#despite him going through most of things decidedly on his own

[trlvsn]

also sorry for being aro on main but friendly reminder to view characters as individual beings if you want to fully understand them and analyze them properly. while relationships can be a way to push a character to a certain point of development and explore them better you gotta snap out of the fanon ship-enduced mindset every once in a while you just gotta

[wttcsms]

reo's younger sister!reader x pro!nagi!!! after a major argument with father dearest, you decide that this is it! you are going to strike it out on your own! and by strike it out on your own, you mean not outright depending on your family. this means you're totally fine with reo venmo'ing you thousands of dollars so you can sustain your way of living, but you still stubbornly refuse to live with him despite the fact that he's always away to play soccer, so it wouldn't be that big of a deal. but nooo, you just have a bit too much pride to 100% rely on the love of your brother.

apparently, it's hard to find a decent apartment to match your standards (and give you the closet space you crave), so you decide to seek out someone you're comfortable enough with to bum off of while not feeling too bad about it: your older brother's best friend, nagi.

you're not the greatest at domestic activities, but you convince him that you'll gladly cook and keep the apartment clean if he lets you stay there. by that, you mean you can order takeout and hire someone to spruce up the place. nagi can't be bothered to do these things for himself most days, so he agrees.

you get the freedom of living away from your family, and nagi finds that his life is easier. until being roommates with you is decidedly making his life harder. you walk around the apartment in skimpy pajamas, and nagi pretends not to notice. he pretends not to recognize the scent of your lotion and shampoo, or how he's going through the hassle of ordering refills for your skincare when he notices that your bottles in the bathroom are nearing empty. he goes through the trouble of explaining every video game's instructions to you because you decide you want to play with him when he comes home from practice, but you never listen and just smash random keys, and he pretends that you won at mario kart and smash bros fair and square even though he let you win (he never lets anyone win; it has to be earned. but when you look so excited and get all happy because you "beat him", what else is he supposed to do?) when you get a fashion internship but don't come home at your usual time, nagi — nagi who doesn't waste any movement, doesn't like to go through any sort of trouble — starts moving quickly. he's panicking. the driver of the private car he requested won't pick him up in time, and he decides that he'll make it faster if he runs to the office you work at.

it turns out, you haven't left because there's a strange man loitering outside the office; the same one who keeps catcalling you, and you got too scared to leave once work was finished. nagi walks you home, wasting his breath to lecture you on how you should've just called him to pick you up.

"i didn't want you to go out of your way to help me." you mumble, ignoring the way nagi reflexively pulls your body close to his so you can avoid something on the sidewalk.

"it wouldn't be a hassle for me." he tells you, not mentioning that anything concerning you is never too much for him.

(he walks you home every night.)

[inaconstantstateofchange]

okay so when reading the final chapter of svsss volume three, the interactions between yue qingyuan and tianlang-jun are so—

Shen Qingqiu wanted to say something when Tianlang-Jun raised his chin, squinting at Yue Qingyuan. “I remember you.” After thinking for a bit, he said with conviction, “Back then, the Huan Hua Palace’s old geezer wanted you to help him with the ambush, but you ignored him. So you’re the current sect leader of Cang Qiong Mountain? Not bad.” “Your distinguished self’s memory is also quite good.” Tianlang-Jun smiled and smiled, then gave a sigh. “If you were also trapped in a pitch-back darkness for over ten years, unable to glimpse the sky or sun, with nothing to pass the days but for reminiscing over past affairs, your memory would be quite good as well.”

tianlang-jun remembered him, and while yes, it's clear he has a pretty good memory and might also be using it as a way to throw his potential enemy off-balance, it is still a very interesting way to go about it. and the rejoinder yue qingyuan sends back at him, perfectly polite - even respectful! - totally unflappable—tell me you do not see the potential there!!

but never fear, if you are not yet convinced, i have more:

Tianlang-Jun continued to sit upon his stone, completely at ease. “I remember that you also waited until the last moment to draw your sword that day,” he said to Yue Qingyuan. “Doing the same now?” Yue Qingyuan didn’t answer.

tianlang-jun remembered a lot about yue qingyuan, even small details like his sword, and the actions he took (or didn't) upon the day of tianlang-jun's betrayal. to me, this reads as though, even then, he took note of yue qingyuan's power as something to look out for. he is also, despite all of the other people around, primarily engaging in conversation with yue qingyuan.

Tianlang-Jun pulled his hand back and smiled. “Honestly, in the beginning I had no malice, nor did I find fun in the idea of the world burning. I only occasionally crossed the border, coming here to sing songs or read books—it was quite nice. However, since I’ve already been in residence beneath Bai Lu Mountain for so many years, if I don’t follow through on something along the lines of your thoughts, I’d truly find my circumstances a bit too unjustified.” Yue Qingyuan flicked his finger. Xuan Su sprang three inches from its sheath, its spiritual energy seething. The bones of Tianlang-Jun’s body cracked and popped, almost like his joints had been dislocated. He made a sound of surprise. “As expected of a sect leader. Not bad. Your master was quite mediocre but had quite the eye for disciples and successors.”

okay first of all, the tension here is remarkable, and second of all, the compliment at the end—tianlang-jun, for the power level we know he possesses, is being practically effusive with his praise of yue qingyuan's strength something we know to be greatly prized by demons.

this segment follows the previous directly, but i had to give it it's own spotlight, for reasons that i hope will be readily apparent:

Then Tianlang-Jun reached out and grabbed Xuan Su’s blade directly, as if he couldn’t feel a thing. “But why not draw it all the way?” he said with a smile. “You can’t do anything to me with only this much.” Yue Qingyuan’s gaze hardened, and Xuan Su jumped another half-inch from its sheath.

tianlang-jun: oho, you'll need more than that much to handle me, big guy

(jokes aside, considering the rampant spiritual energy of xuan su, described as so powerful as to be oppressive in volume 2, and the susceptibility of demons to spiritual energy, tianlang-jun is truly doing the absolute Most™ right now.)

... moving decidedly away from jokes now, this is one of the most pivotal lines for them, in my opinion. it comes at the conclusion of wu chen's reveal of the betrayal-that-wasn't, and how su xiyan chose death over bringing harm to tianlang-jun, only for it to find him regardless:

“It wasn’t that she didn’t care about you, but that she was without alternative. Yet the world is pitiless, and so you passed each other by…” Tianlang-Jun’s lips seemed to tremble slightly. A long moment passed. Then he said, “Is that so?” Right after those three words, he asked again, “Truly?” “This one swears upon his life that his words contain not a single falsehood,” said Master Wu Chen. Tianlang-Jun turned his head to look at Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan. As if seeking confirmation, he asked, “Truly?” He didn’t even care whether someone was in the know; he was just asking anyone he could. Unable to say anything, Yue Qingyuan silently lowered his head. It was unclear what he thought.

it is clear that the tragedy of su xiyan and tianlang-jun was one that yue qingyuan felt keenly, not only for his response here, clearly processing some significant emotion, but also for the way that he used the same words to describe his relationship with shen jiu just a short time later:

“I really…didn’t mean to not return,” said Yue Qingyuan. “Only, it really is true that the world is pitiless, and so the two of us passed each other by…”

pardon me while a cry a new freshwater body into existence.

there is truly so much more that can be said about what makes these two a great fit for each other, especially in a canon-adjacent/post-canon scenario, but i'll save that for another day. for now, i will let these excerpts speak for themselves.

[brujahinaskirt]

Okay, I obviously made the above post as a leetle joke, but since it's getting not insignificant traction, I do want to offer a more serious note.

I love this about Arthur. It's probably my favorite thing about him, but let me use this fresh new RDR2 meta post to clarify exactly what I mean. Despite the aspects of his personality & appearance that are traditionally hypermasculine, and despite how often he is annoyed with people (especially incompetents or people who meddle with his plans), Arthur is decidedly NOT annoyed by the social performance of femininity or by traits that are/were frequently stereotyped as feminine. Ever. Regardless of subject. I might go so far as to say he seems to canonically prefer hanging out with women and with "feminine" men.

Your long-winded, bullet-pointed analysis is below!

The Girls. Most noticeably, Arthur actually sits down to talk with and actively confides in the camp Girls (Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen) more than anyone else around. These three are the most traditionally "girly" (single, 20s, active, pretty, unattached, highly social, feminine, chatty) members of the gang, though of course they are still criminals and don't perfectly adhere to all period-typical standards of feminine comportment. He doesn't mock the girls** like he sometimes does with other auxiliary members of the gang (like Uncle and Pearson, playful or not). Notably, he doesn't even gently tease Mary-Beth for writing her "silly" romance novels, a highly feminized hobby which she speaks about in a self-depreciating manner, much like Arthur speaks about his own artistic hobbies. Rather, he talks to her about writing like a peer and encourages her to write more by going out of his way to get her a nice pen. Crucially, there is no canon romantic or sexual interest in any of the girls on Arthur's behalf. He just feels the most comfortable in their company and seems to value their advice/opinions on life the most. To me, this is much stronger proof than his forever-burning torch for the cultured & ladylike Mary, which is (or was once) rooted in romantic desire. ** Unless the player persists in Antagonizing them, and these lines (while sometimes shockingly cruel and offhandedly sexual in nature; see Arthur teasing Tilly about pursuing Javier) are largely about goading them for laziness or, in Karen's case, her alcoholism. That said, many of the Antagonize lines strike me as clumsily tacked-on & poorly rooted in canon, which could indicate: (1) an Arthur who is deliberately trying to be disruptive (a generous interpretation), or (2) writers instructed to add throwaway content that will make a certain type of childishly misanthropic gamer (think 13 y.o. boys) squeal in glee with relatively low impact on the overall story.

Campmates. Following the above point... who doesn't Arthur hang out with much? The manly men of the gang; the very people social mores suggest he ought to be hanging out with. Bill, Micah, Joe, Cleet, and even Dutch. (To some extent, this includes John and Sean, but I'd say John sort of lives at the edges of gang life anyway, and Sean is, well, Sean.) Conversely, which male gang members does Arthur hang out with a lot? Sweet little bookish Lenny, a wordy, positive-energy, breezy intellectual who has just barely become an adult. Introspective, soft-voiced, long-haired Charles, who is traditionally masculine by some standards (strong, usually calm, can be standoffish) but decidedly NOT so when his appearance/demeanor is judged by the white Christian American male standards that began to dominate masculinity concepts in the later decades of the 1800s.

Algernon. Oh, my, Algernon. Arthur clearly dislikes Algernon's fancy, loud, outrageous clothing. But weirdly, he seems to like Algernon, not just tolerate him. Arthur in fact goes through significant personal discomfort to avoid hurting Algernon's feelings (the awful hat, the POST.MAN. sobbing), and he immediately says yes to having tea with him without any awareness of a coming business proposition, though half the time Arthur clearly has no fucking clue what Algernon is talking about. I am left to conclude that on some level, he just enjoys hearing Algernon talk, which is word-for-word what he says while listening to the Girls argue about romance novels ("I just like listening to you [all] talk." Hello????). I mean, for God's sake, he meets the man while he's choking to death on a nut at a fancy party, and the second thing Algernon does is tell him he looks like a guy who wears a corset. If anything was going to set off the boiling defensiveness of a dude who worships masculinity, thirty seconds with Algie would have done it.

Margaret, Mistress of Fucking Danger. It's pretty clear Arthur doesn't like Margaret. But that has little to do with Margaret's femininity & cross-dressing (this doesn't faze him at all when Charles Châtenay does it; more on that below) and everything to do with Margaret's deceptiveness and highly selective memory. It's not until the bullshittery unveils itself that Arthur starts getting visibly pissed off at Margaret. Conversely, Arthur does seem more positively disposed toward Sally Nash. (That said, this quest has a lot of problems and poorly aged lines that are depressingly easy for a politically motivated jerkoff to soundbite and miscast as Rockstar being pro-bigot. Cue 800 heterobnoxious gamerbro ARTHUR MORGAN ULTIMATE ANTI SNOWFLAKE SIGMA MALE OF THE WEST YouTube videos.)

Albert, my beloved. Rather than goading him to man up, Arthur tries to persuade Albert (whom he very obviously likes) to pick safer animal photography subjects, e.g. horses, and doesn't insult him for his lack of wilderness knowledge (an aspect of traditional manliness that is highly relevant to Arthur's lifestyle). You'd think he would tear into him for this shortcoming, given that they share so many of the same interests and passions, and IMO his genuine eagerness to serve as Albert's protector and facilitate his art is highly convincing evidence that Arthur does not necessarily view masculinity as a net positive.

Arthur is a basic goddamn boyfriend-hater. He pretty much harshly disapproves of every husband, boyfriend, male partner, etc. in the game and is very, very vocal about it... except one extremely unlikely candidate: Beau Gray. Weak, dandy artist Beau Gray, whom Arthur takes one look at and promptly hands the only gun to Penelope. Arthur is curt and impish to Beau at times, but helps him in his relationship troubles willingly (without collecting repayment), and seemingly for no other reason than the fact he can see that soft, fearful Beau is genuinely head-over-heels in love with Penelope. Is he projecting his own young love for Mary onto them? Maybe/probably, but Beau could not possibly be more different from young Arthur, and Arthur seems to believe this difference will make him a good husband for Penelope. A good husband, in Arthur's view, seems to simply be a man who ardently loves his beloved, regardless of his ability to provide for/protect her, and whose only goal in life is to live that life at her side. This is completely antithetical to mainstream late-1800s views on what constitutes a good husband and what it means to be a man.

Châtenay. Arthur shows us some of the most obvious delight and mirth he experiences in the game when he's hanging out with Charles "Allo Boys" Châtenay, who is straight up in drag a third of that time. This baffles Arthur a little, but doesn't disgust or repel him. I've written about this mission elsewhere at greater length because it is one of my favorite disasters, but it's worth mentioning here too.

Trelawny. Arthur clearly enjoys Trelawny despite his grumbly claims to the contrary. Most of these "claims" are just Arthur's established way of affectionate teasing (he does much the same with Uncle and Pearson, both of whom he genuinely likes). His authentic gripes about Trelawny are all about a perceived flightiness/lack of loyalty to the gang, not about his flamboyance. And even these gripes are half-assed, in Arthur's usual way.

Bluegills & Daisy Chains. One of the most genuine moments of softness we have with Arthur in RDR2 is when he takes Little Jack out of the camp to go fishing. Arthur's usually a much truer version of himself when he doesn't have to play the Big Bad Gang Lieutenant role, but this moment of escape is especially important, and not just because Arthur reveals his fondness for children and his natural understanding of how to talk to them. I notice this: Arthur tries to gently teach Jack about fishing, and Jack is completely fucking uninterested. Jack prefers to make flower chains for his mommy. Arthur doesn't scold him for his drifting attention or his lack of attraction to masculine past-times; on the contrary, Arthur goes out of his way to encourage and protect Jack's natural sweetness and innocence. That's a wild stance for a murdering outlaw to have re: the "next generation" of his family. Hell, I've encountered far too many 21st century dads in my own family who flip their shit when their tiny sons prefer hanging out with women & partaking in "womanly" hobbies like art, cooking, and flowers rather than hunting and fishing.

"...and be a god damn man." This seems like classic masculine bluster on the surface, but what does this keynote line mean in the context in which Arthur says it? Well, it's complicated. This statement serves as (a) Arthur's goodbye to John, (b) Arthur's final call to action for John, and (c) Arthur's last wish for his brother's life. But it certainly does not mean standing and fighting or being tough; i.e., "dying like a man." In that moment, it means abandoning all masculine bluster and revenge fantasy, and running away: leaving violence and fighting and brotherhood and all that crap behind to simply be there (alive, present) for your wife and son.

The Best Women People. Who are the best people Arthur knows, by his own crystal-clear declaration? Abigail and Sadie. Sadie's a rough-and-tumble, super-violent gunslinger and Abigail's a stubborn thief & a former sex worker (in the time Arthur has known her), but they are also, critically, two wives: the most traditional feminine role for a woman of the time period (and indeed perhaps most of human history once the concept of "wife" subsumed that of "mother"). It's also important to note that Arthur doesn't truly give up on Dutch until Dutch abandons Abigail, which serves as Arthur's point of no return. The other men left in the gang at this point specifically note that she's "just a woman" and not worth going back for. Arthur is straight-up shocked by all of this; he obviously considers her among the most worthwhile and value-having members of the gang, and certainly one of the most core members of the gang. Without any hesitation or doubt, the instant it's clear Dutch is cutting Abigail loose, Arthur declares: "That's that, then."

tl;dr: Arthur unironically prefers hanging out with women and queens and I love that for them.

[growup-thatbeautiful]

Okay, now that you've introduced us to gym crush Dave, what about gym bf Dave where he's a lot more confident in watching you do your sets, and being a total hype gym bf <3

(Sorry if it's not descriptive enough... it's late asf and I'm tired)

aww this is adorable! thanks for the request lovely 🧡 sequel to this fic but not necessary to have read :) short n sweet for this one

The gym isn’t crowded today; you thank the early hour for the emptiness. It’s not your preferred time (5 A.M is a little too early for you), but Dave couldn’t find any other room in his schedule, and it’s always better to have a built-in-boyfriend/gym partner.

You’re benching, the rhythmic movement up and down timed with your breathing, sweat making your hair stick to your forehead. The burning in your arms has already started, a feeling on the edge of pain. You already finished one set, following the plan that you and Dave made this week for your goals together. If it was anyone else, you would’ve told them to fuck off for talking about your workout routine; but it’s how you and Dave connect, among other things. Somehow, it’s easy to listen to his guidance and his encouragement. It helps that he’s always the most sincere, quietly supportive person that you know.

He’s beside you now, scrolling through his phone while he takes a break. There’s a layer of sweat covering his body, the black material of his shorts and tank-top doing nothing to hide his muscles.

Through the haze of your music, you hear Dave’s voice, always patient and calm. “You can do more than that.”

“What?” you ask, frustration seeping through your tone. Ever since you started working out with him, your routine has become decidedly harder, which you’re both thankful for and tired of. It’s undeniable that Dave pushes you past your limits in the best way possible. He takes a step closer to you, leaving his own weights on the ground.

“Come on, baby. You can do more than that. Here-” he helps you rack your weight and adds another five to both sides “you go. Try now.”

“Dave,” you start, peeling yourself off from the sticky plastic of the bench, “I could barely do what I was already doing.”

“But you did it,” he points out. “You go until failure, right? So add more.”

Reasonably, you know he’s right. You’ve got more in you, even though you may not feel like it, but the heaviness of your breathing and the shakiness of your limbs protest.

“Fine,” you huff, ignoring the grin on his face. “But you have to spot me, bub.”

“Of course.” Easily, he steps around you to get into position, ready to help if you need it. There’s no one you trust more than him to spot you; he’s always unfailing protective of you. Quietly, when you lift the bar from the resting position, he urges you on. “You got it, honey.”

Breathing in, you bring the bar to your chest and pause before pushing it back up, breathing out. One rep. Two reps. Dave’s voice steadily counting as you keep going, encouragements littered in-between. You finish the first set and take a breath, sitting up.

“There you go, baby,” Dave cheers quietly, his headphones around his neck, curls sticking out in all directions despite your attempt to pin his hair back. “See, you didn’t even need my help,” he points out.

“Asshole,” you grin, popping the knuckles in your hand. He sees it and takes your hand in his own, massaging your knuckles and giving your wrists a squeeze before helping you lay back down on the bench.

The next set passes and the next set passes, until you can’t lift anymore and Dave has to help you rerack your weights. Your arms are bone tired, burning, and shaking.

“Good job, baby,” he says once you’re sitting up, your face flushed and heated with sweat. There’s pride on his face that makes you feel proud of yourself. “I knew you could do it.”

“That makes one of us,” you reply, taking his hand when he offers it to you. He grabs your water too and hands it to you, and you gratefully take it.

“Come on, have a little faith. You’ve got a great coach, you know.” Running a hand through his curls, Dave starts his own set, not waiting for you to start again, which you appreciate.

When he takes his next break, you take a look around the gym to make sure that no one else is looking your direction. Once you’re satisfied, you wrap your arms around his neck, sweat be damned, and peck him gently. “Thank you,” you whisper before pulling away, leaving Dave to stare at you, open-mouthed, his eyes wide and surprised.

“You’re going to pay for that later,” he warns breathlessly, a half-grin on his face.

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling his headphones back up to cover his ears. “I’m counting on it, coach.”

[pastelitey]

Solidaritek: Rain Check

Rainy days are perfect for staying inside and catching up on some much needed housework, at least in Jimmy’s book. So despite the gloomy weather, things are looking sunny side-up for them—that is, until Tango winds up sick, and is officially down and out for the count. But Jimmy can still clean, run errands and take care of his sick boyfriend all at the same time, right? Right? word count: 3753 paring: Jimmy/Tango tags: Sickfic, Domestic Fluff, Rainy Days, Sleepy Cuddles [ao3 link]

Jimmy, ever the optimist, has lots of plans for the weekend. The gloomy forecast has done nothing to damper his mood, seeing as most of his plans actively involve staying indoors. Despite having officially moved in with Tango nearly two months ago, the apartment is still a mess with all of their things that have yet to be organized. And it doesn’t help that they’ve seriously neglected chores because of their respectively busy schedules, so there is some much needed housekeeping Jimmy is decidedly finally cracking down on.

Suffice it to say, Jimmy’s got a lot on his plate for this weekend, and he’s not going to let anything stop him from getting some work done.

That is until Tango gets sick out of nowhere and the equivalent of twenty toolboxes’ worth of wrenches are thrown into Jimmy’s plans.

Jimmy swears that he’s never seen anyone get as sick so spontaneously as Tango manages to. Sure, he’s used to the occasional allergy spell or stomach bug knocking him or a friend out for a day or two, but when Tango gets sick—even if it’s the mildest little cough—it always ends up spiraling into him having to be on bedrest for a week. Maybe the guy’s just got an awful immune system, but Jimmy’s not sure that even Tango knows why he gets sick so easily.

With the shift in seasons approaching as March slowly droned by, they were both preparing for Tango to come down with something eventually. Knowing Jimmy’s luck, he should have expected that it would happen just as he was planning on actually being productive.

Saturday morning goes a little like this: waking up to both his alarm going off and the sound of rain falling outside the window. He shuts it off as quickly as possible in lieu of not waking Tango, who is currently swaddled under pretty much every single blanket that they own. Jimmy wipes the sleep from his eyes as he warily watches the blob on the other side of the bed, and though the blankets do shift a little, it appears as if Jimmy was successful in not waking his sleeping boyfriend.

He slips out of bed and stretches out his aching joints before shuffling over to the window to peek through the blinds. The fluffy clouds hide the rising sun from view and the rain patters gently and rhythmically on the concrete a few floors below, kicking up a mist that shrouds the view. It’s pretty peaceful watching the rain from the window, but he’s acutely aware of how he very much would like to not get caught outside in this weather if he can help it.

After he’s shucked off his pajamas in favor of some more appropriate clothes for the day, he finally sets about getting some stuff done. Even if Tango’s unable to help, Jimmy’s still determined to be productive around the apartment as best he can.

He begins by taking out the trash by Tango’s bedside and replacing the liner, making sure to work as quietly as possible. He replaces the trash liner in the kitchen as well and leaves the bags by the front door for later disposal. The kitchen itself definitely needs some TLC, so before he can start on breakfast he works on tidying up. He wipes down the countertops and puts all the left out boxes and jars back in their respective homes, and even does a little bit of organizing in the cupboards and fridge while he’s at it. Jimmy cringes when he sees all the dishes he’s let pile up in the sink and wonders how they haven’t started smelling yet. So he loads the dishwasher next and puts away what clean dishes have been left out, and by the time he’s done with that it’s only been thirty minutes since his alarm went off, which feels like a success, if you ask him.

After cleaning off the table and sweeping the tile Jimmy decides it’s sufficiently clean enough for him to shift his focus to the matter of breakfast without feeling guilty. After surveying the meager contents of the fridge—all the while mentally adding grocery shopping to his ever-growing to-do list—he begins scrounging together the ingredients for omelets. As much as Tango loves pancakes, Jimmy just made some for him last night, and he can only have so many of the fluffy cakes before it starts getting repetitive.

As he’s letting the stovetop warm up while mixing together all the ingredients, the bedroom door creaks open—which quickly adds oil the door hinges to his list. Craning his neck, he gets a good look at Tango, swaddled up in blankets and looking for all the world like a bear reluctant to come out of hibernation, as the man waddles into the kitchen. He’d never say it aloud as it would surely only agitate him further, but Jimmy does find it kinda cute when Tango’s nose and cheeks are red like they are now.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Jimmy asks, ensuring to keep his tone down. He pours the first round of eggs into the skillet, one eye on the stovetop and the other on his sleep-hazy boyfriend.

Tango shakes his head, agitating his sleep-mussed hair even further. “Nah,” he says groggily, his words rough around the edges thanks to the sickness. Jimmy gives him a little sympathetic smile before turning back to the task at hand.

Wandering up behind him, Tango wraps his arms around Jimmy’s midsection and leans up against him. Jimmy huffs affectionately as Tango nuzzles into him, slowing his movements reflexively. “Have you taken your temperature this morning?” he asks while he carefully folds the omelet in the skillet.

“Don’ wanna,” comes Tango’s muffled reply. Jimmy rolls his eyes, leaning awkwardly in Tango’s grip to grab a plate to put the omelet on.

“Might wanna get on that.” He presents Tango with the omelet, who eyes it hungrily. The arms slip away from Jimmy’s sides to support the plate and Tango toddles off to the island, the length of the blanket suspended around his shoulders flapping the whole way. Once Tango is successfully situated at the newly cleaned island, Jimmy begins to work on his own omelet.

“Will you pass me the hot sauce?” Tango asks after Jimmy’s poured his eggs into the skillet, making grabby motions towards the countertop that the condiments are situated on.

Jimmy narrows his gaze incredulously at Tango. “The spice isn’t good for your throat, Tango.”

Tango grumbles in response, making puppy-dog eyes at Jimmy. “But I want to actually taste it, Jim!”

“Not today, sorry.” He steps over to the island and slides the salt and pepper shakers closer to Tango with a grin. Tango makes a big show of sighing loftily before accepting the salt and pepper shakers, much to his own chagrin.

While the majority of his to-do list for the day involves tidying up, the very first item on the agenda is to take care of Tango, because who doesn’t appreciate being looked after while they’re sick?

When Jimmy’s omelet is done he slides it across the island to the other stool and then makes a beeline for the bathroom, where he rummages around in the drawers for the thermometer. He emerges triumphant and sets the thermometer down in front of the perturbed Tango, before planting an affectionate kiss on top of the man’s head.

“We need to work on keeping your fever down,” Jimmy says as he sits beside Tango, equipping his utensils to dig into his own breakfast. “Which means a lot more fluids and a lot less blankets.”

Tango huffs out a little whine as he removes the protective covering of the thermometer. “But it’s so cold…”

Before Tango can protest, Jimmy reaches over and plants his palm over Tango’s forehead. Tango makes a noise of discordance, but does not try to evade Jimmy’s touch. He’s not as warm as he was yesterday when the sickness began to ramp up, but the unnatural warmth is still definitely there.

“Still warm.” He pats the thermometer a couple times encouragingly, meeting Tango’s unimpressed look with a zany smile.

When breakfast is had and Tango’s temperature has finally been taken—lower from yesterday, but still higher than Jimmy would prefer—Jimmy is able to get back to tidying up the apartment. The dishes are minimal from breakfast, and Tango even volunteers to put the silverware away. He instructs Tango to drink some water before he runs the trash down the hall to the chute, and when he returns Tango has situated himself on the couch.

“We should watch a movie,” Tango says, remote in hand as he scrubs through the available channels.

“You can turn one on.” Jimmy cringes as he steps across the threshold into the living room, just now noticing how dirty the coffee table is and how he can’t seem to escape doing the dishes this morning. He uses one arm to scoop up the left-out cups and the other to pull one of Tango’s blankets off of him, much to the man’s protest. 

It’s a juggle of sorting through their yet-to-be organized boxes of things and checking up on Tango—who is more than content to lay on the couch watching his favorite 80s movies, repeating his favorite lines that he has memorized by heart, all the while poking little jabs at Jimmy when he can. It’s endearing in a way that Jimmy doesn’t shy away from.

By the time Jimmy feels like he’s done enough to be able to vacuum, Tango has paused his movie so he doesn’t miss anything important; the irony of ‘missing something’ in a movie he’s seen countless times does not go unmissed by Jimmy.

As he works his way around the living room, attempting to be both quick and thorough at the same time, he makes sure to voice his apologies to Tango. “Sorry,” he says when he vacuums right behind the couch, leaning over it and using one arm to move Tango’s wrist upwards so that he can kiss his palm. “Sorry,” he says right before pecking Tango on the forehead as he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table. “Sorry,” he says when he finally turns the vacuum off, stepping over and leaning down to press a kiss against the corner of Tango’s mouth.

But before he can, Tango makes a noise of protest and gently pushes him on his chest. “I’m going to get you sick,” he half-laughs out, but the smile on his face gives him away. 

“Hm,” Jimmy says contemplatively, unable to deny himself the pleasure of mirroring Tango’s own smile, “Don’t really care.” He settles for a kiss against Tango’s cheek instead, which thankfully comes with less protest from his boyfriend.

“Well you’re gonna care when you end up on the other side of this couch sick with me.” Tango looks up at Jimmy with this indescribable sparkle in his eyes, one that makes Jimmy feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

Jimmy stands up tall and pretends to flex, getting a kick out of the way Tango rolls his eyes. “I’ve got a strong immune system!” He says, even as Tango’s wacking him in the side with one of the throw pillows, the both of them giggling the whole way.

Ten or so minutes later Tango’s phone rings, alerting them that his prescription is ready. So Jimmy’s plans for the day are once more offset as he realizes he is going to have to go out in the rain after all, which still hasn’t let up from this morning.

Shucking on his rain coat and the pair of sneakers he’s least attached to, Jimmy decides to brave the downpour. The raindrops are heavy and cold, so he zips up his coat as tight as possible. The pharmacy is at the corner store just a few blocks down, so there’s no use driving. Considering his luck, he’s not surprised that he has to wait at every single crosswalk, but he’s still dry-ish when he finally makes it into the corner store.

He quickly gets sidetracked, though, when he passes down the canned foods aisle and gets an idea.

“Gem!” he greets when his friend’s face appears on his phone screen, only the top portion of her face visible from this angle. “Quick, what’s the best type of soup for someone who’s ill?”

“Hello to you, too, Jimmy,” says Gem with a little tired laugh. “Are you ill? You don’t look ill.” She squints into the camera lens, which only makes her look sillier given the way her phone screen reflects in the lenses of her glasses.

Jimmy lets out a small laugh, squatting down to survey all his options. “No, not me, Tango.”

Gem backs away from her phone screen, wincing. “Yeesh. Good luck with that.”

“I’m working on it. Now, soup?”

“Ah, yes!” Almost immediately her expression sours. “Wait, why are you asking me this? Pearl is the soup expert!” Before Jimmy can stop her, Gem tilts her head over what looks to be the top of her couch, and shouts, “Pearl! Can you come here?”

Seconds later Pearl appears in frame, the screen now divided between the both of them. “What’s up, Jimmy?” Pearl says in greeting as she spots him on the other side of the facetime call.

“He needs soup advice,” Gem explains to her roommate, all the while adjusting the positioning of the glasses on her face.

The gasp that erupts from Pearl is nothing short of overjoyed. “You need soup advice? I got soup advice! So much soup advice!”

What was supposed to be a quick facetime turns into a soup hunt extravaganza as the three of them work out which soup has the best flavor to medicinal value ratio, while still keeping in mind cost and size of the soup can. They end up settling for a creamy chicken noodle soup, which is probably what Jimmy would have gone with from the get-go, but he doesn’t mind using the excuse to talk to his friends on a gloomy day when bad weather and long-neglected chores keeps them apart.

Gem and Pearl accompany him to the pharmacy counter and wait with him while he gets Tango’s meds, and they say their goodbyes when Jimmy’s suiting up to brave the rain once more. Luckily the weather has let up a little bit to the point of a drizzle, but that doesn’t stop the cars on the street from whizzing by and attempting to drench him with dirty street water.

When he finally makes it back to the apartment with the prescriptions and soup in hand, the movie has ended and Tango is snoring softly on the couch. He stirs as Jimmy moves around the apartment, so when Jimmy walks over with the prescription in hand the man is awake enough to register that the pills are for him.

“Here you go!” Jimmy says, waving the prescription bag in front of him. Tango takes it from him and begins rummaging through it as Jimmy stands at the ready with a glass of ice water. “Drink up! Or, would swallow up work better in this context?”

Tango barks out a startled laugh before clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. Jimmy feels his face warm as he realizes the dirty connotations in his own words, but it seems like Tango’s getting a kick out of it, at the very least.

“Please never say that again,” Tango laughs out, sitting up so he can take the glass of water from Jimmy. He plops down beside Tango on the couch and uses the opportunity to remove his sneakers while Tango takes his meds.

“I got some soup while I was out,” Jimmy says after a moment. “I was thinking, I could draw you a bath and warm up some soup for lunch while you’re at it.” He gently nudges his shoulder against Tango’s, craving any semblance of closeness to him despite his illness.

Leaning into Jimmy, Tango buries his head in the crook of Jimmy’s neck. He gives a small dreamy sigh that Jimmy’s pretty certain is overdramatized as he slips his hand into Jimmy’s. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You deserve all this and more, Jimmy thinks. If I could snap my fingers and make you better I would, but for now I will settle for fighting your fever and making you tea.

He gets the bath going and sets out clean clothes for Tango in the meantime, and performs a quick tidy of their closet, which really only involves throwing the clothes from on the floor into the hamper. There is a half-filled basket of clean clothes from the other day that Tango has yet to fold, so he gets that done speedily and then begins heating up the soup for lunch. They’ve got a loaf of bread that is on the edge of its expiration date that he butters and adds some garlic salt to to compliment their soup, which is about when Tango finishes with his bath and emerges from the bathroom. His hair is damp and sticks to his face, but he looks a little more lively than before.

Tango hums along to the music Jimmy turned on for background noise while he cooked, and he begins gathering bowls and utensils for their lunch. Jimmy can’t help but watch from the sidelines as Tango pads around the kitchen gracefully, even as he turns away every so often to cough or sneeze into his elbow. But the sickness never really deters Jimmy, who has, in truth, always been captivated by Tango.

Wordlessly the two of them work in tandem to prepare their lunch, a well oiled machine that they’ve perfected after so many afternoons and nights spent in one another’s company. It’s at moments like these that Jimmy questions why he was ever worried about asking Tango to move in with him, when the truth of the matter is that they go perfectly together.

When their meal is ready, Tango compliments Jimmy’s choice of soup and they sit down to enjoy it. Jimmy tells Tango all about his adventure to the corner store and how Pearl and Gem assisted in his soup quest, and Tango eagerly listens the whole way. Jimmy’s noticed that when Tango is very focused on him or something he’s saying, he makes a certain facial expression, one that Jimmy just so happens to find very cute. Unfortunately for him, he’s not allowed to kiss Tango until he’s perfectly healthy to prevent Jimmy from getting sick as well, so he settles for simply relishing in the way Tango looks at him.

Halfway through their meal when conversation has lulled, Tango gently kicks Jimmy’s ankle underneath the table to get his attention and grins mischievously at him. “So I was thinking…” He begins, looking positively pleased with himself.

Jimmy raises his eyebrows playfully as he lifts a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “Mm. Dangerous.”

“Shut up!” Tango squawks, kicking Jimmy’s ankle more forcefully this time. Jimmy laughs, both at himself and Tango’s overdramatic reactions, which in turn gets Tango giggling too. He gains his composure after a few seconds and continues, “Okay, hear me out. You take a break from cleaning and running errands and just generally being amazing and watch a movie with me.” He grins at Jimmy with that insanely bright smile of his, the one that makes Jimmy want to just melt into him.

But the temptation of relaxing alongside his boyfriend brings with it an immense amount of guilt at not getting around to everything he wanted to today—there’s still groceries to be bought and door hinges to be oiled and plants to be watered and probably countless other things he hasn’t noticed that need his attention.

 He worries at his bottom lip, setting down his utensils to be able to focus more. “I dunno, Tango. It feels like there’s still so much to be done.”

Tango rolls his eyes and leans back into his chair. “Oh, come on. You deserve some rest too!” He makes a big show of looking around the apartment and waving his arms around. “And, plus, you’ve already done so much! What’s the harm in a little movie-watch-ification?”

He does make a good point, Jimmy realizes: he’s gotten a lot done already, and it’s only noon. It couldn’t hurt to unwind for an hour or two, right?

Really, it was a losing battle for Jimmy from the very beginning, because A) Tango’s ideas are nine out of ten times good ones, and B) Jimmy’s always had a hard time saying no to Tango, especially when he smiles so radiantly at him.

So, with a big show of huffing and shaking his head, Jimmy effectively throws in the towel. “Fine,” he says, which immediately makes Tango’s eyes light up, “but only one movie!”

“Can I pick the movie?” Tango asks, standing up from his seat while collecting his dirty dishes. When Jimmy nods, Tango whoops as he makes a beeline for the sink, already going off about all the classics that Jimmy has embarrassingly never seen before their relationship.

Tango is in charge of setting up the movie as Jimmy washes up—for what is now the fourth time he’s washed the dishes this morning—so when he makes it to the living room with two water glasses in hand, the movie is ready and Tango is eager waiting for him with arms outstretched. Jimmy lowers himself onto the couch beside Tango and they slot into place as Tango starts up the movie. He manages to sneak in a quick kiss against Tango’s cheek as the opening credits begin to roll and then he’s finally able to settle, lulled by the sense of safety and security that comes with being close to Tango. Even though he feels like there’s still much to be done, he reminds himself that he’s done enough for now and should be allowed to enjoy some time with his sick boyfriend during their time off.

And even if Jimmy himself winds up sick at the end of it all from not being careful around Tango illness, he won’t regret having been there for his boyfriend when he needed him; Tango will be there to take care of him in return, Jimmy is sure.

They’re perfect for each other, in that way.

[riddlebot]

DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD - my thoughts and feelings after beating the game. obviously, spoilers for the whole thing. <3

so starting with pros, since i do have criticisms and i don't want it to immediately sound like i'm hating on the game when i genuinely had a great time playing it and there were a lot of things i liked, so i'll start with the good.

i loved all the companions. in every other DA game there are companions i love and companions i decidedly do NOT like. it was a nice refresher that i loved every single companion in DAV.

the way the locations were built were kind of fun! i am used to DAI's open world, and open world in general, so to me it kind of felt like every place i went was a different Destiny dungeon lol but also it was so cool to finally be in a city. i didn't really play DA2 that much so it's new for me, i'm use to opening up DAI and being lost in the wilderness wherever i go - everytime i ran across a roof top in dock town i felt like i was playing assassin's creed.

different endings! i like that there are different endings depending on how your inquisitor feels, how your rook comes to feel, and whether or not you do all of the memory quests. i liked the ending i chose, the "good" ending, in which we convince solas to use his own life force to keep the veil up to repent for all he has done. do i feel he DESERVES this ending? no. but it's what my inquisitor, and varric, would have wanted. despite how badly my rook wanted to knife him in the face, lmao.

it's pretty!! even though i have to play on dogshit graphics so the game can even run on my dinky pc, it's such a beautiful game and every area is so fun - the only place i hated going was dock town's catacombs and thats because i kept getting lost

i actually loved all the codex entries and learning about the companions through their notes to each other or their diary entries or their book club letters like that was so cute

seeing my inquisitor again idc i felt he was perfectly in character which i know was NOT everyone's personal feelings depending on how they played but my boy was good

even thought it made me devastated i'm glad all the questions i ever had thought to ask about dragon age lore were answered and also hilarious that they are quite literally all solas and mythal's fault this is another thing i think a particular group of people are pretty upset about but it was blowing my mind

also i think solas is such a well written villain like IDK when he trapped my rook in the fade at the end i was gasping for air and so angry and the fact we watched him make so many sacrifices and then justify them over and over and then to tell us like you should be proud of how far you come did you not expect to lose anyone i was floored. and then the fact he tries to trick us into bringing down the veil again after that had my rook SEETHINGGGGG i'm not kidding if it weren't for my angel inquisitor who loved solas that man woulda died bc my rook was not fucking around anymore at that point

criticisms:

combat. on one hand it's fun, and flashy, but on the other hand i think they peaked with DAI's combat - it is fucking impossible to be a ranged attacker in this game. your character is the only one with a health bar, for some reason, so enemies do not attack your companions AT ALL and just swarm you. i often felt like my companions were doing absolutely nothing while i was drowning in demons and darkspawn. i also have no idea how the combo moves work so maybe once i figure that out i'll feel differently but i kept getting so frustrated with it. in DAI, i take blackwall and can literally build his character into a tank that draws all enemy aggro so i can pick them off from the sidelines as he holds down the fort. give my companions back their health bars so i can attack an ogre from a distance please i am begging you.

companion personal quests. i do genuinely enjoy most of them - emmerich's in particular, the one where you crash his rivals party and watch his skeleton son pretend to be one of the party's servants to get information was so fun to me, as someone whose favorite mission in the entire series is wicked eyes and wicked hearts from dai. but a lot of them felt repetitive and unnecessary. why does davrin drag me to arlathan forest every 2 seconds to do nothing and why is that a quest and not just a cutscene i don't have to like, go do as a mission? it would have made more sense to me if it was just a cutscene and i didn't have to fast travel around for it.

i also think the sheer amount of "mini bosses" was kind of absurd. why does literally every single companion have a mini boss. the only ones that make sense are neve and lucanis, since it has to do with the venatori. but everyone else it kind of seemed like the writers had all these ideas and just. put them all in to fit as much as they could into the game.

i did like most of the armor i just wish i could have dyed it and also dyed my companions so we could all match

this is coming from a transman but when i found out fucking governer ivenci was nonbinary i screamed. this game is so woke and it's genuinely very cool to see in such a huge franchise but the fact they just randomly tacked on being trans to some npcs kills me it was so hilarious. in some cases, like taash, i'm like absolutely yes in your fucking face transphobes, or like MAEVARIS I LITERALLY SCRAEMED WITH JOY WHEN I FOUND OUT SHE WAS TRANS but why ivenci that wsa so random to me JFKLDASJFK;LASDJ they're like btw nonbinary people can also be evil. and you know what. fair.

final thoughts is that i do genuinely love the game, and i am curious to see if they make any changes in updates in the future but i won't hold my breath. i love the characters very much. also, as someone who played with a noncanon solas romanced inquisitor (my inquisitor is male, so he romanced solas in dai via mods) i hate the solavellan ending where they walk into the fade prison/home together and lavellan just leaves everyone they ever knew and loved behind for a man that is crazy work. my inquisitor went through fucking hell after trespasser personally, and he is over solas and i am going to make a rook for him to end up with because i think it'd be cute and he deserves it.

anyway thats all have a good day.

[llettucestuff]

This was supposed to be a short thing about a hc I have where Chase’s frame is a bit colder than normal, and Heatwave’s a bit warmer. Instead, this kind of derailed and became… whatever this is. It’s very self-indulgent and probably a little OOC lol. This particular fic has Chase and Heatwave as Amica Endura’s btw, but I won’t always write them like that.

ALSO I haven’t written for Transformers in like, a REALLY long time so please excuse any missed terminology :]

ALSO ALSO Chase is kinda inspired by @/delkios HCs here on tumblr from like 2016, and this series on AO3, which is also inspired by delkios. More on that in the tags. Enjoy!

———

Chase muses about the general nuances between him and his Amica, and their overall relationship in relation to Griffon Rock.

Or, Chase runs cold. Heatwave runs hot. They make it work.

—

Despite his core temperature being at an optimal point for functioning, Chase still ran decidedly cold, through no fault of his own. He’d been that way ever since he was a sparkling, sitting in front of heaters trying to warm up his endlessly cool servos and pedes, never really feeling truly warm, servos always either burning hot or in their natural state of permanent cold.

His Amica, the mech after Chase’s own spark, on the other hand, ran hot like an earth furnace. Chase recalls being told various stories of Heatwave trying to cool himself down, sneaking into freezers and other places mechlings like him shouldn’t be. It was almost funny, the way they were trying to achieve the opposite of what the other was. Maybe that’s why they work so well together.

Chase’s servos were always a touch too cold to be pleasant or fully “normal,” digits sometimes stiff with inclement weather coupled with a chilled frame, Heatwave’s palms always warm and grounding, frame hot like his temper.

They were equilibrium for each other, opposites in the regard of outward frame temperature, always ready to cool one down or warm the other up. It worked, and that’s why they were Amicas.

(Not just for that sole fact, Chase would input, musing that Heatwave’s companionship meant much more to him than his admitted handiness as a personal heater).

That fact, that is, their cool and heat swapping tendencies, hasn’t changed in the many, many vorns that they had known each other, even pre-Amica Endura status. So, given that, it isn’t expected by either of them for it to change once they meet the rest of the Sigma-17 rescue team, where they meet Blades and Boulder, or when they hit Griffon Rock and discover their new mission— and it doesn’t, as they predicted so.

(It’s a touch curious and a bit of a wonder how neither Boulder nor Blades discovered their Amica status before Griffon Rock. It’s not like either we’re being particularly subtle, but they supposed that their combined general professionalism probably skewed the other two bots’ perception of them, and any private time between themselves was usually during recharge time, or so subtly done that it was overlooked. Chase would find it funny if he wasn’t so concerned about his friends perceptiveness.)

Apparently, after scanning their new vehicle modes, Chase and Heatwave’s frame temperature translated, to a degree, to the inside of their cabins. This doesn’t necessarily cause a bad problem, but, minor complications do arise.

Sometimes, Kade would gripe about the heat during the summer months, complaining that the heat made him sticky. Sometimes, Chief Burns would be a touch chilled when first entering Chase’s cab, though he never really commented on such.

Both were easily fixed and placated with the flick of a dial that had the Chief murmuring gratefully, sinking in to the warmth with a subtle but firm pat to the dashboard. On the other hand, it had Kade and Heatwave grouching at each other loudly until Heatwave finally cranked the AC as high as it would go, and, in a most petulant manner, they would spat for a few minutes longer, then acquiesce; although both Chase and Cody were proud to announce the fact that these spats and arguments had become fewer in frequency over the course of time, a fact that they took immense satisfaction in: it meant they were getting along, working together, tolerating each other’s presence. They still fought, surely, because that’s just who they were as people (and cybertronian).

(Chase would not divulge Heatwave’s late-night ramblings about his parter, ranging from words not meant for the likes of little audials, to worries about his human friend. Heatwave was shudder-to-think that Kade would actually realize that Heatwave listens to him, much less cares about him, in the covertly roundabout way that Heatwave does when he meets new people that seem to grow on him. Yes, Chase was sure Heatwave’s quiet affections were born out of nothing but pure concern about the fragileness of his squishy human partner and the rest of the Burns family.)

At the end of the day, when they had the time to spare and a near-certain guarantee of no impending emergencies to disrupt them, Heatwave would sit on the bot-sized couch, Chase’s helm cradled delicately in his lap, and they could bask in each others’ presence and talk in their native vernacular, occasionally watching human TV or reading datapads and books alike. Of course, they would swap positions interchangeably— it all depended on how the two felt on that particular night.

Heatwave’s heat would leach into Chase’s cool, and the two mechs would sit there, basking in the steady, familiar equilibrium of their soothed sparks and evenly-temperatured frames.

Sometimes, one of them would instead lay down on the couch like it was a squishy berth, and the other could lay on top, trading coolness for warmth (and vise versa), and let the steadiness wash over them, EM fields melding lazily, and systems shutting down to fall into an easy, quiet recharge.

It was peaceful. Routine, when they could afford it. Nice, even, though they would argue on separate fronts that any one-on-one time with their Amica was beyond just “nice”.

It was the perfect way to recharge, Heatwave thought, never one to shy away from physical affection (in the many gruff forms he typically dished it out in) with someone he loved. If Chase could have it his way, they would do this every night, holding servos and muttering halting words and conversations half-thought out to each other into the gentle quiet of the bunker.

Chase’s normally rigid, borderline inexpressive field going almost wiggly and boneless, blanketing over them as he grumbled tiredly over his Amica, shifting as he knocked their helms together gently in a spur of the moment bout of (what sometimes felt like an overwhelming amount of) affection.

Heatwave gave his servo a gentle squeeze, making soothing little sounds to calm the policebot back into recharge and settling his own field over the two of them, engine purring quietly in contentment. Heatwave was quick to glare and snap at any of the other bots that might come near them that were in the “living room” part of the bunker with them, mostly for fear that they might make a nasty comment on their admittedly compromising condition, though that happening in and of itself was a rare occurrence due to the timing of their little quiet moments, and the sheer respect the other two held for them.

It was actually Boulder who found them the first time it happened on Earth, Heatwave recharging so deeply his engine was stuttering, with his helm cradled in Chase’s lap with one of Chase’s servos supporting his neck plating.

Boulder had stopped and looked, eyeridge quirking up in a decidedly learned human gesture, to which Chase merely brushed him off with a wave of his free servo and a flick of his field dismissively, returning to his datapad. Boulder, ever the calm, non-confrontational mech, had never mentioned it after the fact, drawing his own conclusions in the privacy of his mind (with maybe a few snapped photos for his memory files, just in case).

The second time, it was Blades who found them, Chase soundly recharging while leaning against Heatwave, their servos clasped between one another even in his recharge. Heatwave glanced up from the TV and glared at Blades with a viciousness that would earn him a scolding later, who skittered off without a word of question, a touch too skittish to try and ask the angry firemech until much, much later.

Heatwave was protective and touchy when it came to his Amica and their status, sue him.

Over the months, Boulder finally gathered some courage to ask Chase about their potential relationship, with all the grace of a thudding ballerina.

“We’re Amica Endura,” Chase had simply said after Boulder’s shy, stuttered question, almost smiling and most definitely pleased with himself, if the way tender emotion seeping onto his faceplate was any indication, “and have been for many vorns.”

“I see,” Boulder had replied, grinning and nodding, grateful that admittedly tactless way he asked the question hadn’t upset the policebot. “You two were partners back in the Academy.” It’s more of a statement than a question, prodding at the prospective double-meaning of the word.

“Heatwave was the only mech who wanted to be around me back in the Academy, given my… unique circumstances.”

“Unique—? Oh. Right. Sorry, Chase, I didn’t—“ realize, didn’t remember, didn’t know it affected your life like that— a frown, field tugging in, then Chase’s reassurance:

“It’s quite alright, Boulder. No bodily damage or any vulgar obscenities said, as the Chief says.”

“You mean ‘no harm, no foul’, Chase?” Heatwave entered the room with thudding pedesteps, looking between the two with half-formed suspicion lingering in his optics, arms crossed right against his chest. “What’s this about?” His field tugged at Chase’s with question and apprehension lingering between them, a silent what’s going on both said and not.

“Boulder was just inquiring about our Amica Endura status,” Chase informs, tone bordering on bright, his audial twitching in a different direction— most likely he heard something from upstairs, “And I find that we are the most probable source of reliable information about the subject, Heatwave, and our friend was merely curious.”

“Right.” Heatwave grunted, field tugging Chase’s briefly in something like relief and acceptance before patting his shoulder armor firmly and moving on, the brief contact exchanging both pleasant warmth and much-needed coolness.

“I think he’s a little…” Boulder trailed off, searching for a word that was less-rude than “prickly” or “overly worried”.

“Protective?” Chase hummed in question, helm tilting to the side, “I feel the same, but it is entirely warranted, given our past, and he is my Amica.” Chase says, like it explains everything, and, well, maybe it did, “I will stick by him, rites-willing.”

Boulder smiled in that soft, knowing way of his, optics warm. “Must be nice, having a sparkner all this time. I’m glad you have each other.”

“As am I. I’m grateful to have Heatwave for so long, and I’m want for nothing more in a partner.”

“That’s awfully sweet,” Bounder’s field went all soft, his affection tugging at Chase’s stiff field. “You balance each other out, now that I think about it.” Remembering all of the times Chase was able to calm Heatwave when he was on an irate, angry warpath with a servo to the shoulder plate and some hushed words exchanged in soft Cybertronian; all of the times Chase was stuck in a cyclical, logical thought-process and couldn’t see things from a different light had Heatwave telling him the facts point-blank, trying to drill his way through and urging Chase to attack the issue from a different, still somewhat logical connection.

Now that he thinks about it, Boulder recalls how Heatwave was always the mech that ran the warmest when they were on the Sigma, practically radiating heat in the endless, desolate cold of space that even they could feel. Chase was always the coldest, seemingly emanating a unique sort of cool that seemed permeated the space around him in some circumstances.

Opposites, indeed. But, Boulder thought, it was kind of fitting. Chase’s mouth tugged into that half-grin of his, “That we do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Boulder, I have some studying to do.” And with that, Chase sauntered off, likely in search of his police manual.

“Huh. Wonder how we didn’t see it before.” Boulder mumbled to himself, shaking his helm fondly and turning around to go back to the bunker through the garage.

“See what?” Blades asked, turning the corner, “If there’s any gossip, I want to know!” Primus, he was sounding more and more like Dani every day.

“I, uh. Well, you see,” Boulder attempted, still unsure if the two Amicas wanted their relationship aired out.

Blades shot him a look, both teasing and intrigued. “Well?”

Scrap.

[snippychicke]

For the Sake of a Smile(V.2) Chapter One

Title: For Sake of a Smile (Revised)

Overall Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapter Rating: E for Everyone 

Trigger warnings: Nothing beyond the child abuse hinted in the series, though we do explore the consequences a bit more.

Main Pairing: Balam Shichiro/Reader

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen in your life. And the fact your coworker was a child. 

A child named Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but yet he smiled despite everything. It wasn’t long after meeting him that you decided you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a literal demon and signing your soul away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Masterlist | Ao3| Mairimashitai! Simps Discord

The candles lining the room flickered as a dark wind swept angrily around you. You could hear Iruma's ‘parents’ whimper in fear as they pressed themselves near the door. They had begged you not to summon the demon - obviously terrified of the supernatural beast - but you didn't care. If anything, it strengthened your resolve.

All you could think of was Iruma's smile. His innocent laugh, and how he beamed under the most basic niceties.

If this was true; If they sold that boy to a demon, and sent him to hell, you were going to snap. And honestly, you were afraid what kind of damage your rage could cause.

The demon crawled out of the floor stained with blood from your own hand that painted the seal. First large hands ending in large black nails, monstrous black wings, and long horns set against a bald head. Harsh, glowing eyes glared at you from behind glasses as the demon Sullivan stood to his full glory, nearly twice your height.

"Who dares to summon me?" He growled, and you couldn't help but tremble slightly in fear.

No. Think of Iruma.

"I did," You stated as you stood taller and met his glare. "I want to trade places with Suzuki Iruma in hell. But, I also want him to go to a better home. With people that will love and cherish him."

Sullivan seemed surprised by your words, pausing before he crouched down to look at you closer. "Suzuki Iruma cannot leave the Netherworld. Once a human soul enters into a contract, it cannot leave."

His words pierced your heart, and for a moment you wallowed in horror. He was stuck in hell? All alone? You could only imagine what was happening to him, recalling myths and legends of how demons loved to torture humans.

"Then… Then I want to be with him," You said, meeting his eyes once more. "I sell myself to you, so that I may be by Iruma's side, so he's not all alone in hell."

He tilted his head, stroking his small goatee thoughtfully. "Why would you do such a thing? The child is nothing to you."

"He is not nothing!" You argued, hearing those same words from his parents earlier. "He's an innocent child! There isn't a wicked bone in that boy's body! I may not be related to him, but I love him as if he was my little brother, or even my own son! He didn't deserve the shit his parents put him through, and he definitely doesn't deserve to be all alone in hell, thinking no one loves him!"

A smile spread across his face, and the fact a demon looked excited and pleased by your words didn't bode well for you. "Offer accepted."

Dark smoke suddenly clouded your vision, your body feeling strange as you batted it away and coughed. When it cleared you were sitting at a desk ; Sullivan at the other side, in an office that looked ancient but well kept - brightly lit by the tall windows behind the demon.

"Let's discuss your contract then," Sullivan clapped happily, a smile on his face. The difference gave you whiplash as he pulled out a piece of paper from his desk and grabbed a pen. "Lets see, in return for being here in the Netherworld with Iruma to guarantee his safety and happiness, I just ask you to become my legal daughter, and therefore, mother of my beloved grandson!"

You stared at him, sure you had misheard him. Daughter? Mother? Grandson? "What?"

"Iruma is my grandson!" He cheerfully declared and pulled out a photo album, and showed you dozens of hundred of pictures. Of Iruma. Iruma looking happy and awkward at the same time. In some the boy was completely startled - others smiling and even laughing as Sullivan held him like a proud father.

Proud grandfather. Little flags and banners pronounced Iruma as ‘number one grandson’ or ‘best grandson in the Netherworld’, and other various boasting phrases. You barely heard as Sullivan cooed over each picture, explaining the story behind them briefly, but you couldn't miss the obvious love in his voice as well as his joy.

"I thought… I thought he'd be miserable. That hell was, you know, hell. Brimstone and fire. Demons tearing flesh or torturing the souls of the damned."

"Not exactly," Sullivan explained, a smile on his face. Not a wicked or sinister smile - but an honest, cheery one that looked so sincere that you were confused. "While those legends hold some merit, our kind has changed as much as your kind has in the last couple hundred years."

That… made some sense, you supposed. As much sense as any of this did.

You felt relief as you leaned back in the hardwood chair. Iruma was…was okay. You looked more at the pictures, taking in each one. “What has he been doing, then?” You asked.

“My little Iruma is attending his first year at Babyls! One of the most prestigious schools in our land!” Sullivan cheered, flipping a few pages. “See! This is his first day of school! Doesn’t he look so cute in his uniform?!”

School. He was finally able to attend school like a child, though you had to wonder what kind of school demons attended. But Iruma looked happy, and then Sullivan flipped over a few pages to show you pictures of the boy along with his two friends-- ‘Az and Clara’ Sullivan briefly mentioned, though said little more about the two, though they appeared in many pictures.

“So, if I agree to be your daughter… what can I expect?” You asked slowly, forcing yourself away from the pictures. Should you still agree to this, now that you knew Iruma was safe? That he was happy and being taken care of?

“Well, that is the question,” Sullivan hummed, putting away the photo album. “But, I suppose as the daughter of the Lord of the House of Sullivan, you could do pretty much whatever you wanted, even if you don’t have a rank. Which, we would have to find a way to rectify that. Though, I could excuse your presence, and previous lack thereof, because of your weakness and wanting to protect you ....”

He continued to mumble, seemingly talking to himself. You allowed yourself a moment to look around the office, noting its decadence. Maybe it was just your mind playing tricks on you… but he made it sound like he was someone of importance.

How did the social hierarchy even work here?

“Grandpa!” A familiar voice broke through your thoughts, making both you and Sullivan jump in surprise. “I’m home!”

“Oh! My little Iruma-kins! He’s home!”

Sullivan dashed out of the room in the blink of an eye, and you didn’t even think before following. The halls were just as richly decorated as you ran after Sullivan, barely able to keep up with his long legs.

By the time you reached the large antechamber, Sullivan had scooped Iruma up into a bear hug, apologizing for not being there to greet him earlier, while the boy laughed.

He looked so much healthier than the last time you saw him. No longer gaunt and pale from long hours of work and little nutrition, but there was now some color to his complexion - and meat on his bones. His blue eyes sparkled with even more life, and you thought he had even grown an inch.

Iruma noticed you after Sullivan set him down, his smile dying slowly. Realization struck harshly-- he was happy here. He had a family, friends, and he was going to school. There was no reason for you to be here. He didn’t need you anymore.

He cried your name, and suddenly you were being tackled by the fourteen year old, the wind knocked from your lungs as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed hard. Your former thoughts were chased away by his crying as he held onto you, burying his face in your chest. “I-I’ve missed you so much! I can’t believe your here! You’re actually here!”

You felt your own tears sting your eyes as you returned his hug, squeezing him tight. “I’m here kiddo. I missed you too. Gods, I’ve missed you so much! I was so worried when you never came back from the boat, and no one knew where you were…!” You sank to your knees, pulling away so you could study his face. “Are you okay? Are you happy here? Are they treating you okay?”

He nodded his head rapidly, wiping away his tears. “Yes! Grandpa and Opera have been nothing but kind to me! Oh! I’m going to school, even though it’s actually a school for demons, but it’s actually a lot of fun! And I even have friends too!”

Words failed you, though your mouth hurt from grinning widely. Instead, you pressed a kiss to his forehead before tugging him into another hug.

“Iruma, my boy,” Sullivan spoke after a moment, pulling you back into reality. “Your friend and I were discussing a contract, and I suppose since it concerns you, you should have a say in it too.”

Iruma frowned, looking between you and the demon, confusion evident on his face. “What kind of contract?”

“I…was really worried about you,” You started. “And when I found out what your parents did, I… may have summoned Sullivan and asked to be brought here to be with you, so you weren’t alone." You admitted guiltily. "I didn’t realize you were happy, and then Sullivan offered for me to stay… and to become his daughter, and I guess your adoptive mother?”

Iruma seemed stunned by your words, his blue eyes wide. “You did that? For me?”

“Of course," You laughed as you ruffled his blue hair. "I mean, you know how much of a mother-hen I am. I was really worried and scared when you disappeared. All I cared about was finding you. But…" You trailed off, looking at the demon Sullivan briefly, who was still beaming with happiness and pride, and the luxury of the mansion. "I guess it was unneeded. This is more than I could ever hope for you, so I completely understand if you don’t want me sticking around.”

“What? No!" Iruma protested immediately as he clung to you tighter. "I mean, if you don’t want to, I understand, but I-I would really love it if you did! I've missed you so much, and I wanted to share everything with you! There is so much food here! It’s kinda hard to get used to at first, because of how it looks, but it is so good! And the beds are so comfy! No more lumpy futons on the cold ground. And, oh, you’d love the baths! And books! I know how much you love to read!”

“So, you’d be okay if I stayed?” You asked carefully, knowing his inability to say no to others, yet there wasn’t a hint of reluctance on his face as he grinned.

“Absolutely!”

"Perfect! Opera!" Sullivan clapped and in the blink of an eye, another person appeared; ruby-red hair with matching cat ears, dressed in a suit. "Can you…"

Sullivan didn't even have to finish as Opera handed him the scroll from earlier, their golden eyes trained on you, as if piercing through and seeing your soul. You unconsciously pulled Iruma closer, unsure what to make of the new person. Demon? There was little to no expression on their face, though you noticed a tail flicking behind them.

"Alright, just sign here and here," Sulivan stated as he knelt on the floor beside you, handing you the quill. You took a moment to acknowledge that you were literally signing your life away, never to return to the world you knew. All the struggling you endured to scrape your way through life, gone.

But Iruma was smiling so widely, and that's all it took for you to know you were making the right choice. You signed your name despite being unable to read the odd language, trusting the boy beside you.

"Welcome to the family!" Sullivan cried as soon as you were finished. Opera took the scroll the same moment Sullivan grabbed both you and Iruma into a tight hug. "Oh! I am so happy! First a grandson! And now a daughter to spoil too! My friends will be so jealous!"

-+-

Spoil was right. 

You gaped at the bedroom that Sullivan had given to you. Just across the hall from Iruma's, and apparently just a decadent. A large bed that looked thick and plush, the walls lined with bookcases, a literal walk-in closet that was the side of your bedroom back at your former home.

And a balcony with glass doors that revealed the night sky lit with foreign stars and multiple moons. 

How could this be hell? 

There was a knock at the door, and you turned in time to see Iruma poke his head. "How is everything?" 

"I-I'm in shock," You answered honestly. Yes, dinner had been an odd experience with food that looked nothing like what you were used to, but Iruma pointed out his favorites (everything Opera cooked, apparently) and it was a nice change to have a full belly for once in living memory. 

"I'd say you'll get used to it, but it still surprises me a lot too," He answered as he entered. "I… I'm really glad you're here. I just can't believe you'd go through all that trouble for me…" 

Your heart softened at his awkward expression. You sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to you for him to join. "I wasn't kidding that first day when I said I was going to stick with you and watch over you like a hawk." 

Iruma's smile returned as he recalled when he first met you. After you got over the initial shock of him being your new coworker, you had sworn to him that you were going to be his new shadow - and as long as you were around he was safe. 

After taking care of himself for so long, Iruma had a hard time believing that a complete stranger would say, let alone mean, those words to him. But you kept your word time and time again. Stepping up to protect him whenever someone tried to take advantage of him. 

He was brought from his thoughts as you combed your fingers through his hair tenderly, that soft smile on your face. "You're really okay with being my mom?" He asked after a moment.

His own parents had sold him after everything he had done. You had always been the mother figure that he had dreamt of in private. Yet the fact you would still do so much for him was hard to accept. The fact you wanted to be his mom seemed like a dream come true. 

"Absolutely," You answered without hesitation. "As long as you're okay with it, I would love nothing more." 

Iruma couldn't hold back his tears, nor the urge to hug you tightly. You quickly returned the embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

His life couldn't get any better. 

-+-

Weeks passed, and you felt like a princess; one would think - after the trials of your life; that you would enjoy it. After all, Sullivan had a huge private library that - after a quick spell from the demon - you could read freely. 

There were stables next to the mansion, with four horse-like creatures known as Nightmares. Overall they were fairly tame, eating meat right from your hand in a (mostly) gentle manner. 

Then there were the gardens, carefully tended by little imp-like creatures. The flora was nothing like back on earth, but had their own sense of beauty. 

In the evenings, Opera made a multi-course meal, and you were able to listen to Iruma as he recounted his day, talk with him and Sullivan about what you read and discovered about the Netherworld.

You should have loved it. But after the first week, you were restless. You were so used to having to work - to having a purpose - it drove you nuts. 

"Please Opera?"

Opera's eyes narrowed faintly as their tail twitched with annoyance. They crossed their arms as they blocked the enterance to the kitchen. "As I've said before, my lady. You may help with cleaning, gardening, and whatever else. But the kitchen is off limits."

"But you've already done everything else," You whined rather petulantly. "Can I clean the dishes?"

"No, and that's final." Opera stated firmly. And to be fair, they had a good reason. As it turned out, magic was involved with cooking in the Netherworld. And the fact you had no magic meant disastrous results. "Why not go read? Or visit Lord Sillivan's nightmares in the stables? They would enjoy your company."

You knew when you were being dismissed, and sighed. "Alright. Maybe I can get my head around your damned magic system. God- er, Devi," You corrected when their eyes narrowed at you, their ears twitching in disapproval. Using 'holy' curse words was highly frowned upon, which was always catching you at the oddest moments. "Who knew magic would be so complicated."

"That sounds like a lovely idea," Opera acknowledged before turning and retreating to the kitchen. You sighed again before dragging yourself towards the library. 

You needed some easier books. Ones that went through the basics, instead of assuming you already knew them. You could ask Sullivan, you supposed - but at this point you felt too much like a burden already. 

Hours passed as you sulked in a comfy chair, glaring at a book instead of reading it. You weren't meant to be pampered and have a life of luxury. You liked having a purpose, something to occupy your day. 

The door opened, and you looked up from your book to see Sullivan poking his head inside with a pout. "Why is my darling princess so sullen?" He whined, "What can I do for my darling daughter?"

"I need a job!" You blurted. "I don't care what it is! Make me break rocks! Or push boulders up a hill! Or reshelve an entire library! Give me something to do!"

"Hmm," Sullivan hummed as he thought. "You actually have reshelved my library a few times already…" 

You blushed at the faint tease, though to be fair he admitted there hadn't been much rationale behind how he had them on the shelves. 

"It actually gives me an idea," He continued, clapping his hands. "Babyls' hasn't had a full time librarian in quite a while. A few teachers and Battlers have been trying to manage, but, well - they haven't quite succeeded. What would you think of joining the faculty as the full-time librarian?" 

That… was a lot more than you expected. "Really?" 

"Of course!" He laughed at your shock. "I don't want you to be miserable cooped up here, and I could also show you off to the rest of the staff!!" 

You groaned, warmth spreading through your face as you hid behind your book. It was hard getting used to his cheerful enthusiasm. While Iruma had tried to reassure you to just go with it, it was just… awkward. Embarrassing.

Maybe it was because you were a grown adult, or that you had gone all your life without the affection of a parent. You weren't a child. You have grown and adapted to life, and now…

Honestly, the love and affection was harder to adjust to than being in the Netherworld.

Case in point, Sullivan was suddenly wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight. "Please say yes! I would love to have both my daughter and grandson with me at work!" 

"Yeah, of course," You answered as he squeezed. "Anything would beat just bumming out around here." 

-+-

When Sullivan said the library was in disarray, you suspected maybe messy - disorganized; Much like his own library when you had arrived.  

But this was so, so much worse. The Babyls library was huge, taking up two stories. There were books piled haphazardly next to bookcases, many stuffed with papers that didn't belong. The lighting was poor, the windows covered with thick drapes, and many of the sitting areas were well used to the point of being worn and frayed, many of the tables having deep scratches from students. 

You had your work cut out for you.

You couldn't be happier.

--+-- Su-Ki-Ma --+--

The student body was extremely curious once you started. You tried to ignore the whispers that followed you as you set to work. After all, you weren't trained as a Librarian in the least bit. Sullivan had barely gone over your duties that morning before being dragged away to do his own work by Opera. 

Take care of the books. Keep them organized and in good shape. 

Assist students with finding what they need

Ensure a peaceful environment for students to study.

Oversee the Library battler alongside Furcus (a battler was apparently a club, from what you could gather)

That was it. How to achieve the above was your problem to solve, apparently. 

And at first, you expected to be challenged by the students - knowing how teenagers could be (and assuming demons would challenge authority even moreso). But oddly, they preferred to gossip. 

Apparently, Iruma already had left quite an impression, and despite his dafty nature, Sullivan garnered enough respect that it extended to you - despite being 'rankless'. 

-+-

The first of Iruma's friends you met was Azazel Ameri of the student council.

"Oh! Iruma told me about you," You said when Ameri introduced herself

 A blush crossed her face, breaking the stoic expression. "Oh?"

"Something about reading a book series together?" You offered. You didn't mean to be vague on purpose, but Iruma himself had skirted around any details when he was recounting his story. 

You finally understood why as Ameri's blush grew along with the smile on her face, making you feel rather giddy. Even if she was a demon, it was obvious she had at least a small crush on Iruma

Meaning your boy did have a chance for a normal teenager life afterall. 

Ameri coughed to clear her throat. "Anyways, on behalf of the students I wanted to welcome you to Babyls." She bowed slightly. "It is an honor to have the daughter of Lord Sullivan to preside over our library." 

It was your turn to blush, as well as laugh nervously. "Heh. Um, thank you. Very much."

-+-

Asmodiues Alice - or 'Az' - and Valac Clara were the ones you had been most eager to meet, considering how close Iruma was to them. 

And the stories you thought Iruma had been exaggerating proved to be true. 

"Iru-mama!" You heard someone shout out of nowhere before being tackled to the ground. By the time the room stopped spinning, you were on your back with a green-haired girl in your arms, giving you one of the widest smiles you had seen. "Hi, Iru-mama!"

"Stupid Clara!" Someone swore. Judging by the pink hair and fancy suit, you assumed he was 'Az’. "Don't attack her ladyship like that, and definitely don't call her 'Iru-mama!'"

"But Az-Az, she is Iruma-kins mom!" Clara protested, still not letting you go. Instead, she squeezed tighter as she buried her face against you like a child. "So she's Iru-mama!" 

"She is Master Iruma's mother and the daughter of Lord Sullivan!" Az huffed. "You need to show more respect!" 

"It's okay," You interrupted before Clara could speak. You placed a hand on Clara's back and offered a smile. "I don't mind being called Iru-mama." If anything it sent butterflies into your stomach, just like everytime Iruma called you mom.  

For all intents and purposes, you were now the boy's mother. And you couldn't be happier about the fact.

Clara grinned wider and giggled happily, while Az stood a little straighter. "I apologize, my lady. I tried to stop her but obviously I failed." 

"It's fine," You reassured. "You must be Asmodeus and Clara, correct? Iruma's told me a lot about you. I'm glad he has friends like you two." 

Both beamed in their own way, seemingly proud of the fact. "Thank you, that means a lot to me," Az answered while Clara only hugged you tighter.

[daughter-of-melpomene]

Pride and prejudice OCs you say....

Tell me everything 🤩

Your wish is my command, Layne my darling!! I hereby introduce you to the Kaur siblings, Ananya and Rohan!! (And I’m also gonna tag my beloved @oneirataxia-girl since I know she’s a fan of these babies. <3)

Now, Rohan is the older sibling and the next in like for his family’s title and small fortune. His and Ananya’s father is a baron of decent means, who met their mother on a trip to India shortly after he inherited the title from his own father and married her (and would have taken her last name if he could have, but settled for allowing his children to take it instead). Their family isn’t incredibly rich or important, somewhere between the Bennets and the Bingleys in terms of money, but they have a decent-sized estate and some good business contacts that Rohan has been trained to take over since he was only ten years old.

The thing is, though, that Rohan doesn’t want to take over the estate once he gets married - he’s never had a head for business or managing relationships. He’s a bookworm through and through, fascinated with history and the pursuit of knowledge itself, and he’d much rather be holed up in the estate’s library all day with his nose in any informational text he can get his hands on than dealing with a bunch of stodgy old nobleman. And as much as his father loves him and wishes he could let him fulfill his dream of being a historian, Rohan is his only son, and his sister has no more of a head for business than he does, so unless he manages to marry a woman capable of running the estate, it’s going to be up to Rohan to keep things going.

Rohan, understandably, is incredibly upset about the whole situation, especially because he doesn’t ever really intend to marry (due to the fact that he is not interested in women at all and is, unfortunately, not allowed to marry another man). But when his parents make the decision to move their estate to Hertfordshire, wanting a bit of a quieter life as they get older, Rohan finds the perfect solution in one Elizabeth Bennet. He and Lizzie become fast friends after meeting, bonded by their love of reading and knowledge in general, and it also doesn’t take Rohan long to notice that Lizzie and his little sister seem to be taking a particular interest in one another - the same kind of interest he and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy have been taking in each other at the same time. And as luck would have it, Ananya seems to get along splendidly with Mr. Darcy as well, despite their vastly different personalities.

This whole turn of events leads Rohan to think of a (in his opinion, anyway) genius plan: he will marry Elizabeth and Ananya will marry Mr. Darcy. That way, he can leave the running of his family’s estate up to Lizzie, who has much more of a talent for running things than he does, Lizzie’s family will get a better life since Lizzie has married into nobility, and to top it all off, their little group of four will all be able to spend time with their respective lovers with little fear of having to keep a secret and absolutely no jealousy. It’s a bit of a crazy plan, he knows (and Darcy makes it very clear that he thinks so), but still a good one, and so the four of them go along with it. And so Rohan winds up married to his best friend while having nightly rendezvous with the man he loves and that his wife used to hate, while his beloved little sister does the same thing, just in reverse.

And speaking of little sister, let’s talk about Ananya!! She is a genuine ray of sunshine, almost always smiling and letting out the sweetest little giggle every time someone says something she finds funny. She is also decidedly her and Rohan’s mother’s favorite child, a fact which the woman would never admit and that Ananya would never hold over Rohan’s head, but it’s true nonetheless; for the most part, she has always been a perfect little proper lady who needed little training on matters of etiquette and manners, and her mother adores her for that.

But there is still that for the most part, and it lies in the fact that Ananya loves to get dirty in the garden. Despite the fact that her family does have a gardener on staff, she’s basically in charge of the garden both at their estate in the city and in Hertfordshire, and if anyone ever can’t find her in the house it’s a pretty safe bet that she can be found in the garden, soiling the knees of one of her day dresses with her hands shoved into the soil. It drives her mother just a little bit crazy, but she also doesn’t really do too much about it considering the floral arrangements Ananya puts together for the house always get positive comments from visitors.

Still, the countess always tells her daughter, she won’t be able to garden forever once she gets married - which Ananya doesn’t want to do, really, for very similar reasons to her older brother. When the family moves to Hertfordshire and she meets Lizzie Bennet, of course, she very much reconsiders that, and it breaks her heart every time she has to remind herself that she can never marry the person she truly loves.

Of course, Ananya then strikes up a truly unexpected friendship with Fitzwilliam Darcy - they are very much a sunshine/sunshine protector friendship - whose estate has an amazing garden, and Rohan eventually proposes his plan for he and Ananya to marry their friends and meet up with their lovers in secret. Ananya is head over heels in love with Lizzie, with her witty remarks and bright smiles that she seems to reserve specifically for Ananya, so of course she agrees to Rohan’s scheme and accepts Darcy’s proposal of marriage - especially because it will make her parents happy, and especially because Darcy agrees to give her full control over the estate’s garden and she enjoys proving her mother wrong that little bit.

Anyways, those are my two Pride & Prejudice babies!! I will make a proper intro post for them at some point, but for now feel free to ask more questions about them if you want to!!

[wowowwild]

Ok Justice For All. This is not going to be exhaustive or comprehensive but here we go.

The first case we don't really need to cover. It's a tutorial, it achieves what it sets out to do, there's not a whole lot else. I really like the amnesia concept and while I wish more had been done with it (like being used in a regular case), I understand the mechanical service it does for a tutorial.

Our second case is solid. It was really fun to figure out exactly what happened and if you've been following my 'game posting' tag you saw exactly how much fun I had. I kind of wish we had gotten more out of Misty, but that wouldn't really work in this medium (lol get it). Obviously I love Pearly I adore her I would be her slave she deserves the world. Phoenix, stop showing her the horrors, please. I just really have to keep coming back to how fun this case was to solve. Sometimes the correct things to do mechanically make no sense to me bc I don't leap far enough with my logic, but this case I was able to do pretty easily which tells me it was very well written with the proper foreshadowing and such (and I am a sucker for properly laid ground work). I like that we get more Fey lore. I am devastated that I guesses the twist ending but I had no one to witness it. It's probably my favorite case this game.

Bigtop is a mess. We're going to ignore the Regina age problem for our sanity and pretend she's 18 bc wtf (I knew this but just now [as I was typing the end of this paragraph] connected the dots that in Japan 16 is viewed as our 18 and they just didn't localize her age). I really like Max! He's my favorite character to come out of this case and I will never let go of my wrightica/galactright ship (is there an official ship name?). He thinks Edgeworth is dead, it could happen. Also! Diversity win! The guy who murdered you is wheelchair bound! But actually I really like the concept of Acro's motivations, driven to madness and murder by grief. I like it less when we come back to Regina's canon age, like even when she's 18 Acro should still view her as a child and personally I could never hold something like that against a child. It was decidedly and accident and not even remotely her fault. It's not her fault your brother was swayed to do something idiotic by the power of boners, my guy. Also Regina is not ok. She needs help and the only one who realizes it is Moe. Everyone else is 'enabling' (that's not exactly the word I'm looking for but it's in the ballpark) her. Her own father was likely the worst offender. Moe may not be funny (I actually liked his jokes) but he is genuinely a great guy.

Our last case: Extremely well written. I went into this already knowing the outcome, how could I not. Despite this, I was so worried about Maya everything else went out the window. For a minute I actually convinced myself of the possibility that Adrian had done it (I am so sorry for everything we put you through, but it was for Maya). This case really put me in Phoenix's shoes. I'd imagine if you don't actually like Maya, this might not do for you what it did for me, but if you don't like Maya I don't know how you've managed to play all the way through the second game. Of course the good ending where you toss Engarde to the wolves (the assassin he hired) is iconic. That's what you get. Again if you've been following my 'game posting' tag you know I had strong feelings about Edgeworth through this. Most of them were due to the stress of Maya being kidnapped (I seriously got waaayyyyyy too in character during this case), but also he was smug as hell for no reason when he showed back up. He was like 'new me!' and refused to elaborate. Phoenix is not a mind reader, my guy. He won me over again so we're good. Also the dinner? At the end it literally says "I wonder if there's anything I can give him to express how I feel...?" I think we can all imagine my first thought... actually I don't trust people to put thoughts in my head, my first thought was a kiss. (You actually give the whip and Miles yet again thinks Phoenix is a mind reader, will it ever end?) I can't forget! Gummy's official stint at Wright Co! My one post about him being a Phoenix Wright weird girl was really popular and then my second (about this case) also got some notes, so clearly this is the Gumshoe content we're all looking for. (Can they please stop firing him though? He's going to end up dead on the street from starvation.) I thought it was really something how much Phoenix trusts Gumshoe. He said

The scene with Franziska and Miles at the end was sorely needed and it was fantastic. They're both growing and healing from shared trauma and it's beautiful.

Over all... I forget, is this the one people don't like out of the trilogy? I liked it. The first is obviously iconic and banger after banger, but I do like this one. Overall it's definitely worth playing and very enjoyable. (Idk bc I haven't tried it personally, but there's a post going around about ds estore emulation or something where you can play games from the ds estore for free now that it's closed, so as far as I know you can play it for free now.)

[bravevolunteer]

MICHAEL + SEXUALITY ( aka the gay gay homosexual gay meta )

note: the time frame as well as mentions of "relationships" are by DEFAULT. they may be altered according to certain ships that would either have to speed up the process of his questioning depending on where they're placed and/or negate any mentions of intimacy that are placed while said ship is established. homophobia and suggestiveness cw, though both are only mentioned.

for michael, coming to terms with his sexuality was a journey uniquely separate from most things in his life, but it took him a while to fully realize and accept. he never thought about it much when he was young, though the idea of anything beyond heterosexuality was hardly ever discussed in hurricane, utah, if at all. any mentions were usually met with either hushed words or blatant homophobia— although michael was too young to understand that when people had already started commenting on his close friendship with charlie emily, teasing about how they'd end up together one day ( always met with a resounding ew, no! ). still, michael got the heteronormativity message just as everyone else did, not realizing there was ever another option until old enough to understand what those insults meant.

he seemed late to show any interest in girls— when proudly proclaiming that no, he didn't like anyone in his class no longer seemed to work as the type of friends he surrounded himself with actually began to talk about it, he would make his own thoughts up on the spot ( how long would it be until they stopped thinking him picky and turned on him for being different? ). he shrugged it off, figuring he would come to develop crushes as time passed.

michael didn't, not before or after the mistake that turned his life around for good ( though he would years later come to realize how he felt around a friend or two before he lost them was decidedly not the most heterosexual ). with the rumors spread around him and michael closing himself off to most, he didn't expect anyone to show interest in him anyway. his first real experience was at some party ( not usually one to be invited, but it was always an easy way to get fucked up and out of the house ), where he ended up making out with a girl due to some game he barely remembers. he didn't feel much besides awkward, blaming it on the both of them being drunk and not truly interested in each other, though there was an exhilaration to someone not turning away from, but pursuing him. michael would easily confuse attraction with the thrill of feeling wanted, less monstrous.

that's what most of his experience through his teenage years consisted of: despite copious rumors surrounding him... getting around ( because he was a delinquent in small town utah, of course— ) the most he ever experienced was loosely fooling around with girls, usually intoxicated and typically pursued for the appeal of seeming forbidden. despite the allure that came with feeling desired, michael would always find an excuse to back out before things went any further. he chalked it up to a fear of intimacy. after all, he never had an official relationship, always cutting the rare potential connections off the moment they seemed to grow too serious: he had too much going on, refused to allow himself to grow close with anyone, this must be for the same reasons.

there were always signs he never caught— being more transfixed by a boy he'd meet smoking outside than he ever were any of the girls he was with, who his gaze would linger towards in movies, any thought he would shamefully bury. he only began to truly put those pieces together around his last year of high school/as a young adult, taking a while to find the words to put to them. even as he slowly did, it was difficult to accept. he didn't exactly have family left to worry about, but the hostility of both his environment and the time period ( rampant homophobia of the 80's/early 90's was absolutely factor of how long this took him to accept without denying every consideration ), as well as... his plethora of already existing issues got in the way.

although there came a point where he was aware of his sexuality even if he wasn't inclined to acknowledge it out loud. in the few years that he managed to move away from hurricane before the events of sister location, he DID have a few experiences that could only be described as situations: again nothing officially labeled as a relationship, though at least one may as well have been, while others were strictly hook-ups. it was all very secretive and complicated for both usually, even if there WAS mutual yearning for more. the conditions of the time, michael's self-destructiveness, and potential issues on the other end often got in the way.

being pulled back to his hometown and into the fray of his past put a swift end to ANY connections with others at all, never mind romance. in a strange, roundabout way, being scooped almost helped him fully accept his sexuality: if he is going to be isolated from the world until he fulfills his last purpose, if he's never going to get the chance again in the first place, what's the point of trying to deny the fact that he's gay?

— for unscooped au, this mostly still stands, but more due to natural passage of time while ALSO still having that laser-focused goal that hardly leaves him room for connecting with others anyway.

all things considered, it's an anticlimactic conclusion, but there is an, albeit odd, sense of relief and peace that comes with that final acceptance and willingness to self identify as queer.

[postbearer]

The decidedly unspectacular morning in Smeerensburg hadn't started off that much more differently than most others, although the exceptionally nasty weather did suggest that it was only going to get worse as the day progressed; the sun obscured by a thick, freezing fog, which dragged the already frigid temperatures down even further. Despite this fact, and with little else to do, the postman made his usual rounds as always.

Rounds, which were, as always, entirely unfruitful— at least so far as letters were concerned. Recently, the fair townspeople had begun leaving other things inside their mailboxes, such as rusty knives, assorted pieces of trash, and, even once or twice, the occasional small rodent carcass. Truth be told, Jesper couldn't say whether they were trying to threaten each other or him at this point.

Sadly, without proper postage, the troubling trinkets remained untouched. Sometimes, they were gone the next day, and sometimes, there were more. If nothing else, the experience broke up a bit of the monotony in his routine (while instilling a sense of some unappreciated paranoia on the side).

Around town, there had been talk of a storm. Later that afternoon, it had arrived.

It's still reasonably early, yet the sky is as dark as pitch. Because of this, a lantern on the makeshift desk is placed near the mailman, who's sat behind the post office's workspace. Legs crossed at the ankles and boots propped up against the edge, he gingerly picks at his fingernails with an old, discarded letter opener. Outside, heavy snow works on blanketing the island, and the wind that makes it through the cracks of the dilapidated building bounces the candle's flame around wildly. It's so bad that Jesper briefly considers just calling it a day and turning in when the front door flying open nearly extinguishes the light completely.

Before he realizes it, a yelp is startled out of him— feet hitting the ground while the letter opener is inadvertently and haphazardly tossed somewhere behind him. A moment later, an all-too-familiar form pushes its way inside.

"Heya, sport."

Mogens. Who at least has the good graces enough not to comment on the shriek prefacing this impromptu visit of his. And without giving the postman (now clutching at his own chest) time to respond, he carries right along, shaking the blizzard from his coat as he crosses the threshold. "I hope you don't mind, but I just picked up some, uh, interesting newcomers, and there's no other accommodations for 'em in town."

"Newcomers? What? No, that's not going to happen." Standing up, Jesper gives a quick outward sweep of his hands in a vague, dismissive gesture. "I'm not sure you've noticed; this is a post office, not a hotel. I'm sorry, but I can't just—"

"Great," clearly not listening, Mogens interjects, turning to address the darkness beyond the still-open door. "Come on in, fellas."

@nosomatsu, gets a starter. Signed, sealed, delivered— it's yours

[raayllum]

One thing I love about TDP is that while it can be genre subversive (i.e. Ezran going home at the end of S2 for example) it doesn’t break its own narrative promises / set up and payoff. 

For example: despite Soren being more of an outward dick in S1 (step-prince, dumb jock, etc) and Claudia being relatively much nicer (Callum’s crush on her, hasn’t done anything as bad as Soren yet on an emotional level), the show makes it pretty clear that their moralities are very skewed in a few key ways. Moments after Claudia sent smoke wolves after the boys, Soren is saving Callum’s life. 

Soren intends to kill Runaan (upon the assassin’s own request), while Claudia believes that it’s worth keeping Runaan alive for “more practical uses.” She also doesn’t see anything wrong with the switching spell and thought of it herself, while even Viren can at least understand some of Harrow’s reservations. Soren is ultimately always a crownguard and Claudia is decidedly a dark mage. These are some of the reasons why I always figured that if either of them did break away from their father, Soren would be the one while Claudia would spiral further, and I know S2 cemented this for a lot of us going into S3. 

Which is to say: the show isn’t interested in yanking the rug out from under our feet to subvert expectations. If something is repeatedly alluded to in a negative light, it will follow through on it (even if it may reveal more depth later). Even things where we are purposefully misled are very brief and the clues are obvious (i.e. Ava’s moonstone collar, but we didn’t know moon magic was primarily about illusions until then) in retrospect. A perfect example of this is when Claudia kills the deer in 2x09; although it’s an act that is far easier to swallow and understand, it’s still very symptomatic of what sorts of mindsets will continually be her undoing in S3 and S4. 

Which is to say anyone that knows me knows I adore the Game Motif in the show, largely surrounding the Key of Aaravos in S1-S3 and then extended more explicitly to Aaravos himself in S4.

The Key is immediately connected to Callum’s arc as a mage and a sense of compulsion, but also as something that stirs up trouble. He gets them to go to the Banther Lodge for it believing it will be safe, but it’s too late to back out when humans like Amaya show up. Callum forgets about the cube entirely, surprised that Rayla has it by the end of the episode, and cites that “We should’ve never come here.” Moreover, the cube often foreshadows things that will cause problems for the group: the giant fish that makes the Ocean rune glow almost eats them; the Moon rune glowing as they walk up the Caldera and Callum’s notice of it foreshadows that Lujanne will not be the miracle healer they hope for. 

The one big exception in terms of the cube being legitimately, plot relevantly useful is in 3x08 when it helps Callum realize his necklace from Rayla is a moon opal, and thus can be used to help find the truth of what happened to her family (and hopefully mean she won’t think she has to, y’know, die and stuff). 

More than four seasons later, we see his attitude toward it has soured again.

And it would be one thing if it was just foreshadowing from the other characters (which, Rayla and Soren tend to foreshadow the most, mouthpiece wise, I think) or in Callum’s mind

But we also have 2x08 called The Book of Destiny in which Callum’s tormented by the dark magic cube (as opposed to Claudia’s literal book) and his father in chains, asking for him to reject the very gift Harrow gave him just two episodes ago, muddling the Key’s few positive associations further. Rayla calls it a glow toy in 1x05 and we see from the 4x04 intro that’s precisely what it is. And even more than that, the 4x04 intro that exists within the story’s narrative but outside the main cast’s conception of events.

If the cube had no negative affect in store for Callum, it would not be here in the intro because it doesn’t need to be. It’s here for sorely symbolic / foreshadowing purposes, like the way a book cover operates. It’s a direct clue to the audience, and the audience online, that more than the Key is a piece of Aaravos’ games, and that the two are intrinsically linked: a loaded die, a smoking gun. A game that Callum already unknowingly lost - a long time ago. 

[fakeosirian]

Almost a Stranger -- HoA Fabian/Patricia One-Shot

Post-S3, hurt/comfort, angst, lots of mess.

Fabian and Patricia have always been friends, despite how surprising people (themselves included) found it. Most days, they bicker, or they make plans to avert whatever crisis they're in this week, but the crises finally dried up, and bickering doesn't feel quite the same when the sentiments are ringing true more of then than not, these days.

At least they can be miserable together.

read on ao3 or here below the cut

Is it alright to be myself again? Can I finally be myself again? I don't need a reason to find I'm beginning to feel myself again I'm leaving the memory behind So I can finally be myself again Auf Wiedersehen, I'll see you later, some better day Cards on the table Vanity off to the side Always been able To get myself back to a stride Time's an eraser A reverie speaks for itself Sign your own waiver And you'll never be somebody else You'll never be somebody else Almost a stranger And even to those that I know I'm the remainder Of memories thrown to the cold Life is too painful When honesty comes at a price And lies are non-fatal Unless they're the four-letter kind Unless they're the four-letter kind

Fabian had been stuck in limbo for three straight weeks.

Ammut’s destruction did not cancel exams. That’d be an admission of guilt on Mr. Sweet’s part, and regardless, despite things feeling Decidedly Over around Anubis House, that didn’t apply to the school year. As he stared at his ceiling, there was still a month and change left, and while he wanted the Valedictorian spot, he didn’t want it badly enough to study early through the funk.

Well. Another year, he might have. In truth, his lack of early bird vigor had little to do with the exams themselves and everything to do with the black hole in his memory he’d do anything to scrub out entirely. Just knowing it was there at all was more than enough – he was guilty to admit he’d eliminate even the negative space it cast behind it without a second thought, if given the chance.

Eddie growled at his laptop across the room. He must have nearly died again. (In the video game, Fabian reminded himself, when just thinking that made him reflexively nauseous.)

Unable to stand the mounting pressure any longer, Fabian shot up from his bed and strode across the room to the door. Eddie pulled one half of his headphones off his head and peered over the lid of his laptop.

“You good?”

“Yeah, just getting a glass of water.”

“Cool.” He went back to his game without missing a beat; Fabian let go of the breath that lodged itself deep in his torso.

The hall was dimly lit – it was past 10, but Victor had gotten…noticeably lax about curfew recently – and dead quiet. Fabian’s steps lightened out of habit, and he stopped short when he saw a light flickering past the cracked kitchen door.

He slid up to the door and peeked through; Patricia leaned against the island counter, one hand gripping it tightly enough to blanch her knuckles, and the other blanching its knuckles on the handle of a mug. She stared into a lit candle on the counter like it held the answers to all of life’s biggest questions, and if she looked away for even a moment, they’d evaporate completely.

He wasn’t meant to see this, that much was clear.

He’d frozen on the spot, not paying attention to the way his weight shifted onto the door; unlatched, the door put up no resistance against his body leaning forward, and while Fabian was still mid-panic deciding how to proceed, the door’s hinges whined once it hit that one spot in their rotation. Patricia startled, blowing out the candle. Fabian gritted his teeth and held back a curse.

“Who’s there?”

“Me. Sorry.” Fabian ducked out from behind the door, sheepish eyes jumping all around the room, anywhere but on hers. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Patricia said, a bit too quickly. She glanced at the smoke spiraling upward from the smoldering candle and back at him. “Someone left that lit. Fire hazard.”

“Right.” He fought down the urge to call her out. Why lie about that? It’s just a candle. It’s…definitely just a candle. Nothing weird about candles. So, no reason to lie, but she did anyway. I probably look suspicious. She’s acting suspicious. I’m acting suspicious. Suspicious of what? Ugh. It’s Patricia – of course she’s being weird about a candle when it’s just a candle. How long has it been since someone’s said something? Oh God. She can see it in my face, can’t she?

“Going to share with the class?” Patricia’s grip on her mug jerked a bit. Her shoulders were tense; Fabian’s were too. He heaved a sigh – felt a lot more like shoveling dirt than breathing should – and walked past her to get a glass.

“Nothing.” She stared at him, wordless. “Nothing worth the breath to explain, at least. I just came to get some water. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything. Sorry.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” she insisted. Fabian pressed his lips together and nodded; it came out jerky, insincere despite his best efforts and intentions, and her face pinched up in disgust. “If you’ve got something to say, then just say it.”

“I really don’t.” She scoffed. Fabian closed the cabinet door, but his hand hovered over the faucet handle for a moment. He tried, but he couldn’t let it go. “Seriously, are you okay? You seem upset. Is something bothering you?”

“If you even have to ask,” she grumbled. “It’s nothing to get all worried about. Would be better if you didn’t, actually.”

“Patricia.”

“Fabian.”

He put the glass down next to the sink and stood directly in front of her.

“I’ll leave it alone if you ask me to, but –”

“Already did, so case closed.”

“But, there’s no reason to suffer through it by yourself on purpose.”

Patricia looked at the floor, kicking the tip of her slipper over it, back and forth, back and forth. Fabian opened his mouth, compelled to fill the silence but with no particular thoughts in mind; it hung open for a moment, and closed when he came up empty. He turned around and turned on the tap.

“I was trying to calm down. Not from anything in particular. Just relax, whatever that means,” Patricia said underneath the rushing water. Fabian turned it down slightly – but not off. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, too quick for eye contact, and put his glass under the stream. “I heard somewhere staring at a candle works. Total crap, in my opinion. Now I’m tense and I have a blind spot smack in the middle of my vision.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“Something like that.”

“Me neither.” Fabian huffed a laugh. “Doesn’t help that Eddie’s teaching some twelve-year-olds some colorful, new vocabulary over Call of Duty right now.”

“What, cause he’s losing?”

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

Patricia grinned behind her mug. Fabian decided not to question why, upon closer inspection, Patricia decided to drink black tea if she was ‘having trouble sleeping, or something.’ The longer he lingered, the clearer it became to him that their ‘somethings’ were the same.

That was the last thing he wanted to talk about. …And yet he was still in the kitchen, talking. A strike of fear flashed across his mind – acting against his feelings, or were they his feelings, or was there something else driving the car? – and he forced down a gulp of water.

Unsurprisingly, he choked, and Patricia slopped tea on the counter in her haste to get her mug out of her hands. He waved her off, red-faced and suppressing the last of the sputtering, and forced his ragged throat in line.

“Wrong pipe.”

“Right.”

She positively dripped skepticism; rich coming from her, Ms. I Can’t Be Seen With A Candle.

He sniffed – water had gotten all the way up his nose, because of course it had – and took less ambitious sips while Patricia made a half-hearted attempt at mopping up her spilled tea with a paper towel. Every second that ticked past, the silence got thicker. Fabian wanted to leave. But, he hadn’t yet, and he wasn’t making any moves to. There was something…unfinished about this.

That original ‘something.’

“I guess you could say I haven’t felt myself lately,” Patricia said, apropos of nothing (or something). Fabian half-choked again – his glass was at his lips and ready to tip – and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That’s one way of putting it.” He sighed. “You don’t remember anything either, do you?”

“No, nothing.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Not that I really want to, but I keep looking around in here like I might, like it’s possible I’m just missing something, and I can’t not know about it if that’s something that’s possible.”

“I find it hard to try in the first place because the sinking dread of what I’m going to do about it if I did remember something gets in the way.”

“Well, nothing, right? It’s over. Done and dusted.”

“Joy won’t look me in the eye.”

Patricia froze.

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since I’ve…been back…she’s seemed off. Not around anyone else, and nothing like I could remember before.” Fabian grimaced. “People have told me things I’ve said, but no one’s mentioned anything I said to her. I just…don’t know, and it’d be so hard to explain. I wouldn’t believe me if I was her.”

“She hasn’t told me anything about that,” Patricia said, her voice small. “Are you sure you’re not…y’know.”

“No, I’m not imagining it,” Fabian grumbled. “I think Jerome’s noticed too.”

“Ah.” She took a slow sip from her mug. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, people only noticed you acting weird because you’re usually pretty nice. Me? Apparently, just an average couple weeks, as far as everyone else was concerned.”

“It…doesn’t,” Fabian said, wincing. “And you weren’t completely normal, anyway.”

“Oh, great. I was worried I hadn’t made enough of a mess.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Patricia barked a laugh; it sounded painful. Fabian’s face grew hot. “You had no idea what they were doing in the Gatehouse! We didn’t even know what a sinner was yet.”

“Sorry, Officer, I didn’t realize Evil Things were happening in the Evil House. Won’t happen again.”

“Well, I did know, and I went anyway. Could always be worse.”

Patricia glared at him. He didn’t buckle; why would he? She couldn’t say anything worse about him than he’d already said himself. Bomb defused. She broke eye contact, muttering something unintelligible under her breath.

Before he caught up with himself, Fabian poked the bear.

“What?”

“Don’t talk like that around Eddie.” Fabian stared at her, missing several pieces of the puzzle. “Nevermind. Just don’t. Better yet, leave the entire topic alone.” She picked up her mug and pushed past Fabian to exit the kitchen.

“Patricia, wait.” She stopped, but she didn’t turn around. Her knuckles flexed where she gripped the door for dear life. “Do you…not talk about this at all? With anyone?”

“Why would I? Do you?”

“Fair point,” he said. “Um. Maybe we…should.”

She looked over her shoulder. Her eyes shone, glassy, under the low light of the kitchen.

“Why.”

“It’s…hard? When you don’t?”

She pressed her lips together. He ran through all of the other exits in the room that didn’t involve getting past her in his head. Two, by the way. Laundry room, window. Not looking good.

“Maybe.” She turned to the threshold again. “Thanks, Fabian. Sort of.”

“Er, you’re welcome. I guess.”

She disappeared down the hallway. Fabian lingered in the kitchen; he couldn’t leave, not while his heart raced and his blood sang in his ears.

*-*

That was before, but this is now: a summer trip to New York City, Patricia, Fabian, and Alfie on a plane, with instructions to meet Eddie and KT at the airport. (The directions to where they’d meet in the airport looked as clear as the alchemy recipes Victor left lying around in the cellar, so functionally directionless and with the implication of harsh consequences for failure.)

Fabian didn’t like to think too much about how he couldn’t make it out for Nina before. Alfie had offered to pay without hesitation, otherwise it likely wouldn’t have worked out this time, either, and making a comparison between the two situations seemed like an exercise in misery.

Three hours into a trans-Atlantic flight, and exercises in misery sound appealing for being exercises at all. He’s stuck in the middle seat, Alfie sleeping in the aisle seat, and he’d already finished the only book he’d taken out of his carry-on.

Patricia’s awake, though. They hadn’t talked much once the novelty wore off and Alfie passed out, but one glance at the book that wouldn’t un-finish itself and Fabian knew he’d have to break the awkwardness sooner or later.

She’d propped up her chin on her hand, staring out the window like something other than ocean would show up. He taps her on the shoulder, and she grunts her acknowledgement.

“Excited to see Eddie?”

“Huh?” Couple seconds to process. “Oh. Yeah, loads of excitement.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“Oh, shove it. I’m exhausted, and I can’t sleep on planes,” she says. “Yes, I am excited to see Eddie. I bet you’re going to be missing Mara, then.”

Fabian’s breath catches.

“Mara?”

“Well, yeah.”

Yikes. He hadn’t told her, had he.

“That didn’t really…”

“Oh.”

“It’s pretty recent. You didn’t miss anything, or. You know.”

“No explanation necessary.” Does she look…relieved? “To tell the truth, it was weird anyway. Sorry if that’s mean.”

“It’s not. It…made sense, but.”

“Too much sense?”

“Too much sense.”

Patricia nods like she’s got a cigar hanging out of her mouth.

“Always thought she picked people who she had nothing in common with, but turns out that was her type all along. I suppose I owe her a ‘you told me so’ for all the times I told her otherwise.” Alfie stirs in the aisle, and Fabian waves his hand in a ‘volume down’ motion. She grimaces, but she’s clearly got more to say. “Was it…mutual?”

“Yeah,” Fabian says. “It…yeah. Two dates, and at the end of the second, we were both looking for the opening. No big deal. Guess I’d just gotten in the habit of starting something new at the end of the year.” The laugh isn’t completely forced. Patricia awkwardly pats him on the arm.

“Not all of us can have the surprise whirlwind romance of Joy and Jerome.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself and Eddie short.”

He hadn’t even wanted to say it, not really, but he thought it’d be the right thing. Evidently, it wasn’t, because Patricia’s eyes widen and dart back to the window. She rattles off a stilted agreement a moment too late.

That isn’t wishful thinking, is it? It shouldn’t be. Worse than making ‘too much’ sense, it made none at all.

Despite no wishes being made, the monkey’s paw curls anyway. The first day of the trip goes great (navigating the airport aside); the second day, Patricia and Eddie spend the latter half of the afternoon arguing behind a bedroom door while Alfie, KT, and Fabian do their best to drown it out with the TV. It’s not working.

Alfie just cranks the volume up a couple notches when they start shouting again, and KT turns it down when they get quiet. Fabian would get involved in the tug-of-war over the remote if he wasn’t so invested in spending every single ounce of willpower he had to not make sense of the snippets he caught anyway. Morbid curiosity is already a real enough concept to him, but he hadn’t yet considered that it also applied to situations without someone trying to kill you directly. You can absolutely die of anticipation, all on your own, with a heartrate fast enough.

Eventually, whatever show they were hardly paying attention to in the first place didn’t cut it anymore, and KT suggests that the three of them go around the corner for some snacks. Of course, that’s when Patricia and Eddie throw open the door.

“I’m going with you,” Eddie says, no room for argument as he grabs his wallet and keys out of the bowl next to the front door. He strode past so quickly Fabian couldn’t even see his face; his voice was bent out of shape, hoarse and evaporated. KT, Alfie, and Fabian share a look; Fabian takes a step back towards Patricia, and the other three leave without a moment’s hesitation. The door slam echoes throughout the Miller’s apartment, and in the void of sound it leaves behind, Fabian wonders if he’s made an enormous mistake.

(Why this would be a mistake, he didn’t know, but it nags.)

Fabian whips around to face Patricia. Her cheeks are splotchy and red, her breathing shaky, and Fabian remembers how deeply unequipped he is for this. Something must have shown on his face; her breath catches, her eyes get glassy, and it’s all over.

“Come here,” Fabian says, or something tells him to say, because he’s acting entirely on instinct when he erases the distance between them and takes her up in a hug. She’s stiff as a board in his arms, but she isn’t throwing him off (like he knows she is completely capable of and willing to do), so he’s at least avoiding the big mistakes.

He guides her to the couch; she hiccups into the side of his shoulder, and he can feel the twin wet patches there stick to his skin. They’re forced to break up for a moment when they sit down.

“I’m sorry,” Fabian starts to say, but he only gets halfway through the second word before she fully breaks down into sobs. That’s when it clicks for him – he knows these sobs.

“I only –”

“I know. When you’re angry.”

“Very angry,” she corrects between heaves.

It had been years since the last time, so long he’d nearly forgotten, but he still knew what to do. He puts an arm around her shoulders and buttons up his mouth; she lets it all out. There’s words in there between the tears and gasps, nothing that’d make it easier to understand, and nothing he dares to press.

Who knows how much later, Patricia’s mostly stopped crying, still muttering under her breath here and there and wiping tears off her cheek with Fabian’s upper arm, and Fabian’s phone buzzes. It’s a text from Alfie asking if they’re clear to come back.

“What’s up?”

Fabian fumbles to respond to the text – not yet, need a bit more time – and attempts a lie by omission to the question – just Alfie – but she sees right through it. He puts his phone back in his pocket (where she’ll have to wrestle him for it if she really wants to – he doesn’t examine that thought too much).

“They’re going to be taking a bit longer with the snacks.”

“What, because I’m crying?” He sighs – he’s supposed to be avoiding getting into it with her while she’s still upset – but before she can get either angry or angry with herself for being angry, he shifts the topic:

“What do you need right now?” Her mouth drops open in surprise, and not a moment later, less in surprise and more out of offense. “Do you want them to come back?” Her jaw shuts with a click. “Talk about it, then? Or do something else entirely? We could go on a walk for ourselves.” The straws he’s grasping at break apart in his hands, but it’s enough to get her laughing.

“Wandering around NYC without a guide would be insane – that doesn’t sound like a Fabian plan at all! Who are you and what have you done with him?”

Oh, that’s what was so funny. Haha. Oh.

She looks horrified once it sinks in for her, too, but he just…laughs. Very hard, to the point he can’t stop laughing, actually; it’s nervous and jarring, but it’s infectious, and she tentatively starts laughing, too, enough to finally interrupt her crying, until his chest catches on a laugh-turned-hiccup. He’s crying, he realizes. He wasn’t laughing at all. He’s just crying.

Now it’s her turn to fumble her way through an apology (and he knows why she’s compelled to since she’s not subtle – she can needle him and call him a geek but only because he doesn’t…break when she does).

“No, it’s okay – I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be comforting you,” he says, voice thick with tears, which she just shakes her head at, no words. He gets ahold of himself as quickly as he lost it. “Seriously, no apology necessary. I know you get it.” She still doesn’t have the words, but she nods.

They sit like that for a while; Fabian’s not sure how long, the best marker of time available the erratic rhythm of their heartbeats interrupting each other over and over. His picks up whenever he thinks about it too hard. Maybe he was wishing it into existence, but sometimes, he could have sworn hers would do the same.

Without preamble, she explains:

“We’ve been having issues because Eddie’s mad I can’t forgive myself for what happened. Whatever that’s supposed to mean in this context – I think he’s being daft. There’s way more to it than that, if that were even it. I mean, if it were that simple, wouldn’t I have just done it already?” Fabian understands both sides of this argument a little too well to stick his neck out, so he presses his lips together tightly and waits for her to continue. “It’s pretty easy for him to feel that way in his position. His biggest sin was trusting the wrong people.”

“Nina always felt guilty when things went wrong,” Fabian chips in.

“Exactly. Something about being in charge makes people all weird. It’s so selfish. Has anyone ever properly been in charge of anyone else around here? We’re all just doing stuff and half-talking about it and hoping it works out. It’s so hard to look yourself in the face and recognize what went wrong is entirely your own fault, but it’s the only way you get better, right? It’s insulting for someone to step in and blame themselves and take that away from you.”

Fabian is taken aback because it feels wrong, just as selfish in a way, but something buried deep inside him agrees strongly enough to scare him a little. He’s never had that feeling validated before. He thinks it probably shouldn’t be, reflexively, but that in and of itself exposes the deep river of self-doubt running below all of that. Alfie got sinnered too, they’ve talked about it, but he’s been able to cope by still trusting his core intentions to be good. Patricia is the only other person who understands. He can trust her more than anyone else, in a twisted sort of way, and if she trusts him…

Does she? They make very significant eye contact. Of course she trusts him. This is Patricia – she doesn’t cry in front of anyone if she can help it. Except him, apparently. It’s not like he’s keeping her here by force. (He couldn’t even if he wanted to.)

Suddenly, he’s very, very, very aware of the fact that they’re alone for as long as they want to be (within reason) and there’s a dangerous current arcing between them. Judging by the look on her face, she’s well aware of it, and just as flummoxed as him.

But…just as interested. They’ve been physically close ever since she broke down crying, but their faces were not this close five minutes ago. This is bad. This is very, very bad.

“Eddie!” he squeaks. She whips around to look at the door – he clarifies:

“No, they’re not here, they’re still gone, I just. Well. We’re…”

“We’re what, doofus?” Now he’s irritated.

“We’re about to kiss?” She opens and closes her mouth a couple times (and stares at his) but she can’t dispute it. He continues: “You’re still dating Eddie.”

Patricia deflates into him – cue the flush simmering away on his face roaring into a towering inferno – and mumbles into his chest.

“Am I?”

(He’s positively mortified how quickly that got him excited. Forget mortified – disgusted.)

“…Isn’t this exactly what got Jerome in trouble?”

“Are you seriously comparing me to Jerome Clarke right now? While cuddling me?”

He’s too flustered for words; she sits up, but she’s still holding on to him, now eye level. He can see the justifications flying around between her ears, so clearly that he pinpoints the moment she picks one and sticks to it.

“It’s not like it’d be the worst bad decision we’ve ever made.”

“That’s a pretty low bar to clear.”

“Exactly. Why beat yourself up for this when you’re too busy tackling the big fish?”

“…I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Why can’t it be?”

Fabian sighs.

“Patricia.”

“Fabian.”

She’s not going to let up; she forced his hand.

“Patricia, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really, genuinely want—” Chokes a bit. “To kiss you. Right now. I needed to say it out loud to make sure you know I mean it, but mostly because I’m having a hard time believing this is real.”

“Same here.” Her wobbly little smile looks like victory; unfortunately, victory over which battle hits him like a brick to the chest, and it’s much harder to want to reach out and take it after that. “What? Is everything okay?”

Fabian shakes his head. He waits for her to fight him, agree, do anything, really, but the ball’s still stuck to his side of the court. He struggles to find a way to say it that doesn’t feel so…accusatory.

“Do we really want to taint…this…with that? You're still...”

She sighs, looks at his lips again, and looks away with a shake of her head.

“I hate that you’re a good person.”

“Hey, I could say the same about you. That was the last of my resistance I was using there – if you’d fought me at all, well.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Sorry! Sorry. Ugh.” They stop talking, but they don’t stop holding each other. The gears in Fabian’s head turn in time with his stomach. “Don’t break up with Eddie for it.”

Patricia gets up, puts him at arm’s length, but still holding onto him.

“Where the hell did you get that idea from?” He blanches – did he overstep? Had he missed something? Or is he really that self-centered? She whacks him in the arm. “And stop overthinking it! Seriously, why are you worried about that?”

Fabian hems and haws a bit. Despite the involuntary rush of adrenaline – cued just in time to match the way his mind went completely blank on the topic despite the clear logic he used to make that statement in the first place being there just a second ago – he’s shocked to find that she’s not angry. She sounds shocked, a bit upset, but not necessarily with him. He takes a couple steadying breaths as she looks on with concern ratcheting upwards.

“You and Eddie are having a hard time right now, and for good reason, but it’s not unfixable whatsoever. You have a strong relationship. I don’t mean to insinuate anything, only that I don’t want you giving up on that prematurely for…whatever this is, or rather could be.”

Patricia frowns, brow furrowed to the nose and storm clouds rolling in.

“Don’t worry about what me and Eddie are doing. I know exactly what I’m doing.” Even though he feels like he’s the one in the wrong here, he can’t help but get his hackles up involuntarily at that obvious falsehood. She groans and waves her hand. “Oh, you know what I mean. It’s a mess, but it’s my mess. Our mess, me and Eddie’s, I mean. If it ends, it ends because of us, and there’s plenty of us to go around already.”

“Okay,” Fabian says, desperately grasping for that trust he had in her earlier. He finds it more easily than he was expecting, lying right behind her eyes and in the thin, crooked, half-broken smile she puts together from scratch for him.

“But.” He tenses up. “The two of us have been through a lot together. I’ve known you for basically forever.”

“Not all of forever has been pleasant,” he can’t help but offer. She snorts.

“That’s sort of what I mean. Don’t discount what this could be because of what it might have been before.”

That…huh. It struck a chord with him, but…

“Does…does that mean anything at all?”

“Oh, shut up. Don’t make this bit of forever unpleasant, too.” They both laugh, and things feel as close to comfortably normal as they could, what with the pervasive feeling that This Isn’t Happening For Real still hanging over the room present. Or her hand on his shoulder, still. Mostly the hand.

“This bit?” He can’t help himself – it’s so easy to give in to the urge to be cheeky around her.

“Yeah, this…whatever we’re doing. How we’re being better friends because we hate ourselves but we could be also…” she trails off, nose crinkling as she tries on an entire store’s worth of ill-fitting phrasings. “What did I say about not making this unpleasant?”

This time, when he cries from laughing too hard, there’s no pain in it whatsoever.

Eddie, Alfie, and KT return shortly after. Eddie still seems bothered, but less than he did when he left, and Patricia’s able to keep her cool just fine when he walks in the door. The only slip that gives her away is the quick glance back at Fabian when Eddie finally vacates the threshold of the door and puts their convenience store haul down on the coffee table. It was so quick that only Fabian would notice, but the gnawing anxiety in his gut wouldn’t stop reminding him that his own over-focus on Patricia would be the far more obvious thing for an outsider to notice there. That’s the only reason he saw her glance in the first place.

It's easy enough for them to pretend that everything is some semblance of normal for the rest of the trip. When they’re in a group, whatever activity they’re up to and the five-person banter are far too distracting for minds and eyes to wander. In a group, Fabian can’t tell if that subtle bit of distance between Patricia and Eddie is all in his head or not, and the less people there are, the distance between everyone invariably gets larger. Consideration for personal space, maybe. Maybe.

The trouble comes when the group whittles down to just Fabian and Patricia again, so they do their best to limit how often that happens. Fabian ranks it among the hardest things he’s ever done where the consequences don’t involve someone dying.

By the time they’re on the plane home, he’s so exhausted from tamping his feelings down that he doesn’t have the energy to feel them in the first place. He sleeps most of the time, unlike last time, and is only awake at the same time as Patricia (the one who claims to not be able to sleep on planes) once. They spend most of it in silence, Alfie’s snoring matching their stuttering heartbeats, and dare not refer to That Night.

Fabian would hold Patricia to her word – to not hurt Eddie on his behalf – no matter how much it hurt the two of them in turn. For now, he’s left with a lightness in his heart, and an ugly churning in his stomach.

[whoreofabaddon]

Good morning my love. Who are some of your favorite “feral women” in media?

This is going to be slightly hard to answer, because usually I have an attachment towards the other sort of female characters. I love the coolly cutting but outwardly collected women in media the most; dainty and underestimated women are my favorites in stories. Despite frequently loathing things she does, the first would actually be Cathy from Wuthering Heights. I used to hate her when I was younger, but as I grew up I began to appreciate the feminist points made by Emily Bronte. The fact is that Cathy is trapped by the societal pressures to let go of her past being free beside Heathcliff in the moors. This is when she is at her happiest and she is most genuine. She's wild and raw still. She's most honestly herself when she's beside him tumbling through the grass, but as she begins to grow up there's only one way that she sees to truly remain together. She believes that she has to conform in order to protect him, but she's sacrificing her integrity and his honor to do so because he would become nothing but her (for lack of a better word) mistress. The second is none other than Scarlett O'Hara from Gone with the Wind. This might seem like an odd choice to some, but I think that she's completely savage and that her survival focus certainly makes her 'feral.' As with Cathy, Scarlett is trapped by the confines of polite society and feels she is made into something purposefully helpless. It doesn't suit her and so she defies the norms when she's able to seek out her own (frequently decidedly selfish) desires. Ultimately, Scarlett discovers that there is very little that she will not do when given the motivation. And, because this is tumblr, I will add the disclaimer that I am fully aware of the revisionist nature of the book and not think Scarlett is a good person but rather an interesting and well developed character.

More questions about female characters please!!!