#fuck law enforcement my GOSH

[bittyfromquotev]

So. Being raised conservative, I never really understood why people hated cops. Because like. They’re supposed to be the good guys. They’re supposed to help us.

I’m reading Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson now and.

I get it now. What the fuck. What do you MEAN this FRAGILE UNSTABLE CHILD GETS SENT TO ADULT JAIL FOR KILLING SOMEONE ABUSIVE BUT NO HE WAS “A GREAT MAN” BECAUSE HE WAS A COP AND NO ONE MOVED HIM TO JUVIE UNTIL STEVENSON SAID THE KID WAS RAPED?????

What do you MEAN A MALE CORRECTIONAL OFFICER RAPED A TROUBLED GIRL IN A GIRLS PRISON AND WAS ONLY FIRED AND NOT CHARGED WHEN SHE GOT FUCKING PREGNANT.

WHAT THE FUCK!?

[sunnyupsidedown]

Thoughts On: The Sunshine Court

by Nora Sakavic [goodreads]

Aka, if I didn't put myself on a social media blackout, these would have been my live tweets. Spoilers below.

Gosh. What if Jeremy starts to hate Kevin for not doing 'enough' to help Jean. That’d probably hurt him so bad lmao Though I don't really thing Jeremy gives off those vibes. He's too sunny.

Also, now I’m thinking of Jeremy being a very normal kid with a normal background completely unprepared to help someone with absolutely massive amounts of trauma. Like. This kid being like, look at my normal jock life and then suddenly is exposed to the dark underbelly of organized crime.

Like. With Andrew and Neil, Neil was already familiar and Andrew at least is familiar with how bad law enforcement is so it’s all a non-issue. Jeremy though… what’s his story???

Jean over here probably texting with T9 on a flip phone

Which fox uses T9, which one taps the number until it gets to the letter they want, and which one has a phone with a keyboard?

Have I mentioned that I love Renee? I feel like she’s often seen as an uwu good girl Christian. But like. She’s so badass. I think she said it herself that she’s a bad person doing her best to be good and you really get that with the “smile that doesn’t reach her eyes”. Fucking love her.

Okay the uni president thing is actually kind of funny. Because I work in an athletic department and it reminds me of when the president requested access to the team practice schedules so I was in charge of setting up an account in our messaging app with the instructions to grant him access but with absolutely no power to do anything else

Do you think Renee will put "Destabilized Evermore leading to its eventual downfall" on her resume when she applies to the Peace Corps? I know this is not how it works but....

We’re going to see the reaction to Riko’s death from Jean’s POV!!! I wrote a ficlet about this!! It’s gonna be so cool to see what really happens!!

Wtf Jean’s 19?!?!

I'm saying this like everything that happened to him wouldn't have been just as horrifying if he were Kevin's age. But like. WTF??? He's Neil's age!!

LMAO everyone wants to choke Kevin out

“You were injured in a scrimmage” DAMN. I did not expect that from Abby. She's so done with Jean's evasions

I was being kind of mean to Kevin earlier and now I’m going to cry. He was just doing his best too :( what can you do when you’ve been raised in the system?

Kevin, Neil, and Jean are in the idiot exy trio

It’s so fascinating to know that this was the version where Jean lived because you can see the parts where his life could have ended. Like if Abby left the pills. If Jean made it back to Evermore. If Wymack didn’t threaten Tetsuji.

The way that they’re (Neil is) playing 5D exy mafia chess is so extra 😭

Everyone really looking to Neil for their courage. Neil was brave so I can be brave (or at least follow him). What would Neil do?

Do you think the other exy coaches know exy was built on blood? Or at least that Evermore was?

Jean and Kevin in the corner at the party full of Ravens: They don’t know the extent of Riko’s violence

I’m starting to realize that Jean is a lover... [Redacted: This is getting it's own post because I have feelings about this.]

JEREMY!! HELLO!! I DON'T KNOW YOU. ARE YOU DEPRESSING TOO?

Jeremy is so normal. This is going to be so good. He’s literally going to be like “why did you say it like that? You know that’s fucked up right?” Call it like it is my dude!!

How the hell did they get the seniors on board with a smaller line up? They’re giving up a chance at a championship run... Ah.

Oh. He’s rich?? Jeremy is rich? With a butler? Is he secretly going to be tied to the west coast mafia? And taking Jean on will create a bond between east and west?

OH HE’S POLITICIAN RICH. Damn. You know there's blood money somewhere

Are you telling me that the sunshine court is a nickname between Kevin and Jean (and maybe some others? I don't remember if it was ever mentioned in the other books) for USC? And it’s typically called the Gold Court? Cause if so, they’re soooo starved

Do you think Jean knows (or remembers) how to use money? Since he’s been locked up in the Nest for so long? How many social norms has he forgotten? How awkward is he going to be relearning them?

Oh god. Jean found out from Jeremy! Holy shit I was not expecting that. Damn. Also. He's alone :(

Renee and Jean 😭

I’m so glad they talked about redshirting. I was SO confused why they could go five years when the rule is 5 years to compete 4 seasons.

Radiology equipment in their exy stadium?? Man I forget how rich some schools are

Watch Jean break out in hives the moment he gets on clothes that are outside the monochrome color scheme

Oooo Jeremy, show me your spine. I want to see him mad. I want to see him lose control.

And then I forgot I was taking notes because I was too absorbed. When is the next book supposed to come out again?

[earlgraytay]

it's come to my attention that The Kids These Days don't know what "[x] isn't a four-letter word" means

and I feel simultaneously ancient and so happy that y'all are growing up in a world where you don't have to know

for today's lucky 10,000 - a four-letter word is a swear word. most swear words have four letters in English- fuck, damn, hell, and shit, are all four letters long.

Swearing used to be hella taboo in the US/anglophone Canada/the UK. like, "in some places there were laws against swearing in public/around women and children, and those laws were enforced" taboo. you could not swear on TV- not as in "they bleeped out cursing", as in the network would cut the broadcast if you tried. and we're not just talking f-bombs, we're talking "damn" and "hell" and "oh my god".

Back In The Day, respectable people did actually use all those kinda-silly euphemisms like "gosh" and "drat"- at least in public and around kids. It wasn't just incredibly devout Christians, it was everyone. The only people who publically swore were in all-male settings like the military, teenagers, and people who could not be respectable if they tried. Everyone else kept it behind closed doors.

saying "[x] isn't a four-letter word" means "[x] isn't a bad thing, it should be okay to talk about it in polite company, and trying to hide it or make it shameful is wrong." it means "don't treat this word like it's a[n incredibly taboo] swear word".

[queenlua]

while in Alaska, i found myself wondering why Alaskans are Like That TM, and proceeded to go read a phd thesis on the topic

and oh my gosh this had SO many fun little history tidbits in it:

* Project Chariot: in 1958 some nuclear science guy was so jazzed about the possibility of using nukes for radical terraforming projects that he was like “yo let’s blow up part of Alaska so hard it makes an entire new harbor.”  said project honestly had a lot of traction behind it until a nearby Alaska Native village caught wind of the project and went “uh excuse me what the fuck.”  i always forget how weirdly nuke-happy that time period was (there is also a British version of this plan)

* apparently, Katmai National Park was originally created to preserve the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes, which is exactly as badass as it sounds: after a 1912 volcano erruption, thousands of fumaroles were just continuously venting steam into the air for years and years.  however, the venting was mostly over by the time it got monument/park status, alas

* this Joe Vogler guy, omg.  what a kooky-and-then-bizarre narrative.  basically, Vogler’s some Fairbanks developer who’s really into building subdivisions and then forcing everyone in those subdivisions to kill every single aspen tree in sight because he hates aspen trees so much.  he goes to court over this (and loses, which makes him salty as hell)

anyway

in parallel, he founds a goofy Alaskan successionist party, runs for some elections, and eventually stirs up enough shit that, in 1993, Iran agrees to sponsor a Vogler speech on Alaskan independence in front of the United Nations

(would love to be a fly on the wall when they decided on this political gambit, lol)

anyway, he never gets to give the speech because he turns up... murdered?  due to “an illegal plastic explosive sale gone bad”??  dude’s found wrapped in a blue tarp and buried in a gravel pit like a year later.  weird as shit ending for a weird dude

* “[Wilderness activist Robert Marshall’s] donations to unions and socialist organizations during the 1930s caught the attention of conservative congressmen who accused him of being a communist before the House Committee on Un-American Activities. Marshall responded to his accusers: ‘Because I’ve been out in the woods and up in the Arctic a good part of the past five years, it may be that the Bill of Rights was repealed without my hearing about it.’ “ #burn #pwnt etc

* our modern bajillionaires are extremely Extra, of course, but it’s hard to compete with how Extra gilded-age billionaires were.  imagine being a railroad magnate and your doctor says “you need a vacation” so you fund an entire contingent of scientists to join you on a two-month journey to Alaska so that you have some company while you’re hunting bears???

* Godwin’s Law clearly predates the internet, lol.  when National Park Rangers started enforcing laws on parklands in the 70s, multiple Alaskan newspapers independently compared them to gestapo and/or Nazis.  (even funnier: this comparison understandably pissed off the readership of the more urban newspapers, so the editorial board had to put out an apology, which only made more angry people write in with other extremely choice metaphors, etc)

* “three members of the newly formed Alaskan Alpine Club, a splinter faction of the more law-abiding Alaska Alpine Club” --> not confusing at all!

[the196thbattalion]

star wars human! high school! au

i’ve seen so many headcanons circling throughout the star wars tumblr about high school au’s, so i wanted to share my bit with all of you :D

anakin skywalker

five words: REBEL CHILD ON A MOTORCYCLE.

he doesn’t like riding the school bus because it makes him feel extremely claustrophobic, so he scrapped and scavenged up parts to make his own customized motorcycle, which he lovingly dubbed artoo.

the blue and silver detailing was the joint effort of ahsoka and obi-wan, because anakin doesn’t know how to paint.

if he can catch up to the bus, he’ll ride alongside it and flip off the students on it before revving on ahead of them. (the freshmen think it’s the funniest thing in the universe)

probably one of the most well-known juniors in the entirety of temple high school (mostly because of his shenanigans but partly because he’s dating padme fuckiNG AMIDALA, PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE DAMN SCHOOL)

he always wears this worn-down leather jacket his mom gave to him before she passed away, and refuses to take it off, even though it’s somehow “a violation of the dress code and should be outlawed.”

his hair alone has seduced eight different students (boys and girls)

sometimes during study hall, ahsoka or padme will get a hold of his hair and style it into little braids or make a super rad ponytail.

he really likes iced coffee with milk and sugar. he puts in the milk to make it nice and light (it’s aesthetically pleasing, obi-wan!), and then like eight tablespoons of sugar to make it actually taste good.

his favorite class is mechanics, taught by kit fisto.

anakin spent months on a mechanical arm project to replace his clunky plastic prosthetic, and he was so freaking happy when it was finished; he almost cried. (he did cry and ahsoka got it on video)

obi-wan kenobi

a mixture of the soft™, pretty™, hippie™, grunge™, vsco™ and nerd™ tropes.

he really likes peppermint tea with lots of honey but takes his coffee black.

he has had too much tea.

someone needs to stop him.

almost all of his classes are ap courses, and if cody hadn’t been watching when obi-wan was making his schedule, all of them would be.

him, cody and padme have ap english with mace windu, and cody knows how much his classes stress him out, so he lets obi-wan sleep during class and sends him the notes

the only ap class obi-wan doesn’t take is mechanics, and he shares that class with anakin.

anakin and obi-wan are super close with each other. kenobi was there when ahsoka was adopted, and anakin was there when kenobi got his cat. (they were like 5 okay)

“NAME IT C3PO OBI-WAN, OR I SWEAR TO FUCK-” “what kind of name is that, and why would i - anAKIN PUT HIM DOWN!?”.

mr. fisto constantly has to split them up for disrupting the class, but it’s almost like they can communicate telepathically, and the teachers have a running bet

mace windu literally bet $50 on these fucking nerds so you know it’s for realsies

in reality, they’ve just gotten super creative with passing notes.

kind of off topic, but he has these brown harry potter glasses that he uses (kinda for reading???? but mostly so he can do that anime pushing up glasses thing)

cody thinks it’s the funniest shit ever

whenever cody is feeling stressed, obi-wan just does the thing™ and BOOM! happiness.

people think he’s a goodie two shoes, and honestly, it’s really easy to think that. if the iconics are trying to do something stupid, he’s usually the voice of reason.

but parties?

…

you know what, just ask anakin for the video footage.

ahsoka tano

this hs!au ahsoka tano turned me bisexual confirmed ✔

okay before i go into her style, which is mainly what made me drool over my computer, can i just put skatergirl!ahsoka out there?

spray painting of the rebellion symbol all over the bottom of her board and on items in a couple of the places where she skates the most (like the back of an abandoned car yard)

her instagram is filled with these super cool vhs-tape recorded skate videos (u know)

lots crackhead 3am visits (starring anakin, rex, kenobi and barris) to a gas station to get slushies and grind the shit out of the curb connecting the store to the parking lot

trying to teach anakin how to skateboard but he just can’t figure it out? uh yes

“try to balance skyguy!” “HOW DO I MOVE? DO I SCOOT? SNIPS THIS ISN’T FUNNY AND I WANT TO GET OFF – GUYS, STOP LAUGHING!”

okay okay okay i’m done

for now

anyway, her style???? is so???? fucking????? cool!!!!!

her genetics gave her a 80% of having vitiligo, so it really wasn’t a surprise when patches of her skin got lighter, but it still freaked her out a little bit.

basically, went like this: “DAD, I’M TURNING WHITE!” “???? oh my gosh ‘soka, no.”

she has long braided dreadlocks she dyed a super bright orange with various colored beads woven into them with the help of anakin and padme. she usually styles them into little space buns atop her head.

her entire clothing wardrobe consists of fishnets, neon bomber jackets, at least 11 bisexual beanies™, handmade patchy jeans, white tank tops, and light-up platform shoes.

she doesn’t give two flying fucks about the dress code, and – IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOST BUSY HALLWAY - punched principal sidious over whether or not she “could wear shorts that short” (anakin may or may not have cheered when she broke his nose).

the fetts (chuck have mercy)

*cracks le knuckles* i’ve put it off long enough

we have: fox (24), wolffe (19), cody (17), rex (17), echo (16), fives (16), boil (15), waxer (14), hardcase (13), jesse (12), longshot (8), kix (6), tup (3), gree (2) and boba (9mo)

wolffe is off at college - fox already graduated and moved out, that cheeky little fucking shit - but both still keep in good contact with the fam, and it’s a constant clamor between eleven of the siblings of who gets to talk to them first

fox majored in government/politics, bly is majoring in space/astronomy, and wolffe is majoring in police/law enforcement shit (i don’t know how college works, so sue me)

cody and rex are juniors, and despite their similar looks, the amount of schoolwork each of them completes drastically varies

cody is the honor roll student, valedictorian, whatever you want to call it

rex kinda just either does the work really well or 9/10 times gets distracted by anakin or ahsoka sending him some nice spicy memes

cody tried to tutor rex but it ended up almost landing tup in the hospital

“that’s really simple, actually. if you – vod? rex, are you okay? what are you oH NO TUP DON’T PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH-”

fetts on the varsity football team is like a right of passage in the family

right now, only the juniors of the fett family are on the team, but the coach has eyes on fives and echo for next years team

SPEAKING OF

echo, fives and boil are the infamous sophomore trio that pulled the milk bucket prank on the gym teacher, pong krell.

they had to help the janitor (99) clean up afterwards, but they genuinely enjoyed 99’s company, because he’s rad as shit and knows all the secret school passageways.

to be honest, not one person (except maybe sidious) was complaining

that motherfucker makes everyone run like eight laps during gym class

even mr. windu gives them a small smile in the hallways after that

boil says he was blackmailed into it

waxer is a freshman (the poor dude, i’m so sorry), and he always looks out for the nervous freshies

if someone is having a bad day, he’ll give them a lollipop (he carries around a whole bag), a place to sit during lunch, and a shoulder to cry on

all you need to do to find waxer is to locate this long ass line of children

the school counselor, plo koon, sometimes brings his niece numa into school during the day because he can’t find a babysitter, and waxer. fucking. loves. her. PERIOD.

w+n pull these tiny little pranks on teachers, and the staff pretends not to notice, but numa always giggles and gives them away.

boil has a soft spot for numa too, and sneaks her rice krispies.

bonus shit i want to add in but can’t figure out where to put it (or i’m just gonna add it on and shit)

plo koon adopted anakin after his mother died (him and anakin’s mother were good friends), and found ahsoka on the side of the street, shivering like a maniac.

he doesn’t know where ahsoka came from, but he loves her so gOD DAMN MUCH.

he’s the school counselor, and still keeps in touch with a lot of students even after the graduated (he thinks that majoring in law enforcement/police is a bit dangerous for wolffe but he still supports his unofficial but basically son 100%)

yoda is the super old but radically rad english teacher.

his entire point of existence in my mind fic is to troll the shit out of palpatine.

a recent conversation starring yoda and palps: “did you give the students the mountain of extra work i assigned them?” “for the students, that was?” i’m sorry. my bad, that is.” “this is the seventh time, yoda.”

okay but for real

mace windu violently roots for the school football team.

“BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM, CODY! YOU TOO...OTHER CODY!”

“THAT’S A HOLDING! THAT’S A HOLDING!”

“REF IF YOU DON’T COUNT THAT TOUCHDOWN THEN I SWEAR TO SAMUEL L. JACKSON I WILL COME DOWN THERE AND BEAT YOUR SORRY PINSTRIPED ASS!”

[oumaheroes]

I posted 2,204 times in 2021

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For every post I created, I reblogged 16.8 posts.

I added 1,403 tags in 2021

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#im sorry anon you probably werent expecting an answer this big but i love accents and languages and i can go on about them all gosh darn day

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

All Tied Up

Word Count: 2479

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘What the fuck are those?’

France sighed from where he was hanging up his clothes in his hotel wardrobe, ‘Good evening to you too. Why are you in my room, already, Arthur? I only arrived half an hour ago, couldn’t you let me exist without your presence for just a few moments more?’

He hadn’t heard him come in; France didn’t think he’d left the door to his hotel open. Although, England did have a bad habit of quietly entering places rather too well for his liking, ‘It’s bad enough that I will have to endure so much of you this week.’

‘Fuck off. I was hungry, so I came to see if you’d eaten.’

France turned back to his open suitcase for another shirt, ‘And?’

England frowned at him, ‘And?’

‘And,’ France prompted, slipping his favourite dress shirt onto a hanger. It was wrinkled; he hoped there was a decent iron here, ‘what were you going to do then?’

England huffed at him, as if, somehow, he France was being the difficult one, ‘And if you hadn’t, I was going to go with you.’

‘Could you not ask me to dinner like a normal person?’

England ignored him and nodded his head to the top of France’s temporary wardrobe, ‘Why have you got those?’

France followed his eyeline, stepping back when he couldn’t see anything. A few paces back and beside England he could see there, right at the back and on the top shelf of the wardrobe, were a pair of handcuffs.

‘Bit lewd for a week-long conference, init?’

France raised an eyebrow at him, ‘Do you really think I’d be that crass for those to be mine?’ England said nothing but his look became a lot more pointed. A beat of silence later and France shrugged, ‘Fine. But those ones are not.’

‘Of course.’

‘Why on earth would I lie about that.’

England shrugged, ‘Why do you do most of what you do? I never know.’

‘No, because you’re far too dim.’

‘Dim? Coming from the bellend who takes handcuffs to a NATO summit in Toronto.’

‘They’re not mine- what are you doing?’

England had moved around him and crossed the room towards the wardrobe and was now reaching up to the back to grab the handcuffs. France looked at them in his hands and then around his temporary room in distain, ‘I can’t stay here anymore, who knows what else they missed cleaning.’

France imagined that poor Canada was probably stressed enough as it was hosting this thing and likely didn’t need any additional work, but the idea of sleeping in a bed that might not have been changed was not something that appealed to him in the slightest. If the handcuffs were missed by the cleaners who knew what else they had failed to catch.

England tutted, ‘Don’t be such a baby.’

‘I hardly think me caring about my personal hygiene is me being a baby.’

‘You’ve slept in worse.’ England paused, ‘You’ve left worse.’

France opened his mouth to retort but England made an approving sound, opening the cuff wider, ‘These are pretty good quality, you know.’

France rolled his eyes, ‘Oh, and you would know.’ England turned them over and France sniffed, tucking his hair behind his ears, ‘Put those back, they’re probably filthy.’

‘No, I mean they look like they’re law enforcement rather than… well. Not.’

France stepped closer, ‘No look, they’re too flimsy.’ He pointed to the chain that connected the two cuffs, ‘and those are incredibly out of date- surely your police don’t still use these?’

England flushed, ‘Of course not! But I’ve seen a few of these about recently.’

‘Really? And how many decades ago was that? Twenty? Thirty?’

England waved a hand airily, ‘I don’t know, thereabouts maybe.’

‘You’re a fool.’

France made to take them from him but England pulled back sharply, ‘What are you doing?’

France blinked at his suspicious tone, ‘What are you doing? You’re not going to keep them, are you?’

‘No!’ England’s cheeks burned scarlet, ‘No of course not, but you reached for them so suddenly-‘

‘And what?’ France leant back and put a hand on his hip, ‘You thought I was attacking you?’

England scowled, ‘Well, it wouldn’t be the first time now, would it?’

‘Oh that is rich coming from you-‘

‘What’s that supposed to mean!’

‘You know full well what that means- look, just give them here.’ France lunged forwards, hoping to tug them out of England’s hands but England jumped away reflexively. Maybe he’d judged the angle wrong, or maybe England had tripped him somehow- either way France fell too sharply onto him and England gave a surprised yelp.

Click.

They froze, France with both hands balled in England’s shirt to keep him upright. One of them now had a shiny, very solid looking, handcuff around it.

They both stared at it in silence.

England gave a choked laugh and tried to cover it as a cough, ‘Francis, I swear I-‘

‘You arsehole!’

France shoved himself off and England held up his hands placatingly, ‘I swear I didn’t do that on purpose.’

‘Oh of course you didn’t!’ France held out his handcuffed arm out on front of him and shook it at England aggressively, ‘Take this off! Take it off right now!’

‘Okay okay, calm the fuck down, Jesus Christ.’

‘Calm? Calm? You tell me to be calm? I just got off a nine-hour flight only to be handcuffed by you of all people half an hour after I get in my fucking hotel? And you’re telling me to be calm?’

England, who had gone back to the wardrobe to feel about the top shelf, let out a soft, ‘ah’.

France laughed and shook his head, ‘No. No no, no don’t tell me there’s no key. Don’t you damn well dare.’

England, now that the initial shock of the situation had worn off, was clearly trying to hide that he was enjoying France’s predicament, ‘there’s no key.’

France threw a clothing hanger at him.

----

Two hours later, and things were no better.

France, (reasonably, he thought), refused to leave the room until the handcuffs were off and refused to let England leave the room until he’d fixed the problem that he’d created. England could agree that yes, maybe he had some part to play in all of this, but really it was France’s fault for lunging at him so suddenly and only agreed to stay if they ordered dinner first.

So, aside from a break to eat, France angrily chewing through a delivered meal he’d demanded England pay for in stony silence, they spent the time pulling apart the room and crawling to places France would never admit to crawling just in case the key had managed to slip down into some long-forgotten corner.

They’d both turned everything inside and out, upturning all of the drawers and taking off all of the bedding, but no luck. The wardrobe itself was fixed to the wall with no holes a key could have slipped through, so eventually France had to admit defeat and concede that there was no key to be found.

England, to his credit, did try to hold it together commendably well and had only let a euphoric grin slip through twice, both times of which he’d covered by burying his face behind something and pretending to cough until he’d smothered his glee enough to reappear with a blank expression. However, any time his eyes were caught by the glinting mental hideously shackled around France’s wrist, the corners of his mouth would twitch in a way that made France want to immediately wound him with the nearest blunt object.

Sadly for France, England was his best chance at getting him out of the current situation and so committing assault upon him was not the best resolution to his current troubles.

‘You’re going to have to do it,’ France said eventually after he’d finished rechecking a drawer England had already searched, (one could never be entirely sure that England was taking this seriously- being an almighty annoyance to France was one of his favourite pastimes, after all, and France didn’t want to assume the glimmer of remorse he had seen was genuine.)

‘Do what?’

‘Oh, don’t play the fool; get me out.’

England made a derisive noise, ‘Oh yes, sorry, let me just pull the key out of my ar-‘

‘No,’ France tutted at him and shifted through his suitcase to find his toiletry bag, ‘You may pretend to Australia that you do not know how to pick locks but we both know that you do¸ and seeing as there is no key and I am stuck here I’m sure you can pretend to forget that lie for just the moment.’

England snorted and took a hairpin that France offered him, ‘You have been watching far too many Hollywood films.’

France put a hand on a hip, ‘Can you do it or not.’

England bristled, ‘Of course I can. But hairpins like this aren’t exactly the bes-‘

France interrupted him with a shake of the wrist, ‘Do you see this still attached to me? I really do not care. Get me out.’

Muttering very gruesome sounding things under his breath, England pushed France down to sit on the bed and crouched before him, positioning France’s wrist upturned on his knees.

France nudged him gently with his foot and raised his eyebrows suggestively, ‘You didn’t have to handcuff me to get me here, you know.’

England swatted him away and looked at him in disgust, ‘Don’t you start.’ He bent apart the hairpin and worked it into the lock, twisting it slightly, ‘I wouldn’t want to anyway, you smell like plane.’

‘Oh! Oh, darling do tell me why that is. Hmm? Is it because I haven’t had the chance to shower yet, because I was attacked before I had even finished unpacking?’ He ran his free hand through England’s hair, ‘Why is this so long? Have you not had it cut since I last did it?’

England squinted at the handcuff and didn’t look up, ‘No, I’ve been busy.’ He twisted the hairpin and it made a very hopeful clicking sound, but nothing happened and England went back to jiggling it ever so slightly into different positions, ‘You can do it whilst we’re here.’

France huffed, ‘And what makes you think I can?’

‘You always take scissors with you.’

‘No, I meant what makes you think that I will.’ He brushed England’s fringe back from his forehead, measuring out its length between his fingers, ‘Just because I-‘

They both jumped, startled, as the door to France’s room burst open unexpectedly to reveal America in the doorway, ‘Yo Francis, we’re all going out to- what the fuck are you doing?!’

England’s head popped up and suddenly France could see all too clearly how this scene looked to America’s eyes: France, a fist buried in England’s hair and England crouched on his knees in front of him, head bent close to his lap.

England locked eyes with him, an expression of shock on his face, before flicking to America framed and frozen in the doorway. He held up a hand placatingly, ‘No it’s okay, they’re just handcuffs!’

‘Oh God!’ America clapped a hand over his eyes, ‘No way man, I do not wanna see that! Jesus, what is wrong with the both of you? Have you heard of locking the door?’

‘No!’ England stood up suddenly. He didn’t let go of the handcuff and the movement jerked up France’s arm roughly, causing him to give a cry of pain. England dropped his arm in horror, ‘It’s really not what it looks like.’

‘Okay, sure dude, whatever,’ still with his hand over his eyes, America backed away out into the corridor, ‘I’ll let everyone know you can’t come because you’re both occupied.’

‘No!’ France and England both shouted in unison but it was no use, America slammed the door and they could hear him running down the corridor in the direction of the stairs.

France sighed through his nose, ‘Well, that went well.’

----

England did eventually spring France loose. After turning off his phone and forcing France to silence his own and not touch it (they kept beeping, America worked fast at spreading the news) he managed to work his way into the lock after chewing it into more of a sharp point and bending it into ridiculous angles.

‘There you go, they can’t have been official handcuffs,’ France rubbed his wrist, relishing the feeling of the metal being gone, and picked up the handcuffs to turn them over, ‘police handcuffs wouldn’t be that easy to pick.’

England snorted and brushed down his trousers, ‘Or, maybe I’m rather good at it.’

France did pretend to politely consider this for a second, ‘Or, your police have never had quality handcuffs, which really does make your government’s further reduction of their budget particularly sad. What will they use next, cable ties?’

England scowled, ‘Is that any way to talk to someone who just freed you from handcuffs?’

‘Yes, if that same person put me in them.’

England gave a bark of laughter, ‘I’m sure you’ve done something recently to deserve it.’

France hmm’d and stood up to join him, ‘I’m glad your alternate reality entertains you.’ He stepped up to England, grabbing his wrist and tugging him closer with one hand before bringing the other to rest on the small of his back.

‘What are you-‘

France swiftly kissed him silent, bringing his hand from England’s wrist to cup the nape of his neck and press his thumb gently into the bones. He felt England relax, the tension from his shoulders loosening as he gave into it and France let him have the moment unspoilt for a while. Then, before England could react, with the other hand France pulled him closer, pressing them closer together, before removing it suddenly.

Click.

With a noise of outrage, England bit him, hard, on the lip and France pulled away with a grin as England furiously brought his hand up to reveal a shiny new bracelet.

France laughed, stepping back quickly lest he hit him, ‘There, now I know you have done something recently to deserve that.’

England recovered the distance, hands clenched at his sides, ‘Yes, but mine was a fucking accident!’

France shrugged lightly, ‘Well, it’s a good thing you’re rather good at breaking out of them, isn’t it?’

England pressed his lips together so tightly they went white and France smirked at him, ‘I’m going to have a shower, you entertain yourself there for a moment with that and then we can go out for a drink.’

England sat down with a huff and picked up the now very abused hairpin, ‘You’re paying.’

‘Maybe.’

‘And we’re avoiding the place everyone else is going to.’

‘Oh certainly.’

----

AN:

I was going to write something soft and sweet, or something more serious with a bit of detail, but this came out instead. I’m not mad about it, but I do wish I were able to stick to some sort of plan.

It made me chuckle writing it, so I hope you all enjoy!

96 notes • Posted 2021-08-11 20:38:23 GMT

#4

Reminders

Summary: in the middle of WWI, Arthur and Gilbert take a break

Word Count: 1419

Characters: England, Prussia

...............................

It was light when Arthur left the trench.

He’d found, over long years of watching people do things that they should not be doing, that the best way to get away with something undetected was to just do it openly. The more you tried to hide something, the more suspicious you became and the more likely you were to be caught. If Arthur wanted to go somewhere or do something unquestioned, the best way to do that was to act as if you should be doing it.

Gilbert was nearby. Arthur could feel him, that itch of another nation scratching at his mind and distracting him. France wasn’t Arthur’s land and so the sensation wasn’t as precise and specific, he could not intrinsically feel who it was that was nearby but Arthur knew nonetheless that it was another nation and he could work out who easily enough. Germany was too new, too awkward, and to approach Arthur’s lines like this wouldn’t be in his nature. The boy relied on humans to guide him too much, saw himself as one of them, or moulded by them, and he’d never be this daring.

In the aftermath of a shelling attack, pieces of his men scattered about the mud like flower petals, Arthur pushed his way through the panicked mess of survivors through the trench to the path that led to the entrance and then, just as it started to slope upwards, hefted himself over the side. There was a thicket of trees close by, white canopies of the medical tents glinting between the branches, but Arthur avoided them entirely. There was no help he could give that would make any difference; Arthur could spend hours patching up a soldier only for him to bleed out minutes later. No, Arthur was a better comfort for the dying, holding men in his arms in a shell hole in No Man’s Land and forcing himself to recall their name and age as they cried and begged him to take them home.

Twenty-two. Twenty-six. Nineteen, fifteen. Tom, Harry, Samuel, Jacob. Sussex, Essex, Yorkshire, Cornwall.

Home was England and Arthur was the closest to home they’d ever get again.

Following his feet and the tug that called them, Arthur walked for a few hours, the pop pop pop of guns growing faint behind him and to his left as he went, following the sun.

Gilbert was in an abandoned farmstead, sat tucked under a barn with his helmet by his feet. The whole front wall had been blown open; Gilbert had a few large splinters in his hands and he turned them over as Arthur approached, using one to scratch gouges into the other.

‘Hey.’

Arthur sighed and sat down beside him, ‘Morning.’ He dug about in his pockets for some cigarettes and pulled two out before handing one to Gilbert, ‘Still got your hair?’

‘Yeah,’ Gilbert rubbed at it and took the offered cigarette, ‘keep getting lice but I don’t want to shave it.’

‘Me neither,’ Arthur struck a match, enjoying the flash of warmth it gave his fingers before quickly lighting Gilbert’s cigarette where it dangled between his lips, ‘I think my head would be far too cold without hair, bloody lice or no.’

Gilbert huffed a laugh and sat back, ‘You’d also look like an egg.’ He took a deep drag before releasing a long breath of smoke up into the rafters, ‘Fuck. What a mess.’

Arthur made a noise. This was dangerous ground. Nations rarely instigated war themselves but they nearly always fought in them. Arthur was Arthur but he was also England and England was at war with Prussia, the line between his two selves, his two senses of identity blurring and twisting into something confusing and frustrating. It was easy to let things become personal, easy to paint Gilbert as nothing but ‘the enemy’ and strip all humanity from him, ‘It would be better if you stop shooting at me.’

‘Aw, you can tell I’m aiming for you? That’s so sweet.’

‘Well, you keep missing so it can’t be anyone competent. Must be you.’

‘Hah! Bullshit, if I miss a shot then I’m being kind.’

‘You call keeping me alive in this hell being kind?’ Arthur knew he’d let too much emotion slip, heard the words land heavy and pointed between them.

Gilbert shot him a look from the corner of his eye, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

‘You owe me a drink.’ Arthur said after a time, finally unable to bear the awkward silence any longer.

‘Do I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘The night we went out in Amsterdam with Francis and Antonio, where you got your-‘

‘Fuck, okay okay, yeah jeez. Shit, you’re worse than Antonio, let it go already, tight arse.’

‘Hypocrite.’

‘Did I say I wasn’t?’ Gilbert scoffed. He took another drag of his cigarette and made a face, ‘These taste shit.’

‘They’re French.’

‘Damn, you’re really having a rough time of it.’

Arthur chuckled, ‘I’m glad you can finally see the depths of my despair.’

Gilbert looked down and away, prodding his helmet with the tip of one boot, ‘How is he?’

‘France?’

‘Yeah.’

Arthur sucked in a breath, ‘Sadly for me, he’s still alive.’

Gilbert smirked. He looked relieved, a slight lifting of his shoulders, ‘You don’t sound sad about that.’

‘I most certainly am. He won’t shut up; every time I see him.’ Arthur put on an exaggerated French accent, far stronger than anything Francis actually sounded like- France only kept a slight accent just to bother Arthur, ‘”Oh Angleterre, look, I am now as dirty as you usually are. Arthur dear, why do you insist on standing like that? You’re making me nervous just looking at you. Mon Cher, do you think that this is it for us? Come, let us sit in this dugout for three hours and debate the woes of existence.” Like that, on and fucking on.’

Gilbert cracked a laugh that turned into a cough, ‘Don’t make me laugh, my lungs are fucking corroded.’

‘Yes, your breath is rather toxic.’

‘Hey, it was from your gas attacks.’

Back on the war. It was foolish of Arthur to even try and avoid it, ‘I can’t stay long. I was only curious to see why you’d wandered out this far.’

Gilbert spat something bloody into the dirt, ‘How’d you know it was me?’

‘Matthew, Francis and Marie are miles away, the frog I watched leave happily myself. You’re the only one it could be.’

‘That boy of yours is a nightmare. He just won’t die.’There was a bitter twist to Gilbert’s mouth and he avoided looking at Arthur, staring at something far beyond the farm.

Arthur did not comment. To share the pride that he felt for Matthew’s achievements now, here in front of the one who had most recently felt the pain of his work, would do neither of them any good. Instead, he asked the question he'd really come out this far to ask, 'Why are you out here, Gil.'

Gilbert shook his head, eyes still fixed on something Arthur could not see, 'Couldn't be in there anymore. Needed to just-' he took a sharp breath in, 'remember who I was, for a second. That I'm more than whatever that shit is.'

He didn't move to indicate what he was talking about but Arthur understood immediately. 'That', the war, the trenches- what it turned them into.

The admission hit too close to home for comfort and Arthur stood, brushing dried dirt from his trousers, ‘I hope when we meet again it will be somewhere alcoholic.’

Gilbert said nothing for a moment, ‘I hope there’s enough of us left to meet.’ He looked up at Arthur, eyes glinting and sharp, ‘I meant that symbolically as well as physically.’

How much of himself was Arthur losing in his war? Half the time, he didn’t recognise himself- a washed out ghost propped by desperation and history alone. Who was Arthur anymore? Who was England? Centuries built on empire and silk, rich cloth, good food and money reduced once again to a frightened child, scrabbling about in the dirt.

To acknowledge such loss would be to accept it, to dwell on such lows would only make them harder to bear.

Arthur held out his hand and Gilbert took it, skin split and dry, ‘If there’s even one per cent of you left, I expect that drink.’

Gilbert gave a wolfish grin, ‘I’m gonna make you work for it.’

...............................

AN:

There’s no history or research behind this. It started out as a writing warm up and became an experiment of sorts.

As much as I love a grittier take on Hetalia, where the nations are heavily involved and invested in the actions their country takes in war and politics, I also like exploring this side: long living beings who are swept up in history as it happens, not allowed to give their own opinions on the matter and completely unable to prevent the turns it takes.

If they’re more separate from history in this way, I find it interesting to think about how that would affect them. People who might have been friends or lovers are suddenly thrown the roles of ‘enemy’ because of a war human have begun. Especially the first world war, the cluster fuck that it was, I imagine that the whole time many of the nations would have been extremely throw by the sudden changes in alliance alongside the utter barbarity of the war itself.

Thanks for reading!

115 notes • Posted 2021-11-14 10:27:26 GMT

#3

Old Age

Word Count: 1772

Characters: Canada, England, and France

---

There were some days where Canada truly felt his age.

Most of the time how old he was didn’t really hit him. He happily pottered around work or home as easily as he imagined most humans his physical age did: running for a train he was almost certainly going to miss, tripping down the last few steps on a flight of stairs because he was staring at his phone and wasn’t watching his feet, or spilling coffee on himself when he missed his mouth taking a sip.

His colleagues, despite knowing who he was, spoke to him as an equal and Canada could happily pass weeks, or sometimes even months, without consciously being aware of how old he was- or even really what he was.

It was easy to forget, surrounded by humans every day, that he was not one. His ministers and co-workers spoke to him without questioning his position that high in government- that was admittedly unusual for a face as young as his. Occasionally, he’d bump into a young intern or graduate who didn’t know him and he’d have a nice, genuine interaction before a look of shock crossed their face when someone high up greeted him respectfully. It was a helpful, yet stark, reminder.

But overall, when you were surrounded by people who did know it never really hit him that his presence or job was something he took for granted and the passing of time was something he didn’t really take notice of. It was normal. He was there, he was called Matthew, sometimes, or Canada, but both were his name and the potency of what he was, was surprisingly quite forgettable.

Of course, what he was was never something he could completely avoid. Someone would mention a time, or a date, or a thing that had happened and Canada would immediately feel the distance widen between them all as it was made obvious that, to everyone else, what they were discussing was history. It was something passed, something that had happened to other people too long ago to properly connect with on an emotional level. An old battle, an old political bill; something that someone long long dead had said or written that now remained only as faint ink on curling, dusty paper.

But to Canada it was there in his head, the words clear and as easy to recall as if they were spoken to him yesterday. A benefit of nationhood, he supposed, to be fully aware of things that had political consequence, to be able to trace the makings of himself back through time and see how they spiralled and grew.

History wasn’t just words, to him, or mere events. Such things made up the foundations of himself, the building blocks of his life and he felt them thrum through him like a song, twisting and moulding him into being.

Becoming aware of his age and the difference between himself and humans were when Canada really felt the weight of the years he carried. Over three hundred of them made themselves known, hanging off his shoulders and settling down to his legs to hold him up. It was easy to briefly forget how old he was, but that knowledge was impossible to rid himself of entirely- Canada was made up of history, of the bones of time and they cracked together as he moved through his life to remind him of who he was with every step.

He had burned, he had bled, he had died. He had seen.

That was the point of him. To watch to passage of time and remember it, to hold the memory of his people within him and use their voices and experiences to push for the continuation of the future. Their future.

Canada was his people, was made by his people for his people and as he sat amongst them, discussing old old moments long gone with humans who could only read and dream of them, the distinction of what he was would hit him like a thunderbolt.

It was heavy, to be so old. To have seen so many things, to have lived through so much. To be what he was.

He had just had one of those instances. He and his cabinet had spent the entire morning discussing the founding of their nation and its independence in order to plan for the yearly celebrations and Canada had suffered through the whole time feeling every second of his age press against him.

When talks finally drew to a close and he could escape, Canada dragged his ancient body towards the centre of town. England and France were visiting, along with the rest of the UN, and he’d promised to meet them both for lunch before they too were pulled into an afternoon of far more internationally inclined meetings.

If he were honest with himself, what Canada really wanted to do was go home and watch TV; switch his brain off so that he could numb himself with bad reality shows. It was a good pastime that he enjoyed with guilty abandon and one that he would much rather have preferred doing. However, he’d made a promise and Canada was nothing if not a nation of his word.

Sadly.

England and France were already there when he arrived, tucked away in a corner table. France glanced up as the door jingled with his entrance, waving him over with a smile. Canada nodded at the waiter who motioned him through and settled himself down in a chair at their table between them.

‘Good afternoon,’ France greeted him with his usual cheek kisses, hair tickling Canada’s nose as he leant in close, ‘you arrived just on time, I was about to throw Arthur out of the window.’

‘You wish,’ England looked up from his phone and shot him a quick, but warm smile, ‘Hello Matthew.’

Canada’s heart sank. He really wasn’t in the mood to play mediator today, ‘Dare I ask why?’ he said, turning to France.

France gave an effortless shrug and settled back in his seat, ‘Do I really need a reason?’

‘Yes.’

Both England and Canada spoke at once and France gave a sly grin, ‘I won’t darling, you don’t deserve the trouble,’ he patted Canada’s knee soothingly and politely ignored England’s muttered “as if you could” from across the table, ‘but the idiot seems to think he’s correct about something which he very much is not.’

‘Oh, of course,’ England retorted immediately, ‘you can’t remember properly but I’m the one who’s wrong.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘What is it?’ Canada interjected quickly. The waiter who had greeted him at the door was shooting their table looks of alarm out of the corner of his eye and Canada smiled at him apologetically, ‘Maybe I could help.’

To his surprise, England and France shared a look, something unspoken passing between them, ‘You weren’t about yet,’ offered France, sounding apologetic.

‘When was it?’

‘Oh, not too long ago,’ England waved a hand airily, ‘only six hundred years or so.’

Canada blinked, ‘Six hundred?’

‘Or there abouts,’ England frowned again, ‘I’m not sure when exactly, but I know France is wrong.’

France scoffed, ‘You can’t remember when it is, but you know I’m wrong?’

‘Obviously. I know it was about fifty years after Agincourt, I’m not sure of exactly when but-‘

‘Well, there you go! You’ve muddled it up with something else.’

‘I haven’t! You held that ball, the one with the fucking shit tonne of flowers everywhere, and were displaying those golden goblet things you were so damn proud of and I gave you that stupid painting-‘

‘No!’ France interjected angrily, ‘You took that painting and then were made to give it back.’

‘I didn’t! It was my bloody painting- Jesus fucking Christ,’ England held his head in his hands, ‘that’s not the point, I’m using that as a reference-‘

‘Yes well, pick a reference that has a grain of reality in it, would you?’

England opened his mouth to argue back again but Canada didn’t hear him, by now long tuned out of the conversation.

Only. Only six hundred years ago. Canada couldn’t even imagine that amount of time, couldn’t imagine having lived so long that six hundred years was considered to be a mere drop in the ocean.

But to these two, it was. England and France had both been alive for millennia, had known each other for that long and had been alive without each other for even longer before that.

Sitting next to them, his own existence suddenly felt like nothing, felt insignificant in the history of mankind. What had Canada seen, that these two had not? He couldn’t even begin to imagine. Three hundred years felt more than enough.

It hit him, then, how long most of their kind had lived. He’d realised this before, of course, but still the comprehension about the difference in age between him and most of the world left him dumbstruck anew. Fuck, what about China; Lord only knew how old he really was. There wasn’t a point in history that it didn’t seem as though China hadn’t been around to experience, even from across the world. Whole empires and civilisations had risen and fallen and most of the nations Canada knew had personally been involved in them somehow. It was astounding to consider all the people who had lived throughout the centuries that, to Canada, felt like nothing more than characters in a story.

What on earth was three hundred years to age like that? To history that felt so ancient to him, so disconnected that it didn’t really even feel real, but that was as normal to most nations as his own history was.

How many years would Canada have to live until three hundred was something he would describe as ‘only’?

‘Are you alright, lad?’ Canada was jolted out of his spiral to find England looking at him with concern, a hand on his arm.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he shook his head, ‘it’s just- you’re both so old.’

England coloured and France laughed, ‘We’re not old,’ England jabbed a thumb in France’s direction, ‘Well, he is.’

‘It is more about how you feel and act, dear, that’s more important and in that regard, you are far older than I.’ France yelped suddenly as England kicked him under the table, ‘Does the truth sting, Arthur? Is that why you felt the need to vent your frustrations on me?’

‘As if I need more of a reason-‘

They began again, in earnest, but Canada let them continue uninterrupted, silently and guiltily enjoying the feeling of being a child once more.

---

AN:

I must admit that not much thought or plot went into this. I wanted to write something short and somewhat silly as a treat for spending most of yesterday editing. Ideally, one day I want to take this concept and explore it more with greater care and detail because I think it’s something a newer nation like Canada would really struggle with.

300 years is a long time, and I’m sure it must be hard for him to feel that age and then go and speak to anyone from the Old World and be met with the reality of how truly old their kind can be. Canada is a baby, despite the centuries he has collected for himself, and I feel like there would always be that conflict within him about how old he feels around humans comapred to how old he is next to other nations. Maybe this idea is best explored as a headcannon rather than a fic, but I had a fun time writing it.

Anyway, that is my tuppence worth- thank you for reading!

116 notes • Posted 2021-07-11 17:04:00 GMT

#2

Stargazing

Word Count: 2030

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘If you could go back to any era, which would you choose?’ There is a stone in-between France’s shoulder blades, something that finally tips the scales from being comfortable into not, so France rolls onto his side, cradling his head in his hand.

From his spot in the grass next to him, England turns his head lazily, the movement long and slow. His eyes are the last to move, fixed on the stars, and they find France’s with a sharp flick, ‘What?’

‘Are you too drunk to listen?’ France lifts a heavy arm and reaches across the small distance between them to brush some errant hair away from England’s forehead and lets it stay there, tangled in his roots. France himself is wine soft and slow, warm in his stomach and chest from both the day and the drink which settles within him.

England huffs, ‘More like drunk enough that I can stop pretending you’re worth listening to.’

France hums indulgently, far too jovial at the moment to search for any unintended offense, ‘oh, the lies you tell yourself. They do amuse me.’

England frowns, head still facing France and cheek pillowed in the grass.  Wine is not enough to soften him entirely, it seems, ‘that is rich, coming from you.’

France brings his hand down from England’s hair to lay it across his mouth, ‘I’m not starting anything with you this evening, I’m too full.’

England opens his mouth and, very gently, bites the meat of the pad of France’s hand. Just to show that he could and to be difficult, showing that he won’t go down without a fight. France’s small input in the ridiculous battle is to leave it there, refusing to give in. Eventually, England lets go and moves his head away, although not before pressing his teeth down just that bit harder. France reclaims his hand and allows him escape without protest.

‘What drivel did you ask me?’ England looks back up at the sky again, high and cloudless above them.

‘If you could be in any era again, any that we have lived through,’ France repeats, ‘which would you pick to go back to?’ He has caught England in a good mood, one where he has allowed himself to be seen, for a time, without anything sharp covering him. Drink has made him pliant and loose tongued and France, in a similar mood, is keen to make the most of it.

England rolls his head slightly back, considering the question, ‘How long do I get in the era?’

‘No, don’t do that, don’t make it technical. It’s not a difficult question.’

‘It most certainly is, running water always influences things,’ England’s mouth twists in a wry hint of a smile, ‘and it’s one thing to pop back to the Tudor times for one of the court parties and quite another to have to spend more than a week there. I do not lament the loss of hose and codpiece.’

‘I do, they made my legs look fabulous.’

England snorted and rolled his eyes, ‘Why am I not surprised.’

‘You’re avoiding the question,’ France twists away from him briefly to feel for the wine bottle they’d been drinking from. It had rolled away slightly, the slight incline of France’s garden causing it to move easily as they shuffled about and he takes a long swing of it before laying it between them, neck resting on England’s stomach. He’s past beyond the point of using glasses now.

‘I’m not avoiding the question, I was trying to-‘

‘No stop, you’re ruining it; I’ll go first,’ after brushing the grass underneath to clear it of stones, France returns to lying on his back, arms behind his head, and ignores England’s tut of annoyance, ‘I think I’d actually want to go back to the days under Rome, just for a visit.’

England sits up on his elbows and takes a sip from the bottle himself, ‘I hadn’t expected that of you.’

‘No?’

‘God no. I would have thought you’d want to go back to one of your King Luis. You know, peak opulence, decadence- all that faff. You still love the fancy balls and the clothes, and the needless tat that came with it,’ England takes another sip of wine and runs his tongue over his teeth, ‘the dances and the jewels, the silly little court rules of behaviour. The gossip.’

France chuckles, ‘you were so funny every time you were dragged along- so out of place! You couldn’t go more than an hour before letting your true colours slip free.’ England was never truly refined for very long, especially when it came to the Versailles’ court standards.

‘Anyone with a lick of sense was immediately out of place,’ England quips drily and lays down again, placing the cork back in the wine as he goes.

It sounds nearly empty- shame. It was a nice year and the last of the bottles that they’d brought out to the garden. Dinner had been a late, informal affair in France’s kitchen- homemade bread and creamy, locally made cheese with chicken. Simple and filling, comfort food for the both of them. The summer heat made them both unwilling for anything too excessive and the entire day had been spent doing lots of nothing much at all; England lounging about in shorts that France refrained from teasing him about lest he stop wearing them.

‘Yes well,’ France lifts his head and clumsily bats him in the stomach with the top of his hand, ‘despite that indeed being extremely enjoyable, I do mean it. My choice of era, I mean.’

England makes a soft noise that gently demands elaboration, a low rumble in the back of his throat but France needs no prompting. He presses a knuckle into the softness of England’s stomach and feels him breathe in deep and slow.

‘I’d love to have nothing to be responsible for again. Everything was done for me, as a colony- the way my cities were built, the improvements made to my industries, the negotiations for trade and commerce, everything. I’d like to revisit being a child, in the closest sense of childhood our kind has,’ France pauses, mulling that over, ‘Imagine that again, being small but without fear of being so. No politics, no money driven economy, no push for growth. We have spent so much of our lives racing to get somewhere, striving to be more that I can hardly remember what it was like to be nothing more than an idea, existing just to speak for the lives that called themselves mine.’

France turns and catches England watching him, eyes searching and heavy, ‘Does that make sense?’ he asks him.

‘No,’ England’s answer is immediate, ‘no, and yes. The desire to be I understand, but I detested that age.’

France smiles at him, understanding masked by the dark. England does not, and never did, like being anything other than in perfect control of himself. Relinquishing that to someone else, even for his own benefit, has never been anything more than a horror.

‘Well,’ France says, ‘that is my choice. I liked being looked after and I have so much to do nowadays that it would be nice to have nothing to do once again. Nothing more than wander about my fields and see my people, or visit a northern barbarian across the sea.’

‘Don’t talk about Scotland that way, you’ll hurt his feelings.’

France laughs and reaches down to find England’s hand, open palmed and curled fingers by his side. He intertwines his own with it and brings them upwards, watching as together they cut across to block the light from his house and silhouette into a tangle of them both.

‘So,’ he says, running a thumb across the skin of England’s knuckle, ‘what era would you choose?’

England sighs, a light thing but France can hear a yearning there, ‘Any of the years I was at sea. The 1500’s when I was first starting out and even up to the 1700’s when things became more regimented- any of them. To be able to just get in a boat and go, no one knowing when I would come back or even where I was going.’

France shudders, the idea of being out in ocean that deep and so alone chilling him. For creatures that revive after death, who can wake again and again and again as long as there is a body to return to, the ocean is a lonely, painful place to die. To sink lifeless into murky depths, only to reawaken there in the dark press of salty sea; most nations avoided it as much as they could, wishing to avoid the long, drawn out death choked by waves and forgotten on the seafloor.

England never had such a healthy fear of the oceans. He went out into thunderous storms and monstrous waves as if enchanted, unable to resist the pull of something untamed. England sailed off as soon as he was able, going out for further and longer than anyone else dared and losing himself in the harsh life of the brine. He was a different creature far out at sea, something so strangely alive and perfectly at home for a man made from the soul of the mountains and land.

‘You always were a strange one for the macabre,’ France drops their hands back down and finds England once more looking at the sky, the reflection of stars glinting in his eyes.

‘The seas never change,’ his voice is quiet and distant, ‘some things do change, of course- the boats we sail on, how we do so. Things shift on the sea, the lands we travel to and from are washed away and changed with time but the sea itself is always the same. I appreciate it for that, it is predictably unpredictable. Constantly refusing the press of mankind by being the one thing we can never truly understand, for all of mankind’s new fancy gadgets.’

England gives a sudden, dry laugh, ‘I used to navigate the world by constellations, now I have to travel just to find some stars. To the highest peaks I have, or deep in my countryside to avoid as much light pollution as I can. But out at sea they are as they have always been, the same things I have watched and tracked for thousands of years. That is when I can just be as I have always been.’

The sky hangs overhead, speckled and bright and now, France notices, startlingly empty, ‘I often forget that they’re there,’ France speaks to the sky, ‘Funny, isn’t it? How something so fundamental can disappear and mankind not even notice. How odd to forget that stars are there, then to not notice they’re gone.’

‘We are cursed or blessed to remember what’s past,’ England offers, ‘which one depends on who we remember for.’

They lay in silence for a moment. France feels the collected years sit with him openly, laying on his chest and heart like tiny weights. The ground pushes against his back, firm and unmoving, and he breathes in deeply, smelling the heat of the summer in the air. He is here. He is now. He is. Still, after all this time. He watches.

To exist is to change, to live is to evolve and move with the flow of time, but France understands the want for something constant in the flood, something that stays recognisable and the same throughout the years. The older he gets, the more he yearns for it keenly.

‘You’ve gone and made things serious,’ he lifts himself back up on an elbow, England looking at him without moving his head, ‘just like you to take a light conversation and ruin it.’

England raises an eyebrow, “Oh the lies you tell yourself; they do amuse me.”

His French is accented with a Norman dialect, a gentle dig and refusal to fully let France have what he wants and France laughs at it, at this one unchanging constant he is stuck with. He leans down to kiss him, hair curling into England’s face and hiding what remains of the night sky.

----

AN: Every time I try writing one of these small drabbles, I start out with a particular idea and tone in mind but gosh darn it they never go where I intend for them to.

Today we have ended up with this, two old men talking themselves in circles in the summer grass.

141 notes • Posted 2021-06-26 10:46:00 GMT

#1

Nation Headcanon- Perception

Nations do not look, sound, or act any different from humans, meaning that they can blend very well into their societies without drawing attention to themselves. Nations represent their people, after all- they remember them and they feel with them, they push for progress and shout their voices through the ages to keep the past alive and the present unburied in the chaotic crush and mix of cultures. It would not do for a nation to stand out amongst the crowd, to be something other- it goes against everything a nation is. They are their people. They need to be seen as one of them too, need to be able to live amongst them unfiltered to truly understand the everyday human experience they embody.

However, nations have this draw, this quality to them that their citizens can't seem to ignore. Something about them that makes people want to impress them, make their nation notice and like them, to make them proud. A charismatic charm that can be used by a nation to make themselves known, to make their voice heard in the masses, to get answers quickly; this energy helps the nation look after their people and, in turn, to be looked after by their people.

Humans sometimes can sense beyond this quality to something of the truth, can occasionally see through their mask of humanity to glimpse at the age that lies beneath, the being that bears it. Nations are a heavy thing, an ancient and old creature that walks in mankind’s skin and this presence is hard to hide in its entirety, no matter how well versed they are in breathing easily amongst men.

Even the youngest of their kind are somehow bigger- made up of more than just one soul the space they inhabit is weighted down with years and time, giving them a depth that humans could never exude. If a human is around a nation for long enough, or is perceptive enough, they can guess at, if not outright feel intrinsically what they are stood next to. That innate and primal understanding that what they are looking at, that what they are speaking to or what they touch, is more than what they are, something that stands just that one rung higher up the food chain.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing that grins at them with a smile of centuries, decades pressed in the corners to bleed through their teeth.

203 notes • Posted 2021-06-19 22:29:16 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[genvieve-of-the-wood]

Welcome to Authoritarian Paradise, Bring the Kids, Visit Our Tourist Destinations ( Mouse)and Remember- Don’t Complain About The Wrong Things In Groups Larger Than 3 or You Could Get Hit By a Car

https://apple.news/AzEUFF1MOSyqVcCfvPVkd3g

Not that we were a hotbed of protest activity to begin with, but hey- Ronnie needs to nip any dissenting voices in the bud. He has a possible presidential run, plenty of tax evading supporters and donors, “good old boy “political backing, and now- if anyone hides behind this law- they can run over protesters with their car and be granted immunity. If a group gathers lawfully, but the police or the local or state government don’t like the message, they can whip up charges to imprison and no release until a hearing. By the way, for the people who think this is just a response to Black Lives Matter- ummm, no. Black Lives Matter is a cause they can now conveniently jump on with the other states claiming it a reason to call “ 3 or more people protesting a RIOT.” Do I think it is especially aimed at BLM? Yes I do. But Republicans here have been wanting to find a way to quiet the over development protesters, beach driving protesters, environmentalists in general, shitty government program protests( see our unemployment and Medicaid programs for a start), and anyone who didn’t want Orange Mussolini running anything in this state. So the guy screaming into a bullhorn you can hear for several miles in my neighborhood, gathered with about 20 or so people in a strip mall parking lot close to my home waving Orange Dump flags and yelling at people about Jesus and hell and conspiracy theories as they walk by- will the cops shut them down? Is this an equal opportunity fascist law? This is a sad, fucked up day for Floridians. We already are made fun of for Florida Man, election drama, irresponsible and greedy wild animal collectors, our “thoughts and prayers” mentality about gun ownership, etc, etc. Now, we will be a model to all the other boot licking types who wanted to overthrow the government by using the military(how does that not hit you in the gut how close we were to an actual coup and how close we could be to a future one?) for fake narratives about the presidential election. I wonder if this law will be applied equally- like when the gun boner types protest a business for their mask wearing policies by walking around with guns in an intimidating manner ( because of some toxic masculine compensation thing in their heads about power and dick size) or a nasty little church group comes to hold up signs and yell at a funeral because the person who died was LGBTQ, etc? Why do I have the sad feeling that this law will be used only on voices they do not agree with? And are our elections going to follow the way of Georgia? But gosh, the statues of dead traitors who fought to protect slavery will be protected, so we have that going for us🙄? Just don’t gather in big groups anymore outside or you can be run over down here with no hope of prosecuting your assailant. Other than that, ride the rides, enjoy the beaches, build your second residence here and release your deadly invasive species into our wilds. https://apple.news/AZhVmlSA3ShGFZfjMFECtgw

The article below actually states what is in the law the clearest and the opinion I share, that too many in Republican politics have gone backwards to this “oh no, look what you made us good people become- we had to resort to fascism/ authoritarianism in order to get what we think is right” mentality. What these guys don’t realize is- when you create a law like this, you’ll be scrutinized even more closely on how “ evenly” it is enforced. In other words, how much hypocrisy can be measured from such a law? We will be watching to see if this was done to quiet all protests, or just the voices of races and causes the far right find offensive. We will be watching not just FL but other states laws changing and the consequences to follow.

https://apple.news/AE91khAhSQvWvWUFJMHZn9g

[princesskokichi]

yasuhiro hagakure v. the ocean

hah, alright This is something that gets my blood pumping :D

ah, tw warning : major character death, drowning - mod kokichi

- he had lived in hiding for three years

- he was living the good life for three years, not leaving a paper trail behind him, using his ' gift ' of clairvoyance to help those around him and in turn, gaining more weight on his small fortune

- and then they found him

- once you're deemed an enemy of the yakuza, there's not much you can do to lengthen your time on this planet

- he had already known that, but for some reason, had decided that this way of going out wasn't fit for him, and he ran

- he ran, and he ran, away from those out for his blood, his fortune

- he didn't know how they found where he was hiding, but the moment they stormed his place, he knew something was going to end poorly

- guns were out of holsters, pointed directly at his forehead with their sights on murder if he didn't comply with the wishes of those enforcing their own law

- ah, damn yakuza ,

- he had his hands up, the dust from the cheetos he was eating while watching some youtube video that was still playing in the background on his laptop still on his fingertips

- yasuhiro : " woah, calm down everyone. everyone gets a free first reading from me, so there's no reason to pull out guns. "

- there was no response unless red sight lasers pointed at his forehead counted any

- a short female - roughly about 5'3 he would say, he almost never forgot details about his clients - stepped into his room, her nose turned up at the sight of him

- ??? : " a filthy place for a filthy creature. take him out of here. get him somewhere safe. "

- yasuhiro : " natsumi, is this something you need to take a break to think about ? i think if we calm down for a moment and look around instead of looking down at me, i think you'd see that doing,, whatever you're planning to do, wouldn't help anything. "

- natsumi laughed. it was that kind of laugh full of malice, yet slightly scared for her own safety.

- whether or not she was doing this out of her own hatred for him or to preserve the kuzuryu family name, yasuhiro already knew that this wasn't something that he could talk his way out of,, whatever " this " was.

- for such a cute person, she could be such a bitch,,

- he was pushed away off of his couch, his hands tied with what felt like some coarse rope behind him while he was walking

- gosh, they were really serious about this, weren't they ?

- the next thing he remembers was a blur. he could recall going into the back of a van, talking a little with a few of the men who'd now adult-napped him, and gave one of them a very half assed reading

- and then he was in a chair in a room that he couldn't make anything out of

- there were shackles around his wrists and feet, and there was something that he was pretty sure was a handkerchief keeping him from talking

- every move he made was accompanied by the sound of metal chains clinking together to support the new change

- there was a voice overhead on a pair of speakers. it wasn't natsumi, but sounded like it was coming from an older male. he assumed he was listening to the little girl's father, which was a lot more worrying than if he was listening to her brother or something.

- the current head of the clan was known to be precariously ruthless to people with the red stamp on their foreheads dubbed the enemies of the yakuza

- this was a bad sign

- ??? : " are you a fan of the water ? perhaps you're a good swimmer. don't get me wrong, you were brave. running away from us for three years is a feat in itself, but this is the end of your little run. did you see this coming, clairvoyant ? "

- water ? they were in a room, he had no idea what that man meant by water.

- and then he heard it

- the faint whirling sound of an engine, steady with its work as it leads him somewhere, presumably with water

- the reality of the situation hit him quickly, forcing him to realize that this was not going to end in a pretty manner for him

- the ocean

- a cargo plane

- oh, oh fuck no,,

- he couldn't die here ! not at the hands of a client gone wrong ! there was no way this was going to happen

- at any time now, he was going to get pulled back by a rope or something and this scare would be the end of it

- in his panic, he realized how hard it was to breath already, trying halfway to breathe through his mouth and sort of breathing through his nose

- the latch of the plane opened up before he was even ready to accept reality. this was really happening.

- ,, was this the end ?

- the cargo plane took a sharp incline upward, bringing the chair that he was shackled to forward with gravity, edging closer to the opened end

- boxes that were also in the back began to shuffle towards to the end, pushing him even further until there was no going back, and he was looking at the edge of the plane into the crystal clear blue water, already littered with a few heavy crates that had fallen

- it only took one particularly heavy box to push him off the edge, falling into the unforgiving ocean

- he hit the surface of the ocean with so much force that it knocked what little breath he had in his chest

- his first immediate reaction was to try to swim towards the surface, even as it began to slowly get further and further away from his reach

- yasuhiro struggled to hold his breath, the burn in his lungs forcing him into the submission of needing air

- he flailed his shackled arms and kicked his feet, only able to produce a few bubbles as he sunk further into the unending ocean

- the chair he had been tied to had broken apart from the impact of hitting the face of the water

- he grunted through the cloth gag, his front canine teeth digging into the inside of his lip, tearing the skin and letting his blood drift in the water in front of his face

- he looked at it as if he'd never seen blood before

- by now the urge to breathe was too much, he couldn't make it

- he unintentionally tried to breathe through his nose, his body and nerve system now working just to find any air around him that could keep him alive, even if there was only water around him

- as the water filled up his system, the burning in his chest made tears come to his eyes

- he hadn't given up, not yet

- yasuhiro forced his head back, his hair obscuring his sight as he moved his shoulders and arms frantically, trying to loosen the chains around his wrists, or somehow escape

- he tried calling out for help, even though in the back of his sane mind he knew it was useless, his voice coming out as muffled and quiet in the ocean, the only thing produced by his frantic calling was a few bubbles

- he felt himself losing consciousness, and yet he couldn't give up struggling for his life

- perhaps it was the oxygen deprivation that made him delirious, perhaps it was just a coping mechanism to swear he saw the surface get closer, as if he had almost reached it

- he kept forcing himself upward, fighting against the current with his arms and legs shackled

- the light his eyes were grasping around him before he could realize what was happening began to get dimmer

- no, no, not yet

- please not yet ,

- his struggle ended quietly, as if sinking into the dark depths of the ocean and singing with the creatures of the ocean

[doktorpeace]

🖊 please introduce us to Erato, I know they're in a masks campaign but I have no idea what else

Oh, gosh, I feel like I talk about them too much as is but I can’t say I’m not glad to have the excuse. This is gonna be really long cause tbh I’m just gonna dump like, a bunch of their lore lmao.

Erato is my Masks: A New Generation character in a campaign being played alongside @twerkyvulture (As Amanda ‘Megafauna’ Ghorbani, The Transformed) @draayder (as Josephine ‘Rattlesnake’ Short, The Reformed) @spitblaze (as Les ‘Void’ Hawking, The Doomed) @heedra (as Enid ‘Frag Beetle’ Day, The Scion) and @skarchomp (as Parker ‘Cobalt’ Andrews, The Legacy) with @dykeceratops as our GM. The current arc features @mechanicalriddle as Zoe, The Nova as a guest member. Here’s a group shot done by @tredlocity. Clockwise from the top left: Cobalt in blue, Erato in the track suit, Les in the cloak, Zoe with the mismatched eyes, Enid’s the big robot, Amanda’s got the scales and claws, and Josephine’s got the mask and tonfa.

To get back to Erato specifically though they’re an Anti Metahuman/Metahuman Suppression Weapon created by the in universe tech group Wright Industries, founded by Ingrid Day, Enid’s mom. They’re generally stronger, faster, and more durable than humans and can copy the superpowers of others for 5-10 minutes by touching them thanks to what is basically a meta-stem cell transplant interacting with other parts of their systems. (Also, I 100% swear to god that I did not consider ‘Robot Hero Who Copies The Powers Of Others’ is literally fucking Mega Man despite loving Mega Man a ton until after I had hashed out the concept with my GM’s assistance. Only once Abby said ‘oh like mega man’ I was like ‘wait, shit’.) I’ll tell you some about them as a person before unloading their history onto you, lol. Being an android built for combat and kept in an underground research lab, kept on a rigid schedule, constantly taking tests, physical, mental, written, oral, ethical, etc. etc. etc. and under constant supervision Erato lacked for real interactive experience before the campaign started only really ever getting to takl with authority figures and their sisters. They were very passive and observational, owing in part to their power set requiring a lot of adaptation to make the most of. They’re naive and very bad at exercising discretion in decision making, sometimes they overstep boundaries when talking with people without meaning to, and they’re really emotional! They have trouble dealing with strong emotions cause they haven’t managed to discover coping mechanisms that work well for them, they tend to get angry kind of easily and need time to blow off steam. But they’re also very genuine, honest, and well meaning. They are almost never mean, rude, or snippy, they do their best to do well by others, and have a strong sense of justice paired with a deep distrust and dislike of the current legal system in universe. This is in part due to the conditions of their creation (and in part because the intent behind it was kind of right!) and in part due to Enid’s life being threatened by a representative of the state while they and their teammates were in jail after being arrested following a huge brawl with an anti-methuman terrorist group. They’re also very willing to put forth the effort to improve as a person and to mend relationship wounds, almost always apologizing first to Enid when they fight and genuinely trying to work in advice and feedback they get from others, which they often get from Les and Parker. They’re also relatively educated, from the tests of their creators, from home and public schooling, from personal research, but that doesn’t undo their naivety. They also just straight up lack some very basic and/or common sense knowledge. Like, they don’t know what a bear is. Why would you teach a battle android working in a densely populated, extremely built up city about wild animals? All in all they’re kind of inexperienced and immature and make mistakes a lot but they’re (usually) very willing to admit their mistakes and to try and improve and get better. They genuinely and truly want what’s best for others and are learning to value them self as much as their teammates. They’ve also taken it upon them self to start doing humanitarian work in their free time over the summer. In a fight Erato is adaptive and quick witted but tends to put themself in more danger than is necessary. They also sometimes use more extreme force than the others believe is called for, but after the first time they did they and Parker had a real heart to heart about it, Les helped Erato learn and practice some coping, centering, behaviors they could do even under pressure and Erato did their best to adapt. That said they Fucking Hate The Keeper So God Damned Much Because Of How Much Suffering He’s Caused Their Friends And How Much Danger He Presents And Would Kill Him With No Remorse. So they don’t intend to apologize for ripping his arms off whatsoever. They and their sisters, collectively known as The Muse Units, were made to work as a group and as a proof of concept that atomized units could replace traditional police for use against metahuman criminals and to slowly phase out The Registry, the legal department which handles general metahuman based laws. If successful the units could be mass produced and improved upon, rapidly replacing current, error prone, law enforcement. At the time of their development, between late 1999 for blueprint drafting and until mid 2002 when the project was shut down, they were the cutting edge for AI development aided in no small part by Ingrid’s technokinetic powers allowing her to make advancements few others could. (As a note Erato’s body was finished being built in early 2001 but their unique personhood didn’t really come to fruition until February 18th, 2002, so that’s what I consider their ‘birthday’.) Ultimately, however, while a few of the Muses excelled some did not perform to expectations, the project fell behind schedule, investors lost interest, and a minor scandal involving a casualty happened, resulting in the project being shut down. The Muses were placed in indefinite storage, the data gained from their short existence used on other projects such and some of the tech advancements used to inform future decisions by the company. And it would have stayed that way, if not for the fact that in 2018 Ingrid Day was revealed to be The Locust in a conflict where Enid tried to defend her against a militia group who had been hired to take her down, being shot and presumably killed in the process. As The Locust she had been terrorizing Boston for over a decade trying to take it over and being involved in the deaths of over 70 people. (Which irl btw would make her like, the 8th most prolific confirmed serial killer of all time, Yikes!) Wright Industries, desperately needing to prove their hard stance against metahuman criminals and needing a PR stunt to deflect from their connection to their former CEO re-awakened Erato. They weren’t the most powerful or best performing of the Muses, but they were above average, obedient, and had an easy enough to monitor and control power set with little risk for property damage to boot, the perfect choice. Erato then took to the streets of Boston acting basically as a vigilante, following orders, stopping minor crimes, and sometimes working alongside the police. They attracted the attention of The Viceroy, a semi-retired 56 year old hero who never registered in spite of it being compulsory legally. They both have the ability to copy the powers of others, though he can just by sight, and he has body elasticity too. These make him durable and extremely adaptable, add to that his detective skills and he’s something of a local Boston legend. He took them in as his Protégé. Though they remained distant for quite some time with Erato still coming and going between his place and Wright Industries, having promised not to reveal his assistance to the doctors who Erato reported their work to. It was this way for about a year and a half before the campaign started and Erato began living with Viceroy full time, no longer wanting to go back to Wright Industries as they began to think more independently and consider what they wanted for them self more. During this time Erato had chance encounters with each of the other characters a few times as they also did minor vigilante work, peaking with a villain who is a member of Superhuman, an extremist pro-metahuman group, attacked the school that Josephine, Les, and Amanda all attend. After that incident Erato was prompted by Viceroy to contact each of these other young potential heroes to form a team, The Upstarts. Additionally during this time Viceroy took in Enid who had been abandoned by her biological father and had been getting bounced around foster care. Over time the three of them have become kind of a weird family, living in a warehouse full of cats with a couple of bedrooms grafted on and an ultra secret basement lair underneath full of advanced stuff Viceroy makes. Though Erato and Enid have definitely had their ups and down, more recently in the story (and we’ve been doing this campaign for well over a year now) they’ve been putting in serious effort to better their relationship and be good adoptive siblings to one another. I love their relationship a lot, they’re good kids.

That gets us up to the start of the campaign but hoo boy, I’ve been writing for like, an hour now. Since then Erato’s helped take down a nazi-aligned terrorist organization, they’ve got a boyfriend in their teammate, Les, and they’ve made friends outside of their core group of teammates. They’ve also enrolled in school doing well on some classes and poorly in others, namely learning how to Code and Woodworking. Currently they’re at a sleep away summer camp for superpowered kids called Camp Justice, about 10 miles outside of Boston. They really, really hate it there. Constant supervision, being made to do tests, things scheduled out against their will, inability to leave the area? Yeah that certainly reminds them of something. The difference between it and school, which does share these features, is they wanted to go to school. They very much Did Not want to go to camp. As a result they’re finally going to have to start facing the trauma they’ve got from their origin and also actually tell the others other than Les and Amanda about their sisters. Whiiiiich...Enid saw one of them disassembled and showed off in parts at a school science fair display set up by Wright Industries to gauge interest in students. And she hasn’t mentioned this to Erato...for 4 months Uh Oh! Lastly, here’s my tag I use mostly for art I make of them, it includes some texts posts and picrew dumps too though, lol. Feel free to look!

[iseultdeservedbetter]

With Her Sweetened Breath, And Her Tongue So Mean

Brida x Skade (Modern AU)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I just wanted to put a huge disclaimer over this fic, because I do have to say that I haven’t any experience in the foster care system, so my judgement of it is mostly based on what I have seen and heard through media.

I do know that isn’t always as it goes, many times it is a way for children to escape abusive households, instead of ending up in one, and many people have good intentions, so please don’t think that what I described is my thought on all foster care.

I just felt like it’d be Brida’s personal experience and feelings she felt in it.

I have no intention of insult/make fun of such a system or people who have been in it!

(I hope it wasn’t offensive but do let me know if it was so that I can remove it!)

As always, feedback is very welcome, it makes my fingers writer faster and my heart beats stronger!

Have a lovely day!

SUMMARY:  After the break up of her life, Brida is thrown in a confusion that risk being extremely destructive for her heart, which never learned that love should be free and sweet and adorable... and not a constant struggle.

WORDS: 1, 9

WARNINGS: Mention of Abusive Household, Unhappy Childhood, Internalize Misogyny, Mention of Casual Sex, Modern AU.

Brida hadn’t known much about love, but she knew one thing for sure about it.

Love was a constant battle and struggle.

As a child in foster care, she had seen this happening continuously.

When you were raised in foster care, you weren’t a child, you weren’t part of the family, no matter how much the people in it treated you better than the previous one you had been pushed in.

You were simply there because your ‘parents’ got paid a special extra to take in ‘rascals’ like you and although her latest and most-lasting family, who had later adopted her alongside another boy, had been absolutely the best she had ever known…

… the sensation of having to fight desperately for their approval had been constant.

And it hadn’t helped in the slightest Brida to grow with a notion that love was free and shouldn’t be something that is bargained or bought with small gestures and such.

That it was much more than being the perfect girl, the one that was different from everybody else so that she could stand out above everyone, surviving through high school successfully and then moving in university with a law enforcing degree, becoming the lawyer her ‘parents’ had always wanted her to be.

She had harbored so much pain and hurt through those years still, feeling like there was this desperate rush in her to show everybody how truly strong she was, how successful she could be.

Almost to thank them for having chosen her.

Eventually she had gotten to a breaking point.

She had discovered at twenty five that she couldn’t have children, a problem with her ovaries due to the starvation she had suffered as a child, before she was taken in by her ‘beloved family’.

It was something that had hit harder Brida’s partner and fiancé, Ragnar, her first love, than her, truly.

She remembered his desperation for it and how well she had faked being disappointed in her ‘unworking body’ but internally, she was glad.

She had wanted to become a mother… eventually.

But not at that age.

Not when she had fought so hard to obtain everything that she now had, wanting to enjoy the freedom of being without duties.

Eventually she would have liked to become a mother.

But did she want to become like her ‘parents’?

Pushing her children into choices that weren’t theirs and forcing them through the notion that all pain and suffering was worth it if they brought you to his ending, and most importantly that all this heartless conquering would be one day what they would have given to their children.

What kind of children would she have raised?

Heartless monsters like her.

So, when she had found Ragnar’s ring left on his side of the bed with a note, she had been strangely euphoric.

No wedding to prepare, no people to disappoint because of her choices and no children to think yet.

Although her eyes had leaked tears for a few minutes, she had then danced around the sitting room, like a crazed woman, feeling like for once, she wasn’t loved, but she wasn’t also struggling to fight through a life she didn’t want and through a love that hugged her too tight to be truly free.

Still the following months had been hard on her.

And confusing.

It had then suddenly hit her how truly alone she felt and she had to admit that she hadn’t gone through the best of remedies to soothe the ache of freedom, still burning in her chest, mostly using the taste of whiskey, which matched perfectly the fire in the pit of her stomach.

An ache that she didn’t know how to use, and it burned her to the core, with a coldness that risked freezing her heart and make her mind go crazy.

And after one of these awful nights, she had woken herself in the arms of a pretty blonde thing.

The surprise had paralyzed her in the bed, meanwhile the woman onto her, obviously half-naked, moved lightly on her bare chest.

She hadn’t known what to do.

Had she seriously just had her first experience with a woman?

Was she seriously too drunk to remember it?

What the heck had she put her body through?

And then the beautiful blonde thing had quirked an eye open at her, a smirk on her face, almost playful and yet it held so much darkness that Brida wondered whether she was under some kind of enchantress and about to be offered to some dark god.

Later on, she had discovered that Skade, that was the name of the girl in whose bed she had ended up, was indeed a witch, but she hadn’t put any enchantment against her.

‘It goes against my professional values’ she had commented, meanwhile she wore back all her clothes, discarded through her room, designed by an elegant emo phase that Brida almost would have appreciated, hadn’t it been one of the many things she had stopped herself from having.

Emo kids, back in high school, according to her brother and boyfriend were creeps and although Brida had admired their bravery and loved their songs, she had just repressed herself through showing any sign of her interest.

‘… and what about taking strangers in your bed?’ she hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but she had to admit that she had never had an experience like that and all her reactions right now were based on the ‘flight or fight’ thought ‘… is that something that you do usually?’.

Should she do some test for STDs?

She wasn’t a saint and she had had her own experience before becoming Ragnar’s stable girlfriend (looking back to it, she also realized the title was horrendous) but she hadn’t ever been one to ‘stray around’, since she had been taught that it wasn’t something ‘people like her’ did.

She was still wondering what ‘people like her’ meant, because if it was some way to describe the middle-class behavior her ‘parents’ and ‘friends’ followed, she had to say she had never belonged with them.

‘Oh but, my dear Brida, we aren’t strangers” Skade commented, licking her lips with the face of a cat who had stolen milk from her owner.

A cunning expression that almost made Brida reason why she might have been interested in the blonde witch

‘… we talked a bit at the bar, although you were utterly smashed, and you commented about how you had never experienced with girls in college… and I thought about suggesting a little experimentation…’.

Gosh, what had seriously gone through her mind, the previous night?

‘… a little experimentation with a stranger?!’.

Brida should have seriously stopped making questions and gotten the fuck out of there, before she got probably killed by some kind of Mason fangirl.

She had seen too many ‘Criminal Minds’ episodes to know how this would end up.

But blondie over there didn’t seem to acknowledge her uneasiness as she moved to put on a ruined band t-shit on, something metal and Nordic.

Something that didn’t surprise Brida in the slightest

Skade then moved to collect her ruined thighs, probably a gift from Brida.

She had never had too much patience with those things, always ending up with various ruined pairs of thighs because she just didn’t have the patience to roll them up properly.

She had then pushed herself to solely wear pants.

‘You are a tomboy!’ had thrilled her mother with disappointment when she had told her that and Brida had pushed that to become her new identity, throwing herself away completely from all the girly thing she liked and pushing herself to constantly repeat ‘I am not like the other girls’.

She wondered if it was more a compliment or an insult.

Either way that phrase had fucked her mind up greatly.

‘…again…  I don’t think that you are a stranger…’ had commented Skade, her voice was suddenly deep and any trace of amusement had left it, and although Brida should have seriously run out of the fucking building, she had turned around, halfway through adjusting the bird nest that her hair was in an high ponytail.

Skade had immediately caught her eyes and she had known that she had spoken the truth.

‘… I do think that I have known you before’.

It had sounded extremely creepy.

And yet she had found the way right back to that apartment the following week, not knowing how much truly it was the alcohol’s blame since she had kept herself sober that night, having Skade guide her through a ‘sober exploration’.

‘Nothing happened last time’ she had commented and Brida knew that she spoke the truth, this time ‘… you just seemed very lonely, and drunk… and you got naked and tried to actually “have your way with me”…’.

‘I don’t do this often’ Brida hadn’t know why she had had to specify it.

Although she had never been a prude with sex and such, she had always stuck with guys, simply.

And even back then, it hadn’t like she had explored much, having had two boyfriends for most of her life, one of them having become her best friend, although it went through periods.

Meanwhile Ragnar was still somehow an interrogative point.

A bracket left open.

She knew that she had hurt him, somehow.

But she didn’t feel in the slightest guilty for it.

And yet she knew she should.

But here she was, again, in a stranger’s bed.

A stranger that said they knew each other from some kind of past life.

She had seriously reached a new low.

Even more because, as she got to know Skade, she soon realized what a pain in the ass the woman was, hysterical at times and definitely manic in others.

And yet, she felt good with her.

Much better than with everyone else she had been all her life.

And suddenly their meetings weren’t simple exploration (although Brida had understood that she certainly wasn’t as straight as she had thought herself to be) not only because they’d have breakfast in the bar in front of Skade’s apartment (at first Brida had tried hiding herself, but right now she honestly didn’t care who saw her).

But Skade had started casually dropping small gift of protection in her clothes, something that she had dubbed as straight up psycho at first and then had slowly classified as a nice gesture and now she pinned the small objects in every coat she owned.

‘They just bring luck’ she had muttered as a justification, as Skade smirked back at her.

‘Oh, of course’ she had teased her, but it had felt so soft and yet so light that Brida could allow herself to be ‘undermined’ by her for once.

It had felt strange falling in love with Skade.

She had known deep downm she should have been afraid of it, but yet, it was so natural and it wasn’t a struggle for once, although there was plenty of teasing between them, mostly from the blonde woman.

But it felt harmless.

It wasn’t a struggle.

It was a power exchange.

And yet it didn’t lessen the competition between them.

Mostly for questions such as the anniversary presents.

She knew that Skade was quite the sneaky bitch when it came to this, going as far as go through her thing to catch a glimpse of her plan so that she could outmatch it, something that Brida had never allowed her to do, since she wanted to always come up on top.

Old habits died hard.

And yet it always felt like a playful competition.

There wasn’t any prize in this one.

Love was already between them

She hadn’t to win it for once.

And she felt amazing, for once.

[ms-meredith-milton]

not great

Hi friends,

Gosh it’s been a long time.  Sorry about that.  I really do miss writing P&P and participating in fandom, but things have been rough. 

Work has been incredibly demanding and in July I started a new relationship that was taking up a lot of my time.  Too much, in fact, and things turned a little toxic.  He was getting really needy (which annoyed me, but wasn’t problematic) and then took a turn towards possessive.  Suddenly he was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  So I got a little afraid and didn’t even break up with him in person.  My step-father--who worked in law enforcement and responded to many, many domestic violence calls--immediately hopped in his car and came to change my locks, because my now-ex had had access to my house keys for a while and could have made copies.  I wouldn’t even have thought of that, but it was probably smart.  I’m sad about it, but mostly just relieved to be free of him.  This is actually a relatively small thing, especially compared to real the grief I’m suffering now.

This January I had to do one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  My beloved cat Apollo--my faithful companion for 18 years, my boy who went to college with me and has been at my side for every love, trauma, and accomplishment of my adult life--got sick.  He started to fade while I was away in France for the holidays and I rushed back to his side.  I got to see him, but we only had five days together before I had to perform my last act of love and devotion for him by helping him go gentle into that good night. 

January 3rd one of my best friends ever had to leave this world.  I miss him so badly it hurts.  And if this is how it hurts to lose my feline friend, I wonder how I’ll survive the pain if my friend R doesn’t go into remission (stage 4 breast cancer) or when (as is the natural order of things) my mom and dad die.

Oh, and while Apollo was dying and I was becoming uneasy in my relationship, I also had to submit work product that will be used to decide if they’re rehiring me for two more years.  I’m fucking amazing in my career and should be a slam dunk for promotion and rehiring, but it was incredibly painful to be trying to work during all of that.  I put it off while caring for my little friend, but having to work instead of taking proper time for grief was absolute rubbish.

TL;DR this is the worst January of my life and I’m sorry I’ve been away.  Please take an extra moment to cherish the wonderful creatures and humans in your life; we never know how long we’ll get to keep them.

[frangipani-wanderlust]

Eurgh.  My Kingdom For Some Decent Journalism.

So, I was poking around the news today and I found this article on Townhall which is...a little disappointing for its casual misuse of the word “trigger” but otherwise largely a statement of the facts of a minor dust-up on Twitter with only brief forays into editorializing.

This would be really all there is to it, except for the editors’ note at the bottom talking about “fighting the ChiComs“ and giving discounts on subscriptions with the promo code WUHAN.  Way to poison the well, guys.  An evenhanded case that the Chinese government has maliciously and intentionally spread Coronavirus is one thing. (I don’t think they did, but...well, the Chinese government is evil*.  I wouldn’t be surprised if I were wrong about it.) Throwing around nasty insinuations about every Chinese person is racist and I know these editors know it.

Then we skip down to the comments where this...shrub decided that obviously if they disagree with something the Wachowskis say, that’s a free pass to take pot-shots at their looks.  And then this specimen comes around and...well, I’ll just quote his post.

Join the #meneither movement.

Is there enough alcohol in the world that would get you to even talk to her?

#meneither.

Every time some leftist hag comments anywhere, show your disdain by replying #meneither.

It is the antithesis of the #metoo movement.

They claim to be assaulted or harassed via #metoo.  We show negative interest in any of them with #meneither.

...

Most people who follow me know that I like to participate in NaNoWriMo.  This year, one user posted a topic that he probably expected to be a little bit unpleasant but largely unremarkable entitled “Ladies, what are the creepiest things men have said or done” (you will need an account to read the thread) asking for stories about sexual harassment that people had experienced to make his novel more believable.  He posted the topic at 9:11AM.  By the end of the same day, he had 73 replies to the topic, all with at least one story of harassment or rape, most more than one.  Mine was the forty-sixth reply**.  Every single man who read the thread was floored that there were so many of us, with so many different experiences.  “How could it be this bad and we didn’t even know?”

I still think about that thread a lot.  And how shocked the men reading it were that so much sexual misconduct was so commonplace.  I suppose I could go on more about it, but I won’t.  I could also point out that the #MeToo movement has done exactly what so many Conservatives so often say they want.  Rather than trying to get the government to legislate--or in this case relegislate--bad speech or things that are already illegal, the call is for existing laws to be enforced and bad speech is being countered by good speech.  It seems that even when that paradigm is adopted, it’s still bad if it’s adopted by women?  I could point out that neither rape nor sexual assault are things that only happen to attractive women.  But why bother when it’s so obvious?  Instead, I will say that if the end result of the #MeToo movement is that men are specifically and emphatically behaving in ways that are not sexually aggressive or invasive?

Mission.  Fucking.  Accomplished.

It’s not that the “disdain” of these men somehow hurts women who are victims of sexism.  The decision of men like this to withhold sexual attention from women was the goal all along.  “We will beat these women by doing exactly what they wanted us to do the whole time!”  ...Sure.  Just so long as these two, and those like them, do actually follow through with that “threat” to demonstrate negative interest, things will actually improve.

My gosh, I have never felt more validated in my decision to ditch the label “Conservative.”  If men like this feel welcome, then at least, as a Libertarian I can say, “You don’t really believe in freedom, because if you did, then the right of every human being to be secure in their person would matter to you.  Even if those people are women.”  That so many Conservatives have trouble turning that corner is a big reason I’m happy to be out.  Either you value every human being, or you don’t really value any human beings.  And when these kinds of articles and comments are the kinds of things that Conservative journalism is putting out, I really have to question just how much value that group really does put on human beings.  This kind of language is not what it looks like.

Bad job, guys.  Do better.

[hayleysstark]

Sugar Plum Queenie here! I've been imagining hypothetical scenes for Season 2 of Green Eggs and Ham: Michellee and EB join Guy and Sam on Sam's quest to find his mom. We get some adorable "found family moments": Sam getting excited about something and calling Michellee "Mom" on accident. He is embarrassed at first, but Michellee says she doesn't mind it; EB and Sam are in danger, and Guy crying out "get away from my kids!"; Guy calling Sam "Son" on accident and Sam never shutting up about it.

OH MY GOSH all right, all right, to start us off, may i just say, you absolutely know where it’s at, Queenie, this is all 👌👌👌. superb. top-tier. you are doing God’s work. long live the Queen.

Actually, I do wonder about how Michellee and E.B. are going to tie in to S2!! like. a lot. probably way more than I should. but!!! there’s no way the writers would introduce two (2) very likeable, very quirky, just very all-around fun heroines in S1, give them a really strong, really relatable, really heartfelt arc, and then turn around and ditch them in S2, but, on the other hand, the only reason they got dragged into Sam and Guy’s misadventures in the first place is because the four of them all just happened to head to Meepville at the same time. And I don’t think Michellee would uproot E.B. to go on another journey with our beloved boys, but that really is the only way, at least as far as I can see, that the narrative can drag them back into relevance.

still !!! i really do hope Michellee and E.B. return for S2, and I hope they get just as prominent roles as in S1, but I suppose we’ll just have to see!

ALSO i did not ever even consider the idea of Michellee and Guy just straight-up adopting one (1) Samuel-I-Amuiel, and that is a goddamn tragedy, because i am an absolute slut for any and all found family tropes, and Green Eggs and Ham came through with the goods in such a big way!!!!!!

Guy is, as near as I can figure out, quite a bit older than Sam - I’d say an easy eight to ten years, at least - so I can see how he would fall into a bit of a parental role with Sam, at times and, hell, he even takes on a certain sort of tone with Sam pretty often in S1 that sounds far more like an adult with a child (and, honestly, Sam acts like a child so frequently, this doesn’t surprise me) but I really think S2 is going to concentrate pretty heavily on how Sam and Guy have to really rebuild their trust in each other after what happened in S1.

Sure, Sam had a change of heart and returned the Chickeraffe anyway, and Guy said he was sorry like a hundred times, and ate the green eggs and ham, but that doesn’t mean all the issues the last few episodes stirred up will just melt away again. 

Guy and Sam really let each other in, and they really let each other down. And that needs to be handled. Guy and Sam need to handle that. Like adults.

also, while we’re on the subject of S2, may i just say, if we don’t get so much as one (1) episode where Guy and Sam gotta pass through a town where Sam is like, really well-known, but under a different alias, and for a vast number of unforgivable crimes unrelated to the Chickeraffe, so they spend thirty minutes being chased by law enforcement, and poor Guy is just like WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE HELL AND FUCK the whole goddamn time,,,,,,,,,,,,, if we don’t get that,,,,,,,,,,,,, i will riot,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

ghggfgbgv anyways!!! Thanks for dropping in, Queenie, it was lovely to see you again!!! Have a wonderful day!! 💖💖💖

[five-wow]

9.20 thoughts! this got very long, just as an fyi.

not even a minute in and some guys sold a teenage girl a gun. oh boy.

on the plus side: i remember which episode this is now! it’s the one with the gun that somehow has a connection to lots of five-0 members’ lives!

the banter between those two cops was really fun (and not as stilted as it sometimes is when a random Cop Or Security Duo shows up!) and then one of them got shot and something like that kind of HAD to happen but i’m still sad

OKAY so the first connection is that junior is friends with one of the guys who sold the gun and the guy shows up at HQ and i was like, oh no, but then he tells junior what he did!!! that’s so good!!! i’m weirdly proud of this very minor side character who did a very bad thing

DANNY. THERE’S DANNY. i technically knew he had to be in this episode somewhere because i’ve seen photographical evidence of it here on tumblr, but THERE HE IS. YAY. i mean, i love almost all of the main cast, but i think part of the reason why it took me a month to watch the previous episode was because danny wasn’t in it. it still just doesn’t feel right. it’s like there’s something missing. and here that something is!

junior and his buddy leave and steve and danny are alone in the office and steve said something case-related directly to danny and i’m weirdly excited about that, too!! my bars are literally so low.

BABY STEVE. baby steve is watching inspector gadget, oh my gosh, aw.

i love how doris is supposed to be there and she picks up the phone and tells mini steve to turn down the tv, but we never see any part of her except a hand and some hair because they didn’t hire the actress for this episode. so subtle.

i am... so conflicted about this scene. on the one hand, mini steve is super cute. on the other, we’re probably supposed to like young john here and think he’s a Good Dad but i just... kind of low key hate everything he does. he looks annoyed when doris tells him the call is for him, like she’s bugging him somehow after being the one who picked up the phone in the first place, and the whole “i have to go to work. take care of your mom while i’m gone, okay?” that he says to steve is so bad, omfg. steve is what, five? i know the “man of the house” thing is very common in media but it’s! so! stupid! doris is a grown woman and steve is a tiny little boy - doris has to (and can!) take care of steve, not the other way around, god. /rant

oh! we do get a full body shot of doris but it’s blurry doris! and she’s SUPER PREGNANT which makes the fact that john let her get up to answer the phone in the first place kind of bad too, actually, oh boy.

doris: “john, if something was wrong you’d tell me, right?” john: “i’m not gonna lie to you, i don’t know. just lock the door behind me, i’ll try to call you as soon as i get this straightened out.” OMG WHAT. okay a) this is hilarious knowing as we do that doris was actually a highly trained cia agent/assassin and probably way more skilled than john and outranks him by far, fjdkfd, and b) i’ll give john a little credit for being somewhat honest and not just going with “no, everything’s totally fine, don’t worry”, but the answer he does give is almost worse because it’s so incredibly vague, holy shit. he says “i’m not gonna lie to you” and he doesn’t, but he also doesn’t tell doris who called or what they said or why he’s suddenly leaving for work in the middle of the night or why he thinks she needs to lock the door.

i’m only six minutes in at this point. i’m talking too much oh gosh

WAIT WAIT WAIT. john is offering himself up as a hostage, alone and unarmed and without backup, and THAT’s the “oh, i don’t know if there’s something wrong honey” situation he was leaving for? john. the fuck. now the “i’m not gonna lie” was definitely a lie after all.

the guy with the gun: “you’re such a good boy, john.” i respectfully disagree, my man.

the guy with the gun apparently killed his business partner and john arrested him (of course) and he and john have a talk about it where the guy is like “i shouldn’t have gone to prison!” and john is like “you got off lightly!” and it’s okay but. john is so smug about it and i hate that. he’s probably supposed to look bad ass and cool but i just. i just really dislike it. it’s this macho man thing and i’m not into it at all.

guy with gun, talking about his son: “you made sure he grew up without a father.” this, um, kind of made me laugh, because apparently that’s one of john’s specialties - for this guy’s kid by sending him (probably deservedly) to prison, sure, but later also his own kids by sending them away, fdjfkd. wow.

ooohhhh the gun guy said “steve, right?” and the frame kind of flipped to present day steve and that was very cool! i loved that.

2010 danny! and he’s talking to grace on the phone!!! already love it.

i also love that they gave him a baseball cap, presumably to hide the kind of obvious difference in hair that nine years brought.

danny kind of snubs the local food and it’s very 2010!him, but oh danny. it’s not the poor shop owner’s fault that your ex dragged you there against your will.

oh BOY. the shop gets robbed and the owner shot (which was expected, of course, when a main character wanders in there at night), and then danny asks the random woman shopping there to keep pressure on the owner’s wound until the ambulance gets there (which... he hasn’t called, and he also hasn’t told her to call for one, so that, uh, might take a long, long while) and then he takes the shop owner’s shotgun and RUNS AFTER THE SHOOTER. which is very heroic of him but also makes every single complaint he has in season 1 about steve’s daredevil approach to law enforcement VERY IRONIC.

oh, danny loses the guy and NOW he calls it in, fjdkfkd.

jerry is doing some smart tracking thing on the computer and it’s pretty regular h50 stuff but there’s an email adress on the screen that’s literally “gunlover[bunch of numbers]” and i’m screaming oh gosh

they already found the girl! but her dad is understandably not that jazzed about letting his daughter be investigated for murder. but good job on tracking her down so quickly!

2015 tani at a party!!! aww.

ohhh gosh koa is target shooting with the gun, which probably means he’s going to end up getting framed for something, oh no.

oh boy, tani has the same concerns so she confronts her boyfriend about it but she also knows her boyfriend’s in a gang and then the police comes knocking at his door about a murder, so that’s not going to end well.

ooh, 2015 tani was a police informant! and she’s talking to a pretty cool female detective and i appreciate that, even though you’d have to squint to count this scene as passing the bechdell test because almost every sentence references tani’s boyfriend, the boyfriend’s gang or tani’s brother.

steve and danny are interrogating a suspect together!! i might be completely wrong, but i feel like we haven’t seen that in a while.

suspect: “i don’t know if either of you guys are married, but even if it goes south, you can’t shut down some of those feelings, you know? like the ones that go right down into the core.” HMMM. INTERESTING. the camera is literally on danny’s face for a good portion of this, gosh.

they close their main case and i thought for a moment there was going to be some big twist because the episode isn’t near over yet, but instead they realize that this gun was used for a whole bunch of other crimes. it’s a “community gun”! i love that term, wow. how nice and cooperative of them all, sharing this one piece between them.

danny recognizes his case from the ones on the screen!!! and he tells the rest of them that he went to get a bite to eat on his first night in hawaii and that the store was robbed, and i’m kind of glad that at least the team seems to recognize that this is extraordinarily bad luck, ha.

also, steve barely reacts to danny’s story, so i’m taking that to mean that he definitely already knows it. which would make total sense! this seems like the kind of thing danny would rant about at some point during one of his “why i hate hawaii” tirades in season 1, but still, i like that. they know each other.

fjdkfjdk i LOVE how the whole team is standing there and piecing together the fact that they have connections to a ridiculous number of the crimes committed with this one gun, and jerry keeps commenting about how freaky it all is. this is so much fun, awww.

young john gets shot but of course he was wearing a vest, because he can’t die yet, because he needs to save that for a moment much later when he’s scarred his kids more and when he can die horribly on the phone with his son.

OKAY BUT “d. lukela”!!!! i’ve been watching the john bits very sceptically at this point but THIS I DID NOT SEE COMING and i ADORE IT.

john: “listen, duke, i’m not gonna lie to you man...” WHY do you keep saying that john, omfg. at least this time you’re telling the truth about not lying, i suppose. 50% not lying about not lying isn’t much, but it’s a start.

steve!! remembers!! that night!! and it’s because he was six and really scared because he knew something was wrong oh nooo

danny and tani talking in the car is super nice!!! and danny gets to drive the camaro for once which, wow, that’s pretty shocking

ahhhhh, the only thing this danny+car scene was missing was steve and then he CALLS. very good.

i just. listen. i just love danny. the way he keeps butting into the tense conversation between tani and this guy she used to know who she put in prison? it’s both hilarious and secretly very kind, because it’s making the moment so much more bearable for tani.

danny and tani find the guy from the convenience store robbery and he just turns around and puts his hands on his back to be cuffed when they ask him to! he doesn’t pull out a gun from somewhere or even try to run away! holy shit!

duke and steve are in california rounding off steve’s dad’s case and of course they get shot at before even knocking on the door and then the suspect runs for it, too. maybe it’s just steve. maybe their work would be a lot easier if steve’s presence didn’t magically make all the suspects shoot and run.

and the gun gets put away in a box in evidence storage, closing the case(s). aww. that’s a nice end.

okay, so, as much as i complain about john mcgarrett, i did really enjoy this episode very much! it was a really fun idea to have this gun travel around the island and use it to show little parts of characters’ backstories and i liked the execution of it too, plus the pacing was good and it had some funny moments and it had (very importantly) danny in it. and tani’s background!!! i think that was the one that surprised me most, because danny being a good cop with bad luck and steve having a not-so-great dad are a bit of a given at this point (though i still enjoyed seeing that, too!), but we knew precious little about tani’s life before five-0, and apparently there’s a huge story there. knowing what this episode showed us, i kind of want her to have a conversation with kamekona at some point - they both had a youth where they (almost) went the wrong direction, and they both got out of that in part for the sake of their brothers, and then they both ended up in the five-ohana somehow, which is probably not a place they ever saw themselves. i don’t know, i just love the idea of this unexpected friendship/understanding between two characters who don’t seem to have a lot in common at first glance.

also, more general comment: the funny thing is, until i watched this episode i hadn’t realized how much i missed this silly show and its silly characters over the past month. i totally did that not-watching-it thing to myself (not even intentionally, but still) and clearly it was more of a mistake than i realized because oh my god it felt good to see them all on my screen again, gosh. :D

[nothing-but-kpop-dreams]

Pinky Promise (request)

Request: Can I request a mark tuan scenario where he's a doctor and his girlfriend is a cop and they argue cause he's worried about her chasing criminals and they almost break up, but then they make up? Thanks! Hope this makes sense lol

Author's note: I don't knoe too much about law enforcement so sorry if there are inaccuracies and stuff.

Word Count: 2023

“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” you winced in only a minute amount of pain as you slowly slid the sleeve of your coat over your wound of the day.

The cut running down most of your forearm was no big deal (at least that was what you were telling everyone, including yourself). It was a small price to pay in order to do what you did today; chase after a low life, follow them into some dark dirty alley, corner them, wait for them to realize they have been caught, then cuff them. And well, you probably got a cut on your arm from hitting the edge of a dumpster, but as mentioned earlier, it was all part of the job.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna at least wrap that up?” your partner asked. “That cut is pretty nasty looking.”

You let out a playful scoff. “Nah, I’m good. We both know I’ve gotten worse than this before.”

“Oh, so the first aid kit under the sergeant’s desk isn’t good enough for you and that doctor boyfriend of yours?” he joked.

“Oh please, you should hear the arguments we have over him wanting to clean up my cuts and stuff and I won't let him.”

Jaebum, or Jb for short now that you were close partners, looked down at you with a teasing look of disapproval. “Gosh I remember the first day I had to work with you. I saw you and thought, “That person right there… is probably a stubborn little asshole”, and boy was I right.” he laughed, giving you a playful pat on the back. “I really feel sorry for your boyfriend… I’m heading out already, but make sure you get that thing cleaned up. I don't want excuses tomorrow!” he said as he walked out.

“Night!” you called out, gathering your own things so you can head home.

The ride back proved to be uncomfortable. The cut kept rubbing up against your coat sleeve. It was still so raw and sensitive that any little bump on the road sent waves of fiery pain up your arm. It would probably be best to have that “boyfriend doctor of yours” look at it. The only thing was that you didn't want him to get all worried over you. He had a bad habit of overreacting to any little thing you came home with.

Now at your door, you took a deep breath before stepping inside. You needed a second to prepare for the full on lecture you were going to get about “being more careful about your surroundings”, “making sure to have rubbing alcohol in the police car”, “Did you at least rinse the cut out?” and all that other concerned whining.

“Hi baby!” you smiled a bit too overenthusiastically when you walked in to find your boyfriend, Mark, slumped on the couch.

“Hi!” he said with a tired smile.

It was easy to see how exhausted he was. He hadn’t even changed out of his work clothes yet.

It was a safe bet to leave your coat on. You didn't want to rile him up so soon. As casually as you could, you sat next to him and pulled him into a side hug; it was all just to make sure you wouldn’t bring your wounded arm into contact with him. “How was everything at the hospital today?” you asked with a quick peck.

“Busy, as always.” he huffed. “And how was your day?”

“Same. I had to chase some stupid ass punk today, so that was pretty exciting.”

Your boyfriend sat up. He was already more alert over hearing this piece of information. He always got this way. Any little story you had that sounded any bit dangerous, put him on edge.

“And you’re okay right? The douche didn’t hurt you or anything?”

“Baby, I’m fine. I just got a cut, but other than that, I’m good.”

“Cut? Where? Did he have a knife on him? Did you fight with him?”. Now he was in a panic. You could feel his body get all tense.

“Mark, calm down. I think I might have cut my arm running past a dumpster, that's all.”

“A dumpster?!? Do you even know how dirty- Ugh! Just let me take a look at it. I need to see how bad it is.”

You rolled your eyes at him. For someone that was chill 99% of the time, he had his over dramatic moments.

You slowly took off your coat. Yes, the cut still hurt and it actually looked more irritated than before. You’re skin was all red and swollen. It honestly looked kind of gross now.

“Bathroom now!” He said sternly.

Without listening to your opposing pleas, Mark grabbed your good arm and dragged you behind him towards the master bathroom. That place was more his mini doctor's office than it was a bathroom, but hey that was the “perk” of him being a doctor.

“Why is this not wrapped up?” his voice was already in that lecturing tone. He didn’t even look at you though, his focus was on your arm. He was in the zone, grabbing all these bandages and oils and stuff from the cabinets.

“Cuz- I don’t know- it didn’t hurt at the time.” you couldn’t think of a better excuse. “Not that I really had time cuz like right after, we got called in for a domestic abuse thing.”

“Did you at least wash it out later?” he grumbled as he continued to work his magic on your arm.

“...No” you said guiltily.

And in what felt like seconds, he was done, but he wasn’t happy. He looked up at you with a clenched jaw. You were actually surprised by how pissed he was. Sure he’s always nagged at you to be more careful, but he was never like this. “Why not?” he asked in a low voice.

“... Just cuz.” you said timidly. He aura was so intense now you were honestly a bit intimidated.

“Dammit y/n, you do know that could get infected right?!?

“Yes.” you groaned.

“So why not take care of it?!? Why are you so stubborn about taking care of yourself? This has to be the third time this week that I have to bandage you up. You know much I hate that? I hate seeing you hurt! Everyday is some new scary story of how you can home cut up or bruised up or almost got shot or almost got in a car accident!”

You stayed quiet and kept your head hung low.

“I am really starting to hate that you’re a cop.” he continued. “I don't know why you put yourself through this. I- I don’t why you’re still on the force. I would have thought you would have switched over to a desk job by now.”

You looked up at him with furrowed brows. The topic of you being a cop has come up before. Mark has expressed how much he prefers you aren't one, but it was more of a joking manner. But now he was serious about it… and that didn’t make you very happy.

“I don’t see why you won’t quit that job already.” he added.

“W- why would I want to quit?”

“Pft! Because it’s dangerous!”

“So?!?”

“What do you mean so? Do you have any idea how worried I am over you every day? And then to have to come home to you all beat up? I hate it! I would much rather you just be here or something. Like- like you don’t have to work! I make enough for the both of us!”

“What?!? Not work?” And now you were pissed. “So then what do you expect me to do?”

“Well- I don’t know.” he stuttered “I mean- I don��t mean don’t work but like- ugh- I don't care what you do or don't do as long as you aren't doing what you're doing now.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “I can’t believe you are actually saying this. I- I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.” you said as you walked out of the bathroom.

“Babe, wait!” Mark followed after you “Can’t you at least think about it some more?”

You spun back at him “No I dont wanna fucking “think about it”! How dare you ask me something like that! You very much knew what my job was when we started dating and you had no problem with it then. But if you don't want a girlfriend that’s a cop, well then get a new girlfriend!” you spat.

Instantly his face fell. “What? No!” He closed the space between you two. He tried to reach for you but you pulled away. “Baby, I don't want to do that! I love you. I just want you safe!” he pleaded.

“Mark, if you really loved me, you wouldn't be asking me to quit my job! How would you feel if I asked you to quit being a doctor?”

“But that's different! My life isn't constantly on the line!”

“Um, yes it is! Everyday you walk into a building filled with sick people. It's literally covered with - with germs and- and disease. And like you might accidentally poke yourself with a needle and get hiv. You might get attacked by a belligerent patient. You've told me so many stories of stuff like that happening. And how many times have you gotten assaulted by the family members of dying patients?”

“Twice” he said reluctantly.

“Exactly! There was that “6 foot, 300 pound guy” that tried to beat you up when his wife died after giving birth and there was that mother that smacked you when you told her her son passed. And let’s not forget about that creepy guy that literally threatened to kill you after you told him his daughter's condition was getting worse!”

Now it was him that stayed quiet.

“Do you have any idea of what your asking of me right now?!? For as long as I remember, I have wanted to be a cop. Believe it or not, graduating of the academy is like, one of the best days in my life. I love being a cop. I love wearing my uniform and driving around with Jb. I love pulling over asshole drivers and tackling down piece of shut people and bringing in assholes that beat on their kids or spouse. Sure, I don't like the stupid paperwork, but I love the thrill of what I do. I love knowing that I am saving people, that I am protecting them… isn't that the same reason you became a doctor?”

“...Yeah…” his sighed. “You- You’re right. You’re right. Totally right. Y/n, I’m sorry. It’s just, I worry about you that’s all.”

“Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t give you a right to try to control me.”

Mark sat down at the edge of the bed. He was completely deflated, almost like how he was when you got home. “I know…”

You felt a bit bad seeing him look so defeated. His intentions were good, he was just worried about you overall.

You let out a long. The weight of the argument was heavy on your shoulders. You started at him for a while as you tried to get yourself calm before you said anything you would regret.

Eventually though, you went over and sat next to him. With your good arm, you pulled him into a side hug. He rested his pouty face on your head and for a long moment the both of you were quiet.

“I’m sorry.” he repeated, this time wrapping his arms around you. “I really crossed the line today. Everything came out wrong and I'm really sorry.”

“... I mean, I could have been more careful. I really should have washed it out at least. How about this, from now on I truly promise to be more careful at work?” You suggested holding your pinky out to him.

A small smile grew on his face and his pinky wrapped around yours. “And I promise to not overreact and get all controlling and ask you to quit your job.”

-Admin Boat

[thelowlysatsuma]

I am curious about Tori’s backsTori

!!!!!! okay first of all i love you for that pun.

secondly, this is gonna double for you and the anon who asked me to talk about tori as well!

okay so! tori is a seventeen year old kid on an alternate version of earth, working in their equivalent of a policing program. like around half of his peers, he’s a shapeshifter, genetically engineered while in the womb to be able to turn into an animal in times when his fight-or-flight response kicks in. UNlike most of his peers, the animal that TORI can turn into is... well...

a llama.

the kid’s a llama.

what the fuck do you do with a llama.

consequently, tori’s been a tad bit discriminated against in his program, and hasn’t advanced through the ranks as quickly as he ought to have. in fact, at the moment, he’s stuck in a legal loophole that prevents him from advancing – permanently.

here’s my working summary of the series, which’ll hopefully help make a little more sense of things!

On an alternate Earth where living next door to genetically engineered shapeshifters puts you in a pretty mundane neighbourhood, the Skyline Agency presides over governmental proceedings, education, and – its most well known purpose – law enforcement.

Meet Tori Frei, a seventeen year old shifter whose natural intelligence and knack for reading people would normally make him a top pick for Skyline’s policing program – that is, if the legal loophole he’s been stuck in for the past four years wasn’t preventing his advancement up the ranks. However, his luck just might change when, on a seemingly routine case that sees him and his newfound partner Mitra investigating a missing ring, they suddenly get swept up into the world of Skyline’s best and brightest as they stumble into a case that has their generation’s top agent stumped.

Welcome to a world where bioengineered humans are the new normal. To a world where murder isn’t the scariest item on the agenda. To a world where anyone – even a kid – can change the system.

Welcome to Shift.

and that’s the story! they end up on a case with the falcon – otherwise known as agent akira kohli.

now, tori’s real backstory – that is, the legal loophole he’s stuck in – involves a hell of a lot of spoilers, so i’m putting it under the cut. ready? here we go!

okay! first off, warning for violence and murder. nothing explicit, but it’s there. also very light gore. oh gosh, also emotional manipulation and gaslighting. oh yeah oof his story isn’t happy.

in Skyline’s policing branch of the agency, it’s customary for pupils – especially shifters, who’ve all legally attended the Skyline academy their entire lives – to tag along on their first big mission (lead by a superior, obviously) when they reach a certain level – regardless of age. this leads to tori going on his first mission at the tender old age of thirteen.

i know, right? damn. kid is smart.

anyways, he gets paired with a senior agent who happens to be one of the people none too happy to see a llama, of all the goddamn things, being one of the fastest-advancing students of the new generation. so when senior over here sees a golden opportunity to sabotage the mission and blame it on the new kid, he takes it.

unfortunately, the mission they’re on isn’t investigating a simple bank robbery. they’re dealing with an active hostage situation. tori, the cocky teen bastard he is, finds a lead – one that would actually be decent, had this mission been approached the right way – and presents it to senior, who promptly informs him that this is his first big mission, isn’t it? and as such, shouldn’t tori be the one to pursue the lead?

tori’s lead is good – too good. he finds the hostage (another shifter, not even a decade older than tori himself, who was caught while undercover, investigating a gang) when he’s alone, but he doesn’t stay that way for long. before tori can blink, a gang member is beside the hostage, a knife to his throat.

“oh please,” tori says, hands folded behind his head like he owns the small, dingy warehouse they’re in. “you wouldn’t kill him. he’s your only bargaining chip. no one’s that stupid.”

“oh,” replies the criminal, “aren’t i?”

then she slits the hostage’s throat.

tori stumbles back as droplets of blood fly through the air in an arc, eyes widening, face draining of colour. he bumps into a warm body and whips around only to see senior glaring down at him coldly. the gang member makes a break for it, and they watch her go. senior clears his throat, and tori flinches.

“really?” he demands harshly. “you let her go?”

tori shrinks back. “i- i didn’t know-”

“of course you didn’t,” senior sighs. “why didn’t you just wait for me to back you up like i told you to?”

tori’s hands shakingly push through dark hair and he hugs himself loosely. “i- he’s- he’s dead”

senior rolls his eyes and places his hands on his hips. “thank you, captain obvious,” he bites, adjusting his collar. “now i have to clean up this whole mess, and it’s all your fault.”

he locks eyes with tori, and the boy withers under his piercing green gaze. “isn’t it?”

tori’s fists grab at his sweater sleeves, and he feels tears trail down his cheeks even as his eyes stay, horrified, fixated on senior. he tries to choke out words, but his voice breaks. eventually, he manages to calm himself enough to voice what he’s thinking.

“it’s my fault.”

and there you have it. the two return, senior spins the story to blame it on his thirteen year old charge, and tori not only internalizes the guilt and suffers through it in silence for the next four years of his life until his past comes hurtling back at him, but also gets trapped in a legal loophole that states that he’s no longer allowed to go on missions above level 1 (and even those are debatable), and that the only way he’ll be allowed to go on higher ranking missions again is if he were to help pull off a mission of level 2 or higher.

not a happy kid, then.

and of course, it doesn’t help that just when he’s making friends again, just when he starts to genuinely connect with people again, just when he starts to feel safe again, his past not only comes out, but comes out in what seems to be the worst possible way. what happens, you ask? oh, nothing much.

only that his new best friend mitra, the first person he’s started to really trust since the incident, an optimistic boy with problems of his own, only that mitti finds out about tori’s past – and finds out that the hostage he “got killed” was mitti’s own older brother. and since mitti’s only ever heard the version of the story that senior told, well. it doesn’t end well for either of them.

and that’s tori! lovely, whip smart, snarky tori, who doesn’t deserve anything that’s happened to him, but who i promise will get the opportunity to work through his trauma.

i love my llama son.