleabag #hot priest #fleabag priest #Andrew scott #fleabag fic #hot priest x reader #Andrew Scott x reader #Andrew Scott priest #moriarty #hot priest imagine #hot priest fic #fleabag imagine #fleabag x reader #Andrew Scott imagine #Andrew Scott fic #fleabag hot priest

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certifiedskywalker · 4 years ago

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Still Dancing - Luke Skywalker

It is the birthday of the New Republic and, to celebrate, the freshly appointed Senators have thrown a gala that spans across all of the Core Worlds. Nearly the entire galaxy! By Leia Organa’s invitation, you find yourself lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces. You are, it seems, a wallflower, shy and unmoved by the rejoice in the air. Or maybe it’s the dancing that puts you off. Either way, Luke Skywalker is ready to sweep you off your feet.

AN: Gender neutral for the most part! Enjoy!

“You sure look happy to be here.”

“I could say the same for you,” Han fired back before he took a sip of whatever cocktail Leia had ordered for him. His face screwed up at the taste and he all too-quickly placed the glass of bright green liquid down on the table.

“Sour?”

Han answered with a glare.

“Could be worse,” you pointed out.

“Really? How?”

You tipped your head towards the table set next to the one you shared with the smuggler-turned-war hero. “Could be like him.”

Han glanced over and saw the same, overweight Twi’lek man whose head, heavy with his lekku and drink, was pressed against the table. Residue of all colors, including the bright green of Han’s drink stained the fabric cloth of the senatorial place settings. Drool dribbled out of the man’s partially open mouth alongside snores that were drowned out by the political chatter. Han turned in his seat to face you again and shook his head.

“I’d rather be where he is.”

You shrugged. “At least you can still dance away from your problems, Solo.”

“Ha, yeah. Sure.” Han looked back at the passed out Twi’lek and asked, “isn’t this the Ryloth representative?”

“He’s your wife’s co-worker,” you confirmed with hints of a smile played on your lips. Han let out a heavy sigh.

“At least I don’t have to worry about competition.”

“You? No,” you teased and waved a dismissive hand. “You’re a fine Coreillian wine he is to...well...whatever it is that you’re drinking.”

Han frowned but, based on his quietness, your analogy sated him. Both of you, resigned to your spot at the distant, corner table and your respective drinks, stared out into the crowd. Senators, representatives, and business people were dressed in their finest for this long awaited evening: the first annual New Republic Celebration. You, on the other hand, had dreaded your attendance. Though, Leia had stressed to that your presence at the gala was not mandatory.

“I, personally, want you to be there. At best, you meet someone. At worst, you commiserate with Han,” she had said.

That agreement, your promise to attend, was made weeks ago. If you had known it was going to be this stuffy, you would have stayed in your apartments. At least there you knew what you were drinking. There was the added bonus of not being surrounded by strangers, drunk strangers that, lured to their feet by the classical, live music, felt the horrible urge to dance.

Pairs of all sorts and shapes waltzed along the shining, Jelucani fogstone floor. If you dared to watch too long, you grew dizzy and forced your eyes to the stagnant ceiling of dangling, crystal light features. White, amber, and gold reflected beams and refracted waves in a dazzling show that impress you more than the swaying politicians. Much to your surprise, Han seemed more intrigued by the guests.

“Who’s that?” His sudden question coaxed your eyes from the ceiling and in the general direction of his gesture. A lithe figure with powder pink hair was in deep conversation with Leia.

“Amilyn Holdo. Senator from Gatalenta. I met her when Leia took me clothes shopping.”

“I hope she didn’t pay for her dress,” Han jeered. You rolled your eyes and studied Holdo’s holographic dress for a moment. Slips of pink fabric slid around her waist like an in-sown sash, the pastel tone creating a sharp contrast with the rest of the metallic skirt and bodice. Her apparel was not the worst by far. Though, stood next to Leia, whose hair had been done up special for the gala and wore a sleek, white and grey gown, anyone looked gaudy.

With a hard swallow, you let your gaze fall into your lap. Rested there, your hands brushed over the soft material of your outfit. Leia had had more of a say in your look for the evening than yourself. Not that you minded; she had great taste. However, despite your friends’ knack at putting together an outfit, you felt lost in your clothes.

The light blue color of long shawl and matching, flowing trousers reminded you of tundra-covered your home world, Hynestia. When you told Leia just that whole shopping, she had stuck with the color and got to work coordinating accessories and layers. Earlier, you caught your reflection and marveled at your appearance. After working with the Rebellion for so long, you never thought you could look so clean or so poised. Perhaps that was why you slunk to the back of the gala, the ballroom it was held in, and turned your feeling of being out of place into a reality. You didn’t belong here, you yearned for the field, the excitement, and, as grateful as you were for the rest, you longed for the danger too.

Dancing certainly was neither a substitute nor did it appeal to you. Though, the smiles on the faces of those on the dance floor did spark an itch somewhere in your soul. An itch you knew that you would never be able to scratch. Not until you were out of these clothes and back in a shuttle destined to an Outer Rim planet.

“That can’t be...is that…” Han’s voice, once more, broke through your thoughts. When you looked over at him, he wore a wide grin; but it was not directed at you or his wife a few paces away. “I thought you were stranded in Nar Shaddaa!”

“I was, but I couldn’t miss this. Leia would have had my throat!”

That voice! Quickly you traced Han’s eyeline and found its familiar, friendly owner. There he was, Luke Skywalker, dressed in pressed black and a smile that shown like the stars. His blue eyes finally landed on you and, instantaneously, your face warmed.

“Hey,” Luke raised a hand and waved at you as he approached.

“Hi,” you said and returned the wave but smaller, more timid.

“You couldn’t Jedi your way outta this?” Han raised a hand and gestured to the ballroom.

“That’s not how the Force works.”

As he explained, Luke moved and took the seat at the table next to you. Fuel, smoke, and warming spices filled your nose when he leaned in towards you. You looked at him, wondered what he was going to say or do when you saw his hand close around Han’s abandoned glass. He brought the bright green liquid to his nose and sniffed. Immediately, he cringed, face screwed up with disgust, and set the glass back down.

A laugh slipped up your throat and out your lips. The sound captured Luke’s attention and brought eyes up to meet yours. You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle yourself. Luke chuckled at your reaction and reached over to grab your wrist. Gently, he pulled your hand from your face and set it back in your lap.

“I like your laugh,” he said softly. Heat washed over you, numbed you with the affection in his voice. When you found your voice, you were stopped by a scoff from Han.

“Haven’t heard Y/N laugh all night.”

“Well, we can’t have that!” Luke looked back at you, “tonight we’re meant to celebrate!”

“Galas aren’t quite my...my thing.” Thing? You couldn’t find a better, more descriptive word? Luke cocked his head at you and you sighed. “This is my first time at an event like this.”

“No, it’s just like the celebration on Endor,” Luke gave you a smile and you were thrusted back into the memory of that night, the excitement had been heavy in the air. “Here, it’s just people with fancier jobs and fancier clothes.”

“Less bugs and stinking, furry gremlins,” Han added with a grimace.

You frowned at him before you looked back at Luke. His blue eyes were fixed on you, just as they had been on Endor the night the Empire fell. Tension fell over you that night, made you nervous to be around him; but the good kind of nervous. The kind that let the butterflies in your stomach go wild and your heart threaten to leap out of your chest.

“I...I don’t know,” you murmured. To escape embarrassment, you forced your eyes away from his and out to the dance floor.

“I do,” Luke said and he stood up from his seat suddenly. You peered up at him and watched when he extended his hand down to you. “Let’s dance.”

“Luke, I don’t-” Luke leaned down towards you before you could finish. The proximity shocked you into silence, the quietest you had been all evening.

“I wanted to dance with you, that night, on Endor. You declined every pilot that asked. But will you reject a Jedi?” Teasing and low, Luke’s tone sent a shiver down your spine. You impressed yourself as you held his gaze and took his extended hand.

Easily, Luke lifted you from your seat. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Han’s expression. His eyes were wide at Luke led you out from behind the table, mouth slightly open. Though, you were so enraptured by the warmth and softness of Luke’s hand in yours. So much so that you almost didn’t notice how Luke had started to lead you in the opposite direction of the dance floor. Almost.

“Um, it’s the other way?” You glanced over your shoulder, towards the crowd of politicians still waltzing around the ballroom.

Luke didn’t respond. Instead, he guided you out of the heart of the gala and down ornately decorated hallways. Hologram images of new New Republican officials littered each walkway but did nothing to distract you. When Luke finally stopped, you were in a small viewing room with walls made mostly of windows that gave you a perfect snapshot of the glowing city of Hosnian Prime. As you looked out across the twinkling lights, distant, soft classical music filtered down the hall from the ballroom. For the first time that night, you found that you could take an easy breath.

“Thanks,” you said when you met Luke’s eyes again. “I needed to get out of there.”

“Sure,” Luke smiled, “but I hope you know that we’re still dancing.”

On cue, he lifted your joined hands and turned his body to front against yours. You couldn’t help the grin that spread along your lips and you played along. Mirroring the movements of the politicians you saw on the dancefloor, you rested your hand on Luke’s shoulder. However, when his free hand found your waist, your breath caught. Luke’s face fell at the sound of your stifled breathing.

“Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah. Yeah,” you swallowed hard and held Luke’s eyes. “So, we’re dancing?”

“We’re dancing,” Luke echoed as he began to move.

Work with the Rebellion had demanded that you be somewhat agile and coordinated. Dancing, waltzing, whatever it was Luke was leading you to do, was not something your revolutionary duties had not required. However, as you moved, you felt as if you were doing it right. Graceful and practiced, Luke moved with purpose and you followed.

The two of you twirled about the small, hidden room in total sync. While dulled by the distance, the music from the ballroom provided that perfect beat for your feet to follow. Though, that didn’t stop you as you glanced down to make sure you weren’t stepping on Luke’s toes.

“You look beautiful.” Luke’s soft tone coaxed your eyes up to meet his. “You always do, but...especially tonight.” Warmth licked at your skin along with the compliment.

“You look quite handsome yourself,” you replied.

In step, you and Luke continued to move. Stride after stride, you moved together. Your fingertips, desperate for you to get closer, pressed tenderly into Luke’s shoulder. He took the hint and brought his body closer to yours, nearly pressed you together using the hand that rested on your back. Your stomach twirled in tuned with you at the touch.

A few minutes passed, with you and Luke focused entirely on each other, before you realized the music had fallen into silence.

“Luke,” you whispered, “the music. It’s stopped.”

“And we’re still dancing,” he said with a smile. “Unless you want to stop?”

You returned his smile and shook your head. At best, you meet someone, Leia had said; and you were tired of commiserating with Han. “No. I don’t.”

Wordlessly, Luke brought your hand, the one joined with his, to his lips. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the skin atop your hand as you both swayed in the quiet. The touch lifted you up, suspended you like the crystal that hung from the ballroom ceiling. You imagined, if you were to step outside of yourself and watch you and Luke dance, you would find that both you would glimmer too.

#Luke Skywalker #luke skywalker imagine #luke skywalker imagines #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker fanfic #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #guess who watched bridgerton

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solarishashernoseinabook · 2 years ago

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Solaris reviews Mrs. Perivale and the Blue Fire Crystal, by Dash Hoffman (2017)

Oh hey, my first time doing a review of a book in a post where I haven't posted excerpts from it first! In that case, let's start off with a bit of a summary, shall we?

Summary: You know that tumblr post that says that you'd expect more prophecies to focus on old ladies, and someone said they'd love to read a book about a little old lady saving the world with her cats and a devoted orderly? Well, Dash Hoffman turned that post into a book. Mrs Perivale is an elderly widow who goes to the land of Corevé with her seven cats and her butler to save the world. On the way, the cats start talking, she meets a dragon and a small race called the Inklings, and she discovers she always had the power to make a difference, even when she felt like her age might prevent that.

Content: It's not bad, but not stellar. The plot is a fairly standard portal fantasy fetch quest, with really very little work needing to be done by any of the characters, where they face only very simple obstacles. There were no great mysteries, shocking twists, or deep struggles. Don't take that to be very negative, though: I think the book achieved what it set out to do fairly well.

Who I think would like it: Honestly, this book was quite light, and so theoretically would appeal to a wide audience. Young teens or young adults would probably like it best. This book would be nice if you want something you can easily pick up and put down as needed. If I was still in school and was trying to fit in some reading around exam season, this would be something I'd turn to.

Things it does well: I did like Corevé, as well as Chippa Mari. Mrs Perivale was nice, too. The worldbuilding was simple, but the places they visited were imaginative and nice. I found the book a very light read, so I was able to turn my brain off and enjoy it with a cup of tea. I liked the description of Chippa, a very small creature only about a foot tall - there was a charming sentence early on where it's said he "spoke in a tender voice not much bigger than he was", and the way his speech was written was very distinct, making it immediately clear he was speaking without having to look for dialogue tags. There's also a good segment where the characters have to deal head-on with their insecurities and weaknesses, which I thought was handled well.

Things that could be improved: To be perfectly honest, I wasn't much a fan of the talking cats, because at that point they stopped sounding or acting like cats, but after a chapter I adjusted to it and was able to proceed just fine with the rest of the book.

This book was self-published, and it shows. Much of the prose could use tightening up, and Hoffman's grammar needs a fair bit of work. Sentences were easily comprehensible, but there are references to "wooded forests", the author confused "claw" with "foot" a few times (resulting in the rather bizarre sentence "[the dragon] had three forward toes and one rear toe on each claw"), every semi-colon should have been a comma (save for two that were used correctly), dialogue and accompanying tags were punctuated incorrectly (dialogue in quotation marks should generally not end with a period, and the ensuing tag should not start with a capital letter), and there was a chapter towards the end that had a lot of scene and perspective changes with no accompanying text break to clearly mark them. Note to aspiring authors: you always need an editor. Your friend reading over your work is not a substitute for a proper editor, even if your friend got really good marks in English class in high school. If you think you don't need an editor, you definitely need an editor.

Generally, though, the grammar isn't a big enough issue. If it sounds like your type of story, go ahead!

My review: Going in, I expected this book to be a lot more humorous than it actually was. Instead, it set out to tell a more sincere story of realising your self-worth and how you can contribute regardless of your age - old or young. I found the story a bit simple, but as I said, that did contribute towards making the book a fairly light read. This is a very safe book, with very little content likely to trigger anyone, which makes it good bedtime reading and good for younger audiences as well. I found this to be, quite honestly, a fairly middle-of-the-road book: not amazing, not terrible; my life isn't hugely improved by having read it, but nor did I feel like I wasted my time on it. I'm glad I read it once, and I think other people would enjoy it as well.

Does this book have…: ✅= yes ❓= not sure ⭕= possibly/mixed ❌= no

Romance? ❌

Sex? ❌

Racism? ❓ ⭕ One of the cats, Tao, is a Siamese who falls into a few mild Wise Asian Mentor stereotypes. She's regularly described as "meditative", and speaks in a philosophical way that's highly reminiscent of how a white person would try and write a wise East Asian person. Her ideal paradise is a Zen garden where she can meditate in peace. It's more stereotypical and overdone than anything else, and given how bad The Great Zoo of China was (review here) I might be reading too much into it. Note that I'm white. An East Asian reader might feel differently about Tao's portrayal, and may consider it more or less racist than I. This was my impression of it, but do not take this as authoritative.

Sexism? ❌

LGBTQIA-phobia? ❌

Ableism? ❌ I would actually argue the book goes a bit too far in the opposite direction - Mrs Perivale is seventy-three, but moves as spryly as a woman fifty years her junior, and apparently has no issues with her hearing or sight. Some references are made to her taking medication, but she goes without them for perhaps a day or more with no ill effects, nor does she have any issues after walking for days on end across rough terrain. Having her struggle a bit more would have added to the immersion and helped her arc feel more satisfying when it concluded.

Swearing? ❌

Drug/Alcohol references? ❌ There are a couple references to Mrs Perivale's "medications", but no mention as to what the medications actually are, and her taking them gets only a passing reference when it happens.

References to or actual violence or suicide? ❌

References to or actual animal death or cruelty? ✅ There's one animal death and some injury in the book, and references to fantasy creatures being killed and cruelly captured. For the most part, these are quite minor.

Recommended: Yes

#solaris reviews books sometimes #mrs perivale and the blue fire crystal by dash hoffman #book reviews

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solar-bean · 4 years ago

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Grimmjow Headcanons Plus a Few x S/O ones

( pretty sure I read some of these somewhere but I forgot so here's a self indulgent list :)

He died in his early twenties so he's still pretty young mentally but physically as a hollow he's old as hell

He's European

He takes a lot of naps in random places such as the roof of Las Noches

In fact he does a lot of cat like stuff and doesn’t realize it

He can purr but rarely and it’s mostly in his sleep

When he became an arrancar he had long hair similar to his release form. It kept getting in the way so he cut it

he doesn’t like wearing clothes

Him and his fraccion use to sleep close together in case they were ambushed by other adjuchas and still did even after they became arrancars

They didn’t think much of it. Except Di Roy. He’d say it was weird and ‘un-masculine’ to which Grim would tell him to shut up and go to sleep after laying an arm or a leg over his face.

Di Roy would also occasionally guilt trip him

Grimmjow: You’re too weak to fight with us.

Di Roy: I wouldn’t be if someone didn’t bite my face off.

Grimm:..........fine! do whatever you want. See if I care.

He was actually much closer to them than he let on

Most of the epsada knew it. Especially after Syazel threatened to experiment on them since they were ‘expendable.’ He did his best to avoid Grimmjow after that.

He only really got to grieve of their deaths when the war against Aizen ended

As much as he genuinely enjoyed fighting Ichigo it was also a distraction from all the pain he tried to burry

Harribel and Nelliel helped him with his grief

They became sort of friends afterwards tho he still tries to fight them both on a weekly basis

Refers to Pantera with female pronouns

One perk of most of Los Noches’ inhabitants being defeated is the nearly infant amount of space. So he was able to choose his own room

He keeps it surprisingly tidy aside from the nicknacks he’s hoarded from wandering around Hueco Mundo

His bed is full of pillows as a substitute of having a pack to sleep with

When asked he’ll say its for comfort

Nelliel: Have you seen my pillow?

Grimmjow: * sitting on it in his pillow pile* No.

He steals everyone’s stuff now and then but mostly Nel’s cuz he likes to mess with her ( insert low key sibling energy )

He talks to animals like people

Grimmjow: I told you to stop crossing the street at the red light idiot!

Cat: Meow

Grimm: Don’t talk back to me you little shit!!

Hangs out at Urahara’s place when he’s in the living world and not trying to fight Ichigo

Likes human food. Especially meat.

Grimmjow: *eating bacon for the first time* hmm tastes like hollows but better

Ichigo:.....I’m sorry what??!!

Was dared that he couldn’t beat Yoruichi at twister. He won five crates of snacks to bring back to Hueco Mundo ( may or may not have shared them cuz “ they gave me too much so take it or I’ll throw it out” )

Says things around the characters in the living world about his terrible experience under Aizen’s rule like it’s normal

Grimmjow: *having another rematch with Ichigo* Damn that almost hurt as much as Tousen slicing my arm off

Ichigo: *pauses the fight* Tousen did WHAT?!!

Becomes friends with Ichigo but won’t admit it.

Somewhat apologizes to Orihime and Rukia for what he did. But not Ichigo cuz he’ll do it all again but with less deadly intent.

Learns how to cook

Likes just about any kind of movie/show. He isn’t picky

Would get his 6 tattoo edited to something else if it bothered him

Would freakin die for Kazui!!!

Here are the S/O ones:

Is pansexual so gender isn’t an issue

Prefers someone who can beat him up but is ok with a human if he feels a very strong connection to them

Doesn’t really have a physical type honestly

Will admire things about their appearance cuz he likes it on them and not in general

Will be in complete denial about his feelings at first

Like “hollows aren’t meant to love” and all that ish

Makes up excuses to hangout with them but it’s mostly for his own benefit

“ I don’t like them. They just have a nice movie collection.” “ I don’t like them. They’re just nice to spar with.” “ I don’t like them. They’re just nice to talk to.” “I don’t like them. They just make me feel safe when I sleep next to them.”

Gives them random things he’s found when wondering around Hueco Undo’s desserts like gems and cool sharp bones

Let's them hold and even use Pantera

Starts to unconsciously turn off his hierro when he’s with them. It causes a lot of fliching and embarrassing gasps when they touch him since he’s not use to feeling so much

Did I mention he’s touch starved?

Like a lot.

Holding his hand for too long would literally kill him

Once he’s gotten use to feeling something other than pain from another person he starts to let them touch him more. Like hugs. Lots of hugs.

He even lets them rub his release form’s cat ears

Then here come the purrs. Louder than they’ve ever been before! It startles them both. He denied it but the blush gave him away.

He’ll do his best to purr more often since his s/o likes it so much. Such as when they’re cuddled up for a nap. Though he doesn’t really have to try.

Is confused as to why they like to squish his toe beans but lets them do it anyway

Wraps his tail around them in his release form

Will let them braid his long hair

Will also let them paint his claws as well as put makeup on him

He’s a total pushover ( insert the ‘please for me’ meme )

Is very protective of them

“ Why are you sad? Do I need to kill someone?”

If asked will follow his s/o when they’re out at night so they feel safe. Potential muggers? Thrown by an unknown force. Stalker? Punched by an unknown force. Cat callers in a car? Car gets flipped over by an unknown force.

Eventually no one bothers them at all cuz word goes around that they’re protected by a ghost or something else supernatural.

They’re of the few that can call him by a nickname and survive. Grimm, Grimmy, Grimmykins, Grimmy-kun, Kitty, Kitten, Catboy, Stinky cat, Baby boy, Baby boi, Big guy, Tough guy, My Arancar, My love, My one and only, Handsome, Blueberry. Literally anything is fine with him.

But call him My King and he’s done for. Dead. A second time. Deceased all over again. His heart will reform just to burst out of existence.

Takes them to Hueco Mundo a few times

Makes a pillow fort with them with his hoard of pillows

Will be skeptical as to why they like him and won’t be surprised if they get tired of him and break up

But oh no! They’re in it for the long run! You’re stuck with them Grimmykins:)

Would most likely say I love you without even realizing it till later

Grimm: *blushes* F*CK!!

Harribel: *pauses the meeting* Is there something wrong?

Grimm: I told Y/n that I love them before I left without realizing it! *puts his face in his hands and groans* I’m so screwed.

Nel: Well it’s about damn time!

Harribel: Congrats Grimmjow

Grimm: *groans and blushes some more*

If he really loves them he’ll find a way to weaken his immortality so they can grow old together ( yes it’ sappy but he figures he’ll get bored after they long gone )

Might go to Mayuri for help and becomes his lab rat in return. Won’t tell his s/o till it’s done so they won’t try to stop him.

It’s not fun. Like at all ( insert angsty fit energy here ). But it works and as an added bonus him and his s/o can have kids if they’d like

A great dad. Incredibly supportive and loving. Mess with them and you’re dead. Or at least scarred for life. No one messes with his cubs.

Grimm: Isn’t it weird that our kids are best friends?

Ichigo: No. We’re friends.

Grimm: I tried to kill you.

Ichigo: Who hasn’t?

Grimm: I’ll drink to that.

Ichigo: That’s a juice box.

Grimm: Have you seen my kids? The last time I wasn’t sober they ceroed the roof off and beat up a hollow. There’s no way I’m missing that again.

#bleach #grimmjow #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow jaggerjack #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow headcanons

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obeymeluv · 4 years ago

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The Bros Visit the Human World

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You bring the bros to the human world for a little get-away and they develop some interesting habits.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Lucifer

He’s the restless one that doesn’t sleep well. It takes a night or two to get comfortable and sleep normally.

Lucifer will probably be the first one up. Not only out of habit, but you’re in the human world so he’ll see the sun again

Being away from Diavolo and the responsibilities actually makes him seem like a stranger. Everyone forgets who he is outside of that because he’s so dedicated.

If you’re around a lot of nature, he’ll just casually stroll around. Almost like he’s forgotten what grass, trees, and flowers look like. He loves to spend time in the sun and just breathe the air.

Have pets? He’s partial to cats and well-behaved dogs.

Surprisingly, he’ll be the type to chase birds off of anything half-wounded or put birds back into their nests

At some point you’ll find him on the roof, wings out and sunning

Take him to livestock stores or somewhere like Tractor Supply Co. and he’ll be super tempted to smuggle a baby chick out in his pocket.

Loathes most human TV. Can’t bring himself to be interested until you bust out bible-history related documentaries. If he finds one he’ll take control of the TV, watch it all, and rip it to pieces.

Kind of develops a complex about it. “What would these humans know?! They’ve only been around for, what, forty years? Try five thousand!”

Take him by the coffee shops or smoothie shops to try decadent treats! He secretly likes them!

Mammon

Sleeps easier than Lucifer but has a tough time because the noises are different

If you have an open field or bigger back yard, his favorite thing to do is stand there and watch birds come to him. It surprises him that he can summon more than crows

Boy will definitely throw on a sunhat (or some cool glasses) and ask you what you feed birds around your place. Stands out in your yard throwing bird seed like the birds are starving and he’s got a million bags.

The type to fight squirrels and chase them out of your yard or away from feeders because “It’s not FOR you!”

If you live somewhere more laid-back he’ll feel very restless. He’s drawn to bigger, busier places.

IMMEDIATELY asks you about restaurants and things to do (”What’cha got? What’s good? Anything fun around here?”)

Gets super frustrated by shows like Storage Wars but it eerily good at appraising the value of stuff at a glance. Often guesses the real value of the objects

Show him Antique Roadshow. He’ll LOSE. HIS. SHIT.

He’ll ask to go by places like pawn shops and jewelers to just look at the different things humans trade or want to save up for. Can probably get discounts on the stuff.

Bring this guy when shopping for jewelry. He has an innate gift for appraising and can see flaws. He knows when you’re being played.

Want to be a little mean? Get those chocolate treasure chest coins and give one to Beel first. Mammon might just have a heart attack.

Definitely goes on a rant about how making chocolate money is wrong. (”Why make a currency you can’t spend?!”)

Make the visit special by getting some type of matching jewelry--earrings, rings, necklaces--and he’ll wear it around.

Take him by pet stores where they’ll let the birds out of cages, he’ll make kissy noises and love on all of them. Will definitely try to smuggle one out.

He’ll spend whole days in parks when he realizes you can park it on a bench and feed birds. Birds that don’t always get food!

Don’t show him water fountains. He doesn’t get the concept of people tossing coins in and will definitely try to take them by posing as a cleaner or something

Taking him by a museum is a 50/50 gamble. He’s genuinely interested in the displays and setup but might try to steal something

Do you have a way to watch The Road to El Dorado? Show it to Mammon. He’ll love it.

Leviathan

Unless you live by some cute cafes, comic book stores, or video game retailers he probably won’t do much on his visit

Do you have a pool? He changed his mind. Might gripe about the chlorine messing with his skin though.

If you only have access to a community pool he refuses to do anything with it

Take him to the beach if you live near one. He’ll ALWAYS go for ocean water!

Because the Devildom is the Devildom, I bet they don’t have Ghibli movies. Maybe they have knock-offs, or they’re considered rare because they’re human world related, but have a Ghibli marathon with him! He’ll love it! It won’t be Ruri-chan levels of love, but he’ll stan and want to buy some stuff

Can you make boba tea at home or swing by a coffee shop that makes a close substitute? Take him! He’ll like it! Levi may complain about it not being authentic but he’ll secretly appreciate it

He likes savory food and junk food so take him by a dollar store and get some cheap chips and sodas. It’ll be interesting to try. Maybe he can make a Deviltube video about trying human food!

Levi also strikes me as someone who would like nachos, so maybe grab him some nachos!

Do they know about the Doritos and Mountain Dew thing in the Devildom? He might want those. (”Look, I’m like the human gamers!”)

Levi runs a little colder than his brothers (by Devildom standards) so take him around to feel on blankets and maybe get one to take back to the Devildom.

Satan

Has a great love for books (obviously) and a great disdain for Devildom bookstores that charge an arm and a leg for human finds. TAKE HIM BY BOOKSTORES AND LET HIM LIVE IN HIS NATURAL ENVIRONMENT!

The type to bring an extra suitcase just for books

Is actually quite a homebody because he has no connections in the human world (besides you), so he’s fine to sit and read his new finds.

Do you have books at home? What are your favorites? He’ll read them, too, while he’s here

Show him some kind of crime channel or crime YouTuber and he’s 100% obsessed. Binges them like Netflix

Will wave you over and demand you sit, tangling your legs together as you lean back and speculate on who the murder is and what happens since most of those TV episodes are an hour long

Loves anything psychological-based. Wants to understand why people do things and how they work. Show things like Criminal Minds and Mind Games. He’ll be SUPER interested.

Do you have cats? You’ll see Satan whispering them and holding them against his shoulder. He’s in love and might be planning to steal your cat.

Taking him by animal shelters makes him a little sad but he’ll be glad to play with all the cats at one time.

Don’t tell him that, to most humans, Lucifer and Satan are the same figure in the Bible. He just might lose his shit.

Does your town have history/mystery tours? Take him! It’s a two-in-one and he loves it! History and culture, mystery and crime!

Show Satan Cinderella. He’ll get the BIGGEST laugh out of the cat being called Lucifer.

Asmodeus

Like Mammon, will ask you about aesthetic places and things to do

In a rare moment of not hating Mammon, the two will gossip at the jewelry stores and be really critical. Mammon stops Asmo from making bad purchases

Show him around some makeup stores! He’d LOVE to see human products!

If you take him by ANY store with clothes, he will look, pick, feel, analyze, and try things on for the hell of it. It will be an all-day thing

Human fashion takes off more than he expected on the Devilgram, so he’ll buy a few things.

When he realizes makeup stores give free makeovers, he’ll use that to his advantage. Especially by charming people

Goes on a small kick of charming people to get what he wants because Lucifer only ever told him he couldn’t do it to YOU. It’s a new level of fawning and attention and he eats it up

If he sees a cute Starbucks drink on TV, he wants it.

If you show him Pinterest or Instagram, he’s glued to a device and saving things.

By the time everyone goes back to the Devildom he has a tiny notebook full of ideas and details--ways to recreate it in the Devildom

Gets several modeling offers and you (or one of the bros) has to pull him away, It’s not happening.

Unexpectedly into unboxing videos and calligraphy. Lives for pretty hand writing and is fascinated by bullet journaling even though he’s too lazy to maintain one

Show him soap operas/dramas and celebrity entertainment channels. He won’t know what to believe.

If he sees shows like Jerry Springer, Maury, Jeremy Kyle, or Judge Judy he live-streams them like ‘can you believe what crazy things happen in the human world?!’

Beelzebub

The dollar store is his heaven! ALL THIS FOOD FOR A DOLLAR?!

I personally think that human food is less calorically dense so he’ll need to eat a lot. Take him by fast food places that have cheap dollar menus or five dollar deals

If you go to a restaurant with a ‘finish in ‘x’ amount of a minutes and it’s free!’ do it. He’ll set a record

Beel learns about all you can eat buffets and gives you puppy eyes until you take him to one. At least you’ll get your money’s worth!

Don’t take him by a real grocery store. He’ll bankrupt you. Or eat all the free samples.

He’s interested in cooking shows but if he watches them you’ll have to clean up a lot of drool, give him something to eat while he’s watching, or stop him from absently grabbing the closest thing and trying to eat it

Is super into renovation shows and technical shows where people work with their hands. It’s like sports of the mind.

Not as interested in watching American football because he’ll critique it too much. Any other sport, he’ll find it interesting and want to know how it works.

Show him old Olympic footage. He’s surprised at the variety of sports and will watch the whole thing

Will also enjoy Ghibli movies. How do they make food look like that?!

This boy is a Disney princess in a demon body. If he sees any critters while he’s out and about (ANY), he’ll want to try and feed it or pet it

Bugs are drawn to him. He especially likes caterpillars and butterflies.

Beel likes to hunt for ladybugs.

Likes to “donate” to ant hills and watch them work,

Likes to watch nature documentaries about different animals

If you take him to the zoo, he’ll marvel at the different animals. Wants to wrestle a tiger and the bigger animals to see if he’ll win. It looks “fun.”

Belphegor

When he hears about mattress stores, that’s his thing. That’s what he wants you to do together. Belphie will literally lay on as many mattresses as possible and judge them

He may not have a hard time sleeping as long as he has his favorite pillow, but, for kicks, show him ASMR. Beel’s not the only one who drools!

Will definitely fall asleep outside in the sun. Any place is a good place for a nap, and to look up and see clouds is special

Spend a night outside under the human sky. It’s constellations and things he only ever gets to see in the star room

Will watch just about anything on TV. He’ll say he doesn’t have a preference but he likes those happy, soft movies that have gentle endings where everything turns out okay. Actually cries a little.

If he learns what Snorlax is from Pokemon, he’ll want one. A big Snorlax plushy to cuddle and sleep on/with!

If he hears the word “demon” uttered on TV he’s instantly hooked. What stupid thing do these humans think? THAT’S their version of a demon?!

Can you take him to see real cows? He’d really like that.

The type to make flower chains in the grass because he’s bored. Gives his first one to Beel and falls asleep before he can make another one.

Loves milkshakes unironically. Will slink out of bed and come along on any errands/brother outings if he can get one out of you.

#Obey me!#Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Levi x reader #Leviathan x Reader #Satan x Reader #Asmodeus x reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Belphegor x Reader

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haliyam · 4 years ago

Text

interim (v)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 4

Hi again! Forgive me for this chapter and the next few ones, guys. I offer you this art I commissioned and an itty bitty happy-for-a-millisecond Zeke/Reader oneshot in the meantime 😪 (Please notice this I am so happy with it)

As usual, Reader default name Lucy is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background and family name. But feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension!

Chapter 5

“Why are you helping me?”

You grit your teeth, peering over at Zeke as he lets go of your foot. He was helping you stretch, seeing as you’re too fatigued to do it yourself, not to mention you’re covered in a heated blanket and he’s put hot towels over and under your limbs.

He ignores you, like he’s been ignoring you since he entered your room with all of these items, asking instead whether you wanted help or not. Like he’s been ignoring you since you arrived as a guest at the Yeagers’.

You don’t really like Zeke, and you’re sure he doesn’t like you either. You’re six, after all, with all the confidence the world can offer a child in your position, and he’s twelve, with all the arrogance of a boy already training to become the Beast Titan when the war in the South is over.

That’s why his help is so strange. And without Mrs. Yeager forcing him into it, too? It’s suspect, and you’re not even sure you know that word yet.

“Why—”

“Shh,” Zeke hisses, looking very displeased about having to respond in any way while you glare at him. When your brows unfurrow and you continue to stare at him expectantly, he rolls his eyes. Still, he finally speaks again. “Why are you like this, anyway? Aren’t you Magath’s new star would-be candidate?”

You were, until the ideology tests began. You don’t know they’re called that, but you’ve been doing terribly at the written exams which ask why Eldians are the dirt between the toes of real humans. Your answers show a well-read knowledge of Marley-sanctioned history, but distinctly lack the Eldian shame that comes naturally to your classmates.

This is concerning to the program and to command in spite of your potential, so it’s up to your instructors to beat that shame into you by keeping you running for far longer than the others, leaving you out of meals, or shortening your breaks and then making you stay behind so you can do everyone else’s grunt work, especially after you dared to look Captain Magath in the eye the first time your class fell in to formation after the first round of exams. And every other time since, like an idiot.

“Not anymore,” you answer, struggling to keep his gaze. You don’t really want to talk about this with someone who now must only wait to inherit his Titan. It makes you feel small, and nobody in Marley should have that authority.

Zeke wrinkles his nose. “That’s not an answer. It just seemed like you were doing great… and now you’re a baby that has to be coddled?”

Your glare returns, shame be damned, but the pain that suddenly pulses through your body as surely as your indignation quickly drains it. Your pride and your strength are depleted for the day, and you need to save what remains for tomorrow, when you have to face the instructors again. And besides—Zeke has already seen how weak you are. What’s the point? Tybur pride will do nothing for you now.

You lower your gaze for once. “Are you going to tell the captain?”

Zeke stares at you. “No? Why does Magath hate you now, anyway?”

You know why. Because you’re still a Tybur, and you refuse to be nothing. Even if nobody knows it. Even if you feel like nothing right now.

Zeke sighs again—a concession of his own, though that is unknown to you. “Fine. Just... my grandparents will get worried if they hear you crying because you can’t sleep.”

“I wasn’t crying,” you lie. Your body hurts so much that you haven’t been able to stay asleep for very long. You just didn’t think he could hear you crying.

“Sure,” he scoffs. He’s lied, too. It’s difficult to hear much noise inside your rooms from the hall—but you did pass him on the way to the bathroom with those puffy eyes just a little while ago. “Just make sure they don’t see you as pathetic as you look now—they already have enough to worry about. If you have to be pathetic… only do it in front of me. Understand?”

You still want to glare at him, but somehow, his words are almost as much comfort to you as the towels he’s heated for you. You don’t know the last time you let your guard down since the Warrior program began for your class, and you’re so tired. His words, however cold, warm you in your newfound frailty.

“Okay,” you murmur in defeat, relaxing in earnest. Your eyes are slowly starting to close.

“Hey!” he snaps within a whisper, quickly reaching for your shoulder and shaking it. You’re too sleepy to notice his reluctant concern. “Don’t fall asleep wrapped up in all this. It’s just a few more minutes, and then you have to go to the bathroom and put this ointment on your muscles like I told you. Remember?”

You do your best to widen your eyes and shake your head awake. The effort ends with you groaning in pain, but you eventually manage a nod. “I’ll stay awake,” you promise. When he sighs again and pulls the seat out from next to your desk to sit at your bedside, you murmur something else.

He frowns at you. “What was that?”

“I’ll stay awake,” you repeat, “but will you tell me a story?”

Are you surprised that Willy is coming to visit? Yes and no. Over the years, Willy has perfected the art of making his presence in your life known while somehow remaining completely absent. The nature of the new Lord Tybur’s existence in your world became immutable the summer after that fateful one, after you came crying to him and to Lara when you could no longer bear the loneliness of ignoring your friends’ letters for an entire year. Willy’s response, as with everything regarding Mila, was to turn away and change the subject. It was Lara who couldn’t resist your tears and confessed it all to you—what father told Willy hours before he became Lord Tybur, and then all she learned when she devoured him.

The new Lord Tybur was furious. It was only the second time in your life you had ever heard your brother so angry—but he never stays that way with you or with Lara for very long, and wouldn’t you have discovered the truth after thirteen years anyway? In true Willy fashion, he only smiled days later and expected you never to mention it again. The fact that you have, many times hence, is part of why your relationship is so frayed. That and his tendency to appear, shower you with affection, and then shrink at the first sign of trouble. After all, how can anyone expect you to love a man who can’t bring himself to stand up for you?

Your resignation to this is mostly what keeps you from worrying too much the next morning, when Zeke leaves for HQ and you elect to join the Yeagers for market day. Part of it is guilt—apparently you and Zeke now consume much more than you did as candidates, and you want to make sure that you’re paying your share—and part of it is that you still feel ashamed for letting Zeke see you act the way you did last night. You still have to take care not to groan outwardly when you remember how you shrugged him off when he tried to be a friend, or how much you practically wailed into his chest. Never mind how you hid behind him from Mila when he let you, like the coward you are.

“You’re so pathetic, Lucy,” you mutter to yourself.

Standing not far from you by a vegetable vendor, Dr. Yeager glances over his shoulder. “Hmm? What’s that, Lucy?”

“Er—nothing, Dr. Yeager. I was just thinking to myself,” you smile sheepishly. Drawing closer to avoid getting jostled by the crowd, you search over his selection. “Oh! That’s… a lot of potatoes. You don’t need to avoid other items on my account. I’m happy to pay for my share.”

Dr. Yeager chuckles. “No, no. You know how much Zeke likes them. And don’t worry, Lucy, I can carry them.”

“No,” you say slowly, exchanging a look with the vendor when Dr. Yeager gives his smaller basket a faithful pat. You reach for it instead, tugging a little when he stubbornly refuses. “I’m taking these. You can carry some of the fish, but I’ll be taking most of the baskets. Hand them over and I’ll bring these to Mrs. Yeager.”

Dr. Yeager sighs. “Very well, Lucy. But only because I know how much you like carp from our friend down the road.”

You grin, and he lets you take his basket so you can fill your much larger one with (apparently) Zeke’s potatoes. As you part ways so he can go and buy you fish, you set out to find Mrs. Yeager. She should be waiting outside a little cafe not far from the market—Dr. Yeager likes doing most of the groceries nowadays, and Mrs. Yeager’s one very important task is to buy the household’s favorite seasonal dessert: grapes. Unfortunately, the best grapes in the zone market are sold by an old man who has a bit of a crush on her, and he doesn’t like seeing Dr. Yeager if he can help it. Or Zeke. Or you.

That should be her only task, which is why you’re surprised when you find her with a man and a basket full of cured meats when you arrive.

The truth is you almost miss her, if not for the sweet sound of her amused chuckle right as you decide to head inside to find her. Walking around the man blocking her from view, you approach. “Mrs. Yeager?”

“Lucy!” she waves.

Her raised brows tell you she wants you to meet someone; evidently, the man carrying most of her baskets along his arms, wearing an apron over a button-down and slacks with his sleeves rolled up. You turn toward each other at your name, and after a blink or two between the two of you, you realize that the man’s shock is more familiar than you first realized—probably because it’s your second time bumping into each other this weekend.

“Lucy?” he gawps at you.

You give him the same look. “Kellan? What are you…?”

He follows your gaze to Mrs. Yeager, and the way it dawns on his face is enough for you to trust that this is another funny coincidence. “Oh—” He gestures to her, “I was just helping, er…”

“Mrs. Yeager,” you help him.

“Right, Mrs... You’re Mrs. Yeager?” he asks, glancing at her. It’s clear he’s seen her unmistakable red armband, but it’s not polite to ask which child earned you Honorary Marleyan status.

Mrs. Yeager is accustomed to his curiosity, which he soon realizes along with his manners with an embarrassed flush that makes you smile. Luckily, she takes over for him with a pat on his arm. “Kellan here was helping me with the meats I bought from his family’s shop. He was just telling me that he’s studying to be a doctor, and I thought, what a coincidence—but it seems you two already know each other! Isn’t he handsome, Lucy?”

Such a pointed question. You and Kellan meet each other’s gazes with mutual embarrassment.

“You really don’t have to answer that,” Kellan laughs nervously, which helps you snap out of your stupor and look at him. You suppose he is handsome, even with his dark hair mired in sweat and slicked back today. He’s tall, taller than Zeke and maybe even Reiner, with a strong nose and gentle eyes that watch you hopefully in spite of his words.

The Warrior program and boarding school means no one has ever looked at you like that before, and the novelty has excitement blooming in your chest. Maybe a slight pink on your cheeks, too, which you try to hide with a smile.

“I think so,” you say, his gaze and then his shock making you feel a new kind of brave. “And I have bumped into him a few times. ...Sorry again about yesterday.”

“That’s all right. Bumping into you isn’t so bad,” he says almost smoothly, very nearly matching your courage until he remembers Mrs. Yeager and, as such, his embarrassment. “...You know, because Mrs. Yeager bought so much. I’ve never seen my aunt so thrilled.”

You’ve never been this thrilled either—attractive boys were a constant topic for your peers at boarding school, but then you’ve never had the chance to meet one. You still haven’t. Kellan is an attractive man, a few years your senior and hardly a boy. And you aren’t a liar. He’s very pleasing to look at, especially when his eyes search yours so intently.

“Of course,” you say, trying not to look nervous when you take a step closer and reach for the baskets he’s holding. “Well, thank you for helping Mrs. Yeager. But I can take those.”

Kellan withdraws the arm holding her basket, giving you a once-over. “What do you mean?”

“Lucy is our guest at home,” says Mrs. Yeager, who looks far too pleased with herself. “Even if she refuses to let us carry our own things.”

“Please,” you feign a sigh. “I haven’t kept up with some training for nothing.”

Kellan looks confused as he glances between the two of you, but he’s determined when you meet his gaze again. “Lucy,” he begins, “remember that bookstore I mentioned yesterday? I was thinking—did you want to drop by after this so I can show you which books you can start with?”

“Really?” you ask. Perhaps you were hoping to see him again, make a friend or two at campus, but you didn’t think your encounters could actually move past hello and goodbye. But Mrs. Yeager was right. He is handsome, dark-eyed and tall, and the idea of more of those shy smiles is a flattering one. “Well… I’d like that. But I wanted to bring these home first. And aren’t you helping at your aunt’s stall?”

“I can take a break,” he says easily, smile growing just a little more confident. “And I can help you bring these home! You shouldn’t be carrying all these yourself. Er… If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Yeager. And I’d just have to change quickly. Been out here since early this morning.”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Yeager answers for you, giving you an openly suggestive look. You pretend not to see it, but stifle a smile yourself.

Politely averting his eyes to spare you the embarrassment, Kellan reaches for the basket on your right arm, and for a moment you understand the Dr. Yeager of a little while ago. But you’ve never experienced anyone’s chivalry before, excepting Bertholdt (and he was an angel to just about everybody and he was twelve). You can suffer Kellan’s for now.

“Thank you,” you say reluctantly. “But only that one. I have my pride to consider, you know.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, readjusting the baskets along his arms. When he shifts them all to just one arm so he can wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his damp hair glistening slightly, you imagine the tales you’ve read of countryside romances at the school library and remember to swoon a little. When he catches you looking and glancing away, Kellan smiles.

“Where to, ladies?”

You find Dr. Yeager with your carp, and he is just as pleased as his wife to have another helper no matter how much he claims he can take another basket of his own. Your fears of Kellan’s talk of med school bringing out unhappy memories in Zeke’s grandfather come to nothing when Dr. Yeager expresses interest in the university system nowadays, and you’re happy to listen to the men converse about Kellan’s plans for specialization on the way home.

“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Yeager says when you arrive, hurrying to unlock the door, and the three of you file into the house while she keeps it open. To everyone’s surprise, the door to the kitchen is already ajar: Zeke and Porco are sitting at the table, poring over folders together in silence. It seems they didn’t hear you come in.

“Good morning, you two,” Dr. Yeager’s surprised remark shatters their deep focus, and both of them spring out of their seats. They immediately turn the folders over and stack them next to a small paper bag.

It’s Zeke who relaxes first. “Grandpa,” he greets, casually nodding at each of you until he spots Kellan coming in from behind you. He doesn’t notice himself straightening up to his full height.

Before he can ask, Mrs. Yeager beams at the sight of Zeke’s guest. “Porco! What a nice surprise. You rarely come to visit.”

Porco’s suspicious brow slackens into a smile for her. It’s almost sheepish, and if that’s the case, is it really Porco? “Sorry, Mrs. Yeager.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Things have been really busy.”

“What are you two doing here?” you ask, rubbing your arms as you set the baskets down by the counter. You join them standing by the table at Dr. Yeager’s urging. “I thought you worked Sundays.”

It is Porco, because he snorts, only a little more politely since the Yeagers are around. “We were supposed to, until our Warchief realized he left work at home.”

Zeke shrugs helplessly. “It slipped my mind. I hardly ever bring home work.”

Porco remembers that you were the one in a hurry to leave HQ two days ago, prompting Zeke to forgo leaving the files in his office when Boy Wonder decided he would accompany you home, which is seriously stupid because you don’t really need any more babysitting. But then the two of you did pass by the family bakery and Mr. Finger—so he decides to stay quiet for now.

On that matter, anyway. He gestures to Kellan, who is quietly helping Mrs. Yeager unload the baskets. “Who’s the guy?”

You shoot him a reproachful, wide-eyed look. “Porco—!”

“This is Kellan. He’s studying to be a doctor, a few years ahead of Lucy,” Mrs. Yeager interrupts. She hardly knows him and she’s already proud of him, it seems, pushing him next to you by the table. He apologizes when the surprising force of her shove has him bumping into you.

“Right.” You steady him with a hand on his upper arm and are unsurprised to find muscle there. “Uh, Kellan helped us bring the groceries home. We’re heading out in a bit so he can show me some textbooks I can study ahead of time, regardless of which professors I get.”

“Textbooks?” Porco repeats with a chuckle. “Since when do you study, Blanchard?”

“Since a while ago, Galliard,” you say pleasantly, even with your teeth gritted, wondering if it’s possible to burn alive with embarrassment while hoping Porco catches alight himself. When the new Jaw only continues to look amused, you sigh. “Kellan, this is Porco, and that’s Zeke.”

You could announce their last names, but everyone in the zone knows who the Warriors are, and Kellan already seems uncomfortable. You hope it’s not because of Porco’s remark and consider throttling the man.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Kellan says anyway, politely offering his hand.

You hold back when Porco shakes it. It goes on for a little longer than you expect and their knuckles are paler by the end of it, but you suppose that’s better than nothing, which is exactly what Zeke gives when Kellan extends a hand to him next.

“The pleasure is ours,” Zeke says in lieu of doing anything else. He’s smiling, one hand in the pocket of his uniform while the other holds half the stack of folders. “Kellan, right? You’re pretty persistent, huh?”

Kellan presses his lips together as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Zeke stares at him a little longer before he chuckles. “Nah.”

You’re not surprised. Zeke always takes his time warming to people, if he ever does. When he meets your gaze, his amusement softens into something a little more natural.

You smile back, unsure why you feel embarrassed all of a sudden when Mrs. Yeager comes up from behind you. “All right, Kellan, thank you for accompanying us home. Now, off you two go.”

You survey the kitchen counters with a grimace. The groceries still need sorting. “But Mrs. Yeager—” you and Kellan start in unison, and then exchange glances. His light laughter is a little more than charming.

“Ugh,” Porco mutters, echoing more than just his own sentiments.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Yeager says before you can notice. She rounds the four of you to pat the shoulders of Zeke and Porco. “I’ve found two new helpers in your stead. You can spare a few minutes, can’t you, dears?”

Kellan looks to Dr. Yeager. “But—”

“We can handle it,” Zeke cuts him off, but he’s decidedly ignored the man, waving at you instead. “Do what you need to, Lucy.”

“Thanks,” you beam at him, feeling oddly silly. Like a child playing adult as Kellan opens the door for you. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, kids,” Porco calls out. He chuckles when you glance over your shoulder to shoot him a deadpan look, only to find Zeke giving him the exact same one once the front door clicks shut.

“What?”

“I’m sorry about that,” you say as soon as you leave the Yeager household and head down the steps toward the street. You glance back at Kellan, waiting for him to follow. “Zeke and Porco are nice when you get to know them. And vice-versa.”

Kellan nods, looking at you. “You seem close.”

“Yeah,” is all you can say. When you don’t say more, he doesn’t pry.

He asks to drop by the market again so he can pick up his things and an extra shirt, and you walk in relative silence until you reach it.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, open palms pressing at the air as if you’ll disappear the moment he leaves. It’s cute from someone so much taller than you.

“Go ahead,” you smile, and he does too before diving back into the crowd.

You adjust your armband as you back into a nearby building and watch the coming and going of Eldians through the tightly-packed throng. Long ago, during your first foray into one of the zone’s open air markets, you were disgusted and confused. Only your growing regard for the Yeagers and the thought of Zeke’s sarcastic surprise at the little you knew of the world had kept your mouth shut.

Over the years you came to accept it as part of this temporary home, and market day a time when Eldians could happily interact with familiar faces and keep one another apprised of their trials amid life in the zone. The strong stench of the place became a reminder of this affection you could only find within a community, one completely nonexistent in the grand, empty gardens of the Tybur estate.

The first summer after you left showed you that to Eldians outside of Marley, the Liberio internment zone—a place you still consider a prison for people you care about, where stepping outside its gates to look for a pharmacy when those in the zone have nothing more to offer can end in a beating—is paradise. It’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, but it’s your world. The world that the Tyburs have allowed to flourish.

Alone with your thoughts, you find yourself nervous. Why is Willy coming here? Only Mila was ever permitted to come and visit you—but that was when father was still alive.

Perhaps if Willy sees Liberio, the place that raised you...

You find yourself hopeful. Maybe it was father all along. Maybe Willy isn’t a coward after all.

“Sorry about the wait. Lucy?”

Kellan stands before you, hair no longer damp but brushed down a little more properly. The apron has disappeared in favor of a new button-down, the strap of his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

His sleeves are still rolled up. You like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile, readjusting the purse at your side. “Ready to go?”

Kellan nods, and is much more talkative now that he feels more presentable around you. He apologizes for his silence earlier—his own scent was bothering him, and he was embarrassed—and he starts to tell you about university as soon as you ask.

The bookstore he mentioned is a little far from the Yeagers’, but it is useful. Many are secondhand, but the store is vigilant about keeping only those published in the last five years. It regularly gets donations, perhaps from sympathetic Marleyans, though how they would know about it you can only wonder.

Kellan advises you as to the best books when it comes to basic medical subjects, which are what you’ll be taking up in your first year. In spite of Porco’s little joke, you’re eager to get started working toward that degree. General List’s words may hang over your head, but now that Willy is coming to Liberio, you have time to wait to tell him instead of putting off writing Lara about it.

“Wow,” Kellan remarks, once you’ve bought everything. “You really are serious about this.”

You glance up at him with a frown you can’t help. “You thought I wasn’t?”

“It’s not that,” he says at once, holding the door open for you as you leave the shop. He offers to take the books off your hands, but you hold the pile to your chest, waiting for his reply. “No, it’s more—I thought I was the only one who did this kind of thing. Study ahead of the year if I can.”

You relax somewhat at his words. “You do this too?”

Kellan nods, and when he reaches again, you let him take half your books. “My friends made fun of me, but I mean to become a physician. There aren’t enough Eldian doctors to attend everyone in the zone, and… I want to help.”

“I see,” you murmur. Suddenly, Kellan seems a lot more charming than he is already. “I bet you’re at the top of your class or something.”

Kellan only smiles, and you blink at him.

“Are you?”

He looks embarrassed about it the way you know most men in your life wouldn’t be. “One of my professors said if I wasn’t Eldian, I might have been offered a scholarship.”

“That’s amazing,” you say, a mix of admiration and pity swirling in your stomach. You wish you could help him. Do more for a man like this.

“Yeah, well…” Kellan shrugs, but he easily replaces his bitterness with a smile when he looks at you again. “You have a good study ethic yourself. You’ll do great.”

You can’t help but laugh at that one. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like passing the state exams was a fluke.”

“You wouldn’t be here if it were.” It’s his turn to frown. “None of us Eldians would.”

You wish that were true. Of course, you took the exams as Lucy Blanchard, and for all intents and purposes Willy had nothing to do with your results. You studied ridiculously hard to earn your grades and the state exam score—it’s just difficult not to wonder when Lord Tybur has always known what you were up to.

“Look.” He stops, moving to stand in front of you. “I know we just met, but—I don’t like hearing you say that about yourself. Okay?”

You can only smile. You haven’t known Kellan for half a day, but you don’t feel like challenging him the way you would the others if they said that to you. It feels like he deserves more than that. “Let’s just say I was always the more sports-oriented type. But thank you.”

Kellan looks at you as though he thinks you might say something self-deprecating again and he’s ready to gainsay it. When you don’t, he nods with approval and looks ahead. “Uh, so I was thinking…”

“What is it?”

“My friends study with me nowadays on university grounds. We’re allowed to, and the university library does have some books the store might not. The cafeteria has great food we don’t have in the zone, too.”

He glances over at you, and when you continue to wait for his point, he asks, “Do you want to study with us, maybe tomorrow afternoon? We have lectures to attend this summer, but I can maybe… pick you up afterward? The permit office will let you if you show them that you’ve confirmed your slot. If you want to,” he adds.

His offer is surprising and exciting and daunting in equal measure, because of course someone wanting to spend more time with you is nice, even if you’re ambivalent about meeting new people. Of course, the new people you met at boarding school knew you as Lucy Blanchard, the daughter of some Eldian servant for the Tyburs, and they were Marleyan to boot. Kellan’s friends are Liberio Eldians too. Maybe they’ll be just like him.

“I do want to.”

His uncertain expression immediately lights up. “Great,” he beams. “Will you be at the Yeagers’ tomorrow?”

“Uh… yeah,” you answer, after some thought. You’ll be at HQ most likely, but you can always leave ahead of Zeke. “Just tell me what time you’ll arrive and I’ll have my permit ready by then.”

“Okay,” he says, pleased. “That works.”

You exchange smiles, and he walks you back to the Yeagers with a more relaxed silence than when you left. He hands you your books once you’ve unlocked the door to the house.

“I really have to get back to my uncle’s, but…” He scratches the back of his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, right? Maybe… four?”

“Yeah,” you grin. When he waves, disappearing down the street, you hurry back inside toward the dining room. But it’s empty, with everything sorted in the kitchen. The Yeagers have left a note on the dining table about going out on a Sunday date, apparently presuming you would be out all day, but there’s another note from Zeke on the folded paper bag he and Porco brought home earlier.

Crybabies only, it says. You thought it was part of Warrior work, but you open it and find a few jars of your old favorite fruit jam.

“Tch,” you chuckle, fishing out the jars and storing them, but you take Zeke’s note and bring it upstairs with your books.

You get started on a simple lunch soon after. You want to re-wrap your new books in time for tomorrow afternoon, and make a note to replace Mrs. Yeager’s roll of plastic entirely since you neglected to buy your own. Once you get your permit for tomorrow, it’s still early enough that you have time to visit Mr. Finger, especially since you forgot to yesterday, and you end up sharing his dinner. You were embarrassed about dropping in when he was cooking, but he’s happy for the company, especially while Pieck is away.

To your relief, there are no guards in plainclothes outside the Yeagers’ when you return, and Mr. and Mrs. Yeager are in the living room chatting quietly between them. You greet them and hurry upstairs before they can ask you about Kellan, and allow yourself to linger in the bath when your reflection on Kellan inevitably leads to Mila and the night before.

Given how angry she was yesterday, you already know what she would say to you if she found out about any man like him. Not that you have ever considered sharing your life with anyone, but surely she would accuse you of trying to find some way out of your duty again, even when she knows that the family made sure—

The doorknob turning to no avail rattles into your thoughts. It must be Zeke, since you share a bathroom, so you hurry to get out and get dressed into your pajamas again. Once you’ve brought your things to your room, you give his door a knock.

He opens it pretty quickly. It seems he wasn’t expecting you, because he looks surprised to see you still drying your hair with your towel. On his part, he’s still in his uniform—just without the coat and the belt, one side of his shirt unceremoniously tucked out of his pants. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile, more pleased than you should be. You feel like you’ve been waiting to see him all day. “Was that you? I’m done with the bathroom.”

“Ah. Thanks. I’m still finishing something anyway,” he nods, and leaves the door open when you don’t immediately turn and go.

You follow him inside, flopping at the edge of his bed while he goes to his desk again. “What are you working on?”

“Warrior stuff.”

Something must have him in a mood, but there’s no use poking him at this stage. “I saw the jam. Thanks for that.”

Zeke turns away from his desk, his serious countenance lingering just a little before it finally falls away for mischief at the reminder of his little gift. “Like my note?”

“No. And only because it means I’ll have to share it with you.”

“Heh. Yeah, sorry—just putting off turning in paperwork I should’ve gotten done before.” He sighs, obviously trying to settle down, at least until he seems to recall something else. He glances back at whatever he was writing, his pen swaying noisily between his fingers as it hits his desk. After a beat, he slides his work a little further away from him and asks, “How was the date?”

You’d almost forgotten about that. “Oh—it wasn’t a date,” you say, and realize how strange it feels to be discussing a boy with Zeke. “Kellan is just helping me study ahead of the semester.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, like a promise. You don’t care to mention that you’ll spend time with Kellan and his friends tomorrow afternoon. That was implied, right?

Zeke shrugs, sitting back against his desk chair. “When did you get so fond of studying, anyway?”

You shoot him a dirty look. “The way you and Porco tell it, it’s like I didn’t know how to read.”

“No,” he laughs, making the denial sound a lot more like affirmation, “I just mean you hated it. Before Bruning knew who you were, you were in the running for either the Jaw or the Armor for a reason.”

You peer at him. When Zeke only lifts a brow, challenging you to deny it, you click your tongue. “I guess. But I didn’t inherit anything, so what was I supposed to do? I was never interested in the varsity teams… not that they would have let me join as Lucy Blanchard. And I wanted to be useful somehow. I mean, actually useful.”

“I know,” Zeke says, watching your fingers lightly pinch at the hem of your pajama top in frustration. It’s almost amusing how your tells haven’t changed a bit, but he can’t deny that it’s endearing. “Well… I’m glad you’re doing something apart from getting me in trouble for once.”

Your jaw drops. “I never got you into trouble for that long, did I?”

The two of you meet eyes for a moment, knowing the answer to that, but you both choose not to bring it up. He wouldn’t put you through that memory again.

“I don’t know,” he grins. “How long did I stand there getting an earful when you glued Nickel’s belt together?”

You stare at him, genuinely trying to remember—before you burst into laughter, hand over your mouth in sheer horror at the memory, as though you can’t fathom ever having done such a thing. Zeke is shaking his head, trying not to smile, when you finally calm down enough to present your defense. “That—that was Pieck’s idea!”

“No, Pieck said she wanted to do it. You actually did it.”

“But it was funny,” you grin. “And Nickel deserved it. Besides, I paid for that too.”

“Yeah…” Zeke’s smile falters. He remembers. You had been about this close to being force-fed the glue you used that afternoon, when you found one of Magath’s fellow instructors asleep in his office. “Nickel deserved everything that came to him.”

He remembers what you looked like when they found you, busted lip still stubbornly set in a line, trembling as Pieck shed silent tears when Magath dragged Nickel out of sight. But then your foot nudges his leg, pulling him from his reverie so he remembers what you look like now. Not a bruised or bloody memory that still wakes him at night sometimes, covered in sweat, but Lucy in the flesh, with a knowing expression on your pretty face. Zeke supposes he’s just as easy to read when you know his tells, too.

“Well... sorry about that anyway,” you say. “Pieck had a name for my brand of stupidity for a reason.”

Zeke knows what you’re doing. He grants it to you with a sigh. “No sense of self-preservation.”

“That. Don’t worry—I’ve developed one since then. Or Pieck’ll really��give up on me this time.”

You give him a smile, as if he’s the one who needs comforting when it comes to that night. Why did he have to bring it up? He would put his foot in his mouth if that didn’t remind him of Paradis—of his most recent nightmare. The thought of everything you don’t know makes him feel like an ocean separates the two of you all of a sudden. Like you’re here, and he’s still on that island, a blade jammed into his maw. He shivers.

You lean a little closer, elbow on the footboard. Of course you’ve noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Leaving his pen on the desk, Zeke moves over to sit next to you on his bed. If nothing else, he can at least shorten the distance in one way.

He has a lot to tell you, Paradis foremost of them all. He knows Pieck must have said something, but he’s managed to avoid the topic so far.

He has a lot to ask, too—what was normal school like? Did you really not have any friends? You seemed to make easy enough friends with that Kellan character.

Zeke looks at you like he wants to say something, and then gets as far as opening his mouth before clearly thinking better of it.

“It’s Pieck.”

Alarmed at his tone, you inhale sharply. “What about Pieck? Is she all right?”

He was holding his breath himself, but he relaxes with a chuckle.

“Yeah. She’ll be back with the Panzer Unit in less than a week.”

“Oh! Good,” you say, but then stare at him, obviously catching the lie in his old answer now. But he sees it when you shift priorities (Pieck was always one of them)—you’re clearly excited to have her home earlier than she promised, but the why of it is giving you pause. “So soon?”

“Yep.” He shifts away so that he’s moving up his own bed, at least until he catches you giving him a disgusted expression. You can’t stand it when someone still in their out clothes wears them to bed, and he knows that very well. That earns you an eyeroll, but you’ve had so many arguments about it at this point, many of which began with well it’s my bed and which ended only because he couldn’t stand hearing you talk any longer, that Zeke only sighs and practically vaults himself off his sheets so he can grab a change of clothes before you can start.

He makes a twirling motion with his finger when you look, and you turn to face the wall. This must be the quickest that Zeke has ever grabbed or changed his clothes outside the rush of Warrior training as a kid. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly conscious with you in the room. It’s just you.

“You know it doesn’t count if you don’t shower, right?” you ask.

Zeke makes a snorting sound as he climbs back onto his bed in a shirt and a pair of pajamas, even if he feels like he’s twelve wearing the whole get-up right now. This time he ignores you until he’s got his back against his pillows and the headboard, legs stretched out over his blanket and his arms crossed over his stomach. “Do you want to know why Pieck is coming back soon or not?”

Your turn to roll your eyes. “Fine.”

Smiling triumphantly, he pulls out one of his pillows and tosses it on the empty space next to him. You wrinkle your nose at him, but he did give you the clean pillow when he’s given you the other before, so you let yourself fall forward on your stomach and rest your head on your arms, both crossed over his pillow. Your hair looks warmer than usual against the light of his lamp as you peer up at him. “So?”

Zeke looks away and shrugs. He shouldn’t be telling you this. But if his room isn’t safe for secrets, then where is? “One reason. Lots of movement in the south these days.”

Between the old Southern borders of Marley and Ulodana lies its new Southern territories, swept off the board by Marley and into its net in years past through the efforts of the Warrior generation before yours. Mr. Ksaver’s, to be exact, before they started training children. You had heard of minor attempts at guerilla warfare within those former nations in their bid for freedom, but little else. After your summer excursion with Mila, you began to distance yourself from news of the world when it came to Marley’s expansion, the Warriors’ activities especially so. Ignorance was better than guilt back then, but Zeke doesn’t know that.

“The South… you quelled a small rebellion there, right?”

“Yeah, but…” One of his hands drums near your pillow, tugging once at its corner as he asks, “You don’t know?”

“The Tyburs aren’t told everything.”

“Fair enough. Between the two of us,” he says, giving you a meaningful look you return with an earnest nod, “a couple of the leaders escaped into the eastern peninsula. Who knows what support they’ve gotten since then?”

You take a deep breath and hum as you exhale. “...That explains why General List reached out to me.”

“List? He’s the one who called the meeting with you?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Didn’t the commander say he was there?”

“He doesn’t tell me everything. So have you decided?”

You almost look amused. “You know I can’t move without Willy’s say-so.”

He shrugs. Needless to say he doesn’t care all that much for the new Lord Tybur, who sounds just as absent as your old man was back then. “I meant what do you want?”

When your surprise at his question starts to fade, you lower your gaze at his quirked brow, slouching a little. “I don’t know. List wants me to… ‘be the new face’ of the Foundation. Distance it, myself from the regime so we can build headquarters abroad and bring in intelligence. That way we can bring more Eldians into the safety of the organization, but...”

“What?” Zeke snaps, sitting upright all of a sudden, but all the reasons you shouldn’t do it skid to a halt behind his teeth when you recoil in surprise. He pauses, clearing his throat, and reaches up to scratch behind his ear instead. “...would your brother put you in danger like that? What about Tybur non-involvement?”

You scoff, eyes narrowed at nothing you can see here. “That’s not what the general thought. He only said Willy wouldn’t do it to Mila.” Zeke grunts at her name, and you shake your head. “I mean… maybe it’s moot. She would never give up control of the Foundation.”

“Yeah... Maybe.” Maybe it’s enough that you’re ambivalent. General List is one of General Calvi’s close allies, and he’s well-known in certain circles to get what he wants. But even he can’t change the century-old tradition of Tybur ‘neutrality,’ even if part of Zeke is curious to see if Mila Tybur or Hulbart List would win in a battle of wills.

He sets that aside when he catches a distant look in your eye. He’s only ever seen one reason you’ve looked like this. Or two. “She didn’t drop by again today, did she?”

You shake your head. “She had Foundation business yesterday. She must have gone from the city last night the minute she left here.”

“Then what is it?”

You look at him, and now he knows what it is. “I just… ugh,” your eyes fall to his sheets. “I don’t know. I was so pathetic yesterday. I wish I—I wish that I could have said something to her.” Your voice is quieter when you add, face flush with embarrassment, “I wish you hadn’t seen me like that.”

“This again,” he says at once. It was difficult not to cut you off from the get-go. “Have you forgotten already? If you have to be pathetic…” He reaches over to graze your chin with the curve of his index finger, tilting it forward so that you meet his gaze. “You can be pathetic in front of me. Understand?”

His soft smile is the same as it was in the hallway yesterday. Warm still, like the solid expanse of his chest when you wept in his arms, but suddenly his finger beneath your skin feels hot. Tingles where he touches you. Like your face, now that he’s looking at you like that.

That’s not right. Zeke is either an annoying jerk who should shut his face forever or all comfort, blankets tucked up to your nose after a grueling day of work and a warm bath; a good night’s rest. Wrapped up in a hot blanket, the murmur of his voice lulling you into a deep and restful sleep. Not standing over a precipice with only the whim of the wind behind you or the rush of blood pounding through your ears without warning.

This is not the Zeke you’ve wanted back for the past six summers.

His touch scalds you—or maybe the memories you keep closest to your heart, as if any closer, any longer and it might burn them away forever.

You tremble, but not with pain, and decidedly ignore it as you stare at him, forcing a slight wince on your mouth. You hope he doesn’t notice you gulp. “That was probably more impressive when I was a kid.”

Zeke lets his jaw drop—it must have been a while since anyone denied him their awe—but he only laughs, so deep and hearty you feel his mirth in your own chest, before he flicks a finger at your nose. “You little ingrate. That was supposed to be touching!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grin, a little too widely for your own good. Batting away at his hand, you sit up and slide off his bed. You’re strangely hyperaware of the way you gulp again once your feet find your slippers. When your eyes meet, he’s pretending to be cross with you. Maybe you like it better that way.

“But thank you,” you say, rubbing an arm. “Really.”

Zeke only nods, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as you head for the door. “Lucy—you still coming to HQ tomorrow?”

You glance back only once you’ve got your hand on the doorknob. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” he says, but he looks pleased. “All right, get out. Distracting me from work and then telling me I’m not impressive anymore…”

“Spend more time with the kids. They still think the world of you. Good night!”

Zeke could probably chuck a pillow at you when you give him a little cackle before shutting his bedroom door, but he lets you escape with your dignity intact.

At any rate, he’s in a much better mood when he gets back to work.

////////

If you're worried about Kellan, you can click the fic list link on my bio for spoilers. (assuming you haven’t already read the other oneshots ahahha)

The flashback at the start of the chapter (as well as the others in the next few chapters) is something of an edited excerpt from a long-ass oneshot I wrote detailing Lucy’s childhood from before she left the Tybur estate, going through her Warrior training, and until a little after the time Lara inherited the War Hammer which I was/am debating with myself about editing&posting maybe after finishing the sequel fic to this which occurs during the Mid East-Marley War. I wondered if I should keep flashbacks out except for 2 crucial flashbacks toward the end of the story, but I’ve been sad about the dumb leaks post-139, having this feeling of ‘what’s the point of all this then if it all ends in that’ (even if this will be canon divergent), and I decided I would like to show the most important bases for Lucy’s relationships with at least Zeke and Pieck before she left, plus editing this in made me happy, so yeah.

Also! I know Zeke was a sweet little boy... but he was alienated by his classmates when he did poorly at first and burdened with expectation his whole life. No doubt that alienation shifted to sudden praise, admiration, or jealousy as soon as he became a candidate, and my hc is it made him a cynical kid when it came to others his age and even older people. Of course, he does eventually learn to be more charming (or annoying) and does have friends (as much as you can have friends in his position and with his life view), but that to me is why he’s like that at 12. Mr. Ksaver is exempt from this obviously as he completely trusts the man.

Another note: This is tagged zeke x reader because it’s in 2nd person POV, but also zeke x oc because reader or Lucy has a set background and family name. If you've gotten this far in interim I'm sure you already know what that is. XD So... please don’t send me hate or frustrations about why she looks like she does in the commissioned art I linked in the top of this chapter. Her family name necessitates that she’s white, I'm sorry. I hate having to say this but I'm not white either, or white-passing or w/e, but as I said in my note in chapter 1 I want to write a Tybur OC. If you’re going to send hate about me making a Barbie doll to complete Zeke or whatever I’m just going to delete it. Lucy is much more than that, in fact Zeke is not an entirely positive force in her life though they may appear to implicitly understand one another, and I have an entire background story and development for her that I‘m excited to write and share. I’m (not) sorry if me taking the time out from that to commission art that makes me happy grinds your gears. Of course I hope that readers will enjoy what I've written for myself but if you don't like it, just click away please. I won't be responding to complaints about that from here on out.

Anyway, thank you as always for reading! Would love to hear what you think. Of the flashback, of Kellan, of Zeke, of Lucy's blatant denial of certain things (I love and hate this), whichever! (Also can you tell I love Porco? He notices everything. Or almost everything.)

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queenofnohr · 4 years ago

Text

Fate/Grand Order Saito Hajime Line Masterpost

Gotta pay my respects to the Shinsengumi as always.

I really do recommend reading these along with a video showcasing his lines if you don’t have him since his voice acting is phenomenal and also some of what he says is clearly like... under his breath or there’s a tone shift or whatever (for example, his lines with Okita sound rather harsh if you’re under the assumption he’s always speaking directly to her).

As always these lines aren’t in the order they appear in on his card page, but the order you’re most likely to hear them in.

One other note is - I left “makoto” untranslated when in direct reference to the Shinsengumi flag/ideals. Makoto means “truth” and it would still work translated as that, but within context it means... more than that. Not just truth, but ideals, what it means to be Shinsengumi, etc. and I thought cutting it down to simply truth was doing it a disservice.

Summoning: Hajime Saito, Captain of the Shinsengumi’s Third Division here. You can call me your beloved Hajime-chan. Wait, no, like I thought that’s no good. So you’re Master-chan, huh? Well that explains the look on your face. Oh, right, I’m not great with formalities so… with that, regards to ya.

Level Up 1: Thanks a bunch, Master-chan. Level Up 2: Thanks for that.

Ascension 1: How do I look? Pretty swanky, right? I looked like this back in the day since I was a police officer. I’m pretty used to wearing Western clothes because of that. Ascension 2: Oh, these swords? This one is a wakizashi, and the other is a naga-wakizashi. The longer the wakizashi the better, and the Commander encouraged me by saying, “That suits you surprisingly well!” …...Ha, a sword suiting me.* Ascension 3: To think there’d come a day when I’d wear this again…… A lot of things happened, but in the end I came back. It’s been so long, and no time at all…… There’s nothing more to say. Ascension 4: Thank you, really, for sticking with me this far even though I’m like this. What’s with this? I’m not the type to get all choked up. There must really be something wrong with me. …...Anyway. I’m entrusting my sword to you. —Hajime Saito, Invincible Blade and Captain of the Shinsengumi’s Third Division reporting in.

My Room Generic 1: Are you heading out? Then I’ll tag along with you. What? I won’t get in your way, so do as you like. My Room Generic 2: I’m no good at serving under people, I’m no good at not serving under people…… I just go with the flow. If I force it, it’ll just leave. My Room Generic 3: So I’m your subordinate, huh, Master-chan? Since I’m a Servant. But, sorry, I won’t go to my death. What’s the saying? If a human dies, they lose. My Room Generic 4: School of swordsmanship? Nah, I don’t do anything like that, I just swing my sword around carelessly when the time comes. It’s not anything as impressive as a school of swordsmanship. Well, if I had to call it anything it’d be the “Invincible Style.” There’s no theory to crossing swords in the first place. It’s just something I’m crazy about. That is, killing each other.

With Okita: Well, if it isn’t Okita-chan. You doing okay? What, can’t a guy ask what’s up? You always were Ms. Sickly after all. Well, in any case it’s a relief we’re on the same side. It was only you I never wanted to meet again…... With Hijikata: Vice Commander, you still…… No. It’s fine. It’s better if you stick to your “makoto.” Just as I must try to overcome my “makoto.” With Izou: So that’s Man-Slayer Izou, huh. His sword skills are certainly a big deal. Calling him a genius is no exaggeration. But the most important thing - the ability to get on in the world - is something he totally lacks. It’s all over when you die. With Ryouma: Ryouma Sakamoto of Tosa. I didn’t think I’d see you here. But if you’re not an enemy I guess I’ll thank you. That’s right, you always were quite the charmer. By the way, can you introduce me to the beautiful woman accompanying you? …...Huh? I have a bad feeling about this. With Musashi (any version): So even Miyamoto Musashi and Sasaki Kojirou are here. What’s with this place? Can a minor swordsman like me even get a day in the limelight? With all these legendary swordsmen around…… For once I wish I was on the other si— Woah, that was out of character for me. I’d better quit while I’m ahead. With Okita Alter: You’re Okita-chan!? Nonono, what’s with that look, what’s with that sword, what’s with those tits!? …...Huh? “As an Alter it’d be better to call me Majin-san”? Wow, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Whatever. By the way, how about a drink tonight? We can eat soba or whatever too. With Kagetora: So the great war hero of Echigo is a woman, huh. But Nobunaga is also a woman, so that’s not really surprising…… No, isn’t it normal to be surprised!? But, well, it seems people also thought Okita-chan was a man……

Likes: Stuff I like? That’d be playing around. I mean I look like a freeloader, right? That’s really how I am. …...Eh? You can see it? That’s unexpected. Oh, that’s right, you know the croquette soba I ate at the cafeteria? I like that. Dislikes: Stuff I hate? I’ve always been bad at dealing with stubborn guys. Weren’t those types all around me? I don’t know who you’re talking about. The Vice Commander? Oh, he isn’t stubborn. —It’s more like he’s pure. Holy Grail: The Holy Grail? It can make whatever you wish for come true? Wow~ That sounds shady even to me. Well, “don’t knock it till you try it,” and all. So why don’t you try it? If it works out, I’ll try it too.

Bond 1: Master-chan? There’s no need to worry about me, right? I’m just a guy who sides with the strong and gets carried along with the tide. No, really. Bond 2: Haa~ you’re so serious Master-chan. Aren’t you tired of it? Though even if you wanted to run away, you couldn’t. There, there, it’s okay; I’m in the same boat too. Bond 3: Look, at the end of the day, I didn’t follow the Commander or the Vice Commander. I’m an unreliable guy. So, Master-chan, don’t care about me and use me as you like and throw me away when you like. I’d like for it to be like that, too. Bond 4: —Huh? Oh, sorry. I was thinking. What, it’s not a big deal. I was wondering if it was okay to just go on as things are now. Then, I decided. That I’ll go as I am now. Don’t worry, since I’m one of the Shinsengumi that survived. Bond 5: My “makoto” is only my own. It’s the “makoto” of freedom that isn’t bound to anyone. Master-chan…… No, Master. This is my true nature. Serving someone and swearing my loyalty to them doesn’t suit me. So I will help you in accordance with my “makoto.” As long as you remain you.

Event: “Woah, looks like an event is going on. Shouldn’t you get out there? You should play while you can, ‘cause you can’t play when you’re dead. I’ve said it for a long time now, “Life is short, so play around while you’re young.” Right? Birthday: Oh, you’re here. Your birthday is today - congratulations. …...That said, I didn’t get you anything. Sorry, but I’m not that thoughtful. Oh, that reminds me - I’m not saying this is a substitute, but are you going to eat soba? If so, I’ll treat you to croquettes.

Battle Start 1: It’ll be fine, after all you have the invincible Hajime-chan on your side. …...What? Battle Start 2: Well, I hope these guys are weak. Battle Start 3: I’m Hajime Saito, Captain of the Shinsengumi’s Third Division. If you want to flee, flee quickly. …...Well, I won’t let you escape, but even so.

Card Select 1: This one? Card Select 2: ……Okay Card Select 3: Yeah, yeah

Attack 1: Hah! Attack 2: There and there and there! Attack 3: This is how to use a sword! Attack 4: There we go. Attack 5: Take this! Attack 6: There!

Extra Attack 1: Dodge it? …...You can’t! Extra Attack 2: Hoy, hoy, hoy, hoy…… it’s over! Extra Attack 3: Sorry, but this is as far as you go. …...Die.

Skill 1: Well, let’s take it easy. Skill 2: Now then, shall I kill? Skill 3: I got too carried away.

NP Select 1: I’ll show you…… an invincible blade! NP Select 2: Well then, could you step back, Master-chan? NP Select 3: You think you can take this sword? …...You’ll die if you do.

NP 1: It doesn’t matter what technique you use. Only the strong will win. …...Like me— Haugh! NP 2: Good grief. Well then…… Here I come! —This is…… the end! NP 3: Without form, it is intangible, flowing, it is infinite, and thus my sword is— invincible!

Damage 1: Oh shit! Damage 2: Ouch! Damage 3: Are you for real!? Damage 4: tch!

Defeated 1: There’s no way I could lose…… They always said I was the Invincible Blade…… Defeated 2: It was my rule to never lose a match…… I’ve lost my edge…... Defeated 3: Sorry…… Everyone……

Victory 1: My rule is to never lose a match. That’s what it means to be invincible. Victory 2: *sigh* That was an unexpectedly troublesome job. Master-chan, are you safe? Victory 3: Right, arrest anyone who’s still breathing! Third Division, withdraw!

* History lesson! While this could be in reference to Kondou Issami (the Commander in question), his talking about being on the police force gives me reason to believe he’s talking about his time after the Shinsengumi as Fujita Gorou (he did serve as part of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department until he retired in 1890). In that case, this story in particular is about he was the only person authorized to carry a katana (naga-wakizashi are almost identical to katana) after the fall of the Tokugawa. It also puts his tone shift in perspective when listening to the line itself - he goes from relaying a work story to reflecting on said story near-bitterly because of course a sword would suit him. After all, he was a part of the Shinsengumi (which his boss would not know about).

#long post #my translations #fgo #fate grand order

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ofdragonsdeep · 3 years ago

Text

26 (Star)

This was written as a fill for the quick-prompt for the week of 13th September on the Book Club discord, which I... cannot link because I am not an ~official author~ because I'm shy.

They are supposed to be 100 words or thereabouts. This... is not.

The eldest of the Durendaire children tires of misery.

(spoilers for early SB, Firmament quests, and minor AST nonsense)

The soft sound of the waves splashing against rock warred with the hustle and bustle of Limsa Lominsa for a place in the ears. Ar’telan, sat on one of the benches in the aetheryte plaza, watched the people come and go, locals and merchants and tourists thronging between docks and markets, watched over by stern yellowjackets keen to keep the peace. When he had first set foot in Limsa Lominsa, however many moons ago that had been, someone had told him that you could tell a native from an outsider by how much the salt spray settled into the crags in their face, consonants discarded from the speech like so much unnecessary ornamentation.

The Echo had taught him that people would hear what he wanted them to hear, when it wanted to work, but he had never been able to sound like a local. Even Reyner, the commander of the Yellowjackets and perpetual ‘proper’ speaker, still sounded more at ease in Limsa than Ar’telan did. Still, he was comforted by the familiar surroundings, sun reflected off white-bleached walls, the comforting thrum of life.

With a thunk of shoes on stone, Ar’telan hopped from the bench and began his walk around the city. He was here for no reason - not one that the fate of the world dictated, at any rate. It was nice, in the space between disasters, to find himself in familiar places without a pressing cause.

The walk took him to the upper decks, past the drunks and the hopeful street workers and the festive balloons in the Aftcastle. Melkoko waved to him from the door of the Missing Member, and he offered her a nod of greeting in return, not quite brave enough to actually go into the building and risk Rhoswen’s wrath for simply existing in a space adjacent to her. It was a little quieter in the Hyaline, the vendor at the counter ceasing her attempts to sell him ‘spice’ as soon as she recognised who he was.

“Fair weather, Warrior o’ Light! You got business with the Cap’n?” Heddyn asked, Ar’telan considering the stairs he guarded and the question he asked, weighing them in his mind.

“If he is free to speak, it would be nice,” he said, and Heddyn gave him a nod and a playful salute, vanishing up the stairs to check with his Captain.

A flurry of movement escorted Ar’telan up the stairs and into the back room of the Hyaline, an open deck which looked out over the flagship of the Kraken’s Arm and the many barges that surrounded it. Captain Carvallain had any number of ventures to his name these days, from exotic ‘spice’ (Ar’telan was still uncertain what, exactly, the word substituted for) to pleasure barges to trade in mundane goods from the far-flung port of Kugane. It was only the lucrative nature of that final venture that prevented him from attempting to skin Tataru alive whenever the Scions were mentioned in conversation, or so Ar’telan presumed.

“Ar’telan. Strange to see you here,” he greeted, a nod of his head the only acknowledgement of the miqo’te’s presence. “I do hope you have not brought any irksome companions with you this time.”

“Just me,” Ar’telan confirmed, noting the way that Carvallain relaxed, if only a little. Carvallain sounded like a Limsan local, even though he wasn’t, the Ishgardian lilt to his accent universally ignored by any who might think to note it. It had been many moons ago that Ar’telan had first taken notice - walking the snow-heavy road to Gorgagne Mills, the quiet farmstead bearing the same name that Carvallain had taken for a surname. He had dwelled upon it when he had spoken with Jannequinard, at the Athenaeum Astrologicum in Ishgard proper, and helped him and his Sharlayan friend with their struggles to see astromancy of the Sharlayan bent recognised within the city. It had come as no great surprise when Tataru and Alphinaud had used the ‘subtle’ arts of manipulation to use the entirely unconnected story of Count de Durendaire’s unfortunate eldest son, lost at sea, to convince Carvallain to ferry them to Kugane.

And now here they were.

“Good. The trade that your voyage to Kugane started has been good for our coffers, but I would rather that meddlesome little woman didn’t learn that I was grateful,” he said, examining his nails as he said it, as though it were nothing. “The rumour mill has told me some very interesting things about how you’ve been spending your time. Are many true?” Ar’telan grimaced.

“I’m not sure I could name half of them,” he replied. “I have mostly been in Ishgard, when not doing the tasks which make the news.” The cloud passed over Carvallain’s face for a moment, but it cleared before it could take a greater hold.

“Yes. One of the Houses is most fond of you, aren’t they?” he said, voice light. Ar’telan managed a nervous laugh.

“Something like that. But I know them all quite well, now,” he said, hopping up onto the wall and sitting on it, tail swishing in the breeze from the ocean at his back. “The old Count de Dzemael has been building structures for dravanians in the Churning Mists. I’ve been helping Francel with revitalising the Firmament. There was a call for aid from outside sources for that.” Carvallain nodded, his expression guarded now.

“We sold a few things to some interested parties, but that has been the extent of our involvement in the matter,” he replied. “I will confess, it is odd to hear Ishgard spoken of… positively. I cannot imagine the stubborn rocks in the nobility are overly fond of it.”

“Lord Speaker Aymeric has been doing good work,” Ar’telan said. “And you might be surprised. Count Charlemend has been working as a volunteer in a hospital for the poor.” Carvallain snorted at that, then paused, a frown on his face.

“...You are serious,” he realised. Ar’telan nodded, not elaborating for fear that he would be tarred with the same brush as Tataru, even though his motives were perhaps in the same venn diagram. “Unbelievable. The times are truly changing, I suppose.” He gave Ar’telan a searching look, his stance stiff and uncertain, an unusual look for the leader of pirates. “Bah, I tire of this pointless dance. Speak plain. Did you come here to bully me like your vicious little secretary?”

“Not intentionally,” Ar’telan replied, which was true, but not particularly endearing. “I just thought you might like to know. What you do with the knowledge is not my business.” Carvallain sighed.

“I suppose I am curious as to the lead-in,” he allowed. “Very well. Tell me what you know.”

---

It was not an easy conversation. For all that Ar’telan was aiding Charlemend in his sincere desire to leave the old ways of life, the pain that he had inflicted - on purpose or not - was clear to see. Carvallain’s brow still darkened at the sound of his name, and Ar’telan thought of Ronantain, desperate to mold himself into the image of the good noble that had been taught to him for all too long in his short life. He thought of Jannequinard, so brilliant and clever, throwing himself into anything he could enjoy that was just disrespectful enough to leave his betters despairing, but not enough to have him thrown from the parapets and disowned.

He thought of the knight, lost to grief after failing his charge, who had died in the mills that gave Carvallain his name.

But the conversation had left him with something most unexpected: an elegantly penned note, the calling card of the Kraken’s Arms, an offer in dispassionate ink on the back of it.

“You may read it, if you wish,” Carvallain had said. “I don’t imagine that much goes unseen by your eyes, these days.”

Ar’telan had put it in his pocket, and kept his gaze averted.

---

The cold air of Ishgard hit like a wall as Ar’telan teleported into Foundation, and he shook his head and shivered in its suddenness. He had long since lost his need for the warmth of his home in Meracydia, but La Noscea was far warmer than Ishgard, and it hit like a shock. He took his gloves from his pockets, pulled them on, and rubbed his hands together as he walked. The aetheryte shard network would have been faster, but for all its inhospitality, Ar’telan still longed to stretch the minutes he spent in Ishgard to bells.

The Athenaeum Astrologicum was busier now than it had been even at the height of the war, students of all stripes thronging in and around its walls. A few of them recognised him, for his work with the erstwhile management in the past, but without a globe at hand most of the students paid him little heed. Ar’telan found that suited him just fine.

Jannequinard was at the desk when he walked in, eyes buried in the pages of a book. He glanced up, looked back down when he noted that Ar’telan was not a nubile young woman ready to be talked into compromising positions by a dashing young fox of a nobleman, then looked back up again when who he actually was registered with his brain.

“This is a surprise,” he remarked, and Ar’telan grimaced.

“Anyone would think I never visited,” he said, and Jannequinard sighed. A card from the sleeve at his hip was wedged into his book, in a move that would have made Leveva bonk him over the head with the nearest sufficiently weighty implement, and he leaned forwards, head rested on his hands.

“You either have terrible news, or interesting news. If it is the former, I will have to ask that you leave. I have a date this evening.”

“You do?” Ar’telan asked, surprised, and Jannequinard sagged in defeat.

“Yes, yes, very funny. An actual date, with an actual, living woman, before you get as sarcastic as those two.” He shot a venomous look at the two astrologians who served as the Athenaeum’s formal welcoming committee, who did not even seem to notice it. Ar’telan assumed they got it a lot. “So nobody is dying? There has been no attack by mysterious assailants on important personages, abducted nobles, crying orphans, anything of the sort?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Ar’telan replied. “I could ask at Rolanberry Fields if you want a crying orphan, though.”

“The Fury blessed you with a streak of humour since we last spoke, I see,” Jannequinard said, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Then why have you come?” Ar’telan paused, not having actually considered how best to approach the situation. Jannequinard did not appear to be a subtle man, but he could be, when the situation called for it. Or when he thought the situation called for it, at any rate.

“I have something for you,” Ar’telan said eventually, reaching into his pocket and taking out the missive, putting it down on the desk between them before continuing. “From one of the Captains in Limsa Lominsa. An offer of trade, I think.”

“You think?” Jannequinard repeated, the suspicion plain on his face. “I will assume that you have misread the name, since you speed through all other matters, but I am not above a little spying, so I shall take this regardless.” He picked it up, looked at the sigil on the front with a mixture of concern and disdain, and flipped it over. Muttered fragments of words gave Ar’telan the very short version of the offer Carvallain had made, but it was when Jannequinard made it to the signatory that he stopped.

“Who gave this to you?” he asked, his cordial tone dropping several notches. Ar’telan felt like he might shiver despite the warmth of the Athenaeum’s fires.

“Captain Carvallain of the Kraken’s Arms,” he replied. Jannequinard shot his gaze around the room in a panic, before remembering that it was impossible to overhear the words of someone who was not actually speaking them.

“...Come with me a moment, will you?” he asked, getting to his feet. That was enough to draw the concern of the other astrologians in the room, but he waved them off irritably and escorted Ar’telan into the back of the Athenaeum.

---

The private study rooms were conservatively furnished, a small number of wooden chairs and great tables capable of holding the full breadth of an unfurled star map, and very little else. Jannequinard closed the door on the one he had appropriated, then almost forcibly sat Ar’telan in the nearest chair, despite his half-formed noises of protest.

“I know that a lot of people in this city think you are a fool with more goodwill than sense, but contrary to popular opinion, I am not stupid. You are aware of what happened to my… my brother, yes?” Ar’telan noted the way his voice caught at the admittance. It was not sorrow - Jannequinard had likely been barely more than a boy when it happened, though Ar’telan was not entirely sure how old he or Carvallain were. He knew Jannequinard chafed at the prospect of inheritance, to the degree that he had been a ‘maybe’ in the aftermath. Knew that Charlemend would not have taken his eldest’s loss well. Knew that he was opening old wounds. Maybe that had been Carvallain’s aim, after all, and he just the errand boy for it. But he had said that it was Carvallain’s knowledge to do with as he wished, he supposed.

“Yes. He was lost at sea. Pirates, they thought,” he replied. “It is why you did not wish to follow Leveva and I to Limsa Lominsa, is it not?” Jannequinard wrinkled his nose, annoyed that Ar’telan was both bringing up his past failings, and also seeing through his ruse.

“Perhaps. That is neither here nor there,” he dismissed with a sharp wave of his hand. “What matters is that you have brought me a missive from pirates, signed in the name of my dead brother, and you expect me to believe this is an accident.”

“I never said it was an accident,” Ar’telan replied, which caught Jannequinard off-guard.

“No, I suppose you did not,” he allowed, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am going to have to cancel my date, aren’t I?”

“I do not think the Count will mind if you leave it til the morning. He is busy with his work, these days,” Ar’telan offered, attempting to soften the blow. Jannequinard looked back down at the note.

“Did he give this to you himself?” he asked. Ar’telan nodded his head. “Did he- is he- Is it really him?” he managed, voice quiet. Ar’telan nodded a second time. Jannequinard swallowed, looking down and up again, a look of the lost on his face. “How long have you known?”

“I have suspected since I first met you,” he replied. “I have known for certain since just before the War of Liberation in Ala Mhigo.” Jannequinard attempted to process this, and utterly failed to do so.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because it wasn’t my choice to make,” Ar’telan said. Jannequinard let out a long, defeated sigh.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” he agreed. “If I had managed to escape our father I would not want some random adventurer dragging me back under his heel. Damn all of this.” He put the card into the space on his sleeve where the Bole-shaped bookmark had previously sat, scowling down at it as though it were razor-edged. “Very well. I shall inform the Count.”

“You don’t have to,” Ar’telan said, and Jannequinard stopped short, as though he had not even considered that option. Ar’telan didn’t imagine there was anything that Jannequinard did that did not find its way back to the Count, one way or another, but he had made a deliberate choice to give this letter to Jannequinard first.

“I… No, I shall tell him,” he decided eventually. “Carvallain de Durendaire died long ago, but by the Fury’s grace, if we can make peace with the Dravanians then perhaps what is left of my family can make peace with themselves.” He got to his feet, a scowl on his face. “I would have thought that something of this magnitude just might be predicted by astromancy, but alas.”

“Maybe it would have if you paid attention to Leveva’s lessons instead of the bosom of the nearest passing noblewoman,” Ar’telan offered, and Jannequinard showed his appreciation by accidentally stepping on his foot.

---

Jannequinard had insisted on Ar’telan accompanying him on his ‘dire quest’, a task to which the miqo’te had acquiesced without argument. Though Ar’telan was used to speaking with the Count in the Firmament, given the amount of time the both of them spent there, the evening meant that Jannequinard instead returned to the family manor with his sidekick in tow, a move which gathered quite a number of concerned looks from the manor’s guard. Ar’telan weighed the pros and cons of reassuring them that he was not Jannequinard’s unfortunate cancelled date, and decided against it.

Durendaire manor was a house of wealth, but it did not feel homely to Ar’telan the way that Fortemps manor did. Shields bearing the family crest adorned the walls, pictures of Counts past and their families between them. Fresh arrangements of flowers sat on marble pedestals, a luxurious red rug covering the polished blackstone floor, and the wallpaper looked to be made from astral silk or some other luxurious cloth. Ar’telan found it to be overwhelming.

A manservant knocked on the office door for them, and Charlemend looked between the two of them in concern that quickly changed to alarm as they entered.

“What has burned down?” he asked as the door closed, and Jannequinard made a frustrated noise.

“I can bring you good news,” he protested, gesturing to Ar’telan to take one of the chairs. With an apologetic look to the Count, Ar’telan shuffled into one, noting the tension between father and son with an increasing nervousness. “In fact, I am bringing good news. Ar’telan here has been kind enough to secure us a trade agreement with one of the prominent powers in Limsa Lominsa.” The distaste in his face was familiar to Ar’telan, from when they had been there on Ishgard’s behalf, with Francel in tow.

“We already have an agreement with those… with their prominent traders,” Charlemend said, the carefully-chosen words not masking his unhappiness. “Not that I expect you to know that, but it was Ar’telan who secured it.” Jannequinard looked over at Ar’telan, who offered an innocent shrug.

“There is more than one pirate in Limsa Lominsa,” he said. Charlemend made a distinctly unhappy noise.

“Yes, I am well aware. If it is worth disturbing me at this hour, and by the both of you, no less, I shall take a look at it,” he said. Jannequinard took the card from his sleeve, and passed it to his father.

“I would advise that you sit, father,” he said, stepping back as the Count took it. The suspicion was plain in Charlemend’s eyes, but he tempered it. Ar’telan was not sure if it was for his benefit, or Jannequinard’s.

“These are the same brigands we dealt with during Lord Francel’s attempts at trade outreach,” he murmured, seeing the sigil upon the front. “Their captain, ah- Gerald, was that his name? Was eventually willing to see reason.”

“Gerald is the First Mate,” Ar’telan said, glancing at Jannequinard as he said it. “But yes. I was surprised as well.” Charlemend offered a huff of annoyance, then turned over the card.

It was a harrowing transformation to witness. Irritance became disbelief, which became anger. He looked up at the two of them, Jannequinard with an uncharacteristically stony face and Ar’telan the picture of neutrality, and anger morphed to a deep and painful sadness without a single word. The card fell from his hands to hit the papers at his desk, his hands shaking.

“How long have you known?” he asked, his eyes on Ar’telan now.

“Longer than I have known you,” he replied. Charlemend’s hand curled into a fist, and he thumped the desk in despair. Jannequinard moved away from him at the sound of it - not in fear, but to head off the concerned manservant who threatened to manifest at the unorthodox summons.

“This is my fault,” Charlemend said, words uttered through gritted teeth to scattered papers rather than his visitors. “All my life I strived for the ideal that my father taught me. Accepted it - what else could I do? And in my sons, in my nephew, I passed down that same poison. Duty above all.”

“Father…” Jannequinard began, surprise clear on his features. It was not an unusual sight, not on Jannequinard, but the circumstance was strange.

“I was not ten yalms from him in Limsa Lominsa. They said he had listened in as we spoke,” Charlemend said, his voice barely a whisper. “Tell me - was it him? Was it Carvallain you spoke with?” Carefully, Ar’telan inclined his head.

“They could not believe it when he agreed to the contract,” he said. “But he had hope in Ishgard for change. In you. Enough to take a chance, but not enough to risk everything he had.” Charlemend ran his fingers across the card.

“What changed?” he asked.

“I told him of the Firmament,” Ar’telan replied. “Of your work at Saint Vandreau’s Grace.” He shook his head then, shuffling over to the side on instinct as Janneqinard returned to the second chair that sat opposite the desk. “Everything that happened with Maelie and Ronantain. If he had not heard you in Limsa the last time I do not think he would have believed me.” Charlemend put his head in his hands, and were it not for a stamina tempered by years as Count in the hostile environment of Ishgard, Ar’telan thought he might have cried.

“He will never come home, will he?” the Count said, his voice quiet and holding the weight of his years.

“No,” Ar’telan agreed. “Ishgard is not his home. It has not been for many years.” The Count let out a long breath, raising his head and running his hands down his face.

“Yes. You are right,” he said. “I will not - I cannot squander this opportunity. If he did not believe me capable of respecting his boundaries then he would never have sent this missive.” He nodded, apparently at peace with his decision. “Very well. The message speaks of a meeting, and though it does not specify a venue, I will not force him to even consider returning to Ishgard. Might I trouble you for an escort to La Noscea, Master Qin?” Ar’telan nodded, a smile on his face.

“Of course. Name the day.”

—

The sharp tang of salt in the airship’s propellors heralded their arrival to Limsa Lominsa proper. Ar’telan, possessed of far more of a head for heights than either of the Durendaires he accompanied, had watched the sea appear on the horizon over the side of the airship, Charlemend going more than a little green when he watched the miqo’te balance against the edge without so much as a rope around his waist. The Admiralty’s ships wound in and out of the harbour, the size of chocobo carts from their height, and in each separate berth sat the flagships of the three remaining bastions of pirate tradition, grand and imposing against the bleached white walls.

Both Charlemend and Jannequinard - the latter had not needed to come, but had insisted, a rare turn of events - seemed happy to get their feet upon solid ground again, even if Jannequinard eyed the creaking lift that took them down into the Drowning Wench with a dubious eye. More than a few of the Wench’s patrons eyed the Ishgardians as they passed, as even Charlemend’s attempts to be inconspicuous still screamed of his wealth, but after Baderon raised a hand and yelled a greeting to Ar’telan, they averted their gazes. Even V’kebbe, leaning against the wall and eating one of the Bismarck’s favourite sandwiches, only gave him a respectful nod of acknowledgement as they passed.

—

Every single member of the Kraken’s Arms in the Hyaline went tense as they entered. Ar’telan glanced back at the Durendaires, but even Jannequinard had picked up on the steely atmosphere enough to stop dead in his tracks.

“I see we’re popular here,” he remarked. Ar’telan sighed.

“I’ll talk to him. Wait here. Try not to get robbed,” he said. Charlemend looked offended, but Jannequinard only offered his empty pockets in demonstration of his intent.

There was a look of distaste on Carvallain’s face when Ar’telan crested the stairs, not dissimilar to the one that his father wore when discussing the topic of pirates. He, too, was as tense as his crew - not something that Ar’telan was used to seeing, not even when he had approached him to deal with the crew on Charlemend’s behalf before. His eyes, quick and clever, appraised Ar’telan as he approached, then went back to staring at elegantly manicured nails.

“The crew have told me. I suppose it is too late to change my mind,” he remarked. Ar’telan shook his head.

“He would leave if I asked,” he disagreed. Carvallain scoffed, but there was no force behind it.

“I suppose if I did not believe you I would not have extended the invitation to begin with,” he said. “Very well. Gerald, I believe the Misery could do with an inspection before we next depart.” Gerald offered a smart salute, understanding the assignment well enough to vanish down the stairs and pull the entire crew along in his undertow. “Fetch him. I will be expecting you to evict him if this turns sour, since this is your fault,” Carvallain said, his voice terse. Ar’telan did not begrudge him the order, in the circumstances.

“I will do my best,” he said, and went back down the stairs.

—

Charlemend and Jannequinard had made note of the piratical exodus, but neither had moved from where Ar’telan had left them - whether because they did not dare or out of respect, Ar’telan could not have rightly said. He could see the nervous vein ticking in Jannequinard’s neck, Charlemend’s uncomfortable posture, the way there was less distance between them than he had ever seen in Ishgard, and felt a little guilty.

“Follow me,” he said, and they both snapped to attention, Jannequinard taking a notable side step.

“I was concerned this had become a ruse to set pirates upon my person,” he said, but though Charlemend scowled at the idea, he remained unusually quiet.

—

The walk up the stairs felt like a funeral procession. Ar’telan tried not to think about how Charlemend had already buried his son, mourned his loss, and uprooted the corpse for this little dance. On the balcony, Carvallain stood with his arms folded, his trusty axe still notably at his back. At the top of the stairs, Charlemend stopped dead.

“...Carvallain,” he said, his voice quiet. There was no question in it, only the heavy weight of proof, the understanding of what it all meant - all the years, all the measures Carvallain had taken, all the times they had come so close and yet remained apart.

“If you wish for an embrace, you will not get one,” Carvallain said, but there was less of his authoritative bark than Ar’telan was used to hearing, less of his smooth command of the situation.

“Well, if I read the signs correctly, you offer them for a very reasonable price down in the docks,” Jannequinard said, and Carvallain laughed despite himself.

“I would charge a little more for one from me,” he replied. “...It has been a long time, father. Ar’telan here informs me that you heal the sick and bring orphans presents, and so forth. When precisely did the voidsent replace you?” Charlemend shook his head.

“I will not trade barbs with you, Carvallain,” he said, his once-proud posture sagging with the weight of years. “For so many years I hoped… After we buried your memory, I told myself it was cruelty to imagine. Yet here you are, a man grown and a leader both.” He did not attempt to cross the distance between them, but he did offer an inclination of his head. “You have flourished beyond any heights which Ishgard could have offered to you. I am proud of you.” Carvallain started at the words, a little of the stony facade dropping.

“I… I did not expect to hear as much from you,” he confessed. “In my earlier years, it brought me a kind of spiteful joy. Leader of a den of sin and iniquity.” He gave Jannequinard a searching look. “For all that some among our number might enjoy such things, that you can look upon all I have built and see it as the accomplishment that it is…” He sighed, shaking his head in despair at himself. “I do not regret my decision, though I did not precisely choose to be on a vessel abducted by pirates. But for the sorrow that I have caused you… I am sorry.” Charlemend took a steadying breath.

“It means the world to me that you trusted in me enough to reach out,” he said. “Thank you.” Ar’telan looked between the two of them, then to Jannequinard. The younger Durendaire still seemed ill-at-ease, but he gave Ar’telan a nod of acknowledgement, stepping to the side to let him retreat to the stairs.

From here, they could mend their own bridges.

#please don't @ me about whether Janne is a son or a nephew #I only realised my headcanon was a HEADcanon not actual canon while I was writing this #ffxivwrite2021 #gods give me strength #Carvallain de Gorgagne #Charlemend de Durendaire #Jannequinard de Durendaire #Warrior of Light (solo story)

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tsuumu · 4 years ago

Note

saw that requests were open and😳😳 how ab fluffy best to lovers with iwaizumi or suga? like they are best friends and seem to always be touching each other in some way like hand on waist or knees touching etc. and confession happens and maybe... just maybe... kiss... if this doesnt fickle your pickle or you feel uncomfortable then feel free to ignore! your writing is great thank you for considering🥺🥺

hi anon, thank you so much for requesting! i’ve been doing requests when i feel like them (apparently 4:28am is the perfect time to start drafting this in my mind) so i apologise for how late it is!

i’ve also decided to split this into two parts, the first being sugawara and the second iwaizumi! i love rambling about cute conventional plotlines like this so there was no way both wouldn’t be excessively long put together.

part two will be linked here when i get round to it!

enjoy!

y’know, people actually do wonder if the two of you are somehow joined to one another in some bizarre manner. it’s practically impossible to see either of you away from the other for an extended period of time. and it’s not creepy, or weird. it’s ridiculously wholesome. they only enquire because both you and koushi take that classic ‘best friend’ trope to a whole other level.

it’s sweet. sickeningly so.

we’re talking after-school dates at the prettiest little cafe just off the side of the main road. it’s barely a ten minute walk, not that you’d notice seeing as the time is filled with consistent, care-free conversations between the two of you. koushi practically begs you to come with him whenever you’re free. you’ve both dubbed it your super secret spot, since other students don’t come so often or probably even know it’s there. his teammates ask him from time to time, where exactly the two of you go. it’s usually because you’re chortling amongst yourselves about some passage of prior conversation, or beaming unanimously over the sheer deliciousness of the pastries there, made fresh.

but koushi never tells. oh no. he wants it to be ‘our spot’ as he likes to call it. you think he’s just being funny and poke his arm whenever he mentions it, agreeing jokingly that he’s not allowed to take anybody else there but you.

you needn’t worry, he wouldn’t dream of it.

he’s always early when you do go, waiting for you by the school gates. and it’s crazy, the wave of comfort that washes over you the second you lay your eyes on the boy, it’s something you can’t experience with just anybody.

you have had your fears when it comes to finishing your third year, since your sights are set on finding employment deep in the heart of tokyo, koushi on the other hand, prefers the domesticity of the urban life. he’s perfectly at home where he stands. and you love that for him, you want him to be happy, truly, but the thought of having to bid the boy farewell seems incomprehensible. like you’ve offended yourself for even contemplating the prospect.

no, you’ve never actually brought up the subject with him. it’s a little early and all too much to say out loud. plus, what if you do and he’s completely nonchalant about it? you’re practically dreading the months as they pass, wondering if sheer luck will allow your friendship to continue with such potency whilst he’s totally oblivious and dismissive when you do get round to it! oh, god. you hate it. you hate that you’re overthinking the entire thing.

you know you’re short circuiting over something so pointless, trains exist, you’ll have the funds and means of transportation... but is it? losing someone who fills your day up is like losing part of yourself. you can already imagine what it’d be like alone, going to other bistros and constantly comparing them to that one. and how lonely you’ll be. how desperate to tell him everything that happens to you. how work goes, if you’re feeling homesick. you know he’ll call you often because he cares too much not to, which you’re thankful for, but it’s not the same. he won’t be here, he won’t be there to touch you like he does now, to keep you safe.

a gulp later and you’re totally fixated on the warmth koushi emits. you’d be grieving without it.

“lost?” a light brush of your forehead rids you of your thoughts.

“hm?”

he’s lightly plucking at the strands of hair hovering above you, focusing briefly. there’s a small speck of dust that’s been caught. after a few unsuccessful attempts, he manages to get it out.

well he mutters that he’s unsuccessful, but really, he’s finding inconspicuous excuses to feel how soft your hair is against the back of his palm.

“lost you for a second there.” he replies, before shifting back, blowing the dust from his fingertip. “everything okay?”

you feel so regretful daydreaming about him in front of his face, and it’s not even that, it’s the fact you’re with him right now, right this moment. you know that time is slipping and yet you’re wasting it mulling over pessimistic thoughts of the future.

“mm. i’m alright, sorry. thank you, by the way.”

“don’t thank me.” he picks up the dainty little cup and you study the floral patterns carefully, you recognize this one. well, you’re familiar with most of them now. if one would ever end up breaking, you’d probably know, since they’re so unique in their respective decorations and there’s only a few. koushi is extra careful with it, free hand slotted under the base of the cup. it’s elegant. he’s pretty when he drinks.

actually, you were thinking about all of that because he’d brought up graduation, his match with against shiratorizawa had gone down splendidly, no doubt even he was shocked they’d made it to nationals. koushi had often lamented to you about being karasuno’s substitute setter, though he admires kageyama plenty and knows what was best for the team. he’s awfully good at putting others first, even if he really wants to play. that’s what you’d concluded. soon after nationals, comes the end of the academic year. too soon, way too soon.

that awful feeling rises up again.

his hands stretch across the table, gently engulfing yours, and it’s lovely, really, how comfortable you are with one another. how instantly calming he is.

“you’ll come to watch us play, right?”

“i always come, silly. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

you’ve never seen him so happy.

the evening he rushed to you straight out of the coach, breathless, telling you they’d won. it was like he was able to shine even brighter than he already did. and for a moment, you looked at him—really looked— and you wished you could’ve captured that moment, in all its glory, forever.

koushi. too good to be real, aren’t you?

you are listening, you swear to god you are. everything he says processes but realisation is eating you alive. you don’t think you can live without him. oh, you sound so flimsy, so pitiful and maybe you are. destably so. you’re too selfish for your own good.

but he’s still holding onto you, still careful with his grasp, but with the way his thumb skirts ever so gently across the ridge of your hand, he has no intentions of letting go just yet. you don’t want him to. you’d like to stay like this a while longer.

but it’s late and he’s exhausted from practice, especially now he’s doing twice the amount for nationals. he insists that even if he isn’t on the main roster, he’ll be needed. a team needs absolutely everybody to function properly.

so when he pays for you yet again, chair scraping slightly on the wooden planks of flooring to leave, your heart is caught in your throat, drenched in feeling like it’s the last time you’ll ever see him.

of course you follow him out, politely thanking the old lady who runs the cafe on your way. his feet are planted just steps away from the entrance, gaze to the sky, a flurry of darkness and escaping slithers of light. of course he’s smiling.

part of you wants to hit his arm, ask him how he could possibly be relaxed, stretching his arms lime that when you’re on the verge of losing it. but he hasn’t looked at you yet. when he does, he’ll know.

it doesn’t vanish, that affability that accompanies his grin, even when a look of concern is etched all over his face. it’s still so radiant. koushi doesn’t know how to be unkind. but he knows how to blind you.

“why are you crying?”

there he is again, thumb smearing at the tears that’ve barely slipped. you’re crying without realising. you were fine moments ago but now you’re sobbing so hard it’s difficult to breathe out. there’s nothing empty about it, they’re infuriatingly real, like you’ve already lost him. like he’s walked down the road, waved to you one last time and died.

suddenly there’s a million things you want to say to him, and another three years won’t be near enough to get them all out.

it’ll be too hard to explain over text, or call, too late too.

“ko-oushi..” you tremble out, and he knows you won’t be able to explain. he’s okay with that. just forgive yourself for now and he’ll walk you home. you don’t like to cry. you cry a lot but it never gets easier. he doesn’t mind, though. he likes how big your heart is, even if you insist it’s awful. what does worry him, though, is that someday someone might mistake it for weakness. you don’t deserve to know what true heartbreak feels like.

so, his hand’s in yours, consoling you like one would a child, always dabbing at those tears and telling you things will be alright. koushi knows that you’ll tell him when you’re ready, especially if it’s something that’s upset you this much.

“i don’t want to graduate.” is all you think to come up with, which is a blatant lie. you do want to. all you do is talk about how much you do, but you don’t want to graduate from him.

his response is a little tentative at first.

“why?”

“because.. i’ll go away. i’ll go far away and i’ll miss you.”

he’s deathly quiet, it’s terrifying.

“and if i miss you i’ll keep missing you until i can’t stand it anymore, koushi.” you ramble on, utterly humiliated that you’re confessing just how deep your dependency on him is. but you can’t stop. you don’t have time to. “i hate life. i hate that i can’t see a future without you. i don’t want to drag you back or control you in any way but god, i think i need you.”

you’re not quite sure what this is. is this.. a heated tangent, a sob-fest to a confidante, a guilt-ridden confession from an obsessive maniac? you hadn’t actually thought about what you wanted or would gain from telling him all this. perhaps it’d been bottled too long, longer than you were conscious of and this was the only resort left to release it. he’ll probably end up hating you by the time you’re done strangling out the last few words, deem you insane and ask you to seek some sort of professional help, knowing him, he’d help you find it.

it doesn’t matter. you’re talking and talking and talking, tripping unattractively over phrases and you have no intentions of stopping. not even to breathe, not like you have been anyway. you can’t even look at him whilst you parade yourself like this.

that’s alright with him. he really loves the sound of your voice.

he’s listening. he swears to god he is, but all he can think about is how happy you’ve made him. how he’d never leave you lonely.

but how could he ever convince you? unlike you, koushi isn’t the best with words. he’ll nod for hours and hours as you pour your heart out over something, and still come up empty. really, he doesn’t know what he wants either. he has ideas of the next few years, but he hasn’t even addressed the fact you’d be absent in all of it. you don’t know it, but he’s so used to you he’s practically filled you into his future automatically.

still, you’re talking, not too sure what you’re even saying anymore. and neither does he if he’s completely honest, but he’s too fond of you to mention it.

but he does it. he places his hand on the nape of your neck and kisses you.

he promises it’s not to be rude, or because he’s not interested in whatever it is you’re trying to say. but because he’s wanted to do this for ages. would it be overly dramatic to say the first time he lay his eyes on you? maybe. it wouldn’t be too far from the truth.

oh, god. he’s really kissing you.

he’s sweet tasting and nothing like you could’ve ever imagined. and believe you, you’d thought about it quite a bit. the way he’d feel against you. you’d never admit to anybody that you’d fantasied about this, feeling his tongue flutter over the seam of your mouth, hands dipping gently into the flesh of you as he tightens his hold on your waist.

why couldn’t you have accepted earlier you were fucking head over heels for him?

and of course he likes you back! he calls you his! he takes you on dates and touches you and has eyes for only you. how thick were you?

it’s alright.

at least you’ve gotten there eventually.

though a few months too late, you’re kissing him in the middle of your hometown, and he’s whispering against your lips that you won’t be losing him anytime soon.

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #hq #sugawara fic #sugawara x reader #sugawara headcanons #sugawara hcs #sugawara fluff

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