#dark humour technically but like I’m not calling him that

[spittyfishy]

I can’t believe they only gave him five minutes of screen time 💔

That episode,, man was it a retcon-y mess lol. Derision was the only season 5 episode I was looking forward to (purely bc of Dark Cupid) and it was terrible in the most hilarious way lol

[thefoxtherapist]

an exploration of fears

“So what are you afraid of?” Hannah looked at her older brother as he played his game. “That’s deep.” He responded, swearing under his breath when his character was killed. “I’m afraid of vampires.” Beth piped up from her phone on the bed. “You would be.” Josh snickered. “One too many dracula remakes. Terrifying.” Beth giggled. Hannah shook her head, her glasses going askew as she did so. The middle Washington sibling watched as the two did their own things. Moments like these were the best for them. Being in a room together, doing whatever, but bonding nonetheless. She pushed herself up into a sitting position.

“I’m afraid of being alone, isolation I guess?” She offered up. “Aw, Han. You won’t ever be alone!” Beth set her phone down to throw her arms around her sister. “You have us!” Hannah hugged her sister back. “Yeah exactly.” Josh leaned his head back against the bed, looking up at them with a smile on his face. “If it makes you feel better, I’m afraid of the dark.” His eyes were warm as he watched his younger sisters. “I am actually afraid of the supernatural, so I was technically telling the truth about vampires.” Beth teased. The three shot each other glances before breaking out into laughter that filled the home.

-

Josh looked at a framed photograph in his room, his siblings on either side of him, they were smiling at the camera. He missed them. His fingers trailed over their faces, he barely remembered what it was like to be so happy. He had begun to understand Hannah’s fears, now. He put the frame back, a sigh escaping his lips. Shaky fingers ran through his messy dark locks. The dark seemed a lot more welcoming now. Or was it failure he was feeling, possibly? The failure to be a big brother? He couldn’t tell what he was feeling, he was just feeling hurt and confused.

“Joshua!” His mother called from downstairs. “Time to go see Doctor Hill!” Her words made him cringe. Doctor Hill did nothing for him. He took another glance at the photograph. They must have been so scared. And he was too drunk to move. He hung his head, steadying himself against the dresser. If only he was there, if only he was awake. He was a failure, and he realised now, that he was afraid of himself. “Josh!” She called again. “I’m coming mom!” He opened his eyes again, holding back the tears that so often threatened to fall. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the door. 

“How are you feeling, Joshua?” Doctor Hill asked, his notebook in his lap already. “Fine. Same old.” Josh couldn’t pick an answer, really he never could. He was good at lying but Hill always seemed to see through him. “It’s been six months since your sisters passed, you’re here because you weren’t processing it well.” Doctor Hill’s way of speaking aggravated him, but Josh merely nodded his head. “If not processing well means trying to kill myself, than yes, I am not processing well.” Josh played with the hem of his shirt. “Mhm. And how have you been feeling since? It’s been a month, yes?” Doctor Hill wrote something down, the scratching of the pen scratching on his ears. “Like I said, I’m doing fine. Better.” Josh avoided the good doctor’s gaze. 

“I haven’t tried to kill myself since, I would say that’s progress.” Josh smiled and the doctor shook his head. “You have a particular sense of humour, Joshua.” Doctor Hill commented, crossing his legs as he looked at Josh. “Whatever helps me cope, isn’t that what you doctors say?” Josh raised an eyebrow and the doctor nodded. “Yes, that is true. How is your medication?” Josh shrugged in response to the question. “Does what it’s supposed to.” He responded. “Hm alright, can you elaborate?” Hill wrote something down. “I’m not actively suicidal anymore?” Josh kept his answers short, years of therapy has desensitized him to the doctor’s questions, they were routine. And this routine was the only structure in his life.

-

The anniversary of his sisters’ deaths was coming up. And in a month’s time the group would all be gathering at the lodge again. Josh stepped off the stool, looking up at the camera he had mounted to make sure it was in the right location. He waved at himself in the camera before turning to walk away. He returned to where he had set his gear up, hidden away in a secret location through a tunnel he had stumbled upon as a child. He flicked through all the cameras, ensuring they were in the perfect location. Once he was done he shut them off for the time being to preserve their battery life. He sat at the desk, picking up a recorder and thinking momentarily before turning it on speaking into it.

“No no.. That’s not right.” He sighed, turning the recorder off. He had to find a way to disguise his voice, they could not foil his plans. He spun in his chair for a few seconds, his head hanging over the back of it as he looked at the cracked and dirty ceiling. His thoughts trailed to his younger sisters. Being on this mountain, as cathartic as this prank may be, brought up old memories. He stopped spinning, his vision blurry as the room spun around him.

The isolation and loneliness settled into his bones. They should be here, pulling a prank with him. But instead he was alone. Three siblings turned into an only child. It wasn’t fair. His heart felt heavy and guarded, unwillingly locked behind a metal door. The kind of crippling loneliness you only hear of in movies. He wasn’t alone, he did have his friends, people who listened. But they simply don’t understand. They don’t know what it was like. Josh closed his eyes, a hand coming up to his head to ease the sudden onslaught headache. His bones were heavy, his lungs weak and tight. The aching sadness that afflicted him causing his heart to constrict momentarily. Loneliness could be crushing. 

Josh shook his head. He had work to do.

-

“Where are we going?! Let me go!” Josh struggled against the creature dragging him through the woods, his hands clawing at the bone thin elongated hand holding onto his jacket. His heart raced in his chest, thud, thud, Thud. His head hurt, as he grasped onto rocks, twigs, anything to try and dislodge himself, but his hands kept slipping through invisible barriers and make-believe saviours. His hands covered in cuts and bruises as he thrashed against the monster. The monster dragged him to a mine shaft, dropping him down. Wildly he tried to grab the rocks and dirt he was sliding down, but to no avail. His world went dark as he hit the bottom of the shaft.

The memories for the rest of the night were a blur as he shuddered cold and alone in the mine by himself, surrounded by blood and gore, the body of a strange man he had never met strung up from a meat hook. He rocked himself back and forth, his arms over his head. In the back of his mind, Beth’s voice echoed. “I am actually afraid of the supernatural, so I was technically telling the truth about vampires.” Her words grated on him as her soft kind voice distorted, becoming mocking. “Shut up. Shut up..” He tightened his grip on himself. He felt so small and so alone. 

And he was.

[casperslibrary]

{Finnick Odair x Reader} To Survive The Ocean, First You Must Swim- CHAPTER ONE

After losing her sister to the games and her father to the ocean, her best friend (and supposed love of her life) Emery saves her. Now, as they go into the hunger games together, she is determined to do whatever it takes to save him. But when her mentor ends up being a man she has learnt to hate, she can't help but be frustrated, especially when she realises how little she really hates him, and how much she actually needs him.

A/N: first time ever writing a fic! Sorry if I do it wrong tumblr is confusing

chapter two | all chapters

WARNINGS: MINOR CHARACTER DEATH | MENTIONS OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING | MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE | DEPRESSION | RUDE LANGUAGE | HEAVY THEMES

Everything is always blue, too blue. No matter how far I run, blue always follows me, a gentle taunting that never gives up. In 4th grade art class they taught us the colour theory behind blue. That it was supposed to be a colour of calm, symbolising serenity and freedom. Ironic, really, when all it ever seems to do is remind me of how really trapped I am.

Blue is the colour of the clothes they wore, when they took her.

Blue is the colour of the endless horizon, the one that took him.

I won’t let blue take me. I refuse it.

“You alright?” My eyes turn to meet the source of that voice, and I am met with green in return. Green is good, green is safe.

Emery blinks and I break eye contact, instead opting to face my shoes instead. 

“How could I be?” I respond, a dry sense of humour lacing my voice. 

“Fair.” Is all he could say. But it's normal, no one is alright. Not today at least. Because today is the day of the reaping.

I have already gotten ready, my mother put me in a white flowy dress. It used to belong to my sister, Cornelia. It hurts to wear, the soft fabric burns against my skin as I try my best not to think about it. 

Unwrapping an afternoon tea, I give the majority to Emery, he needs it more than me. Emery’s siblings are too young to work, and his mother is restricted to a wheelchair, making Emery the sole provider of his family. The result of which is evident, where on most people there is muscle from fishing, on him there is only bone. I don’t have a swimmers body either, while I technically know how to swim I haven’t touched the water since my fathers death. A fishing incident, not even his aquatic skills could save him.

“Thank you, really” Emery says my name, and I know his gratitude is genuine. But really, I should be the one thanking him. When my sister died in the games, he was there, by my side. When my father was taken by the ocean, he was there, listening to my cries. Emery saved my life, and for that, I owe him everything.

“Don’t worry about it,” I put on a smile to the best of my abilities. “We’ll have more after the reaping.” 

“Mhm,” he nods while stuffing his face. It would be amusing if it weren’t so sad. “We’ll be alright. And in two years time we’ll be safe.”

I nod, but I know it isn’t true. My dad’s reaping days were far behind him, yet he wasn’t safe.

Emery and I make our way from the beach side to the town square, the giant clock adorning the Justice Building reads quarter to four. ‘May the odds ever be in your favour’ is what Emery whispers as he squeezes my hand, before walking off to the boys section. I am ushered to the area for girls aged sixteen.

Dahlia Lain - if I can remember her name correctly - is on my right. I don’t know much about her, but I know her brother used to shove Emery into lockers at school before I threw a rock at him, hard. I look to the girl to my left. Her brunette curls and brown eyes are unfamiliar to me, but she looks scared. Her dark skin barely hides her bones, I’m guessing she had to take out tesserae, the most likely cause for the fear on her face. I hope her name isn’t called. It doesn’t look like she would last long.

Sona, our escort, welcomes us to the 69th hunger games, wishing the odds to ever be in our favour. I hate her, now more than ever. She is wearing a different dress than the one she wore to the 65th, but the shade of blue is still the same. The same blue she wore when she called my sister's name. Pain washes over my body as I think back to that moment. I was twelve, I was eligible. I should have volunteered when Cornelia’s name was called. Sure, a twelve year old girl stands far less of a chance of surviving than a fifteen year old. But what did age get my sister? The man she lost to was fourteen anyways. I look up to stare at his face, he sits on the stage so casually, as if he had not a care in the world. The pain in my skin turns to anger and I feel my breath shorten. It should have been my sister that won, not him. She stood a chance, a real chance. She too was from district four, she had his same skill set, but it was his face - his annoyingly perfect face - that was the cause of his victory. 

I hate him. He didn’t directly kill my sister, but that didn't matter.

I hate Finnick Odair.

Before I even realise Sona has the paper in her hands. I wonder if there are going to be volunteers, in district one and two, volunteering almost always occurs. In district four however, volunteering is a bit more scarce, but still not uncommon. I don’t realise how scared I am until she opens the paper.

 ‘what if it's me?’ 

“Nala Wenlock”

Relief floods over my body, and I barely register the girl on my left slowly walking to the front. Her trembling physique was upsetting, yes, but better her than me. Though my repose was short lived, because the next name called out makes my knees buckle and my hands shake.

“Emery Jones”

‘What?’ This wasn't supposed to happen, he didn’t have to take out tesserae, I made sure of it, I fed him as much as possible.

Dahlia catches me and as I see her face I think back to her brother, and how vulnerable Emery is. He is kind, it was that very kindness that saved my life, but I know that in the end it will be his kindness that will kill him. Even if he does manage to hold a weapon to another tribute, with his skinny physique there would be no chance of Emery overpowering them. 

No, I can’t let him go in alone.

He needs me.

I need him.

I didn’t volunteer for my sister, but I won’t make that same mistake again. 

“I volunteer!” I scream running towards the stage. 

“I volunteer in place of Nala Wenlock!” Sona looks in shock, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a female tribute volunteer after the male name was called.

‘It can’t be too late, please don’t let it be too late.’

She looks to the mayor, who gives a subtle nod.

“Okay then,” she smiles, “How joyful, what is your name?” she says as she helps me onto the stage, and as I tell her my name, I see the look of relief, and gratitude as Nala steps down from the stage. 

“Are you perhaps a friend of Nala?” She says happily. 

“Emery, I’m a friend of Emery.” Friends. That's technically what you would call it. As much as I wish for something more, we are just friends. But I still can’t seem to regret my decision as I stand on this stage. Not as a myriad of solemn clapping fills my ears, not as I make eye contact with my mother. Standing in the crowd, face of terror tainting her beauty. She will be alright, she is one of the best healers in the district, she doesn’t need me to take care of her. She will be just fine. Emery on the other hand, Emery needs me. He saved me, and it was my turn to save him. 

Not being able to look at her anymore, I turn my head, and my eyes land on Finnick, and for the first time since his games, I see his perfect features not in a state of calm, but instead one of shock, and maybe even… sadness? No, he doesn’t know me. He has no reason to pity me. I dismiss the idea quickly and turn to shake Emery’s hand. He gives it a light squeeze, and I can see in his eyes he is scared. I am too, but I am ready. Ready to do whatever it takes to save him. 

We are quickly led inside the Justice Building, but I don’t register any of it. I am only pulled back into reality when I see my mother standing in front of me.

“Please tell me you’ll try to win”

“Mom… I…”

“Please. I’ve already lost your father, I’ve already lost your sister to these rancid games, I can’t lose you too.”

I rise from the soft, horridly blue, couch. Arms enveloping her before I even realise it. “You are strong, mom, you will be okay.” Her trembling arms wrap around me. 

“But you will try to win?”

“Yes.” It's a lie, a horrid lie, but at this moment it's all I can say. All I can do to comfort her as she cries into my shoulder.

“You are so brave, so kind, my beautiful girl.” Is all she can whisper before the peacekeepers tell her time is up. Her sobs echo down the hallway and echo in my mind, even after she is well gone. I expect her to be my only visit, but Cynthia, Emery’s mother, comes through my door. As she rolls closer to me I get onto my knees to be the same height as her. 

“I won’t let him die. I’ll do everything I can.” We have never talked much, but she has the same kindness in her heart as her son, and as her frigid hand takes mine, I can’t help the tears that form in my eyes. “Thank you,” she says as her own eyes flood with tears, “Even if he doesn’t survive, it is a blessing to know he won’t die alone. Thank you.”

I can’t say anything at risk of everything coming out, all at once. I can’t cry, they will film as I board the train and even if I manage to stop by then my eyes will be red and puffy. So instead, I hug her, and I hope it is enough. 

Finally, and least expected of all, Nala enters the room. She must know I didn't volunteer for her, right?

“You saved my life, I know it wasn’t for me, but still you saved my life.” She whispers. 

“I do not know you, but I will forever be grateful.”

I can’t say anything, but apparently I don’t need to. Instead she takes my hand, and in it, she places a necklace. 

I look at it, and I feel my stomach drop. Based on her slender frame and old dress, I can tell she probably does not have a lot of nice things. So why is she giving me this? This sapphire necklace? It couldn’t have been cheap. 

Suddenly, even though I don’t know her, I care for her. That has always been my weakness, Emery’s is kindness and mine is caring. It doesn’t matter anyways, and at this moment I can’t find myself to hate the blue of this pendant. 

“I hope you wear this, into the arena. You’re allowed one token from home.”

I thank her, and allow her to put it around my neck before hugging her. I find myself to be happy almost, happy that I am the one being sent to my death and not her. 

We hug until the peacekeepers pull her off me. And all too quickly, I am alone again. They take me to the train, and as I board I take Emery’s hand. And as I am being whisked off to my death I feel strangely… calm? Like in the end, everything will be alright, just as Emery always promised.

[symeraid-s]

2024 Retrospective: Movies and TV Shows

Movies

Arthur the King

It’s a dog movie based on a real story. It’s cute and was very entertaining to watch, but some of the dialogue was a little weird. The team has good synergy though and the dog does steal the show. As he should. Mark Wahlberg is pretty good in this movie and him talking about how much he wanted to adopt the dog from the handler is what got me interested in seeing it. If you want a good dog movie, this definitely is it.

Dune Part 2

I didn’t catch this movie in cinemas, but even so, I can tell that it’s a visual experience. The designs of the spacecrafts and everything else are still really cool and how they portray the different planets is incredibly striking. Austin Butler is amazing in this movie and personally, I’d say he deserves an Oscar nomination for it. I don’t think he’ll get one, but it would be cool. It should be nominated in all the technical categories though. And for the score, because holy shit! Objectively speaking, of everything I have watched, I think this is the best movie of the year.

The Zone of Interest

This movie released in Germany in January 2024, so for me it’s a movie from this year. Why did it release so late? I don’t know. It was a really good movie. It feels more like a documentary at parts, like it was filmed with a secret camera, glimpsing into the lives of the family, which is a really unique directing decision. It also leaves you on an ending that gets you thinking for a while. And also, no Jimmy Kimmel, we do not think this is a rom com, kindly fuck off.

The Wild Robot

Next to Dune, this was my most anticipated movie of the year and it really lived up to my expectations. The Animation is beautiful, and the story is touching. Sure, there were a few cheesy moments, but they feel earned and are scattered far between. The dry and dark humour was really unexpected, but very welcome to me. I’m also not ashamed to admit, that it made me cry multiple times throughout. The voice cast really is amazing. Lupita Nyong’o is really good as the robot and Pedro Pascal shines as Fink, but the biggest surprise for me was Kit Connor as Brightbill. He just seems to be capable of everything.

Deadpool & Wolverine

It’s just a fun conclusion to the trilogy and a nice send off to the Fox X-Verse, if that’s what it’s called. The tribute on the credits is really cool and a nice sentiment. Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman have great chemistry and do a great job in this movie. You can also really tell that this was a passion project for a lot of people. Like A Prayer is also an inspired song choice for the final fight and the conclusion. Also, I’m contractually obligated to mention that they definitely fucked in the Honda Odyssey.

Ultraman: Rising

Is this movie a good introduction to Ultraman? I’m not sure. But it definitely is a good movie. It’s fun, the fight scenes are exciting, and the animation looks striking. Sure, it might not have the most original story, but the way it tells it is really good, and the character growth of Kenji is really satisfying to watch. Kenji in general is just a really good character.

TV Shows

Arcane Season 2

The money really is on the screen, but the 250 million floating around is definitely too much. That may be both seasons including marketing costs, but not purely the Animation. The Animation is stunning and, in my opinion, better than the first season. But I don’t actually know if I prefer this season over season 1. It was an amazing finale, don’t get me wrong, but it does seem a little rushed. A lot of the side characters are very flat and don’t really get anything to do and I still don’t understand what the deal with the Black Rose was. That aside though, I really did like this as a finale and am looking forwards to the other shows.

The Umbrella Academy Season 4

I did enjoy this season up until episode 4. I liked Ben and Jennifers chemistry, the cult leader antagonists were fun and the fight scene in the town where they run over Santa Claus was cool. But then it all began to go downhill. Klaus’ subplot was really tasteless and unnecessary, and I might have thought it was fine, had it not come after he learnt to control his powers in Season 3 and ended with him helping himself. The constant fat jokes with Diego also are really stupid, especially when they later rip off his shirt to reveal that he still is ripped. Diego and Lilas relationship also feels really misrepresented, which leads into that stupid Five and Lila romance that nobody, including the actors liked. This finale was a whole fucking mess and the only reason I didn’t just drop it, was because I thought if it had a good enough ending the show could be redeemed a little. It doesn’t. Why does the fucking handler get to live happily ever after, but the main characters have to die? And also: what was the purpose of bringing Ben back, if you’re just going to kill him off again? It’s all just a big mess and it feels like the writers themselves gave up. So, I’m just going to consider Season 3 the finale.

Heartstopper Season 3

I think this might be the best season of the show so far. The way it handled its heavy subject matter was delicate and masterfully executed. Kit Connor and Joe Locke continue to be great actors. Tao still is my favourite character and the scene where he comforts Nick at the party is probably my favourite of the season. The only complaint I really have is that it ends in a weird place. Like, the finale needed 15 more minutes. Even so, I really enjoyed it.

Connection

I started this K-Drama because the premise sounded interesting and only then realised that it was starring Ji Sung, who might just be my favourite Korean actor. I loved him in the Devil Judge and Kill Me, Heal Me and he is just as good here. His ability to have great chemistry with everyone he comes across really needs to be studied. Back to the show though. It’s good. Some twists are predictable, but they are well executed so I’m willing to give it a pass. There is also a lot of attention to detail. One that I think is really cool is that the drug, the main character is forcefully addicted to, is stated to be an appetite-suppressant and we don’t actually see him each much from Episode 2 to the end of the show. I just thought that was a really cool detail. If you want a good crime drama, this really is the show for you.

Hazbin Hotel

I did enjoy watching this show, but I don’t think it was good. There were a lot of moments that felt weirdly stiff and there were too many songs, really. One per episode would have been more than enough, because most of them seem to be about nothing relating to the plot. Characters break out into song just because. The few songs I do like (Hell is Forever, Hell’s Greatest Dad and Stayed Gone), are really good, but some are borderline unlistenable (Out For Love). It does have a lot of great voice acting talent though and I do really like Alastor as a character. Whenever the show focuses on him, it becomes a lot better.

Helluva Boss Season 2

The animation for this show somehow is better than Hazbin Hotels and only one of these two is streaming on a major streaming service. Especially in the later episodes of the season, the animation was outstanding. For me, this season had some of the greatest highs and the lowest lows of the show so far. The finale pulled it all together though and also finally convinced me of Stolas and Blitzos relationship. The music this season was also outstanding. 2 Minutes Notice has become my anthem, and Just Look My Way is also gorgeous. Bryce Pinkham as Stolas is still really amazing and needs to do more voice acting. Alex Brightman as Fizzarolli is also really good.

[crisis-aversion]

Some random wrap up thoughts either from after the fact or that I didn’t post at the time I had them:

(Under the cut bc I went on longer than I thought)

I love Zeller. Will should have bullied him more (affectionate)

Gallows humour strikes again but it’s so funny how the running jokes range from grim dark “Chilton almost dies every season” to innocent “Hannibal really hates Will’s aftershave”

Chilton always trying to say the things least likely to get him killed any time he’s been kidnapped. You can see the moment he failed his perception check on that last one with Dolarhyde

I was gonna say that Dolarhyde shooting himself was very anticlimactic. And then he showed up again

Despite being married Will and Molly barely have couple vibes. At all

Chilton essentially predicted this outcome three years ago. Actually he was right (or half right) about a lot of things that I bet Jack regretted ignoring him about

I’ve known about The Fall for a Long Time through fandom osmosis. Thing is I always expected it to have been like. Intentionally jumping off the cliff together to escape the police. Not. Actually just falling

BEVERLY DESERVED BETTER

Chilton also did not deserve to be tortured so much but it’s not nearly as devastating as Beverly. Also his is at least funny

It’s both kinda funny and kinda messed up that Will’s “memories” of Abigail talking to him in the hospital was basically just written over Chilton being there

On that note Chilton probably wasn’t actually the only person to visit Will in the hospital. But the fact that he’s the only one shown to have is really funny. And he brought him flowers!

To be fair he brought Alana flowers too but still

“May I use you shower please?” Is still one of the most morbidly funny scenes in the show

Imagine vibing in your house, possibly wondering when our ex-psychiatrist is gonna kill your other ex-psychiatrist, when the second psychiatrist shows up on your doorstep covered in blood and shaking like a chihuahua

Chilton pulls a gun on Will when he finds out he called Jack but he’s shaking so badly I genuinely don’t think he’d have hit him even if he had pulled the trigger. From two feet away

Bedelia has technically killed at least two people and genuinely no one cares

Hannibal gets called in to consult on a case, shows up to fake shock and concern, gets in the way, solves the case on his own without telling anyone, wanders off to kill the murderer, and tells Jack the guy he’s looking for is in his pile of bodies via riddle

Imagine being a murderer hiding out in a grain silo and you’re carrying your latest victim in, only to have this grinning maniac on your roof be like “hi :)”

if this was a supernatural horror I’d be 100% convinced Chilton cannot die. How. How

The dogs have a taste for human now

If I had a nickel for every time a character lost their face. I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice

half the time when you put the entire FBI team in one room they’re just insulting each other and not actually focusing on the task at hand

I have not given Price enough attention during this liveblog (or it was always in conjunction with Zeller). I love Price

in case anyone was wondering from my previous metronoming about Chilton. Yes he ended up being my fave. I’m a sucker for a cockroach

HanniGram is just the evil version of JohnLock. Eccentric crime consultant with a Doctor friend who helps him out on cases, has killed someone for him, and totally isn’t his bf? The Fall? Yeah. It’s the same picture

Will is so mentally unwell every psychiatrist in a fifty mile radius desires him carnally

Will can say the wildest thing about a corpse and all he ever gets for it is the sideeye to beat all sideeyes. Everyone’s just agreed to not mention it

Everyone can be all action hero posed up ready to shoot and Will’s just standing there like🧍‍♂️

Jack gives Will the benefit of the doubt and brings some food from one of Hannibal’s dinner parties to the lab to test. And everyone’s just looking at him like “you want us to test leftovers?”

I wonder if after they tested it and found it was just. Normal food if they were like “our boss has lost his mind. But at least he brought us snacks!”

I’m half convinced when Hannibal framed Chilton he didn’t actually expect Miriam to shoot him. But he’s definitely not disappointed bc he does seem to relish in Chilton’s suffering especially

Everyone being like “Hannibal isn’t a cannibal!” In season two and meanwhile Chilton’s in the bg gagging

the tonal dissonance of a normal dinner jumpcutting to a literal murder

Hannibal quoting Dante in Italian for ✨Authenticity✨

Hannibal being an apex predator even when it comes to other serial killers. How many other murderers has he killed?

Hannibal and Will killing a dude together and Hannibal being like “this is all I ever wanted for us 😍 “ and meanwhile Will’s panting on the ground covered in (mostly) his own blood

Will basically telling Bedelia that he’s intentionally getting Hannibal out of jail and Hannibal is probably gonna eat her. And she doesn’t really react in any way. Or do anything about it

Chilton casually committing medical malpractice and still being the most normal psychiatrist here, mostly by virtue of not having killed anyone (that we know of)

Mason probably shouldn’t have had that eel in his floor

Love how everyone keeps calling Mason a serial killer as if he ever actually got the chance to kill anyone. He wanted to, sure, but he never managed it

tfw when the psychiatrist dating her patient’s sibling and helping her kill him for being abusive is in the least toxic relationship in the show

Chilton spends the first half of the show in the psychiatric version of Grey’s Anatomy and the second half in a psychological horror

half the characters in this show don’t seem to realize they’re in a psychological horror. But the ones who do are having a Time of it

Bayverse Optimus is now not the only character I can make the “give me your face”joke about

Chilton got to legitimately talk to Will once and basically immediately decided he was the good guy

✨Stabbing as a love language✨

If you asked Chilton what the worst day of his life was I wonder what he’d say. It definitely happened on the show though. His life just keeps getting progressively worse

Chilton once said they’re living on the best timeline (or roughly so). Considering that was after he got vivisected and shot in the face I wonder what his definition of the worst timeline would have been

Chilton mumbling that he hopes he hasn’t been burned while still drowsy from being drugged absolutely gave Dolarhyde ideas, rip

Hannibal talks like if a 17th century vampire had a kid with an art scholar

Will has a seizure and Hannibal’s just like “eh it’s only mild” and carries on with his day

Will shows up with Abel wanting Hannibal to confirm he’s not just hallucinating the guy. And Hannibal promptly gaslights him into thinking he’s not. And then just. Has a casual conversation with Abel while Will has a breakdown in the bg

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Forged in Silver definitely caught my eye, if you want to share about that one <3 love you, my friend

Forged In Silver

This is technically my WBB, but what the hell. I could do with some love for it. This is from Chapter 3. And I've already shared it on Twitter.

They arrived at Beeches shortly before sunset on the second day. The horses covered the ground well, but they traipsed gratefully into the sheltered stables in search of dry hay and rest. On the outskirts of town, tall chimneys belched dark smoke into the sky and the smell of tar added a bitter tang to the air. This was one of the few towns in southern Kaedwen where the inhabitants of humans and nonhumans mixed without issue.

“Who chose Flotsam?” Lambert asked over ale and an empty bowl that evening. The pottage had gone down well; strips of salty gammon, peas and root vegetables with two generous rusks of fresh bread.

Aiden fixed him with that same stare, thoughtful, cautious. Even though Lambert had proven to be a worthy travel companion, he was still hesitant to trust. Despite lingering reservations, Aiden conceded that Lambert needed a touch more information than he had been given thus far. “I did,” Aiden said, stirring the remains of his stew with little intent to eat anymore. His appetite had vanished the moment that letter arrived.

“Always thought they said elves, like cats, are scared of water. With scoia’tael prowling the forests around it, the merchants stick to trading on the water. Town’s made an absolute killing.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. “Only half elf.”

“Elf when it suits you, human when it doesn’t.” Lambert smirked behind the lip of his mug and watched Aiden scowl in disapproval. “Miserable bastard too. Got it all going for you. Quite the catch; I’m surprised you’re still a bachelor.”

“If this is how you flirt, I’m not surprised you’re pushing so hard for a roll with me,” Aiden shot back.

“I fuck better than I flirt. Tend to rely on repeat customers rather than new business.” There was that flicker again. The barest hint of delight in the twitch of Aiden’s lips and the shine of his eyes. It wasn’t the sanctimonious sort that Lambert often saw in the faces of Aen Seidhe when they dealt with him, but genuine amusement. His sense of humour was as shit as Lambert’s. Despite his aggressive rejection at the workshop, there had been a glimmer of interest then too. Even if it was just the desire to feel a warm and willing body against his; the chilling bite of loneliness only sank deeper as time wore on.

“You don’t trust these people we’re meeting,” Lambert stated. “And you trust them even less than me, which, considering you thought I was the Man of Mirrors come to reap your ass this morning, that’s a pretty low fucking bar. So, who are they? Spies? Nilfgaardians? Scoia’tael?”

“Keep your voice down,” Aiden hissed. Lambert watched as he tugged at the sleeve of his shirt to cover the tail end of the twisting vine tattoo down his forearm.

“If you don’t start talking, I’ll weave a merry fucking ballad about where we’re heading and just make up the reasons why. Know a word that rhymes with treason?”

“You’re a first class cunt, you know that?”

“I’m first class at everything,” Lambert replied. “Now spill or be prepared to be immortalised in song. I’ll call it Aiden, the Cat of Vattweir, just so fans know where to find you for an autograph.”

Aiden glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the small cluster of dwarven factory workers clustered around a table by the far wall. It was a quiet night and they were already well and truly in their cups. “The man we’re meeting,” Aiden began, his voice low, “his name’s Jad Karadin. Former witcher.”

“Shit,” Lambert huffed a laugh, "another like you?”

The corner of Aiden’s lips twitched. “Formerly of the same school, but that’s where the similarity ends.”

“You’re not a fan, so why deal with him in the first place? You seem to have it pretty comfortable in Vattweir.”

“That’s my business.”

“And it’s about to become my business,” Lambert murmured. “If I’m about to step into the middle of some Cat school territorial pissing contest, then I need to know.”

“There aren’t many opportunities for a former witcher on the Continent and even fewer places where one can belong.” Aiden finally threw his spoon into the bowl before him and stood. “You were wrong before.”

“Before?” Lambert raised an eyebrow.

“You called me the Cat of Vattweir,” Aiden said as he turned, “the reality is, I’m the Cat of Nowhere.”

Lambert stared at the doorway long after Aiden had walked away.

[silvermoongirl10swfics]

I trust you with my life

For @codywanweek 2021 Day 3: Lightsaber.

You can also read this fic here on A03.

No warnings. This is written as a 4+1 fic.

1)

Cody tiredly dragged his feet towards his tent, it had been a long day of fighting and finally the day had ended in a win. Obi-Wan was reporting to the Council and then needed to comm Skywalker about what they needed to do tomorrow. Unfortunately, the 501st were on the other side of the planet so Cody couldn’t spend any time with Rex. But that was probably for the best considering the exhaustion pulling at his limbs and his tiredness making his eyes feel like they were burning.

Sighing in relief as he pushed his way through the tent flaps of his tent, Cody rubbed a fist over his eyes. After taking his armour off on auto-pilot, Cody turned to his sleep cot when he slowly realised something was different. After pausing for a moment, so his exhausted mind could spot what was out of place, he noticed perched innocently on his pillow was Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. With a resigned sigh, Cody carefully picked up the lightsaber, muttering mockingly under his breath, “this lightsaber is your life Anakin. Hypocrite.”

He sat on his sleep cot, holding his cyare’s lightsaber in his hands which were resting on his lap. Through force of will, Cody managed to keep himself awake, his head would dip forward as his eyes closed, but he was able to jerk himself back into alertness. Cody wasn’t sure how long he ended up waiting, but despite Obi-Wan having been given his own tent, Cody knew Obi-Wan would make his way to Cody’s tent to sleep, and sure enough the tent flap opened to reveal an equally exhausted looking Jedi. Whose robes were creased and covered in dirt, his copper hair looked brown due to the dirt smeared into the locks and Obi-Wan had dark circles under his eyes to match Cody’s. Obi-Wan stopped and stared at Cody, evidently surprised to find Cody still awake.

“Cod’ika? What?” Obi-Wan stumbled out, unable to ask anything else when Cody just held out a hand, a hand that held a lightsaber in it.

“Misplaced something cyare?” Cody asked in a voice that dripped in fake innocence.

“Um…well yes apparently,” Obi-Wan stuttered out, his face turning red out of slight embarrassment.

Taking pity on his exhausted Jedi, Cody stood up and helped Obi-Wan take off his outer robes and belt, but before they both settled on the cot that was technically designed for one person. Cody smirked as he placed the lightsaber in Obi-Wan’s hands, “this lightsaber is your life.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and then turned to place his lightsaber on top of his robes. “Yes, well…I will love you even more if you can refrain from telling Anakin about this little slip.”

“You can love me even more?” Cody joked with a raised eyebrow and a grin. The both of them laid down, Obi-Wan wrapping himself around Cody like a clinging tooka kit.

“It is not a hardship,” murmured Obi-Wan in a tired voice. Cody smiled and kissed his cyare on the forehead, Obi-Wan’s breaths already slow as he drifted into sleep. Once Cody closed his eyes, he was soon following his cyare into a dreamless sleep.

2)

Cody and Ghost company were jogging through a dried-up ravine, knowing that somewhere above them, jumping over the cracks and rocks was their Jedi. It made Cody relax, he didn’t like not knowing what could be in front of them, but they needed to meet up with the rest of the 212th and with Obi-Wan close by, he knew he could trust his cyare to let them know if danger was close.

The only sounds in the ravine were the soft crunching noise the men’s feet made on the sand beneath their feet, their helmets blocking out the sound of their breathing. Then a loud clacking sound, brought everyone to a stop, all on their guard they pointed their blasters behind and in front of them. Until an exasperated sigh broke the silence, “stand down men,” ordered Cody.

He bent down and retrieved the offending item that had knocked against his shoulder pauldron. Cody sighed again as his gloved hand enclosed around the item and stood back up, while activating the private comm channel he had with Obi-Wan. “I believe you are missing something,” he sighed.

There was an evident pause and then a sheepish, “ah. Yes, I do believe I have misplaced something.”

“That something, being your life?” snarked Cody, attaching the lightsaber hilt to his own belt, he then gave the order for Ghost company to start moving out again. “How many times cyare? Am I going to have to tie your lightsaber to your hand?” he added pointedly. This was not helping his stress levels, his cyare’s primary (only weapon), was consistently ending up in Cody’s possession and Obi-Wan detested using ‘uncivilised’ blasters, leaving him unprotected.

“I am sorry,” grumbled Obi-Wan.

Cody retorted, “try better.”

Obi-Wan sucked in a breath to answer back, but was interrupted because apparently Cody served with nosey busybodies who had apparently learnt to hack his private comm channel. “Mother and father are fighting!”

“Boil!” snapped Cody, because it could be no one else saying that.

“Hey! I’m just looking out for my poor vod’ike. Wooley will be upset if you and dad divorce,” sassed Boil.

Cody just sighed and as he was about to reprimand Boil for hacking his comm channel, he heard titters of laughter letting him know the entirety of Ghost company were listening. Obi-Wan just had to join in. “Why am I the father in this Boil?”

“Because Cody is always trying to keep you alive and gives off mama loth-wolf tendencies towards you and us,” Boil commented innocently.

Cody eyed up the rocky sides of the ravine and just pictured knocking his own head against the rocks and slipping into sweet unconsciousness and escaping the insanity. Unfortunately, he had to get Ghost company back to the remainder of the 212th. Shame.

3)

It was beginning to get ridiculous now. Not only had Cody lost count of the number of times he had ended up with Obi-Wan’s lightsaber in his possession, but his cyare was also dramatically throwing his outer robe off and just leaving it strewn on the floor. The first time Cody had found a brown Jedi robe fluttering along the ground in the breeze, he had picked it up to return to his General only to discover Obi-Wan had already put on a different robe. So, Cody just started to leave the robes he picked up in a box in the main storage cupboard on the Negotiator for anyone who wanted a robe as an extra blanket. He wasn’t sure if Obi-Wan knew about it, but considering how many spare robes his cyare seemed to pick up when they were on Coruscant (as he never ran out of robes), Cody wasn’t sure.

So, it was not surprising in the midst of a battle. When General Grievous made his bi-monthly drop-in/actually a gate-crash of a battle he had no reason to be involved in, a part from the single aim of driving Cody’s blood pressure sky high when Obi-Wan would inevitably torment Grievous with his witty comebacks and nearly get killed in retaliation for Grievous not having a sense of humour and taking offense. Obi-Wan spotted his favourite foe to torment, a foe the men had started to call The Runaway General. Named after the romantic comedy film the 212th had illegally watched on the holonet called the Runaway bride. The men had watched the first ten minutes of the film and all decided the bride who always ran away from her weddings reminded them of Grievous. So, now Cody was unable to ever watch that film again as his brothers had thoroughly spoiled it for him. He had tried to watch it again once, but instead all he could imagine was Grievous running away in one of the lace sleeved, A-line dresses the bride wore, veil included. A truly nightmarish image to be stuck in one’s head.

Anyway, The Runaway General made his usual wheezing entrance, if it was anyone else Cody would suggest they should see a medic for that ear grating, hacking cough. But Grievous could go and suck on a bucket of sour sweets for all Cody cared. Obi-Wan’s ocean blue gaze locked in on his favourite foe and Cody just felt the urge to cry, because Obi-Wan had that look in his eyes, the look that meant he was going to enjoy tormenting the ever-living kark out of Grievous and Cody was going to have to try and not have a heart attack. You know, situation normal.

Obi-Wan dramatically threw his outer robe off his shoulders, causing the brown material to swish majestically in the slight breeze, billowing out into an arch above the Jedi’s head and then delicately flittering down to the floor. The Jedi then charged forward, his blue lightsaber held aloft, towards Grievous, a sarcastic quip already on the tip of his tongue.

Cody just sighed.

Then over the comms he heard:

“Ooooh, solid effort that one. Best I’ve seen. I’d say a definite 10/10.”

“I have to agree with you Wooley. That was probably the best robe drop I’ve seen the General do.”

“What is wrong with you Wooley and Waxer? You have clearly forgotten the robe drop on Atollon. That was a far better robe drop. If this one is a 10/10, Atollon has to be a 12/10 at least.”

“That is a very good point Boil. Atollon was just chef’s kiss.”

Cody gritted his teeth and growled. “Focus on what you are supposed to be doing. And stop blocking the battalion comms!”

“Oops. Sorry Commander!” called out Wooley, his tone apologetic. Wooley had clearly been spending too much time with Waxer and Boil.

“Thanks for listening to today’s Dramatic Jedi Robe Drop Scoring. Tune in again when either The Runaway General, Never Had A Bad Hair Day, Kenobi’s Evil Grandfather or Obsessive Hate for Kenobi Kept Me Alive turn up to try and kill our General. See you then folks!”

“Waxer!” shouted Cody, scanning the battlefield for the Lieutenant. Fortunately for Waxer he wasn’t in Cody’s eyeline. Cody just sighed again. It was one of those days.

An hour later, when Grievous had done his usual running away technique, Cody waited by the gunships with Obi-Wan’s robe draped over one arm and his cyare’s lightsaber held in his other hand. Cody also had his helmet clipped to his belt, so he was able to give his cyare an unimpressed looked, raised eyebrow included. Which, when Obi-Wan made his appearance, his cyare directed a sheepish look at Cody.

Once Obi-Wan came to a stop in front of Cody, he took his lightsaber and clipped it onto his own belt and put on his robe. “Ah, thank you cyare,” Obi-Wan said, with a bright smile on his face.

Cody rolled his eyes. “Must we do this during every battle?”

Obi-Wan plastered an innocent look on his face, knowing full well Cody was going to mock him with ‘this lightsaber is your life’ lecture. So, instead Obi-Wan shrugged and said. “This really is a compliment, Cody.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Cody just shook his head. “Suuureee, it is.”

4)

Yet another battle the 212th had been sent to, another battle where they were fighting against impossible numbers. However, the 212th were holding their ground and Cody felt victory would soon be in their grasp. Obi-Wan had even manged to hold onto his lightsaber, miracles of miracles. Cody had also heard on the comms, that Obi-Wan had dropped his robe to go against some tanks and apparently this robe drop scored a 7/10.

But then a loud explosion ripped through the air, Cody turned, his cyare was stopping the tanks not to far away and sure enough the explosions were coming from the tanks. Then Cody frowned, there was a silver item spinning through the air as it headed straight for Cody.

Seeing the sunlight glint off the item, Cody changed his HUD settings and sighed, “not again.” He had apparently spoken too soon. Flying through the air was his cyare’s lightsaber.

As the lightsaber got closer, Cody lifted up his hand and caught the lightsaber and immediately clipped it to his belt.

“Ooooh. Nice catch Commander!” yelled Waxer over the comms.

“A definite 10/10!” added Wooley, with awe in his voice.

“We should really start adding the Commander’s lightsaber catches to our scoring commentary,” stated Boil.

Cody just sighed, apparently his sigh could be heard over the comms because a voice suddenly rang out over the comms. “That wasn’t my fault, Cody!” Obi-Wan burst out in self-defence, his voice cracking slightly on Cody’s name.

“Somehow, I’m not entirely convinced,” Cody retorted dryly. He ignored the titters of laughter over the comms and smirked to himself.

+ 1)

The 212th had been sent to an Outer-Rim planet, for Obi-Wan to try and negotiate peace between to warring tribes on the planet. It was a nice change for Cody and his brothers, the tribespeople, of both tribes, were very friendly towards them. Nicer than many citizens on Coruscant, which said a lot to the men in the 212th. Obi-Wan was needed for his negotiating skills and it gave Cody the opportunity to see his cyare as the peaceful Jedi he should be, not the General he was.

Cody couldn’t go into the hastily contrasted hut, built on neutral ground by both tribespeople as a sign of wanting to end the hostilities. Obi-Wan had to go in alone with the Councils of both tribes. Cody didn’t mind, he didn’t get hostile vibes from the tribes and it meant he could watch as his brothers ran around and played with the children of both tribes. A sight that he could see soften the most hardened warriors of each tribe, leading to the female and male warriors to intermix with the opposing tribe. The Council members saw this and Cody noticed the tension in their shoulders fade away, he turned, feeling someone come and stand beside him.

“I believe my job has just been made easier,” Obi-Wan stated with a bright smile on his face. The Jedi held one of Cody’s hands, and smiling to himself, Cody squeezed his cyare’s hand in response.

“Amazing what children can accomplish,” replied Cody, watching as Waxer, Wooley, Boil, Longshot, Gearshift, Trapper, Meteor, Blackeye and Flycatcher began a game of chase with a hoard of children.

“And your brothers,” Obi-Wan admonished lightly. Cody felt his heart swell with love, knowing how deeply Obi-Wan cared about his brothers, made it even easier to fall in love with the Jedi.

“As I said. Children,” retorted Cody, humour plain in his voice.

Obi-Wan shook his head as he chuckled to himself. Hearing the Council members state they were ready for the negotiations to begin, Cody squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand again, and then let his cyare’s hand go. Obi-Wan turned to face him fully and gently pressed their lips together, before either one of them could be tempted to deepen the kiss, Obi-Wan pulled away. He then placed something in Cody’s hand. In confusion Cody lifted his hand up to find himself holding Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. “I can’t take weapons in with me to the negotiations as is custom, so I leave my life in your trusty hands,” stated Obi-Wan.

Cody felt his throat tighten with emotion and he nodded as he swallowed heavily. “Always.” With one more smile and kiss, Obi-Wan was walking away and towards the waiting Council members. Cody smiled to himself as he looked down at the lightsaber in his hand, he clipped it to his belt and taking a leaf out of his brothers’ book. He ran to join in the game of chase, the delighted squeals and laughter of the children and his brothers filling his heart up with joy.

End note:

My mum was watching the film Runaway Bride and I couldn’t resist writing Grievous in a wedding dress, I wish I could draw this image (Cody is probably glad I can’t) but I can’t even draw decent stick people. So I hope my descriptions of Grievous in a wedding dress make it seem funny, I was giggling to myself as I wrote it.

Trying to come up with nicknames the 212th would have made for Ventress, Dooku and Maul was actually harder than I thought it would be 😂

[terramous]

granite eyes reflect the flames, ‘til the embers start to tire

a 2x10 speculation fic based on the promo <3 title: anson seabra - kerosene word count: 5k bthb - choking AO3

When Carlos woke up, he wasn’t sure why. He’d barely made it up the stairs after his shift ran long, all but collapsing into the bed. He wasn’t expecting to wake up until TK slotted himself in beside Carlos the next morning. But the room was still dark and there were no arms wrapped around Carlos’ waist or the familiar rhythm of warm breath on the back of his neck. Stretching one arm across the mattress in front of him confirmed that he was still alone in the bed.

And then he heard it. The incessant high-pitched beeping of the smoke alarm at the entrance to the bedroom.

Carlos pulled the other pillow over his head, trying to muffle the noise and hopefully fall back asleep. After all, the beeping was probably just because he needed to change the batteries, and he didn’t feel like getting out of bed for that.

But that didn’t make sense.

TK had changed them the other week. He was always so strict when it came to checking the smoke alarms in the condo. And the air smelt like TK’s hair used to after shift. The smoke would cling to his skin and hair while TK was still a firefighter, and Carlos loved it. He loved the way that the smoke and traces of soot mixed with TK’s sweat and he could taste it as he trailed his lips and tongue up his boyfriend’s throat, TK’s fingers knotted in his hair.

But he was alone and TK didn’t come home smelling like smoke anymore.

That caused Carlos to shoot up, instantly more awake. Something was burning, if not on fire.

He could see the dark tendrils of smoke creeping along the upstairs corridor. He always left the bedroom door open when he was expecting TK to come home while he slept. Although TK always told him that it was safer to sleep with it shut if there was a fire. He just hated being woken up by the sound of the door creaking when TK snuck into the bedroom.

He needed to get out.

There wasn’t even a moment to think before Carlos was bolting for the door. His blankets tumbled to the ground behind him. He didn’t care, he needed to figure out what was burning.

He could have just left something on the stove from his half-asleep attempt to throw something together to eat before he went to bed. But that was the best-case scenario and Carlos wasn’t going to put too much faith in that possibility.

Unfortunately, Carlos didn’t even get the chance to go downstairs and check. He hit the top of the stairs and immediately recoiled from the heat. Flames crawled up the staircase, consuming each step as the fire licked up at Carlos. It seemed almost alive and hungry as it had clearly devoured most of his home.

This was bad.

The only other possible exit that didn’t involve windows that didn’t open fully enough to let him out, was the balcony. He could probably stand on it until help came, and at the worst, he could probably jump into the bushes below it.

That was of course until he turned back towards the bedroom and stepped inside, just to see the flames had begun eating their way through the floor, a wall of fire blocking his view of the balcony. As Carlos stumbled backwards to get away from the heat, he felt a searing pain across his ankle. The fire was at the top of the stairs now, starting to travel along the upstairs floor.

He’d been burned.

His head was swimming as he tried to figure out where to go, but it seemed that everywhere he turned was being engulfed in flames.

TK had said many times that fire spreads faster than you think. Carlos had never really realised how true that statement was until this very moment. He also didn’t realise how hot it got inside. He of course assumed it would be hot but he wasn’t expecting the sweat to pour off of him by the bucket.

Looking around for any possible place to go, Carlos breathed a small sigh of relief when he spotted the closet. If he was in there with the door closed he could keep the smoke at bay for long enough to call for help.

So he sprinted for the nightstand and grabbed his phone before darting for the closet and he almost collapsed amongst the clothes as he pulled the double doors shut behind him.

He allowed himself to take a few breaths to calm himself before he dug around for his phone, having dropped it a short distance from where he was sitting on the ground. There was fabric all around him, pairs of pants providing comforting weight on either shoulder as he dialled the familiar three numbers and pressed the phone to his ear.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

Carlos had to suppress a sob at the familiar sound of Grace’s voice. He didn’t know that she was back at work already but he was so glad to hear her on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” She said when Carlos didn’t reply.

“Grace-” Carlos couldn’t help the way his voice cracked as he began to cough. The smoke was less apparent in the closet, but he knew he’d already inhaled plenty. TK was always lecturing him on the dangers of smoke inhalation, how it would be the most likely thing he would die of if he was stuck in a burning building.

And now he was stuck in a burning building and every breath felt weirder than the last.

“Who is this?” Grace asked, still keeping her voice professional and even.

“Grace,” Carlos breathed, unable to figure out what he was meant to say next. He’d never had to call 911 before, preferring to not have emergencies in his own life. He really didn’t know what to say first, who he was, where he was or how close he thought the fire was to the closet door?

He heard a soft sigh on Grace’s end of the phone call. “Sir, you have to tell me who you are so I can help you.”

“Grace, it’s Carlos.”

“Carlos?” Grace’s voice was stiffer now, still professional but if Carlos concentrated on it he could almost detect a hint of fear. “Carlos, what’s wrong?”

“It’s on fire, Grace.”

“What’s on fire?”

“My house.” He had no idea why he was whispering, it’s not like the fire could hear him, but he still couldn’t find it in him to raise his voice.

“Is there anyone else in the house with you?”

“No. No, it’s just me. I’m alone.”

“Isn’t TK there?”

Carlos wasn’t sure whether he wished TK was there with him so that he wasn’t alone, or if he was more glad that TK wasn’t at home and was consequently safe. “He’s working.”

“Then be prepared for him to fret over you. Units have been dispatched to the scene and the 126 is en route.”

Carlos groaned. He didn’t need TK’s coworkers to see him like this.

“Can you get to the door and get outside?”

“No. The fire is downstairs and I’m upstairs. The stairs were on fire by the time the smoke alarm woke me up.”

“Where are you exactly?”

“In the closet.” Carlos chuckled dryly before dissolving into another fit of coughs. The smoke was getting worse, his chest growing tighter with every breath.

“Is there a window you could try to get to when help arrives?”

“There’s the balcony. I’m not sure if I can get there though.”

“That’s okay. Someone will take the ladder up to the balcony and they’ll have a fire extinguisher. We’ll get you out of there, don’t worry.”

“It’s hard-” Carlos was interrupted by another cough. “It’s hard not to worry. It’s getting very hot in here.”

He could feel the way that the thick sheen of sweat clung to his skin, it was making it difficult to hold his phone without it slipping from his grip. His curls were glued to his skin and he wanted nothing more than a shower. Except maybe to no longer be trapped in a burning building, but he wasn’t going to be fussy.

“Just hang tight for me, okay?”

There were a few more coughs this time, the spasms of his muscles making his chest ache. He was crying now, tears running down his cheeks, from the pain or the smoke, he wasn’t sure. Not that he really cared at that point. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask of you.”

Carlos rested his free hand on his chest, his open palm resting atop where his heart was thundering under his skin. He was terrified, although he would never admit it, his heart rate would give him away. That was, of course, if anyone arrived in time.

The air was getting thicker and he was begging to see light through the edges of the closet door as the flames drew closer.

He was going to die here. Cramped in a closet and wearing nothing but his boxers. Not the way he thought he’d go but there was probably some cruel humour to find in it. If he made it out of here, in the future he and TK could laugh about it, but right now it was getting too hard to breathe and he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Carlos.”

“I’m trying not to,” Carlos mumbled as he set his phone down next to him. He barely remembered to put it on speaker. He was losing all of his strength, he really couldn’t even fathom how he would get up and get to the balcony. Maybe Grace could tell the firefighters to just come in and get him.

“Just keep talking to me until I tell you to go to the balcony.”

“Where’s the crew?”

“They’ve pulled up outside. You only have to hold on a little longer, until they can get the ladder up to the balcony. You’re going to be okay, Carlos.”

Carlos laughed as he forced his eyes open. “Aren’t you like, not supposed to tell me that?”

“I make exceptions for my friends.”

“Grace?” Carlos asked, smothering his coughs with his forearm. Every time a cough rocked his body he felt his energy drain. Who knew that the most exhausting part of being trapped in a burning building was the coughing?

“Yeah, Carlos?”

“Am I going to die?”

“No. You’re going to run for the balcony in a sec and they’re going to get you safe and to the hospital.” Grace explained, but Carlos could hear the weird edge to her voice.

“TK’s always talking about smoke inhalation and how bad it is. So even if they get me out of here I could still die, couldn’t I?”

“Technically, but you shouldn’t think like that.”

“Can you tell TK I love him?”

“You can tell him yourself in a matter of minutes.”

“No- Grace, if I die I want you to remind TK that it’s not his fault. He’s going to blame himself, I know he will. I need you to tell him that I don’t blame him, that I never will. You need to tell him that I love him and I’ll never stop loving him.”

“Carlos-”

“Grace,” Carlos said firmly.

“I promise.”

Carlos finally felt like he could breathe. “Thank you.”

“Now use that love for TK to run to the balcony and get back to your boy.”

Carlos gathered up all the strength he could muster, and threw the door to his closet open. This was the moment that defined his future more than any shift or life decision ever could. If he didn’t make it to the balcony now, he was going to die here.

He was going to die. In his boxers and not having the chance to tell everyone how much they mean to him. He wanted to take TK out for dinner tomorrow night, he was meeting up with his parents at Tia Lucy’s in three days. He couldn’t give up now.

He would run for the balcony like he’d never run before. Even if he died now, TK would know that he fought until the end. He would always fight to get back to TK.

The bright orange flames clung to everything Carlos had spent building since he moved into this apartment. It made his chest ache to see his home in the throes of destruction. He’d never be able to come back here, to come back to the memories that he had made here.

The memories with TK would always be his favourite. TK’s side of the bed that TK never seemed to actually sleep on, choosing instead to spend the nights completely entangled with Carlos, was covered in fire.

Stumbling to his feet, his fist curled tightly around his phone, Carlos locked his eyes on the door to the balcony where he could see a firefighter standing with a fire extinguisher in hand, and he ran for it.

Flames licked at his exposed skin as he desperately staggered for his destination. He was so close to getting out of here and to fresh air. He just needed to believe that he could do it.

That, of course, was until the ground let out a deafening creak and Carlos locked fearful eyes with the firefighter. The firefighter gestured for him to keep coming closer but Carlos couldn’t get his limbs to cooperate.

He was going to die.

The floor gave way.

When Carlos finally stopped falling he couldn’t see anything and there was a crushing pressure all around him. He couldn’t take a deep breath even if he wanted to, there was something heavy on his chest.

Everything hurt.

“Grace?” He called out. “Grace, are you there?”

He was met with nothing but silence. It was clear that his phone was long gone. He could almost see Grace’s scared face as she probably called out for him with more desperation than he was crying out for her. He missed her voice. At least when she was on the other end of the phone he didn’t feel so completely alone.

He was going to die alone.

And TK’s team was going to recover his body. He knew they weren’t going to give up on him even if he was dead. They’d pull apart the wreckage until they found his body.

That would destroy TK.

He never wanted to hurt TK but he feared that he may not get a choice in that matter.

After an immeasurable length of time trapped, Carlos could almost swear that he heard his name being called. He wanted to shout back, to tell them that he was here, that he was trapped but he was alive.

He couldn’t take a deep enough breath to do any more than cough pathetically.

There was the light sensation of something falling on his face, maybe some ash or debris. There was the distance scraping and knocking of things being moved. There were people nearby, if only Carlos could stay awake long enough for them to retrieve him, he would be fine.

But his body had other plans. His eyes grew harder and harder to keep open, until eventually he couldn’t anymore.

As his senses dulled, Carlos’ hold on his consciousness slipped.

-

TK was already suiting up as soon as he tumbled out of the ambulance. The second his boots hit the ground he was retrieving the turnout coat from the ladder truck.

Carlos was trapped in his house that was almost entirely covered in flames. The entire downstairs was burning. He could see the bright orange of fire through all of the windows.

“TK, you should stay with EMS, they might need you,” Owen said as he walked up to his son.

TK shook his head as he finished shoving his boot through the turnout pants. “Tommy said it was fine. She understands.”

“I’m not sure I want you in there. You’re too close to this.”

“He’s been in there too long. You need a medic in there and I have more experience with fires than Tommy and Nancy, if not half of your firefighters.”

He was being harsh. He knew this. But Carlos was in danger and he knew he was the best one for the job. He needed to go in there because everyone else would prioritise their own safety but TK didn’t care about anything other than getting his soulmate out of that house alive.

“Alright. Just wait. Paul’s up on the balcony to get him out. You probably won’t have anything to do other than comfort Carlos on the way to the hospital.”

“If it’s all the same to you. I’m going to wait until Carlos is out of danger before I stop preparing to run in there after him. I know the layout better than anyone, I’m not leaving him there,” TK said as he slung an oxygen tank over his shoulder, his medic kit draped over the other.

“I know, TK.”

“Then let me do my job.”

Owen nodded carefully before turning away from TK. He took a few steps to the side but he knew that TK was still within range to hear the responses over the radio.

As a hand came to rest on TK’s shoulder, he stiffened.

“Just me, kid,” Judd’s familiar voice said from behind him. “You gotta believe that your boy is gonna come back to you, and if anything goes wrong I’ll follow you in there.”

“I’m trying, but he’s all alone in there,” TK said. He couldn’t imagine how scared Carlos was right now and he just wished that he could have been home with Carlos. At least then, Carlos wouldn’t be alone and maybe they could have figured out together how to get out safely.

He couldn’t handle just standing outside and doing nothing while the love of his life could die in an inferno. Carlos was supposed to be sleeping peacefully after a long shift, not fighting for his life.

“He’s in there on the phone with Gracie, if anyone can get him out of there, it’s her.”

Judd stiffened when there was a huge crash from the burning structure and Owen’s radio crackled to life.

“Cap, the bedroom floor gave in,” Paul’s voice said over the radio.

“Can you still get to Carlos?”

The radio crackled again but Paul took a few seconds too long to speak. “Reyes went with the floor, Cap.”

TK didn’t need to hear anything else. He pulled the oxygen mask over his face as he bolted towards the building. There was another set of footsteps pounding on the ground behind him. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that it was Judd.

Without even thinking, TK kicked the door off of it’s hinges. It was second nature as his every thought was consumed with Carlos. He needed to get to Carlos.

He blindly stumbled through the familiar floorplan, headed for the pile of debris in the middle of the room. There wasn’t as much fire on the floor anymore, which was both good and bad. It meant that Carlos was not currently burning alive, but it also meant that everything above them was about to come toppling down at the first wrong move.

But TK didn’t care about that. All he cared about was getting Carlos out of there, or he would die trying. Judd could leave whenever he wanted, but TK would never give up on Carlos.

He started digging before Judd could even catch up. He was grabbing pieces of ceiling and floor and smouldering hunks of furniture, tossing them aside in a desperate panic.

“Carlos!” he screamed. He kept screaming out Carlos’ name, over and over until his throat was raw. And even then he didn’t stop.

Judd fell in place on the other side of the mound, pulling it apart with the same ferocity as TK. He wasn’t as desperate but TK knew that he was giving it everything he had.

TK’s arms were burning with the effort when they were joined. Three other bodies in full turnout gear pulling away the rubble until Judd called out that he had found Carlos’ foot. It was burned and covered in soot but it was there and it was soon followed by another shout of “he’s got a distal pulse!”

Carlos was still alive.

They were all desperate now as they dug.

It only took them a matter of minutes to completely uncover Carlos. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed as he was clearly unconscious. Soot covered his entire- incredibly exposed- body. Blood caked his skin but most of the wound looked superficial, aside from the one on his head that was still bleeding. What was most concerning were the burns. There were large areas of his legs and arms covered in burnt flesh, as well as what looked like the mottled bruising of internal bleeding on Carlos’ chest and abdomen.

TK was already pulling off his turnout gloves and swapping them for the familiar blue latex gloves as he knelt in place near Carlos’ head.

On autopilot he ran his knuckles along Carlos’ sternum, hoping for his boyfriend to wake up and glare at him in response to the pain. But there was nothing.

Everyone else found their place in the scene. TK was vaguely aware of a backboard being laid beside Carlos, ready for TK’s order that it was safe to move him.

“Radio Tommy and get her on standby for when we get him out,” TK said in a voice that was too even and calm for the situation that it startled even him. He was honestly surprised that he was managing to keep his cool at a time like this.

He was mentally running over the steps he needed to take before they could move Carlos and million times before his body kicked into gear.

He checked Carlos’ airway and it was clear, but the amount of soot and burns lining his airway made TK’s panic kick into high-gear.

“Paul, start a line. I’m going to intubate him.”

Now this. This was terrifying.

TK had intubated heaps of patients. Most had been in the back of the ambulance. Some had been in awkward and precarious locations. He’d even intubated a handful of cases of severe smoke inhalation.

But this was going to be the ultimate test. He had to maneuver himself through the rubble to get to a position where he could do this. Carlos’ airway was compromised and he needed to intubate him before there was too much swelling from the smoke to do so.

Carefully, TK tiled Carlos’ head back as little as he could. He wasn’t going to be able to pull this off with a cervical collar on so he needed to be careful. He had his left hand anchoring Carlos’ head in place and his right free to work.

TK’s hand was shaking as he slotted the laryngoscope in Carlos’ mouth. Even with the flashlight on the end of it, he was struggling to get a clear view. It was in a moment like this that he wished Tommy was right next to him and ready to take over, but they didn’t have time for that.

With a few seconds of fiddling he could see his path down Carlos’ throat. It was at this point that it really hit him that this was Carlos and he almost froze. He couldn’t afford to panic so he just held his breath.

It took TK a precious moment or two to gather his bearings and slide the tube in place. He got it in with surprisingly little resistance.

Then it was just a matter of removing the scope, inflating the cuff, and pulling out his stethoscope. There were a few tense seconds where he listened to both sides of Carlos’ chest to determine that he’d placed the tube correctly.

TK felt like he could finally truly breathe once he confirmed that the intubation had gone off without a hitch as he attached the bag and gestured for Paul, Judd and Mateo to help him get Carlos onto the backboard.

The ease at which TK could slip the cervical collar around Carlos’ neck as if it was as simple as breathing was an appreciated change of pace.

Marjan was already radioing that they were getting Carlos ready to bring out when TK carefully scooped his hands under Carlos’ chest.

“On my count,” he instructed.

With the swift count of three they moved Carlos quickly and carefully, like a well oiled machine they got him on the backboard and quickly worked to fasten him in place. TK would never take the mundane tasks of his job for granted ever again, especially because now he could do them without having to think about them, his fear not interfering with his ability to do his job.

In a blur they got Carlos out of the building and onto the gurney that was waiting a matter of feet away from the entrance for them. TK knew he would never be able to fully express his gratitude for his team, but he knew that he would always be there to risk everything for them as they had for Carlos.

Tommy gave TK a nod before she started giving out orders and the gurney was headed towards the ambulance. Carlos was in good hands, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

TK meant to follow the gurney but his legs lost their strength as his adrenaline started to wear off, but Paul and Judd were quick to catch him and offer him a short, yet comforting embrace before dragging him towards the ambulance where he climbed in after Carlos.

-

Carlos’ senses were overwhelming the second he realised they had returned to him. Everything was loud, there was something scratchy against his skin, everything hurt and he was very cold.

The first thing he did, before even opening his eyes, was take a deep breath.

Which proved itself to be a bad idea because almost instantly, his lungs spasmed and he was launched into full consciousness as he coughed until there were tears running down his face.

But the air was clear and there was a comforting hand on his back.

As his hacking ceased, he was being eased back until he was lying down again. Looking around for the first time since waking up, Carlos saw the only thing he could have wanted to see. TK.

TK who was stroking his hair and looking at him with eyes brimming with tears.

Carlos was the one to break the silence between them. “Hey.”

“Hi,” TK whispered with a watery smile as he brought his hands up to cradle Carlos’ face, his thumbs trailing across Carlos’ skin. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you awake.”

“Did-” Carlos’ sentence was interrupted by a few pitiful coughs. “Did you forget the part where you got shot and were in a coma?”

TK shrugged. “The past is in the past.”

“As soon as I get out of this bed I am going to strangle you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” TK said with a mischievous smile curling at the corners of his lips.

The smile didn’t reach TK’s eyes, however. It was all the information that Carlos needed to be sure that this was a serious hospital visit. He didn’t faint on shift because he forgot to eat or pass out because he drank too much. He could see it in TK’s eyes, his boyfriend was terrified.

There was the added layer of the redness and the tear tracks on TK’s cheeks. He’d been crying. Of course he had.

“What happened?” Carlos asked, lifting a hand to cup TK’s cheek in his palm. TK visibly melted into the touch as he closed his eyes and a few tears slipped free.

“There was a fire at the condo, sweetheart.”

“Are you okay?” Carlos asked, now worried as he scanned TK for any sign of injuries.

TK nodded, biting his bottom lip that Carlos now noticed was raw from being anxiously chewed on for probably a few hours. “Yeah. I’m fine. I was at work.”

“Why do you look like someone ran over your cat?”

“You almost died, Carlos. You were on a ventilator for thirteen hours, they took you off of it about an hour ago but you inhaled a lot of smoke,” TK explained. Carlos ignored the way TK’s voice cracked, it had obviously been a rough time for him.

“Where is everyone?”

“You’re in the ICU, so visitors are limited. Your dad was in here with me not too long ago but he decided to give me some time alone with you. He, your mom, and everyone else are out in the waiting room. We’ve all been very worried.”

“Can we just be alone together for a little while? Just before you go out and get them?”

TK smiled softly as he pressed a kiss to Carlos’ forehead. “We can be alone for as long as you need. No one is going anywhere anytime soon.”

“So you’ll stay?”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

TK grinned as he said that, and Carlos could see, for the first time since he’d woken up, an emotion on TK’s face that was raw and genuine and didn’t make him want to cry in sympathy.

“Are you going to tape a smoke alarm to my forehead from now on?”

TK pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Now, I didn’t think of that, but it’s a really good idea.”

“Do not,” Carlos said firmly, as TK pulled out his phone.

With a soft laugh TK poked his tongue out at Carlos. “I’m ordering smoke detectors.”

Carlos groaned. “You’re a menace.”

“You love me.”

“And you’re pushing your luck.”

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Crashing | Jurdan Fake Hating One Shot

Written for: @poeticbrownmermaid​ for my 1k celebration!

Massive thank you to: @clockworkgraystairs​ and @sweetlyvillainous​ for beta reading this and holding my hand before I posted 🥺❤️

Summary: You’ve heard of fake dating. Get ready for fake hating. It’s all very romantic.

Rating: M/E for explicit language and a short, soft focus smut scene (a steam scene, if you will). The sexy parts start and stop after the ☽☽ in case you want to skip.

Masterlist

“You taste—” I’m cut off by my own giggle, which rises to my lips like my mouth is a glass and my laugh is the Champagne they’re serving at this dumb party. “You taste like bubblegum.”

Cardan looks at me funny, then snorts. “What?”

His eyes are beguiling when they’re amused. Even more beguiling when they’re amused and looking at me. They are dark intoxication. They compete against the night sky for vastness. I could swallow them whole.

We’re on the terrace under the stars outside his fancy-pants mansion. I’m sitting on the stone railing, my knees bracketing his lithe frame. His hands and lips are breathless effervescence on me.

I’m in a daring dress of red satin that I would’ve never chosen for myself had Oriana not insisted on finding us girls a tailor. It’s an elegant, backless number with an audacious slit up the side. The whole time before this in the ballroom, I could sense Cardan’s eyes eating it up while he pretended to hate me.

In this dress, I am a femme fatale spy from a film, meeting her tryst in the secret of shadows. Which is honestly not too far off from the reality of the situation, though I am no spy.

Cardan ghosts one hand up the exposed skin of my thigh. The night air is bracing as his touch.

“Jude,” he murmurs, “Are you drunk?”

He’s in a rakish black velvet suit with two blood-red rubies dangling from the pointed tips of his collar. It is decadence and sin given form. The first hour of this hell party was just that: Hell. By the time Cardan pressed a napkin into my palm with the words “Terrace. 10 min.” scrawled on it in smeared ink, I was beginning to glare at him in earnest—if only for the way he must’ve known he was teasing me.

Now, we’re making out behind two conveniently tall potted plants.

It’s all very romantic.

“I had one glass of wine, Cardan,” I say. I slide my hands from his hair and scrape my nails lightly down the column of his neck. It is heady, watching his eyes shutter. My hands slide down his chest and take up his lapels. I give them a firm tug. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I,” he says, lips hovering over my own, “Don’t believe you.” His breath fans across my face. It really does smell like bubblegum. And not the minty kind, either. I’m talking bright pink and bubblicious.

I lean back a little and stick my bottom lip out in a mock-pout. “Why not?”

“For starters,” he says, “You’re a lightweight.” He trails that damned hand down my exposed thigh again.

I shiver. “So? I also ate like twenty of those canopy things.”

“Canapés?” Cardan smirks.

“Yeah, whatever, Your Highness.”

He flashes me a grin and I’m briefly stricken into silence. “Then, what have you to say to your unprecedented giddiness this evening, Your Majesty?”

“Ew, don’t call me that.” I grimace. “I just called you ‘Your Highness’.”

“What? Scared of the implication?”

“Uh, yeah.” My brows shoot up on my forehead. “Mainly because it implies that I’m your mother.”

Cardan’s face goes slack. “Shit, really?”

I nod and bite back my grin.

“I thought they were interchangeable.”

“About as interchangeable as a fork and a spoon.”

He sputters a laugh. “Shows what I know about royalty.”

“You realise how ironic that is, don’t you?” I say, nodding pointedly in the direction of the party.

It goes on without us, spilling its mirth in great golden shafts out onto the terrace. It doesn’t touch us, though. The air is cool, clear of the preening bullshit that so regularly lathers these kinds of events. And though he makes me dizzy, Cardan is the only real thing here.

I think I like parties better this way. From the shadows. In there, we’d have to talk to people, explain ourselves. We’re supposed to hate each other. We were always supposed to hate each other.

A smile plays at the corners of Cardan’s lips as if he’s gleaned these thoughts of mine. “You haven’t answered my question.”

I narrow my eyes. “You think I’m too giddy to not be drunk.”

“Mhmm.” He nudges his nose against mine. “I’ve never heard you giggle before.” A slender finger tracks up my spine and it takes a considerable amount of concentration not to squeeze my thighs together. Goosebumps and a flush spring to my skin, anyway. “It’s delightful,” he tells me.

“Well, maybe you should work on your sense of humour.” My voice comes out shakier than I want it to.

“Maybe,” Cardan says, grabbing the back of my knee and hitching it up. “But that sounds like effort.”

I want to roll my eyes. This is exactly the reason we used to hate each other. His laziness, his arrogance, and entitlement made me want to punch him clean across his pretty cheekbones. I know my stubbornness and sharp tongue made him hate me right back.

Yet, when our worlds crumbled around us, we found ourselves crashing into each other. Entwined in a thicket of mutual understanding. Suddenly, there was so very little to hate.

We pretend to in public to keep up appearances. Everyone knows we hated each other. If we started being friendly around everyone else, people would talk. That’s the last thing we want. Even if they’d technically be right.

In private, though, Cardan is probably my most closely held secret.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still annoying as all hell. Like right now. But I’ve always liked a challenge.

I hook my leg around his back, pulling him in. My fingers card through his hair again. “I can be delightful in other ways,” I say, biting my lip.

His eyes lower to my mouth. “Oh, I’m well aware.” Cardan’s voice comes out a rasp. He cants my chin with the crook of his finger, pulling my lip from between my teeth with the pad of his thumb. He looks at me with undiluted lust. The weight of his gaze is like a dizzying nightmare.

Then, he devours me.

Our mouths slide together, slowly at first, but building in fervor. Hot and heavy, like a fever. His grip on my thigh is bruising. His other hand splays across my bare back, crushing me to him, long fingers twining in my hair. Everything turns saturated and slow.

I invade his mouth with my tongue, determined to drink him up. He tastes like bubblegum and our reconciliation. At the same time, I hook my other leg behind him so he’s pressed flush against the apex of my thighs. ☽☽

A muffled groan rolls between his teeth. “Fuck, Jude.” Cardan is growing firm beneath his trousers. The feel of it sends a curl of sweet desire, dark and throbbing, through my core.

“You’re going to have to be quieter than that,” I tease. I’m so featherbrained on the savour of his mouth, his liquid touch. My veins feel full of amber liquor instead of blood. I know I’m not drunk, and yet I feel it.

His fingers drawl back up my leg. “The question is, dear,” he says, “Can you be quiet?” The coolness of his hands sends a shock along the heat of my inner thigh.

I realise where he’s going with this and my breath hitches. My cheeks blaze. “Yes,” I tell him, though I don’t sound as confident as I should for such a high stakes rendezvous.

“Hmm,” Cardan thrums. “We’ll see about that.”

His fingers are deft and twice as sly. He hisses through his teeth when they glide over me, exploring.

As a steady rain, he begins my unravelling. His mouth covers mine, swallowing a soft whimper that escapes my throat. I want to moan his name, to curse aloud, but I can’t if we’re to stay hidden.

The thought is both terrible and exciting at once.

Cardan keeps a torturous pace. I cling to him, panting, clutching at his arms, clawing at his back. His mouth roams my jawline. His teeth tug my ear. My mind is frenetic, frenzied, and at once thick in a viscous haze.

All I can think about is how this party is so stupid and soul-sucking, but Cardan is the farthest thing from stupid and soul-sucking. About how he makes me feel very much alive. About how I like him more than anyone here, probably more than even myself.

His other arm wraps certain and solid around me as he spins my world on its side. I lean my forehead on his shoulder. He kisses my neck. I can’t help the gasps that leave me.

My heart is racing. So quickly does it pump, in time with his ministrations, I think I might turn to white lightning in a bottle before all is said and done.

I know it when I’m drawing towards that precipice. My toes curl and flex. My legs begin to quiver. My knees lock up.

“Cardan,” I gasp. “Please.”

“Can you be quiet for me, Jude?” Cardan murmurs rough against my ear. He sounds a little breathless, too.

I am so muddled, I am so close. I can only manage a soft sob in response. Now he’s doubling his efforts and oh, gods is he clever.

I bite his shoulder to keep from making a sound as I shoot over the edge, a wondrous arc so high I’m sure I scrape the stars of their dust.

My hips writhe against his palm. I pull and rake my fingers through his hair as I spiral through the five stages of sweet delirium.

He holds me through it. Presses his lips to my hair and whispers what I think must be comforting things into my ear. I can’t tell because I’m incapable of comprehending much of anything beyond myself in his arms. He strokes soft circles over my back until it’s done. ☽☽

When everything settles, I’m still clinging to him, my forehead against the sureness of his shoulder. A sheen of sweat dewing my skin.

I’ve always hated this part about intimacy. The aftermath. Everything is too quiet. The excitement is gone. You’re faced with the reality of looking at each other without the rosy filter of lust. Maybe you’ll see each other for who you really are, and that’s a scary thought.

That’s probably how I felt once with Cardan, too. Back when we started…whatever this is. But now, in this moment with him, it feels less vulnerable and more like holding someone’s hand as you stare upon something a little terrifying.

Which is why I’m able to look up at him and ask in every manner of seriousness, “Why do you taste like bubblegum?”

His responding laugh is gentle and he shakes his head. “One-track mind,” he says. I shrug and wait.

“They’re serving bubblegum cocktails at the bar inside.”

My nose crinkles. “You actually drank one of those?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“No, I think I’ll sleep quite soundly if I never do.”

Cardan gives me an awful kind of grin that makes my toes curl anew. “Didn’t hear you complaining earlier.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” he says, then tucks a loose curl behind my ear. “I happen to like bubblegum cocktails.”

I give him a dubious look. I can’t help but feel that maybe we’re not talking about bubblegum cocktails anymore.

For a long moment, we just sit there staring at each other. There’s a bloom of laughter from inside the house. The clink of glasses. His eyes trace the lines of my face. I still feel drunk on him and he’s looking at me too soberly.

So I say, “You have shit taste, then,” and hop off the railing. I side-step him before beginning the task of smoothing down my dress. If I walk back into the party all flushed and disheveled, people will know what I’ve been doing—which is almost as bad as if people knew who I’ve been doing.

“Oh, you can’t say that dear,” Cardan lilts as he leans back against the balcony with all the insouciance of someone who lives in this ridiculous mansion. And rightly so, because he does. “Not when you taste equally delicious.” Then he brings his fingers, the ones that have just been inside me, to his mouth and closes his lips around them, burning gaze locked on mine.

My eyes go wide. My jaw slacks as I watch him. I’m somewhere between affronted by his audacity and completely turned on again. Which is a confusing place to be.

He laughs at my probably very foolish expression and I turn on my heel to head back to the party. I’m not actually offended. I just can’t bear to look at him while he’s tasting me off his fingers without combusting on the spot.

Cardan grabs my wrist. “Wait, wait,” he says, still laughing.

I arc a brow and turn to face him. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and sounds earnest enough. “It’s just… you make me giddy, too.”

His words are a punch to the gut. I hadn’t realised it until he said it, but it’s true. It’s not the way he kisses me or the high of a climax, though those are surely nice things, too. It’s the way I feel when we’re together. Just his presence makes my head swim, my stomach turn flips.

He makes me feel a little bit invincible, and entirely beyond reason.

I look at him, the warm glow of the party playing off the sharp angles of his face. He’s still holding my hand, fiddling with the ruby ring I always wear.

On the crest of a breath, Cardan says, “Stay tonight.”

“Why?” I whisper, because we’ve never spent the night. I’m not sure we’d even know how.

“Because I’ll miss you terribly?”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I think you’ll survive.”

“Because you’ll miss me terribly.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely survive,” I say. Even as my heart gives a squeeze. I don’t want to leave.

Not yet, not yet.

“Because you’re too intoxicated to drive home,” he says.

“I took an Uber here, Cardan,” I tell him. “And for the last time, I’m not drunk.”

“I’m not saying you’re drunk, Jude.”

He’s not grinning at me, which I think is a good sign. It means he’s not hinting at something sexual. Then again, that might also be a very bad sign. It means he’s hinting at something deeper. I’m not sure I want to get into that conversation just yet.

“Fine,” I say. I do want to stay. The thought of it sends a little thrill through me. “Hate me for an hour more. We’ll have a big argument about… something. And then I’ll tell Madoc I’m leaving.”

His hands snake around my waist. “What will we argue about tonight?”

I smile at him sweetly. “If your head is half as cunning as your fingers, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Cardan hums. “I do love it when we’re at each other’s throats.”

I roll my eyes but I’m betrayed by my laugh for not the first time tonight. Stupid punch-drunk feelings.

☽☽☽☽☽

Enjoyed this? Try:  King  |  Wicked Game  |  We’re All Mad Here

Masterlist

AN: So this was supposed to be a drabble for my 1k celebration but my hand slipped and whoops! It’s 2.5K words. I really hope you enjoyed this secret tryst one shot. I had so much fun writing it. If you liked this and want to see more from me, comments and/or reblogs are very much appreciated!

I have a tag list so if you’d like to be added to that, let me know in the comments/my messages/inbox and I’d be happy to add you! I also recently jumped on the Twitter/Instagram bandwagon. You can follow me @/rebelwriter23 on Twitter and @/slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Instagram.

Back to the forest now. -Em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Crashing- Illenium

Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @knifewifejude​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @clockworkgraystairs​ @thesirenwashere​ @judexcardanxgreenbriar​ @nite0wl29​ @aelin-queen-of-terrasen​ @whocares-idont​ @babycardan @sweetlyvillainous​ @aesthetics-11​ @storiesandschemes​ @jurdanhell​ @poeticbrownmermaid​ @thechainofiron​ @random-llama-socks​ @villanellevi​ @lady-thea-of-narnia​ @b00kworm​ @flowersinvegas​ @vanessa172003​ @cardanstrickytail​ @queen-of-glass​ @doingmyrainbow​ @words-of-the-wise​ @scarznstars​ @charincharge​ @fizziefaerie​ @fateandluminary​ @tessas-herondales​ @styles-taylor​ @jyoti96​ @losssssstttttt​ @transbordeamento​ @katsemkitgostadetog @gloriouspalacebakerylawyer​ @woodsbeyond1​ @hizqueen4life​ @highqueenjudeduarte​ @m-like-magic1-blog​ @dorkzrul​ @whataboutmyfries​ @livelovereading123​ @queenofgreenbriar​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @lifeminuspickles​ @df3ndyr​ @christalpaez @aknymph​ @iammissstark​ @disco-tits1​ @star-flecked-soul​

[sweetkingdomstarlight-blog]

cherry wine

Pairings - Matt Murdock x Reader

Words - 2742

Warnings - there's some violence but its not overly graphic, some angst

A/N - This is for @awesomerextyphoon​ 27 Fairy Tales challenge, I chose to recreate the Grimm Brothers Rapunzel and although its not a direct re-telling I’d love it if you could see what I did. I have to give a huge thankyou to @thicccsimp​ for beta reading this and helping me reword some of it too, she’s an absolute angel. I’m actually really proud of this so I hope you enjoy it. As always my blog is 18+ so if you're a minor please shoo shoo.

“Baby I need it” she tells her husband as she applies her makeup, sweeping the highlighter across her cheekbones and pouting in the mirror at his tense face. Conceding, he creeps into his bosses office, looking in the usual place he sees a large bag of pills and sneaks a few into his pocket. He has been doing this several times a week for the past few weeks and thankfully no one has noticed or he’d surely be dead by now. Closing the drawer and making sure nothing is out of place he slips back into his apartment to hand the pills to his wife, getting a shock when he finds Fisk sitting on the sofa pointing his gun at the woman.

“It seems as though someone has been stealing from me, would you happen to know anything about that?” he asks the man, smirking at the expression on his face. “I know it's you, I have you on camera so don’t lie to me. I have a proposition for you. You can have whatever pills you want for free if you give me your first born when it arrives”. His wife screams no, she can’t give up a baby, Fisk points the gun at her “it's your choice” flicking the safety off and pointing it at the screaming woman.

************************************************

25 years you had spent in this apartment, only allowed to leave when you had your fathers henchmen with you. You had no friends, your father ran Hells Kitchen and there wasn't a single person who wasn't terrified of him. Most of your time was spent online shopping or trying to annoy the guards tasked with keeping you in. Your happiest moments however were when you blasted 80s music, completely losing yourself in the words of the greats like Queen, Bon Jovi, and Prince. You were on the 50th floor of The Sheffield, far away from the ears of others, free to dance around and sing obnoxiously loud and no one would complain. Well no one but the men stationed at your door, but annoying them was a petty indulgence you could never pass up.

A block away Matt Murdoch was patrolling the streets, dressed as his alter ego Daredevil, he was moving in the shadows trying to make his city a better place. He moved around the building tops, landing silently on top of The Sheffield, hearing the sounds of your voice travelling through the open window. You were so carefree, singing along to the Prince song, he could hear you moving around as if you were dancing. He came back every night for a week to hear you having fun, longing to get to know you better but there was always someone in need of help.

He continued to visit you night after night, deciding tonight he would make his move he’d scoped out the building earlier in the day and realised who it belonged to so he couldn’t just walk in and find you. He staked out the building from his perch across the street, trying to find a pattern he could use to his advantage, he was shocked when he realised that you only left once a week to go to the nail salon, closely guarded by Fisks henchmen. You were being held captive in the building.

He listened on top of your building again that night, the urge to talk to you getting too strong to ignore. He left you a little note that night attached to your window You have the voice of an angel, I'd love to get to know you better. If you want to get to know me too leave your window open for me tomorrow. MM.

The next night he arrived at the same time, his heart beating out his chest at the possibility of finally meeting you. He listened again, hearing only you, before swinging down and quietly landing on your window, he felt you grabbing his hand and pulling him inside before moving to your bedroom for some privacy.

You sit him down on your bed, looking puzzled at his red mask “So you’ve been spying on me then?” you teased, sitting next to him and crossing your legs. He chuckles and explains how he ended up on your roof, leaving out the part about Fisk being his number one enemy. You hand him a glass of water and ask if he wants to take his mask off, and get more comfortable, an offer he declines as he is still technically patrolling tonight.

You sit in front of him, cross legged and tell him your real name, Fisk called you Molly but that wasn’t your real name. When you were a child your nanny told you that Fisk named you after what your parents had stolen from him and that your real parents wanted you to be called y/n. You humoured Fisk but knew once you eventually got away you would erase everything that man had ever done for you.

You talked for an hour before he shot off out of your apartment and into the night, just a moment later your father came to wish you sweet dreams. You didn’t sleep that night, wondering what Matt was doing and if he was safe. You spent the next week glued to the local news, looking for anything about Daredevil but saw nothing. Wondering if you’d ever see him again you go for your weekly mani/pedi appointment, trying to subtly look for him without arousing suspicion of the men on either side of you.

You sit in the chair opposite your nail technician and make small talk as usual when a redhead sits down next to you and starts asking you for colour recommendations. She introduces herself as Karen and suggests a dark red colour from the wall, saying it looks good for an evening outfit, she has a date at 8pm tonight. You look at her confused for a moment before the penny drops and you nod your head slightly, you make small talk after that even sending one of your goons out for coffee for the two of you. You decline the offer of her number to repeat the day but let her know that you come here at the same time every week if she ever wanted to catch up again.

That night you leave your window open and dress in your best outfit to give yourself some confidence, he climbs in the window at exactly 8pm and you rush to hug him, taking him into your room again for more privacy. You both lay on the bed eating some snacks and drinking water when you lean in to kiss him, softly at first before he grips the back of your head and deepens it.

You lay like that for what feels like hours, kissing, touching and getting to know each other better before he tells you that he has to leave again. This time he tells you that he wants to come back tomorrow and not wait a week for you, asking you to leave your window open for him once more. You kiss him gently and watch as leaps out onto the fire escape and climbs up to the roof with ease.

That's how you find yourselves for the next two weeks, he would sneak into your room, you’d talk, touch and be intimate with each other before he would sneak back out just in time for your father to come and wish you a goodnight.

You have lunch with your father and you can’t stop smiling to yourself, noticing this he asks you what’s made you so happy but you shrug and say you saw something on Netflix earlier and you really enjoyed it. Seemingly accepting your answer he moves to sit beside you and nods at the chef who brings you your favourite dessert.

Laying down the tiramisu in front of you, you turn to your father and ask him what the occasion is. He just smiles and says he likes making you happy and he wishes you could have the whole world but you’re safer in here where his men can look out for you.

You agree with him telling him you love how protective he is and hope he stays safe out there too, “don’t worry about me my little Molly Moo, no one can hurt me not even Daredevil”. Your expression changes at the mention of his name and you look down taking a bite of your dessert so you don’t have to try to and speak, before excusing yourself telling him you have a book you want to finish before the end of the day.

You sit in your room trying to calm your breathing, he had never mentioned him before and it didn’t make sense for him to do so now. You had to get a message to Matt somehow and tell him to stay away for a few nights, you can’t email him or go to his work website, all of your technology is watched in case you get in touch with your parents. Deciding the best thing to do would be to run across town you slip on your converse and run a bath, turning your music up and locking the door from the outside before sneaking down the fire escape and into the city.

You’ve never actually been anywhere on your own before so the sensations are overwhelming, your heart is beating out of your chest as you hail a cab and tell him the address. You sit in the back of the car and try to control your breathing, a feeling of panic overwhelming you, you barely realise when the cab has stopped and the driver asks you if you’re getting out.

You run into the building and into a man who grabs your shoulders and asks you to breathe, he tells you his name is Foggy and you follow him to Matt's office, collapsing in his arms as he rushes to your side. “Y/N! Focus on my voice, what are you doing here? Does Fisk know you’re out of the apartment?” You shake your head and tears roll down your cheek, Karen appears with a glass of water and helps you take some deep breaths before taking you to the bathroom to freshen up.

You explain to Karen what happened and tell her you need to keep Matt away from your apartment for his own safety. Between you both you hatch a plan to keep him away using her and Foggy as a buffer before you run back to his office. Sitting on his desk you smile and run your fingers over his face “I like you better without the mask” he blushes and places his hands on your thighs telling you should get back to the apartment before someone realises you’re gone. You agree with him and kiss him softly before running out to the cab waiting for you, on the way home you come up with reasons for why you had to leave just in case you’ve been rumbled.

The cab pulls up around the corner from your apartment and you can’t see anything out of place, no one is pacing the sidewalk looking for you. You run up the fire escape again and climb through the window. Your father is sitting waiting for you on the sofa, holding the note Matt left on your window that night, he looks furious but talks calmly, smiling at you and asking where you’ve been. You lie easily telling him you thought you heard someone in trouble and couldn’t just ignore them, he sneers at you and tells you to sit down, you do as you're told the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you try to keep a distance from him.

“You know you’re just as shitty a liar as your parents were, I have cameras and men all over this building my darling Molly. Did you really think we didn’t know he was visiting you? The entire time he was here with you distracted we got to do whatever we wanted, I owe you a debt of gratitude my little princess”. A sick feeling creeps over you and you have to take deep breaths to calm yourself, deep down you’re pleased you told Matt to stay away. He would likely be ambushed and killed and you would never forgive yourself if that happened.

Fisk pulls his gun out and points it at you “since you’ve been such a good help to me, I won’t kill you today. You’ve got 5 minutes to get your stuff and get out, I’ll give you a day head start then I'm personally coming looking for you”. You jump up and grab a backpack stuffing what clothes you can into it along with your toothbrush and a stash of money you had managed to squirrel away over the years. You know you can’t see him anymore, it's too dangerous and he’ll get killed so you decide to get away from all of them but stay in plain sight.

Later that night Matt ignores his friends, telling them he has to check that you’re ok, he won’t be able to relax until he sees you and holds you in his arms. Sneaking into your room he can tell something is off, he can’t hear your heartbeat and can’t smell your perfume. Instead he smells an overpowering cologne “WHERE IS SHE?” he shouts, he knows its Fisk, this might be his one chance to take the man down.

He lunges forward to attack but doesn’t get more than a foot in front of him before four men attack him all at once. They’re relentless, and he's not quick enough to fight them all off, they  break bones and knock him unconscious. He wakes up in hospital, bandaged and stitched with Karen asleep in a chair next to him. He wakes her up and she jumps, pressing the button to alert the nurse, passing him a cup of water and telling him not to try talking. He was dumped outside his office with a note in his pocket telling him to stay away, you had been taken care of and next time they’d bury him beside you.

Three long weeks he spends recovering in hospital, he’s told under no circumstances is he to do anything too physical for at least another six weeks. He sits back on the roof of The Sheffield that night, listening for your voice wanting nothing more than to hear you sing about raspberry berets in your off key voice. He wants to smell what you’re cooking, but there's nothing, the apartment sits empty. He visits every night for a full year before he can accept it, using his anger to take Fisk down slowly, one man at a time until the job is done and Hells Kitchen can start to repair itself.

That first night you went to a women's shelter for help, they took you in and looked after you for two weeks before they needed the space and offered you a bed at Clinton Church, you stayed there out of trouble, helping Father Lantom with the upkeep and helping in the soup kitchen. You finally had a purpose, you were used to staying inside and Fisks people always stayed away from anywhere they would have to deal with ‘vagrants’. You were safe, you felt content.

A full year passed and Matt Murdoch walked through the doors, you watched him take a pew but kept your distance. He sat calmly not making a move, a tear rolled down his cheek and he turned to face you “tell me its you” he almost whispered, running over to you and holding your face in his hands, “why didn’t come to me? I would have looked after you”.

You both stood crying, holding each other, perfectly content to be in the others arms. He squeezed you and asked you to come home with him but you shook your head, you would never put him in danger ever again. He shakes his head at you and shushes you, telling you that he’s gone, you don’t have to hide anymore, taking you to your room to gather your things he thanks the Father for taking good care of you and takes you to see Karen and Foggy, starting your life over once again.

[bitter-sweet-coffee]

Hello it is I, answering your call for basic human interaction. Rank the chaotix by your favorite members 🔫

hehehe i've been WAITING for this one!! i can't wait to get roasted but I stand by my choice:

1. Espio. my boy. my baby. my kin AND comfort from when i first got into sonic in the early 2000's where i saw a purple detective ninja chameleon and then proceeded to fall in love. espio is so op and underrated i don't understand why more people don't love him. yeah he's just as serious and skilled as someone like shadow, but he also lives with two goofballs so we know he's not always stoic. that and his humour in the anime is fucking HILARIOUS anyways this is an espio stan account

2. Charmy, my BEELOVED. holy shit i love charmy and have defended his right to exist since the dark age of sonic. "he's annoying" HE IS A CHILD and look i hate kids, if i had to deal with an irl charmy i'd commit die, but him! he's a cute little bee who is so goddamn funny and i love his idolization of shadow, it leads for some adorable headcanons of him having another big brother 🥺

3. Ray: now look i KNOW that at least one person here is going to be confused but he was a chaotix member during the pre-super genesis wave SO HE COUNTS, OKAY? i have always had a soft spot for ray because of his loyalty and total adoration of mighty (his brother aaaa) but also his stuttering made me less worried about my stutter that i've since worked through (most of the time), but it was really comforting for younger me

4. Vector, but he would have been much lower if i didn't recently have a moment of spiritual peace when rewatching the metarex arc as an adult. growing up, vector was probably my most hated sonic character besides maybe julie-su (getting to that later) because of his treatment of espio. like, the only sane member. it was played as a joke and thanks to idw espio actually gets some acknowledgment, but i have a feeling i projected my own trauma of not being allowed to speak or have opinions onto espio and thus hated vector as the one doing it. yeah charmy did it too but he's a child not the fucking LEADER, but yeah now seeing a croc my age take care of an edgy teen and a 6 year old on his own while still following his dream is really impressive and something i could never do. i'm sorry for hating you all these years vector i love you 🥺💚

5. Heavy. I DONT KNOW WHY LOOK if it weren't for my vector development this friend would be higher, have y'all SEEN HEAVY? They're a friend, who is perfectly huggable and kind and INVULNERABLE so you can hug him forever. i want to see more heavy content okay???

6. Bomb, just a bit lower than their partner. he just, fucking, blows up as a defense mechanism? aka, destroys their whole body and then reforms once again??? BOMB IS SO COOL STOP SLEEPING ON THEM I STG—

7. Mighty. back in the day, him and espio sorta butted heads. the chameleon was more hotheaded back in the day and mighty, a well known pacifist, didn't take too kindly to that! and all i can remember is little me getting hyper-defensive of my boy again, even if mighty is hardly a chaotix member these days. sorry mighty, i think you are lovely, i just don't f/w pacifists or people who try to mess with espio, but i still like you!

-8. JULIE FUCKING SU. god i fucking hate her so much she makes my skin crawl. she doesn't deserve an explanation just fuck her and her stupid fucking existence in the comics

characters not included: saffron because that plot was atrocious and i pretend they didn't do that to charmy, and knuckles because he technically IS a chaotix but he's more team sonic and it would be unfair to include him here, ranked against my fave team (one of em anyways)

sorry if you didn't want archie! i had to include mighty anyways and that means ray belongs too, which leaves perfect room to roast julie su hehe

[my-happy-little-bean]

Do The Cooking By The Book

pairings: LAMP/CALM words: 6013 warnings: swearing, alcohol, implied panic attacks, small burn mention, general angst summary: patton bakes when he’s sad and nowadays, no amount of chewy chocolate chip cookies would be able to cover that up.

or: the five times patton bakes something for the others and the one time he can’t.

a/n- hello! welcome to part 2 of that series i mentioned before called  ‘let’s indulge bean in their slightly low quality, very personal fics’ (maybe i should actually make this an actual series on ao3 lol) :’)

i have been having a bit of writer’s block between this patton/janus one shot and golden slumbers (there's just o n e more scene i need to figure out, trust me it's haunting my every move), so i decided to write a bit of a fresh warm up instead! and by warm up, i mean i started writing it in the beginning of july and it somehow spiralled into a big thing, like they always do :’)

inspired by my declining mental health and my unhealthy obsession with baking focaccia at 2 am :)

p.s – later there's a [1] that's supposed to be a footnote but the formatting just said no so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

read on ao3 ~

enjoy!

----------------------------- 

~ patton’s chewy chocolate chip cookies ~

ingredients: 

2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

0 teaspoon club soda

2 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened (or melted, like my heart around my honeybees <3)

1 3/4 cups packed dark brown sugar (must be working out ;) )

1/4 cup granulated sugar sugar, honey honey (except no honey :P)

2 large eggs, room temp.

2 teaspoons vanilla extract (and not any extra-ct ;) )

2 cups Virgil-esque chocolate chips*

 *semi-sweet! ^v^

 –– 

“Holy shit, Pat.”

Patton smiled, all toothy and wide. He was still standing beside the couch Roman was lounging on, holding up the tray with his pastel blue oven mitts.

“You like it?” he beamed. Roman nodded, scrambling over the armrest to grab another.

“Umfh,  yeah,”  Roman replied, crumbs spilling out of his mouth. “Ovfiously.”

“...What?”

Roman quickly swallowed and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Patton laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No worries! I think it’s a- dough -able.”

“...If you weren’t holding cookies right now, I'd say that you suck. But you're holding cookies, so..."

There was a pause that Patton quickly filled with laughter, even if it suddenly felt like he was struggling to carry the sound out of his chest and into the air.

Luckily, Logan walked into the room before Patton could say anything that was affected by the spontaneous pang in his chest. His eyes lit up upon seeing him. 

“Logan!” He cheerily dashed over to the other side of the room, holding up the tray to Logan’s face. “A treat for my smart cookie?”

Logan reeled back slightly to avoid getting hit by the edge of the tray. He pushed up his glasses.

“Ah, thank you, dear. But I do believe it is too early for copious amount of sugar consumption–”

“Just try one, cookie-tita,” Roman cut him off, “you and I know that you want one.”

Logan frowned at him over Patton’s shoulder, then looked back at Patton. He gave Logan the widest smile he could muster, which made him sigh. 

“While Roman’s reference was a bit of a stretch–” He eyed the cookies one more time, then looked back at Patton– ”I suppose I will agree to half a cookie.”

“Goody!” Patton said brightly. “Or should I say, gooey?”

“You shouldn’t.”

Logan picked one cookie up and took a small bite. His eyes softened, which made Patton’s heart melt. 

“...Oh sweet Einstein,” he muttered, grabbing one more cookie off the tray before making a beeline to the coffee machine in the kitchen. Patton just smiled to himself, admittedly a bit proud. 

Before he turned around to go see if Logan needed help, he heard shuffling coming up beside him. He looked over and smiled. 

“Virge! You’re awake!” Virgil pulled one side of his headphones up as Patton presented him the tray. “Cookie?”

“Uh, sure.” He took one and nodded when he had a few bites, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks, Pat.”

“No problemo!” he chirped, wandering back to the living room. Virgil trailed behind him, now slipping his headphones around his neck. 

“Did you bake these this morning?” Virgil asked as Patton set the tray on the coffee table in front of Roman, who readily lunged at it. Patton turned and smiled brightly at him. 

“Yeah! I mean...it was technically morning, heh.” 

Virgil blinked in that knowing way Patton was all too familiar with. Patton mentally cursed.  

“What do you mean by technically–”

Before he could say anything else, Patton clapped his hands together. 

“Well, I’m glad you all liked the cookies.” He tried not to think about how loud his own voice suddenly was. “Feel free to finish them!”

Roman frowned, mid-bite of his third cookie.

“Don’t you want any, sweetheart?"

“No no! I chip-ed in so much effort in baking them that I tired myself out, heh!” He faked a yawn. “I’ll just go to my room!”

Roman just laughed, stuffing another cookie in his mouth with a shrug. Logan wandered back from the kitchen, conjuring a book as he walked and nodding at Patton. He grabbed another cookie and sat on the couch beside Roman, leaning against his shoulder.

Virgil just looked at him as he left, eyes narrowed and steely. 

They’re so perfect, Patton thought as he sunk out to go to his room, leaving the three of his boyfriends alone with a wave. Perfect just the way they are.

 Without me.  

----------------------------- 

~ ‘i got ya’ focaccia ~ 

ingredients:

for the garlic-infused mixture

1/2 cup extra-virgin, PG-rated olive oil

2-3 minced garlic cloves

0 garlic gloves (haha i’m hilarious)

1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme or 1 teaspoon dried

1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary or 1 teaspoon dried

1/4 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper

for the bread

1 cup warm water

2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast (1 packet)

1/4 teaspoon honey honey, you are my candy girl–

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt (maybe it’s wearing some nice clothes!) (sea what i did there? i’m funny, aren’t i?) 

–– 

Virgil heard a soft ‘ shit ’ coming from the kitchen. 

Don’t panic, it’s probably all fine,  he thought, slowly walking towards the entrance to the kitchen.  It’s totally not some burglar, ready to steal all our spices and blow them into my eye, making me blind. It can’t be, we’re not even real so how could there be a burglar–

As he neared the dimmed light coming from the kitchen, however, a quiet sob broke through his thoughts.

A chill ran through him. The sob was muffled, squeaky, and admittedly a bit pathetic in terms of how there was an attempt to cover it up. Almost like the sound a puppy would make when someone accidentally stepped on their paw.

All too familiar.

“Patton?” he murmured, turning on another light in the kitchen. 

Patton was hunched over the counter space beside the oven, next to a saucepan on a burner; which was emitting a strong garlic and herb smell. 

That wasn’t what Virgil was focusing on, though; but rather the way Patton held his hand close to his chest.

Patton spun around on his heel when his name left Virgil’s tongue, his eyes wide and glazed over, like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Sh– Virgil! Hi!” He laughed nervously. “What are you doing here? It’s like, 2 am!”

Virgil dug his hands in his sweater pockets. “I’m always up at 2 am. What are you doing here?”

He watched as Patton’s smile forcefully tugged at the corners of his lips.

“I’m baking focaccia! Wanna join?”

There was a slight crack in his cheeriness. Virgil took a step closer. 

“What happened to your hand?”

Patton looked down at it, then held up his index finger, which was slightly red. 

“Just accidentally brushed up against the pan!” he chuckled. “It was still hot. ”

“How could you brush up against the pan,” Virgil deadpanned, hopping onto the kitchen island. “Roman’s asleep.” 

Patton blushed as he ran his finger under cold water.

“Grab the flour and pour a cup of it in that bowl,” he said, shaking his hand dry and going back to the stove. “I think that the yeast and honey had enough time in the water. I’m just about done with the garlic stuff.”

“Okay, honey,” Virgil hummed, already scooping the flour in the measuring cup.

Patton turned to face him over his shoulder with a smile.  

“Gosh, you get funnier at 2 am, kiddo.”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s easy to cater to your humour, babe. Though no one does it as good as you do.” 

Patton’s blush intensified, and it made Virgil feel a little more at ease that he could still make him flustered like that. 

“So really, Pat,” Virgil asked, stirring in the flour as Patton went over with a smaller cup of the garlic-infused mixture. “Why are you up so late baking focaccia of all things?”

A pause. Patton finished pouring in his cup before turning his back away, his head low. 

“No reason!” he said brightly, though Virgil suddenly felt edges of darkness to each word. “I thought it’d be nice. Plus Roman loves my focaccia. Thought I could surprise him!”

A pause. Virgil wanted to press him more, but there was something about Patton’s cracked smile that advised him against it. He knew a warning when he saw one. 

“He likes anything you bake him, babe,” he said instead, adding salt and the rest of the flour before beginning to knead the dough in the bowl. “You could bake him a frog and he’d be grateful.”

“Now Virge, I think you’re mixing the twins up again,” Patton giggled. Virgil smirked, even if he felt like he shouldn’t. There was such heavy air in the kitchen; a positive emotion wouldn’t last a second. 

“You sure you’re okay, Patton?” 

When Patton finally faced him, it felt like the air was sucked out of him. Now that he was standing under the light, he felt like he saw all of him more clearly. There were dried tear tracks running down his cheeks. Did he always have those? And under his eyes were bags of purple, dark and stormy; clear evidence that maybe Patton had been late-night baking before. 

However, that broken smile was what haunted Virgil the most.

“I’m just peachy, Virge!” he chirped, conjuring up a towel and covering the bowl of dough Virgil probably over-kneaded. Patton’s eyes seemed to drill right into his own. “ Positive.”

Virgil numbly nodded as Patton clapped his hands. 

“Well! Now we wait!” He smiled again at Virgil. “Want some coffee?”

 ----------------------------- 

~ mushy gushy marshmallows ~

ingredients:

marshmallow base

2 cups of sugar 

1/4 cup corn syrup

1 cup water (1/2 for for dissolving gelatin)

7 tsp / 3 packets of gelatin

1/4 tsp salt

1 1/2 tsp of vanilla extract

 dusting powder

1 cup confectioner’s sugar

1/2 cup cornstarch

*note to future patton: don’t make these, actually. they suck.

–– 

“Fuck!” 

Logan heard the curse from the kitchen, lifting his head from his book and immediately smelling for any smoke. 

“Patton?” 

There was no smoke. Instead, just another string of curses. Logan sighed; it was not like the moral side to swear. But reprimanding him didn’t sound like a wise idea. 

Instead, he set his book down on the coffee table in front of him and wandered to the kitchen. 

“Is everything oka–”

He stopped mid-sentence and looked at the sight in front of him. 

Surrounding him was a sugary mess, with many bowls of gelatin and water littering the entire counter. Logan could only assume they were failed attempts at whatever was being made today.

In the middle of this mess was Patton, holding the hand mixer up in the air with tears streaming down his face. 

“...Let’s put the hand mixer down, shall we?”

Logan moved forward before Patton could even respond, slowly lowering his hand that held the mixer. Patton just sobbed, dropping it on the floor in defeat. Logan tried not to panic at the suddenly broken hand mixer. Logically, they could summon a new one. It was extra energy, sure, but it was fixable.

However, he wasn’t quite sure he could fix the sight in front of him.

“Is there something wrong, starlight?” he murmured, ushering Patton toward the kitchen table. Patton just sighed. 

“It’s the stupid marshmallows.” Patton threw his apron onto the floor as he sat down. “I just don’t get what I’m doing wrong. I tried everything.  And they– they just suck.” 

Logan blinked, almost dumbfounded. In all the years he spent together with Patton, he had never seen him so distraught. Not even his arguably-worse decisions elicited a response similar to the frustration he was currently witnessing. Patton always wore a smile and carried on. Any mistake was just a mistake; nothing more to it. 

So what was different here?

“I even tried summoning a candy thermometer,” Patton continued. Logan tried his best to be present, even if his worry was slowly overtaking all of his senses. “Those things are stupid! I thought–”

“Hey,” Logan finally said, cutting Patton off by holding his hands into his. “Let’s slow down for a minute, okay?” 

When Patton looked up at him, his heart broke. 

Patton’s eyes were glassy with tears, some kind of foreign look not too far behind his irises. The absence of his smile was even more unsettling. 

He looked completely different; as if someone took one of the loves of his life and replaced him without even leaving a trace. 

Suddenly, he was filled with what he only assumed was longing. 

“Patton,” he said slowly, looking down at their intertwined hands, “please don’t worry about the marshmallows. They’re just marshmallows. Clearly there is something else that is–”

He cut himself off as he heard Patton’s breath hitch. When he looked up, there was a faraway look in his eyes.

And that was when it clicked. That foreign look…

It was fear. Fear and guilt, all wrapped up in one. 

The face of someone who just got caught.

Patton quickly pulled his hands away from Logan’s, stumbling onto his feet and muttering something about cleaning up later under his breath as he sunk out. 

Logan blinked, taken completely aback. He quickly re-evaluated every word he said that could have led to him leaving. 

“They’re just marshmallows.” 

Logan winced. Shit. Perhaps Patton was still in his ‘in his feelings phase; not his ‘in need of rational solution’ phase. He should have known better and now, Patton was further away from him than he was before. 

Logan then thought about the guilt that struck Patton’s face before he could confront him; the fear in his eyes when Logan dared to dig a little deeper. 

Patton wasn’t far away, actually.

Patton was just gone;   and Logan didn’t know where to look to find him.

----------------------------- 

~drunken    bitter    butter rumcakes~

 ingrdents:

for the cupcakes:

1 cup of choped picans

1/2 cup coconut flake

yellow cake mix, lots of it probs

some vanilla puddin apparently? i dont know why

eggs i dont care how much fuck it

1/2 milk

vegetable oil (optional cuz it sounds gros)

rum

for the bitter rum glaze:

some butter and sugar

more rum

rum 

 for the frosting

confictione confecion confectioniser’s powdered sugar

soft buttter

vanilla extract

rest of the bottl eof rum probably

 ––

It only took a crash from the kitchen for Roman to realize that Logan and Virgil were right: something was wrong with Patton. 

Virgil had been the first one to express his concern, and it was right on the day Patton baked them all cookies. Patton had since baked many more cookies; which for some reason, only intensified his worry. Roman didn’t think much of it at first. Virgil, bless his soul, always held a bit of his paranoia close to his chest. Plus, Patton’s cookies were the best! There wasn’t much to complain about. A few days later, Virgil mentioned something weird about Patton’s focaccia; but even that admittedly didn’t raise any concern from Roman. 

It was when Logan mentioned the marshmallow incident that Roman knew something might be off. 

The two had warned him that going to the kitchen late at night could possibly bring some less than ideal sights, but that only drew Roman closer; like a beautiful moth attracted to light. If Patton was truly upset, Roman had to be there! He knew that the others didn’t know much about navigating the small crises Patton would have every now and then, but Roman did! It was Patton, after all! Roman had experience — and he just had to play it by the book. 

But when he finally walked into the kitchen upon hearing the source of the crash, he was greeted with something he never quite saw before. 

Patton was on the ground, holding a long, glass bottle by its neck and a bowl—with all its contents—was splattered on the floor beside him. 

Roman stood there, almost dumbfounded. Patton didn’t even realize he was there before he looked up and blinked a few times. 

Then, Patton started to cry. 

“Oh, sunshine,” Roman murmured, sitting next to him on the floor. The strong stench of alcohol filled the air beside Patton, and Roman saw a glimpse of a rum label on the bottle. It was half empty. 

“M’sorry,” Patton mumbled under his breath, immediately resting his head on Roman. “Didn’t–” He hiccuped– ”Didn’t mean to make noise.”

“Shh, mi amor, it’s okay.” Roman stroked his hair slowly, going through the familiar motions of comforting his boyfriend. “I understand. Let me help you, okay?”

Another sob wracked through Patton’s body. 

“I– I don’t deserve your help.” The words came out in a slur. Roman had a slight feeling that Patton didn’t use all the rum in his bottle for baking.

“Nonsense! Of course you deserve help,” Roman whispered, twirling a strand of his hair. “I’m here to help you. I always am.”

Patton leaned into the touch, though the weight of his head seemed heavier than usual; like he was unintentionally pressing himself onto Roman, limp against his shoulders.

“S’fine,” he said after a few more teary hiccups, trying to push himself onto his feet. “Gotta– gotta finish cupcakes. Tryna new recipe.” 

Roman frowned. “The cupcakes can wait until tomorrow, Patton; I’m going to bring you to bed and clean up–”

“No!” 

Roman jumped at the sheer volume of Patton’s voice, suddenly nervous that he’d wake the rest of them up.

I can handle this myself,  he thought.  I always have been able to, this isn’t different. 

“No, I don’t– I don’t need your help.” Patton stumbled up to his feet, leaning his arms on the kitchen counter like it was a life raft. He buried his head in his hands.  “I don’t need your help, I don’t need anyone’s help, I just need– I just need to finish this, then–”

“Darling, I don’t think–”

“No thinkin!” He pushed his index finger onto Roman’s lips. “No thinking, that’s for Logan. Tonight, we’re not thinking of anything– not thinking about anything anymore.”

Roman was taken aback. 

“Patton, we can continue,” he said gently, “but only if you sit down first and let me grab you some water, okay?”

Patton lifted his head to face Roman, his eyes red from the tears. 

“Why do you take care of me?” he suddenly asked, his voice a small whimper. Roman froze as he continued. “Why do– why do any of you care?”

“Patton, I–”

“I don’t do my fucking job right anyway,” Patton hissed. “I’m– I’m broken junk in Thomas’ brain! I can’t even do the right and wrong thing, I can’t– I can’t make him happy. I can’t make you guys happy– ‘n I  love you guys! God, I can’t even make stupid cupcakes–”

“None of that is true, Pat,” Roman tried to protest. “You make us extremely happy, you make me– ”

“You’re a liar!” Patton cried, turning on his heel to stare at Roman, whose heart dropped. “You’re– you’re a fucking liar, Roman.”

The air suddenly felt too thick for both of them to be breathing. Patton must have noticed that because as soon as the words left his tongue, he covered his mouth with his hands with teary eyes. 

“...Patton, please sit down. You’re not thinking straight.”

“M’not–”

“I know.” Roman tried to keep his voice levelled as he spoke. “Just...just sit down, okay? We’re going to talk it all through.” 

Patton just stared at him blankly for what seemed like an eternity before finally speaking up. 

“I’m sorry.”

And before Roman could plead for him one last time, Patton sunk out, the bottle of rum still in his hand.

Roman blinked at the spot Patton once stood in, all shaky and teary like he was facing an inky, twisted nightmare. His words echoed in his head and while Roman knew it was best not to take it all to heart, he still felt the sting of each curse. 

What kind of a hero was he?

He then looked at the splattered mixture on the floor and sighed. It looked a lot like cake mix. And if there was rum in that, it probably would’ve been good. A shame, really.

His eyes then spotted a book on the kitchen counter, open to a page that had a bit of rum on it judging by the smell. Roman frowned, going over to grab it. He closed it to look at the cover. 

It seemed to be Patton’s recipe book, judging by the baking-themed stickers littering the blue cover. When he opened it, he was greeted with pages of ingredients and instructions to make some of Patton’s signature baked goods. The first few pages made Roman smile; there were puns besides some of the ingredients and even cheesy references to him, Logan, and Virgil. It seemed very Patton-esque. 

But as he went further through the pages, the tone seemed to shift. There was an absence of puns for one of the recipes, and Roman knew he could’ve at least hit a few. And when he got further than that, he just stopped writing measurements all together. The rum cupcake recipe, which seemed like a recent entry, was barely decipherable. 

He flipped back a few pages and saw words scratched out; sentences that didn’t belong in a typical cookie recipe. And the corners of some of the pages were crisp, as if water dried on them over time. 

Roman’s breath hitched as he closed the book. Something was wrong, and for the first time he didn’t know what to do.

----------------------------- 

~ whats good-berry muffins ~ 

ingredients

who

cares

theyre

just

stupid

muffins

berries, probably

––  

“Roman, he did not mean what he said,” Logan said as Roman paced in front of him. “Perhaps you caught him at a bad time.” 

“A bad time?” Virgil echoed incredulously, turning around on the couch to face Logan. “Dude, he was wasted. That’s not a bad time, that’s a ‘code red’ time.” 

“Besides, shouldn’t you be advocating for intervention,  lo -ve of my life?” Roman asked, still pacing. “You seemed pretty upset about the now-called ‘marshmallow incident’.”

Virgil gave Logan a look and Logan looked down, almost embarrassed. 

“...I have since realized that my actions were not ideal, but that is to no fault of my own. Holding guilt does no good, and neither does intervening when one does not want to be...intervened upon.”

“Okay first off, even Janus lies more subtly than that.” Logan didn’t make eye contact with him, but stiffened at Virgil’s words. “And second of all, Patton  needs support. We’re supposed to be there for him – not just waiting for the most dire sign. The plane is crashing, Logan; you can’t just put your seatbelt on and wait. You have to do something.” 

“Actually, if an airplane is crashing and you are instructed to put your seatbelts on, it is of your best interest that you–”

“For Odin’s sake,” Roman groaned. “I love you, my nerd in shining armour; but you got to learn what a metaphor is.”

Logan fell quiet as Roman continued. 

“We need to do something. This isn't a typical Patton dilemma. And I know he doesn’t want to talk about it just out of the blue so we can’t confront him. We have to figure out a way for him to trust us.”

“He loves us,” Virgil grumbled, though hints of anxiety singed the edges of his words. “Shouldn’t the trust be there already?”

“Virgil, he loves us an infinite amount,” Logan said reassuringly, finally settling back into the chair. He pushed up his glasses. “In fact, he probably loves us too much to want to worry us or cause us any emotional strain.”

“But it wouldn’t cause us– well, whatever you said!” Virgil protested. He slumped over, his elbows pressed into his thighs. He looked defeated. “I just want to help him. I can’t stand seeing him like this.” 

“I know, stormcloud,” Roman murmured, sitting down beside us. “But...but we can do this. Together. We always have and now, we will.”

Logan nodded, tapping his shoulder so Virgil could rest against it. 

“Roman is correct. Besides, we do not even have to confront him. Perhaps confrontation is where part of this issue stems from. The trust is there, we just have to remind him that we are willing to, given that we are his partners. We just need to make a comfortable environment for–”

Suddenly, Virgil felt a small tug in his chest; as if something was pulling him downwards. His eyes widened and his breath hitched at the sensation. He knew where it was coming from. 

“Guys, it’s Patton. Something’s wrong.” 

In a flash, he sunk out, Logan and Roman soon following suit. Roman pulled out his sword just in case.

When they rose, they found themselves in Patton’s room; though it was less bright than usual. The fairy lights were flickering and swaying against the walls and the frames were all askew. It looked as if it was struggling to keep itself together. 

And in the middle of the room was Patton, on the floor and tugging at his hair as he cried, heaving into each sob. Surrounding him were boxes of half-summoned muffin mix, as well as some sugar slowly fading out of existence. In front of him was his recipe book, tearstained and ripped at the edges. 

Virgil immediately went to Patton’s side, scooping him up into his arms. Patton made no effort to protest, his body still clenched up from all the energy he was spending summoning the ingredients into his room. In the corner of his eye, he could even see the beginnings of what would be an oven.

“Patton,” Virgil heard Logan breathe out, still standing in the same spot behind them, almost in shock. “You are spending too much energy summoning all these things, your room nor your form cannot handle it. Why don’t you just go to the kitchen?”

Patton sobbed even more, tugging at his hair and curling up into Virgil’s chest. Virgil looked up at Logan over Patton’s hunched shoulders and just shook his head, his eyes flickering between him and Patton. 

Logan then made a small ‘o’ shape with his mouth, slowly approaching the two on the floor and sitting cross-legged beside him. He made an attempt to lower Patton’s hands from his hair. Eventually, it turned into him rubbing small circles in Patton’s back with the palm of his hand, softly whispering “it’s okay” under his breath as he moved closer to him and Virgil. 

Roman dropped his sword onto the floor and followed suit, grabbing a fluffy blanket from Patton’s bed and going behind his three boyfriends, laying the blanket over their shoulders as if he was shielding them from the unstable room surrounding them. He hovered over their shoulders for a while before kneeling down and hugging all three of them. 

And as the ingredients slowly disappeared around them, the room began to fix itself. Patton could breathe a bit slower now, yet the others curled up into him like the warm blanket they were surrounded by. 

Eventually, Patton realized that he was no longer crying;  yet everyone stayed. 

And then, Patton fell asleep;  and they stayed for that too. 

----------------------------- 

~ Don’t Forget-ti That We Love You Funfetti Cake* ~

 Ingredients:

 For the cake

1 and 2/3 cup (210g) all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda (because so-da one for us!) [1]

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup (1 stick or 115 g) unsalted butter, melted

3/4 cup (150g) granulated sugar

1/4 cup (50g) packed light brown sugar

1 large egg

1/4 cup (60g) yogurt

3/4 cup (180ml) milk

1 Tablespoon (15ml) pure vanilla extract

2/3 cup (90g) sprinkles (nonpareils not recommended**) 

For the buttercream

1 cup (2 sticks or 230g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature

3–4 cups (360-480g) confectioners’ sugar

1/4 cup (60ml) heavy cream

2 and 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

salt, to taste

 *Virgil actually came up with this and thinks its so lame so thats why that’s the name LOL ~ Roman

[1]  Roman wrote this pun but I am making the executive decision to retract this comment from the original script because it is not a necessary part of the recipe.

**can you tell that lo was the one who wrote the recipe ~ v 

–– 

Patton tried his hardest to fight the pull coming from the kitchen. 

It’s been a few days since the others found him in his room after his failed ‘bake muffins in isolation’ mission and Patton hadn’t dared to bake since. After all, if that incident wasn’t a good enough warning, the other times they found him in the kitchen were. He couldn’t let them see him like this again, what ‘this’ was. 

The others thought they knew he was upset about something, but Patton didn’t know how to tell them that he didn't even know what he was feeling. He wasn’t upset, he wasn’t stressed; he was just feeling every feeling, all at once.

And he didn’t know what to do. 

Baking was the only thing he could do when he felt like this. He longed to see a smile on Virgil’s face; to watch Logan actually eat and enjoy it rather than talking about how it didn’t matter that they ate; to laugh as Roman scarfed all of it down and ask for the recipe. The recipe book was actually going to be Roman’s gift for their anniversary. It made his heart ache even more knowing that it wasn’t good enough for him anymore. 

When he felt everything or nothing at all, he would just bake and watch as the people he loved were filled with joy; and Patton, selfish as it is, would bask in the sunlight they radiated. If he kept baking and kept making them happy? Well, their light could never disappear. 

But then, it did.

And Patton couldn’t bear to stand in the darkness of that kitchen anymore. 

Still, the tugging persisted. Patton secretly hoped that him pitying himself would guilt whatever force was summoning him to the kitchen into giving up its pursuit. 

Patton sighed, tugging the strings of his cat hoodie a little tighter so that the hood with wrap around his head. Maybe if he didn’t show his face, no one would see that he had been crying for an hour or so. 

When he sunk out, he was met with a warmly-lit kitchen and a small cake in the middle of the dining table.

Patton frowned, walking towards it curiously. It was a very...rustic cake, if rustic still meant ‘messy’ in baking terms. The icing was a bit rough around the edges and he felt like the writing in icing was supposed to say “WE ❤ U” but the heart looked a bit like...well, Patton didn’t want to say. 

Still, it was rather cute. There was a small plate beside it with a fork and a slice of the cake, dots of sprinkles baked into it. Patton smiled; it seemed to be a funfetti cake! His favourite!

Patton took a bite out of the cake without really thinking about it, his smile only growing at the sweet taste. 

That was when he saw the book. 

It laid neatly beside the plate, open to a page he didn’t quite remember writing. On it were various scribbles of bright red ink mixed with blue ink, along with a note written in pencil at the bottom of the page. He recognized the handwriting immediately as he picked up the book and began to tear up. 

“Virgil, if he does not want to be summoned you cannot–”

Patton looked up from the book and saw Logan and Virgil suddenly at the entrance to the kitchen, stopped in their tracks with their eyes wide. They stared at each other for a brief moment before Virgil huffed, breaking the silence.

“See, Lo?” He kissed Logan's cheek and went on his tip-toes to ruffle his hair, much to Logan’s dismay. “Patton always comes down for cake.” 

Patton dropped the book on the table and went over to sweep the two in a big hug, warm and tight and filled with love. Virgil fell quiet, but hugged back as Logan chuckled, patting Patton’s back. 

“I sincerely hope the cake is to your standards, Patton,” he said as he pulled back. “I know that the aesthetics are not...well, they are not ideal; Roman spent so much time planning that he forgot to take into account the amount of time we’d  actually have–”

“Logan?” Patton said, his voice still scratchy from being close to tears. “I love you. It’s perfect.” 

Logan smiled brightly, the light from it almost blinding Patton. 

“You guys didn’t have to bake for me!” Patton rubbed at his eyes with a small laugh. “I know baking a cake is no easy task, especially a funfetti cake!”

Virgil shrugged. “Logan led most of it. I kinda just made sure the kitchen didn’t explode. You know how those two can get."

Patton giggled. “Of course.”

“Roman should be on his way shortly,” Logan said, pushing up his glasses. “He is acquiring a few blankets and pillows from his room.”

Patton perked up at the thought. Roman’s blankets were made of the softest, most delicate velvet. The idea made his chest warm up.

“You guys did all of this for me?” Patton asked, his voice small. 

“Of course we did, Pat.” Virgil held Patton’s hand and kissed it softly. “We love you. And we want to be here for you; even in the less-than-ideal times. You would do the same for us.”

“But we do not expect you to dwell on your emotions if you do not feel comfortable doing so,” Logan continued as he went over to the dining room to grab the cake. “If you would like, we can watch Disney movies and eat cake and provide a distraction. However, we want to reassure you that we are here to listen to whatever is troubling you, so whenever you feel comfortable, please do not hesitate to reach out.” He paused. "We do not have to find a solution right now. We can metaphorically 'sit in the feelings' for a while."

Patton smiled as Logan arrived at his and Virgil’s side. He kissed Patton’s shoulder softly before making his way to the living room, where Patton could hear Roman rambling about what movie would be the best to watch; and he heard Logan’s rebuttals come after. 

And walking out of the kitchen and into the living room could only be described as a slow-moving blur. Patton watched as Roman spotted him and swept him up into a big hug, startling Virgil who was later brought into the hug as well. He watched as Logan gave them an amused smile, patting the blankets Roman arranged under a pillow fort in front of the TV, the opening to Tangled—Patton’s favourite—playing on the screen. 

“I love you guys,” Patton murmured as he sat in the middle of the pillow fort, a plate with cake in front of him. Logan sat beside him with a nod, kissing his head as he summoned four forks with a smile. Roman and Virgil found their way somehow into the tangled mess of each other, cuddling against Logan and Patton until they were the closest humans, or sides, could ever get.

And no one complained when Patton paused the movie when Eugene got stabbed, crying a bit and telling them about how that scene sort of reminded him about what he felt the night before. No one left when Patton began to spiral a bit from that and sob into his cake, finally admitting to them his thoughts and how he had just been feeling everything. 

And then, everyone stayed; even after that. 

[the-darklings]

who is jean?

(drags out a rusty chair) (sits)

buckle up, gang. we're about to do French Bastard Baguette 101

basics first.

name: Jean Laurent

where does he hail from: French baguette 

what does he look like:

whose house should you egg when Jean inevitably hurts your feelings: @la-gattara-art

what’s he like?  

(let me preface everything by saying that Jean’s personality, looks, and past were not created by me; he was originally constructed by Chan (NPFH co-creator and my very segssy friend tagged above) and I simply went free real estate ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

okay, so:

bastard™. most call him “the spider” - both as a warning and as a curse. will sell you to satan for one cornchip. will also destroy you and your life if you get in his way : ) ruthless. manipulative. terrifyingly good at people and can charm pretty much anyone. has dirt on everyone and is brilliant at sniffing out weaknesses. is he lying? is he being honest? who knows? certainly not me. smoker. the living embodiment of the phrase “who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things”. has a heart deep, deep, deep down but good luck finding it. seductive. to be frank, the man fucks - that’s it, no fancy words. he knows what’s good and how to get it so his bed is warm most nights, no emotional connections though. likes sketching into his pocketbook : ) mostly birds/still life/architecture. speaking of which, admires architecture openly, and has a taste for art/historical things as well. mind sharper than a knife, tongue even more so 🤪 uses his accent on purpose as well. has a massive sweet tooth. is haunted by past actions. knows the price for “rebirth”. still has night terrors occasionally. ambitious for days. has an expensive taste because he knows the value of such things. enjoys old french songs. is an excellent dancer and is very happy to show just how good 😌 if he so much as sniffs out that someone is getting too comfortable beside him or is developing some sort of attachment to him, removes said attachment with surgical precision and weaponises everything he knows. can be downright vicious in that regard. prefers using words and seductions as oppose to fistfights but can hold his own if needs be. prefers guns - nice and quick. you will not know where his loyalties are until the last second. has a giddy, near boyish appreciation for sports cars but lacks technical knowledge when it comes to them, so don’t expect him to be changing oil any time soon. don’t bother trying to embarrass him, either - you can’t. he has no shame, especially if it comes to the bedroom. has a wicked sense of humour and enjoys few things more than a verbal challenge. enjoys challenges in general. if it's dangerous, he wants to poke it and see just how dangerous. he also works for someone else. will lay it all on the line for someone else but only once.  

so what’s his role and why is he important? 

jean is one of the main, catalyst characters in npfh (no place for heroes) an original universe where we hope to create an interactive modern-day, criminal world in "novel" form. where you, as a reader, play a key role and your decisions affect the story. the first prequel (like jeara's backstory) will be in normal novel format. formation of the pit of vipers aka where elites, lucien, amongst other new OCs will appear will follow that. so the running order is: fwns, tpov, npfh.

after COA gets concluded, I will be full-time working on this world. lowkey already am but that's because creativity is flowing and who am I to say no? so jean meets clara beginning of fwns (fire with no smoke - first prequel title) and for those of you who don't know clara is oc!v from my JW series Children of Ares. you will not have needed to read that story to enjoy this work because everything about JW is being removed and clara's backstory is going to be introduced anew and might be familiar to those of you who have read Gasoline Girl because it was wholly original. camorra is also staying. short version: something has happened to clara a year ago; a terrible, awful sort of trauma that has left her near crippled with the inability to deal with it (some may know what I'm referring to and it's that but x 10 worse :D). however in a world as cutthroat as npfh no falters are allowed. so teetering-at-the-edge-of-oblivion assassin meets master information gatherer because he hires her for a few "removal jobs" ("oh, you're a poisoner? sneaky, sexy, I love it.") because he's feeling out new york city for his boss and gathering information on X & Y. one thing leads to another, and those two end up needing to work together when they accidentally uncover a plan to paint streets of NY red and overthrow the old order. big time ("guess I have no choice but to trust and rely on you now because we're both being hunted,,, damn fine, just don't fall in love with me." 🙄 )

essentially to sum this story up I will say:

slowburn. reluctant partners in crime. banter. angst central. mystery. high stakes. dark. power couple when they're not trying to verbally end one another. sexual tension so thick most knives will not cut it. bi main character. mutual emotional baggage aha <3 it's mature (and yes that means there will be smut but it's been 84 years by the time we get there). at its core though, it's very much a story about healing & remembering what it is to be alive & not just existing in a role that's expected of you, nor does your past define you.

basically:

reasons to like Jean: Clara

reasons to dislike Jean: Clara

but,,, Jeara? 

yes ♥️

(I don’t know how to make gifs so enjoy potato quality <3)

here's fwns board for more vibes/jean aes too (x)

and here's my horniest playlist for them (x)

and finally, jean in memes, courtesy of coa discord:

and my personal fave

thus concludes french bastard baguette 101. have a good day and eat baguettes xoxo

[esmealux]

Could you do 31 and 23 for the prompts?

I absolutely loved this prompt, thank you! <3

This got a lot longer (1.8K) and a lot angstier than I intended. But fret not, it's hurt/comfort at its core and it's Deckerstar stargazing. And also,

ANTI-SPOILER ALERT: This piece takes place after 5a/during 5b. I have not watched the trailer, nor will I. I therefore have no idea what is going to happen in 5b, or if what this fic suggests is remotely close to what is hinted at in the trailer—and I would like remain oblivious. *Looks at you with puppy eyes* So please don't mention anything from the trailer in the comments? It would mean a lot to me ❤ (And yes, I do realise I could've waited two days before posting this, but I wanted to give you guys a little something while you wait.)

Rated M, just to be safe.

Enjoy, my loves!

31. Lost in the middle of nowhere + 23. ‘Hey, at least the stars are beautiful tonight, right?’

He gets in his car, and he drives.

He has no destination in mind, nowhere but ‘away’. Away from Him. From feelings he can’t contain. From eons of neglect. From pain.

Far away.

He drives till there’s no more gas and ends up stranded where the streets have no name, in the moonlit desert.

The car shudders and comes to a halt. With ridiculously shaky hands, Lucifer brings a cigarette and a lighter to his lips, desperately needing the distraction. He flicks the lighter repeatedly, chaotically, but the fire won’t bite, and suddenly he’s hyperventilating, and both cig and lighter are sent flying through the brisk night air.

He roars into the dark void of the night. The thunderous sound resonating off the distant mountain walls startles him like an unexpected ghost. It sounds like him, but not like him. Not like Lucifer, Devil, fallen angel. It sounds like Samael, falling angel—screaming into the abyss as he plummets towards fire and brimstone, his fate and punishment, dealt by Dad.

Lucifer suddenly can’t get out of the car fast enough. He leans against the trunk, his chest heaving rapidly, his lungs fighting for air. He’d thought he was healing, that he was actually starting to put millennia of trauma behind him. And maybe he was. But then He waltzed down and ripped the wound right open.

Such a pestilent, tyrannous prick.

Lucifer needs a drink.

He finds a bottle of something strong and amber in the glove box and brings it back to the trunk. It’s only half-full, and he’d need at least five more bottles to just get tipsy, but it’ll have to do. He wasn’t looking to get shitfaced, anyway. He just wants to take his mind off things, to breathe. And right now, (now that his chance of having a smoke is lying somewhere in the sand) a couple of sips from a mildly exquisite whiskey and the ensuant burn in his throat are the best way to do that.

She finds him like that—because of course she finds him—sitting on the trunk of his car with the near-empty bottle in his hand and looking absolutely wrecked.

She’s tentative as she approaches him, afraid she’s not welcome, that he really did want to be alone. But as she gets close and he looks up at her, dark eyes glistening in the moonlight, she knows being alone is the last thing he needs.

Without a word, neither from her nor from him, she gets up on back of the car and scoots close to him, still keeping some air between them.

‘I thought you could use a friend,’ she says with a slight smile, exactly like she did all those years ago. Now, however, the last word isn’t an overwhelming, meaningful declaration, but a cosmic understatement, and Lucifer can’t help but snort.

Reaching over, Chloe grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers. ‘Also, I wasn’t gonna let my partner get lost in the middle of nowhere alone.’

‘I’m not lost,’ he objects, but his voice, hollow and lined with despair, betrays him. He may know the way back to LA, but he is definitely lost.

Sensing he doesn't want to talk about it, Chloe gestures towards the bottle still dangling from his fingers and asks for a sip. His lips tug up into the smallest of smirks as he hands over the bottle with a half-hearted ‘Be my guest’.

She leans her head back, eyes turning to the night sky as she takes a swig (just a nip; one of them still has to drive home at some point). It tastes like evening kisses. Occassionally, morning kisses too.

A cool breeze whirls around them, and Chloe snuggles closer to Lucifer. She does have a plaid in the car, and she will get it in a minute, but right now, she settles for stealing some body heat, hoping her seatmate doesn’t mind too much. She hands him back the bottle and snakes a hand under his layers, up his bare back. He sighs shakily, the taut muscles beneath Chloe’s hand loosening up. It tugs at something in her chest—the way he’s calmed by her touch alone.

Chloe looks up again, at the tiny, abundant jewels glimmering against the dark sky. ‘At least the stars are beautiful tonight, right?’

In the middle of downing the last drops of whiskey, Lucifer absent-mindedly replies with a ‘Hm?’

‘Stars,’ Chloe repeats. ‘They’re beautiful.’

Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, Lucifer lets his eyes glide up. He’s quiet as he takes it in, the black canopy adorned with white, pearlescent specks. His gaze is somewhat distant, reminiscent. Wistful.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, not as a vocative, but as an eureka. She’s said his name so many times before, screamed it, whispered it, cried it—with passion and pain and everything in between—but now is the first time she says it actually knowing what it means. Or at least she’s pretty sure she does.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she asks him with a whisper, more in awe than accusatory, and the soft, melancholic smile he gives her is answer enough. ‘You let there be light.’ It’s not a question this time, just an overwhelming realisation spoken out loud.

‘Well, technically,’ Lucifer corrects, glancing over at her, ‘it was Dad who created Light.’ His gaze turns upwards again, eyes suddenly twinkling with pride. ‘The almighty wanker was just too lazy to hang it up there himself.’

Stunned, Chloe stares at the sky with new reverence. It’s breath-taking, both the sight itself—diamonds and sparkling dust sprinkled across a sea of nothing—and the fact that Lucifer made that. He literally hung the stars in the sky.

The fact that he hasn’t mentioned this before, that he hasn’t boasted about it, hasn’t proudly told everyone he’s the artist behind the original Starry Night also says something.

Peering up at him from where her head is now resting against his shoulder, Chloe sees a look on his face she can only describe as ‘homesick’.

‘They remind you of your dad’s love for you,’ she realises, voice quiet.

Lucifer scoffs, but there’s no humour in it. Just pain. ‘What love?’

Chloe doesn’t blame him for doubting. With all the light God (apparently) gave Lucifer, He gave him a thousand times more darkness. (And she is going to talk to Him about that. Later. When she’s hugged the living shit out of His son). But Chloe can tell He, despite everything, does love Lucifer—and that Lucifer is using this resentment towards Him to avoid facing the fact that he, still, loathes himself just as much. If not more.

The thought makes Chloe sick, and she suddenly feels the need to tell him, ‘You’re worthy, you know?’

He looks down at her. A wet streak on his cheek catches the silvery light of the moon. ‘I do?’ The insecurity in his voice is a sharp jab in her chest. But again, she doesn’t blame him.

‘You are,’ she states again for emphasis, holding his gaze. ‘You’re worthy of love, and light.’ With her free hand, the one that isn’t stroking the small of his back beneath his shirt and jacket, she cups his face and swipes her thumb across his stubble. ‘You deserve it. You deserve happiness, more than any other person in this world.’

He doesn’t say anything in return, but he doesn’t have to. The smile he gives her in return, warming and breaking her heart at the same time, speaks for itself. Just to get her point across, she leans up and kisses him. It’s teary and tender, and it’s a promise. To always love him—both the light and the dark, and all the colours in between.

They lean their foreheads against each other’s when they break apart, eyes still closed.

After a long, needed moment, Chloe lets her hand drop from Lucifer’s cheek to his thigh.

‘So,’ she breathes, the pall from their prior conversation vanishing into the night with her light, playful tone, ‘constellations?’

He chuckles beside her, the sound low and warm in her ear. ‘Not what you humans make them out to be.’

She fights the urge to roll her eyes at his ‘you humans’, and asks, intrigued, ‘No Big Dipper?’

‘No.’ He clicks his tongue. 'But there is a Big Pecker somewhere.’

She glares at him. ‘You drew a dick in the sky?’

His lips spread into a proud grin. ‘And a pair of boobs, if you have a little imagination.’ He points to a distant spot above them. ‘Those seven points there, the brighter ones—they form a symbol in my mother tongue. A message for my dear twin.’

‘Oh?’ Lucifer rarely ever speaks of, much less in the celestial language. It’s another part of his past Chloe hasn’t learned much about. But hopefully, over time, she will.

‘Yes, it means… how would you say?’ He thinks for a second—or pretends to—and eventually concludes, ‘Cunt, I believe, would be the appropriate translation.’

This time, Chloe doesn’t resist rolling her eyes—because nothing about that is ‘appropriate’. Maybe except for the fact that it was directed at Michael.

‘I know,’ he says, like he’s reading her mind. But he really isn’t, because he follows up with, ‘An insult to the temple of pleasure I value more than any other organ.’

Having met the guy, Chloe doesn’t disagree; Michael definitely lives up to more vile name-calling than ‘cunt’. (Also, she's pretty sure Lucifer is wrong about it being his favourite body part. She’s pretty sure the organ he values more than any other is his own Big Pecker, because she’s seen the way he looks at himself in the shower, and all the other places she finds him naked; the vain idiot is practically obsessed with his own meat. Not that she blames him.) But before she has the chance to tell him that, he says-

‘You have to forgive me. I was only a couple of thousand years old.’ There’s a glint in his eye, and Chloe can’t help but laugh, because it’s true what Linda said; he really is the oldest, most immature person in the world.

Chloe tells him as much.

He simply smirks in return. ‘I may be old, Detective, but I’m more vigorous in bed than any mortal man, old or young, and you know it.’

It only proves her point, about him being immature, and obsessed with his penis. But frankly, Chloe does know it, and for once, she feels like stroking his ego (among other things). So she grabs him by the hand, leads him into the car, onto plush leather, onto her, and as the stars twinkle and gleam above them, they put that vigour of his to good use.

[rallamajoop]

The Witcher: The Games vs The Books

Coming to the fandom this late, I can only assume the relationship between the Witcher games and the original novels has been long since talked to death by others. But I'm far too fascinated by the whole glorious mess that is this canon not to want to get down some of my own thoughts about how it all fits together.

See, on the one hand, the games (Witcher 3 especially) are arguably only too dependent on the novels to stand alone. They do a wonderful job of picking up a number of unresolved plot points the books left hanging, and a woeful job of explaining so much a player coming in cold would really like to know – Ciri's history with Geralt, Yennefer, her powers and the Wild Hunt itself just to begin with. This is an issue that only increases as the games go along: cliche as Geralt's amnesia may be, it's used to good effect to introduce the world to the player in the first game. By the third, Geralt has all his old memories back and two extra games worth of new experience, and good lord is it all alienating to the newcomer.

On the other hand, so much about the games (again, the third especially) contradicts the novels in painfully irreconcilable ways. That wouldn't necessarily bother me – adaptations are allowed to rework and reinvent, stories can and should evolve in the retelling – except, well, see point one above. So you're bound to come out of the games with a lot of unanswered questions if you haven't read the books, and just as many if you have.

Spoilers to follow, of course, for both the books and the games.

Here's one of the big ones: just how did the world – Ciri included – discover that one of her long-presumed-dead parents was actually alive and well and now ruling the entire empire of Nilfgaard? Fucked if I know. Neither the games or the novels have any explanation. In the novels, in fact, the world at large believes Ciri is married to the emperor of Nilfgaard. Naturally, this 'Cirilla' is a fake, but the scandal were the full truth ever revealed would redefine Emhyr's reign. Yet somehow, in the games, everyone seems to know he's Ciri's father, and that whole awkward incest angle is never mentioned. Continuity has been tweaked pretty significantly, and it's left to the player to guess how. If that wasn’t bad enough, the games apparently still included a Gwent card of the fake!Cirilla (artwork above) just to ensure maximum confusion.

Before I get too sidetracked with all that stuff that doesn’t add up though, there really is a lot to be said for what does work about how the games expand on the plot of the novels. The Wild Hunt itself is the big one. The spectral cavalcade appears several times through the novels and hunts Ciri across multiple worlds in the final book before apparently losing her trail and vanishing to make way for the 'real' big bad, never to be mentioned again. While TW3 left me pretty underwhelmed by the revelation that the spectral Wild Hunt were just a bunch of dark elves in skull armor, the books had introduced the Hunt and let us spend some time on the dark elves' world before we get the reveal that the two may be one and the same. So for all the ranting I could do about missed opportunities regarding the Wild Hunt, they're the natural candidate for the games to pick up on as their new big-bads.

To my surprise, Geralt and Yennefer's "deaths" and subsequent recovery in pseudo-Avalon also comes straight from the novels. That everyone thinks Geralt dead at the start of the first game isn't, as I'd first assumed, a convenient excuse to have him reappear with amnesia, but simply how the novels end. Why Ciri leaves them and goes world-hopping isn't clear, but "because the Wild Hunt was after her again" is as good a theory as any. So, another point to the games there.

And there's so much more. The Catriona plague has only just appeared at the end of the novels, but we know it's posed for a major outbreak – one that’s in progress by the time of the games. The second game in particular does a terrific job of taking the ambitions of the expansionist Nilfgaardian Empire and the still-relatively-new Lodge of Sorceresses and building an entirely new conflict around them – even taking two of the least developed members of the Lodge (Sabrina Glevissig and Síle de Tansarville) and expanding them into major players. Dijkstra similarly ends the novels on the run from those in power, and having already taken the same assumed name 'Sigi Reuven' he's using in the games – while the books assure us that prince Radovid will grow up to pay back his father's assassins (ie. Phillipa) and become Radovid the Stern.

The twisted fairy tale origins of the novels are something the games actually seem to have gotten better at as they went on: the 'trail of treats' to the Crones is the great example, the monster-frog-prince and the land-of-a-thousand-fables of the expansions are two more, and many more are hidden in sidequests. And I'd be remiss not to mention that in again asking Geralt to pick a side in the conflict with the Scoia'tael, the first two games not only recreate a scenario Geralt repeatedly deals with in the books, but a major theme. It's interesting too how much the broad structure of the third game feels like an homage to the books, with Geralt searching for Ciri, interspersed with sections from her POV. You can nitpick the detail of any of these examples, but the intent is unmistakable, and a lot of credit is due for it in the execution too.

Some of the detail that's gone into translating the world of the Witcher books into the games is just insane – not just in the geography and history of the place, but right down to the names of the wine you can pick up. There's the fact the Cat potion makes Geralt see in black-and-white, or the fact the basilisk and cockatrice monsters are clearly based on the same model, but the basilisk is reptilian where as the cockatrice is more avian – which is exactly how Geralt describes the difference between them in The Lady of the Lake. There's a point where Book!Regis recounts a detailed list of all the lesser vampiric species, ending with the only two violent enough to tear apart their victims: almost all can be encountered in the games, and the last two (Fleders and Ekimma) are indeed the most animalistic. This kind of thing is everywhere.

My favourite examples tend to be those that blend into the background if you haven't read the books, but will get a grin from those who have, such as a peasant in Velen who will call out to Geralt (paraphrased from memory, alas) "Sir, sir! We be up to our ears in mamunes, imps, kobolds, hags, flying drakes... oh, and bats!" – which is a lovely little reference to a couple of conversations from Edge of the World wherein Geralt explains that most of the monsters the locals want him to take care of don't actually exist. Or all those soldiers chanting "Long live King Radovid!" – natural enough, but it takes on a whole new life if you've read the passage in Lady of the Lake where the young prince Radovid grumbles internally about having to sit and listen to the city chanting 'long live...' to every other notable figure present except him.

Really, it would be faster to list the things the games introduced that don't come from the original source material in any obvious form, because it's a struggle to come up with very many. The villainous Crones of Crookback Bog and Master Mirror of the Hearts of Stone expansion are the biggest ones that come to mind, along with a great deal of the vampire mythology from Blood and Wine. To the witchers themselves, they’ve added mostly game mechanics: the use of bombs and blade oils, the names of most of the potions, and three new witcher schools (all with their own specialised gear). There are a number of new creatures and monsters – Godlings, noon-and-night-wraiths, botchlings, shaelmaars and so on – and though trolls are mentioned in the books, the games take credit for giving them so much character. Obviously, there are new characters, like Thaller and Roche – but not technically Iorveth, because a Scoia'tael commander of that name is mentioned in the books, if only in passing. And already, short of just listing off every new character the games introduced, I’m running out of ideas. Credit where credit’s due on that front: most of the new characters and locations they’ve created feel authentic enough that Kalkstein or Thaller would be right at home in the novels’ world.

But for all their dedication to the detail, it's hard to feel like the games have really managed to capture the spirit of the books in their storytelling: the mundanely corrupt bureaucracy that does so much to bring the world to life, or their cheerfully cynical sense of humour, or the flamboyant wonder that is book!Dandelion, or their enthusiasm for putting women in positions of power, or the bigger themes about the differences between the story that gets sung by the bards and what really happened – or so much else from the novels that came as such a surprise to me when I started getting really sucked in.

And if we’re going to talk about all the little things they got right, it’s only fair to point out there are just as many little things they got wrong, and sometimes pretty glaringly at that. "I thought you bowed to no-one" says Emhyr to Geralt – almost as if book!Geralt doesn’t happily bow in most every situation where it would be polite or diplomatic to do so. "This would never have happened if the council was still around!" says Geralt upon finding a sorcerer's lab full of human experiments – as if none of his experiences with Vilgefortz or the wizards of Rissberg ever happened, back when the council was very much still around. In TW2, he mocks the idea of a woman like Saskia leading a rebellion – almost as if women like Falka and Aelirenn haven't led some of the most storied rebellions in history (and we can't even blame the amnesia, because Geralt himself mentions Aelirenn later – oh yeah, this one annoyed me particularly).

 Book!verse 'Lady of the Lake' is basically just Ciri being surprised while bathing

Yennefer's studious aethiesm and willingness to desecrate Freya's temple is entirely in character – but only if we forget that she had her own personal religious experience with the goddess Freya herself in Tower of the Swallow. And then there’s the fact the Lady of the Lake is now a literal lake nymph who distributes swords to the worthy, as if no-one writing for the games ever got past the title of that particular Witcher novel (let alone got the joke). And the list goes on. It's easy to get overly caught up in contradictions like this – it's hardly as if Sapkowski's novels don't contradict themselves in places, as almost any long-running series eventually will – but it's going to stick out to those who’ve read the novels nonetheless.

While we're talking about how the games pick up where the books left off though, the big contradiction that has to be touched on comes in bringing Geralt back at all, at least in any public capacity. There's plenty to suggest that Geralt survives the novels' end and even goes on to have further adventures, but it's also pretty explicit that the history books record his death in the Pogrom of Rivia as final. The last two novels by order of publication (Season of Storms and Lady of the Lake) go so far as to feature characters far in the future with an interest in Geralt's legacy, and they discuss the matter in some depth. As far as the world knows, Geralt is dead.

  Book!Geralt fanart by Diana Novich

But it's hard to blame the games for ignoring this – true, thanks to Geralt's longevity, they could have set their conflict many more years after those future scenes – maybe even used Ciri's established time-travel powers to let you pop quietly in and out of the past (and, okay, now I've thought through all that, I'm kind of sad they didn't). But there comes a point where that kind of slavish devotion to preserving the source material really doesn't do a story any favours, and I'm not sure I could name any other successful adaptation that's bothered.

Besides bringing Geralt back at all, most of the bigger changes pertain to Ciri. In fact, as much as I'm about to get deep into the nitpicks below, you can make a surprisingly good case that the games have made only one really big change, and that's in simplifying the prophesies surrounding her. See, in the novels, all those world-saving prophesies aren't technically about Ciri, they're about her as-yet-unborn child. Who gets to impregnate her is the big driving force behind most of the villains of the books – one that all the main contenders seem to see as more of an awkward necessity rather than the inspiration for violent lust, but even so. To Emhyr, having to marry his own daughter is a bug, not a feature – but he's willing to do it to become the father of the savior of the world. But if Ciri is capable of fulfilling those prophesies herself, then Emhyr is already the father of the savoir of the world, and the revisions to his relationship with Ciri start to make a lot more sense.

Ciri's history with the Aen Elle elves seems to have been similarly revised – if not quite so cleanly. Avallac’h and Eredin are, naturally, both book characters – in fact, a lot of personality has been left behind in the books, since Avallac’h originally had a rather camp flair, and Eredin is less the power-hungry kingslayer you might imagine. When Geralt meets Avallac’h in the books – which happens briefly in Toussaint, for one of those "everything you're doing is going to make everything worse because prophesy" conversations – he's busy decorating a cave with fake prehistoric paintings in the hope of confusing future explorers. (Surprisingly, there does seem to be official art of this moment on one of the gwent cards – see above – though the Avallac’h who jokes about adding erect phalluses to the picture and admits his vanity won’t allow him to resist signing it hasn’t entirely survived the transition to the new medium).

We also meet the former Alder King, Auberon, whose death we see in flashback in the game. (Fun fact: Auberon is actually blowing bubbles through a straw in a bowl of soapy water when we first meet him in the books, hence the straw in the illustration below. The books just have more whimsy than any of the games would know what to do with.)

Ciri spends some time in the final book as a prisoner on the world of the elves, who are as keen as everyone else for their king to father her unborn child. Avallac’h eventually convinces her that this is all for the greater good: her child will be able to open gates to allow the people of her world to escape when the apocalyptic White Frost arrives. But their king, like most older elves, is impotent, leading to multiple nights where Ciri allows him to take her to bed (in some of the frankly more disturbing scenes of the series) to no result. Eredin, moreover, doesn't appear to have intended to poison the king: the vial that kills him was supposed to contain some sort of fantasy viagra, and even Eredin seems genuinely shocked to learn its actual effects.

Regardless, Ciri eventually discovers that Avallac’h and the Aen Elle have deceived her, and intend to user her child's powers to invade her world, not save it. Neither world is threatened by the White Frost for at least several millennia, it's just a pretext to make her cooperate. And so she flees, and Eredin (already leading his Red Riders aka The Wild Hunt long before he was crowned king) pursues her.

With the books as context, why Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h is very hard to understand. It's a little easier if that whole awful episode with her and the former king is subtracted out – Ciri's child is no longer necessary for Eredin's goals. So it's odd that the game still references the deadly vial Eredin gave to the king. Are we to suppose the vial genuinely contained poison in this version of continuity? I'd rather it didn't – Avallach's ruse is far more interesting if he underwhelms Eredin's support by revealing a half-truth – but the games aren't telling us.

And then we have to factor in that one last detail I'd forgotten when I originally started playing with this theory: TW3 does contain one last, dangling reference to the time the old king spent trying to impregnate Ciri, when Ge'els very reasonably asks why on earth Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h now. It's a damn good question, and the game offers no real answers. So in Avallac’h, we're left with a character who is vital to the final chapters of the games, who comes out of nowhere without the books as context, but whose role makes no sense with that backstory in mind. Frankly, the writers would have been much better off avoiding the whole mess altogether and inventing some new character to take Avallac’h's place.

The treatment of the White Frost is even more confusing. The books are ultimately fairly explicit about just what the White Frost is: a ice age, most likely caused by the same mundane climactic factors that produced the real ice ages of our history. The only escape is intergalactic emigration, as Ciri (or her children) might some day enable.

In the games, the White Frost has instead become some sort of nebulous, free-floating apocalypse which will eventually reach all worlds, which is basically fine – up to a point. We briefly visit a dead world that the Frost has decimated, and even the Aen Elle are now supposedly planning to invade Ciri's world because it threatens theirs as well (I mean, apparently – their motivations are so underdeveloped you could miss them by accidently skipping just one or two lines of dialogue). When the Wild Hunt appears, it's always in a haze of cold. Their mages can invoke its power still more dramatically through portals which can freeze you in your tracks. So obviously, the Frost has already reached their world, and time is running out, right?

Well, no – you visit their world too (again, briefly – to meet a character who has never been mentioned before and won't be again, for reasons which have also never been mentioned before if you haven't read the books) – and there's no Frost in sight, apocalyptic or otherwise.

So why does the White Frost follow the Hunt around? No idea. It's never explained.

At the very end of the game, a second "Conjunction of the Spheres" occurs (possibly because of the Wild Hunt's appearance?), and the Frost begins to invade (or possibly Avallac’h summons it, so Ciri can go into it and destroy it?) It's all painfully unclear. The game is too busy pulling a bait-and-switch over whether Avallac’h's betrayed you to tell you what's actually going on instead.

But if Ciri could destroy the Frost completely (at great personal risk, but still) why is this not more clearly set up? Why did the Aen Elle think that escaping to another world (which will ALSO eventually be destroyed by the Frost) was a better solution than sending Ciri to face the Frost directly? For which matter, why do the Aen Elle need Ciri at all if sending enough ships to carry an army is no problem? Why does Ciri spend so much of the game questioning Avallac’h's true intentions, if they were ultimately so noble? When did he tell her the truth? If Avallac’h did summon the Frost, why did he pick that particular moment? And if he didn't, and it all just happened spontaneously, we're back to questioning why invading that world ever seemed like a good solution to Eredin – it all collapses in on itself.

None of these questions couldn't have been answered with a little creativity, but then the game would've had to dedicate some real time to explaining its backstory and developing its core conflict – something it's bizarrely reluctant to do. And if you think I may be drifting from the point a bit in the name of getting all my gripes about the ending down in one place, you're not wrong, but I feel Avallac’h and everything surrounding him is pretty much the ur-example of what doesn't work about the way The Witcher 3 depends on the novels: the backstory the writers are building on doesn't actually exist in any format available to the rest of us.

There are plenty of ways TW3 could have incorporated its backstory into its own narrative (yes, even excluding the method "by expecting people to read many many more pages of text from in-game documents", because that's bullshit and always will be). There are times it does this brilliantly, such as in the quest ‘The Last Wish’: everything you really need to know is covered in Yennefer and Geralt's conversation in the boat, and without ever making the dialogue sound unnatural. In fact, TW3 has even more options here than many works with the same problem, because Geralt is famous and people already think they know his story. You could have bards singing Dandelion's ballads, you could have characters confronting him with misunderstandings about his past to force him to correct them. You could also have Geralt visiting people and places he knows Ciri remembers fondly because of the time they spent there together, or include playable flashbacks similar to the time you spend playing as Ciri. You could stick chunks of backstory in optional sidequests or scenes old-school fans can skip through quickly. So many of my questions (how did Ciri get so close to Yennefer if they were never at Kaer Morhen together? Why has no-one tried training Ciri in her powers before? What does the Wild Hunt even do while it's not hunting Ciri? Why is Ciri princess of Cintra if her father is Emperor of another country altogether?) could have been answered so easily.

Seriously, summarising the Witcher books is not that hard. Lots of things happen, but only a fraction of it is really relevant in retrospect, and you could hit all the major plot beats in a handful of paragraphs. (Heck, I’d do it here if this post wasn’t already ridiculously over long.)

But then, TW3 has a bizarre problem with leaving so much of its best material off screen, even from its own story. It's criminal that we never get to see any of Geralt's time (or Yennefer's) with the Wild Hunt, even in flashback or dream sequence. This is material that directly sets up the relationship between the main hero and the main villain, and the most we ever hear about it is a few vague allusions to it being like a strange nightmare. Really? That's it? What was it like? Was Geralt in a trance, unable to control his own actions – was he brainwashed into believing he belonged there, or was he merely unable to escape? What atrocities might Eredin have forced him to commit? Did he visit other worlds? Was he paraded among the Aen Elle as a captive? There is no way this isn’t a part of the story worth talking about!

We never see the moment Ciri rescues Geralt from the Wild Hunt. We never see how Avallac’h convinces her to trust him, we never see the moment he was cursed, or any of her efforts to save him – all these big, story-defining moments are left off-screen, to be vaguely recounted to you later in dialogue. Then there's the entire political situation in Nilfgaard – you hear about it second-hand, and it's all resolved off screen. And the list goes on. Yet you and Ciri still have time to run around Novigrad so she can thank a bunch of throwaway characters you've never even heard of before, nor will again. The priorities on display here are baffling.

The Witcher 3 was such a wildly successful game that it’s obvious these sorts of issues didn’t seriously hold it back, and it’s such a big game that I could have sat down and written just as many words focusing only on the parts that do work without much difficulty. It boasts stunning visuals, addictive gameplay and some truly wonderful characters, and so many parts of the story work brilliantly in isolation that it’s strange to come out of it feeling that it ultimately adds up to so much less than the sum of its parts.

I’m glad TW3 exists – if it hadn’t been such a runaway success I doubt I’d ever have discovered Sapkowski’s universe at all, but for myself, TW3 will probably always be remembered as a somewhat-overlong introduction to the really good stuff, in the expansions and the original novels it came from. I looked up the novels after finishing TW3 in large part because I’d been left with so many unanswered questions – and I’m glad I did, but I’m honestly surprised more people weren’t turned off by TW3′s scattershot approach to its own narrative. You’re allowed to change and rework in moving to a new medium, but I can’t imagine it would’ve hurt games’ success to tell a complete story in the process.

[kittyprincessofcats]

RWBY Volume 8, Episode 13 (Worthy)

Well, wow. That sure was an episode that happened.

Thoughts under the cut.

Anyone who leaves spoilers for episode 14 on this will get blocked.

- First of all, I want to now talk about the spoiler I saw for this episode last week, to put the anger from my last post into context: After I had just finished watching episodes 8-12 and started writing my post about them, I went into one of the RWBY tags bc I’m dumb and saw a post that said (I don’t remember the exact words, but more or less): “I’m so glad Yang is finally dead, so now her fans can shut up about her and everyone can ship Blacksun instead.”

… Yeah. Imagine seeing that when you haven’t seen the actual episode and have no idea what really happened. I honestly completely panicked for a few minutes, before remembering I don’t actually know anything and this might just be a “Weiss gets impaled in Volume 5, but one episode later it turns out she’ll be fine” situation. So then I had to look up what actually happened to Yang, because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to sleep. So, to the person who made that post: Fuck you. Not only did you freak people out for no reason (because come on, there’s no way falling into the void actually kills you – and even if it does, we at least definitely don’t know that for sure after episode 13), but even if Yang had actually died, it’s super shitty that your first reaction to a beloved queer character’s death would be “yay, now people can ship my m/f ship instead”. Like, I don’t care if you personally dislike Yang/ dislike Bumbleby/ prefer Blacksun – show a little bit of decency.

Phew. Sorry, I had to get that off my chest because it really made me angry. Now let’s get into the actual episode:

- “Worthy” as a title pretty much already made me predict that Cinder would succeed in her plan, since “you have to be worthy” was what Watts told her in his speech. She’s gotten the message and is now back to efficient plans – and while I love to see it, it also very much scares me when it comes to our heroes’ survival chances. The last time Cinder was doing well, we lost Pyrrha, so… help.

- And gosh, this whole episode was so intense! I feel like it mostly set up a bunch of very intense situations that are going to escalate in the last episode that I’m very much not ready for.

- I still think the whole central location between the worlds is really beautiful, if dangerous. (They should have specified to Ambrosius that they want handrails or something.)

- Nora using her hammer like a witch’s broom was amazing.

- I also loved the scene with Jaune and the people at the train station; that was really funny.

- The middle of the desert might not have been the best place for the exit. Didn’t the group consider that there might be a sandstorm or something else unpredictable out there? Couldn’t they have picked a better exit point?

- Cinder causing an explosion in the middle of the evacuation that throws multiple people into the void was bad and all – but it was still one hell of an entrance!

- I love that now that Cinder realized that she has to rely on teamwork, she’s suddenly being so nice to everyone. Apologizing to Neo, complimenting Watts on “tearing the kingdom apart with nothing but his intellect”, that soft “You deserve this, Arthur”, complimenting Team RWBY on their plan, thanking them for teaching her “one last lesson”. Yeah, maybe she’s just talking to Neo and Watts like this because she needs their help, and to Team RWBY because she’s confident she’ll win – but it’s still amazing to see the shift in her attitude and how she’s clearly changed her tactic.

- It’s insane to me that some people correctly predicted that Cinder would ask Jinn the last question based JUST on the fact that there’s a part in the opening where everyone else freezes in time while she walks past them. Holy hell! I love trying to guess stuff based on the intro, but I would have never thought that far.

- Cinder’s question to Jinn seems like a waste considering it was Jinn’s last question, but maybe it just seems that way to us as viewers because Jinn didn’t reveal anything we didn’t already know. Was it the right thing for Cinder to do? I don’t know, to be honest. Yes, it did give her the chance to ruin the heroes’ plans, but I have a feeling Salem won’t be happy about the question being gone. Pretty sure Salem was going to ask Jinn how to get the Beacon relic, and now she can’t do that. (Cinder ruining Salem’s plans for the beacon relic? Let that be foreshadowing, please.) I mean, maybe it’s worth it from Salem’s POV if it gets them the staff and then she’ll have 2 of the 4 relics – but they could have still gotten the staff later, while I don’t know if Salem has any plan B for the beacon relic. And I’m a little worried about Cinder now. I always thought that Salem wouldn’t kill Cinder no matter what, because she still needs the Fall Maiden for the beacon relic – but if she now has to wait another 100 years for the beacon relic anyway, I’m not sure if she’ll have a reason to keep Cinder alive. (And I’m still worried about that “Some lives will end much too soon” line playing over that scene of Cinder clutching her Grimm arm in the opening.) I also wonder if Cinder even knew that this was Jinn’s last question. Did Jinn even tell her that? Also, when will the 100 years even be up? Do the questions just reset every 100 years regardless of when they were used? So maybe we’re already at year 80 or something and will only have to wait 20 years?

- The cut from everyone at the central command place screaming to them being dead was kinda funny in a “very dark humour” way.

- When Harriet first jumped onto that ship with the bomb, I, like an idiot, thought that she was finally being sensible and trying to get the bomb as far away from Atlas and Mantle as possible, not that she was trying to still drop it on Mantle. She and Ironwood might as well be working for Salem’s team at this point, because they’re doing everything to help the villains’ plan. And the villains are even counting on it! Watts freed Ironwood from his cell and is piloting Harriet’s ship. Those two are just straight up helping Salem’s team in their attempts to… what was it? Save Atlas?

- Ironwood killing Jacques was awful and proves once again that Ironwood has zero morals left. And I didn’t like Jacques, but that was the kind of death that absolutely no one deserves. He had no way to escape or fight back, he was defenseless, locked up in a prison cell with nowhere to run – that’s not just a murder, that’s an execution without a trial. And Jacques wasn’t even a threat, he wasn’t in the way of any of Ironwood’s plans. Ironwood killed him literally just because he could. And no one who thinks they’re the good guy (and Ironwood still thinks he’s the good guy) should go around just killing people who aren’t even a threat.

- And then we have Yang falling into the void. Honestly, as heartbreaking as Blake’s sobs and anger are, I kind of love this from a “supreme angst, let’s see my faves suffer” perspective. That said, Yang better actually be fine or else.

- Actually, my prediction is that the rest of team RWBY will jump into the void to save Yang in the last episode. Because they’re all falling in the opening, and because “Sometimes it’s worth it all to risk the fall and fight for every life”. That’s pretty much the only prediction I feel somewhat confident about, for the rest I have no idea.

- I wonder if it would have been better if Penny had just gone through the doorway and gotten the staff to Vacuo. I get why she didn’t, because Yang just fell and her other friends were in danger… but at the same time, she was supposed to protect the population and the staff (and she has the maiden powers that I’m sure Cinder still wants). If she had just gotten out of there, at least the group in Vacuo would have had some help against the sandstorm and the Grimm. But then again, it would have also severely weakened Term RWBY’s chances against Cinder and Neo… it’s a tough call, really.

- “Why didn’t you just learn your lesson?” “Oh, Penny… I did.” Okay, but that’s the thing: She really did! Just not the lesson Penny wanted her to learn. And notice how Cinder called Penny by her first name again? She didn’t use to do that. I still think somewhere down the line Penny has earned her respect.

- I wonder if Penny’s technically weaker now because she’s human (?? is she??). She’s definitely not used to fighting without her robotic parts (as you can see when she tries to reach for her swords and realizes they’re not there anymore). I summoning those swords like she then did her semblance or another maiden power?

- Blake now has to choose between helping Ruby and helping Penny and Weiss – gosh, the suspense…

- I’m glad Vine at least finally tried to stop Harriet now! (Better late than never.) But I really wouldn’t blame Qrow and Robyn for crashing into their ship. It’s not like they had any way of knowing that Vine was trying to talk sense into Harriet. Also, Qrow crashing through Harriet’s windscreen was amazing.

- Winter and Ironwood are going to fight to the death and I’m so scared of it. (I just need Winter to survive, please…)

- When Weiss described the doorway as a “one-way ticket to Vacuo” last episode, I briefly wondered if that meant they wouldn’t be let back through, but then I brushed it aside and didn’t think about it too much anymore. Oh, damn. You really do have to be very specific with Ambrosius.

- I’m not even sure which location is the best to be in right now because they all seem very unsafe: Atlas and Mantle are unsafe because Atlas is falling, because Mantle might still get blown up by Harriet, and because Salem might still come back any time. The place between worlds is unsafe because of the void and because there’s a big fight happening right there. And Vacuo is unsafe because of the Grimm and the sandstorm. So really, they’re all awful for the civilians right now.

- And now I’m thinking the volume might actually end with the protagonists split into three groups as well: Team RWBY in the void (that they’ll spend Volume 9 finding their way back from), one half of the other characters in Vacuo (Oscar, Ren, Emerald, maybe more?), and the other half still in Atlas/Mantle (Qrow, Robyn, Marrow, Winter, maybe more).

- I’m super nervous about the last episode. I haven’t seen any spoilers at all so far, and I plan to keep it that way. I’ll probably completely ignore anything RWBY-related until next week because the anxiety would kill me otherwise. I’m really worried we’ll get a character death or even several. And ironically, my first prediction on who might die this Volume (Penny, Nora, Winter, Cinder) hasn’t changed all that much. I’m worried about Penny because she has the Maiden Powers and the staff, so Cinder will come after her (but I really think it would be an awful writing choice to kill her off after we just went through so much to save her). I’m very worried about Winter because she’s engaged in a duel to the death with a man who has a big canon that he just blew someone up with. I’m worried for Cinder because of the opening and because Salem might be pissed at her for using the last question. I’m worried for everyone who’s still on Atlas and might get blown up by the bomb (Qrow, Robyn, Marrow, Winter again). And I’m very worried for the characters who are in the in-between realm. Not so much Team RWBY, but I’m worried about Nora, Jaune, and Penny. So yeah, I’m pretty much worried about everyone and very much not ready. Now let me ignore RWBY’s existence for a week – or only reblog posts I already have saved as drafts – because it’s the only way I’ll know peace.