#he starts yelling his order at me. says medium again like twice. gets to the end

[menlove]

send me good vibes that the boomers aren't as heinous at work today as they were yesterday

[rivalsforlife]

Phoenix Wright: The Truth Reborn: Oh No We’re Doing This Again

hi.

Nearly two months ago, I wrote an essay summarizing and making very wild conclusions about the second Takarazuka Musical. I did this about two and a half years after watching the first Takarazuka musical. As such I did not have the full context for many things from the musical and was relying mostly on my memory, which blocked many things from this musical for my own safety. However, just this week, I decided to rewatch it, because I enjoy tormenting myself. I said I wouldn’t write anything on it. Here I am writing something on it.

Here’s the youtube thumbnail so that you know what you’re getting yourself into. And here, of course, is the link. This is the HD version which may be slightly more pleasant to watch. Maybe.

It was not quite as cringe in a funny way as the second musical to me, and therefore this essay may be less funny, but I feel like I’m doing a disservice to people by providing a summary of the second musical while completely neglecting the first. Quite possibly doing this is even more of a disservice. I just eagerly await the day that the third musical is translated because *that* will be the day that I finally shuffle off this mortal coil. Either way, I want to write this stuff down so that I never have to watch the musical again out of curiosity.

The following essay will contain major spoilers for both the first and second Phoenix Wright Takarazuka musicals, as I will be using many points from this musical to argue my thesis of the second musical. ... like you were going to watch them anyways. 

This one broke 8k. I’m dead inside.

Introducing The Director

Again another disclaimer that I don’t have anything against the actresses or the theatre troupe. I DO have something against Suzuki Kei, who I recently learned is the writer and director of all three of the Ace Attorney Takarazuka musicals, and is quite possibly my mortal nemesis.

This man is the one who brought this monstrosity into the world.

This man, allegedly, cleared the first four ace attorney games *seven times* before sitting down to write these musicals. He played these goddamn games seven times and did not take in a single word. The man clicked through them mindlessly while watching a badly written legal romance drama in the background and got them completely confused. I genuinely have no idea how this man could have played these games more times than even me and yet managed to get so many characters (MAYA!!!!) completely and utterly wrong. This haunts me every day, truly.

This man played Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Justice for All, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Trials and Tribulations, and Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney seven times. SEVEN TIMES EACH!! and was told to create a musical based on the series. He played these games seven times each and you know what he said?? You know what he said?? “This sucks, I’m getting rid of all of Phoenix’s backstory, butchering half the characters, and writing Phoenix/Lana fanfiction, but also rewriting all of Lana’s backstory so that she was Phoenix’s childhood friend, and you know what, I’m changing her name for good measure.”

I think this man played the games seven times each and then hated it so much and was so sick of it he tried to write something that destroyed as much of the series as possible while still being vaguely recognizable. And then somehow it became a massive hit because people like me see this and go “what the actual hell” and watch it, or people who haven’t played the games see this and go “wow what a great musical!” and then he wrote TWO MORE, destroying EVEN MORE every time in his wake, until finally, finally, he stopped after making Edgeworth straight and time traveling into the past to face off against a corrupt Gregory. I guess that was the last straw.

I have to issue a disclaimer here that for legal reasons this is a joke. I don’t actually hate this man and would not punch him in the face if I met him because that would be rude, and he is entitled to his wrong interpretation of the games. I don’t know what his thought process was. But allegedly he did play the games seven times according to the wiki. This whole essay here is satire and not slander and I don’t want to offend this guy if he somehow stumbles across my nonsense tumblr post. At the same time: Suzuki Kei blink twice if you need help.

Anyways half the reason that I’m making this essay is because I want to share my fake ao3 page for this musical. The other half will become apparent later.

Sorry if that’s illegible because of tumblr quality it’s not really important. All you really need to know is that it’s a fake ao3 screenshot for the musical. Also in the author’s note I said he played the games four times but it was actually seven I just remembered wrong because I didn’t want to believe it.

at this point you may be like “Grace shut up and get to the actual musical” and okay, fine, let’s start this nonsense. Also note that I may be referencing things from my essay on the second musical very frequently; I’m not going to force you to go read that though because the fact that you’re reading this is enough of a torment already.

The Musical Begins

Unlike the second musical, this one opens with some narration from Phoenix.

Transcript:

Phoenix: I’m reviewing a particular case at the moment. To me, this case... is one I’ll never forget.

Immediately I think this is important because it establishes that this whole musical takes place in a flashback that Phoenix is reflecting on. Why is this important? Because we know, by the time of the second musical which takes place three years later, Leona is dead.

Knowing that Leona is inherently doomed to die of her Sad Woman Disease paints this whole musical in a different light. It’s not Phoenix reflecting on how he got back together with his lover; it’s Phoenix dwelling on their past together, and the opportunities they had, before her life was so cruelly and inexplicably taken away. We don’t know if Phoenix’s reminiscing takes place before or after Leona’s death... but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was after.

Phoenix, still in the present, starts to sing. “A wave appears on the horizon like a mirage, it trembles, then vanishes. Your voice, carried upon the waves, fades upon the shore, erasing the splendor of the past.”

This line actually shows up in the second musical, sung by Lucia about her imprisoned fiance quite possibly. It’s kind of hard to tell what the meaning of these songs even are. They’re too abstract for me I think. But this line appears very frequently in the first musical when Phoenix is thinking about Leona.

Then we enter the flashback time.

Phoenix inexplicably yells at a newspaper saleswoman. This is not relevant to anything whatsoever. Then Larry barges in to the office, looking for Maya. Phoenix describes him as “A real trouble maker, but you just can’t hate the guy”, the latter part of which I think many people would disagree with. 

Well, afterwards, Maya comes in. Phoenix describes her like this while making exaggerated “can you believe this shit” gestures.

Transcript:

Phoenix: She’s as ditzy as they come. Oh, and about the outfit... Apparently she comes from a family of spirit mediums. Try not to make fun of her, okay?

Suzuki Kei personally has it out for Maya and I can never forgive him for it. Maya in these musicals is here for pure comedic relief but it’s not even comedic because I just get so angry. How can you play the trilogy seven times and think this about her?? The girl who figured out DL-6?? The girl who told Phoenix to sacrifice her life in order to find the truth?? The girl who put on a brave smile in order to try and cheer up her younger cousin even after she saw her own mother murdered right in front of her eyes?? That Maya Fey?? Ditzy as they come??????

Ugh. Moving on.

Maya and Larry run off, leaving Phoenix to watch the American Broadcast.

Important things to note here are the Godot mug, the little line up of what I think are the messed up little ace attorney figurines beneath the screen, and the fact that while this broadcast is supposedly from and to America the screen is actually not at all showing America. Like literally almost everywhere in the world except North and South America.

The broadcast says that Leona Clyde, age 24, was arrested for murdering the senator Robert Cole! Leona Clyde -- that’s Phoenix’s ex-girlfriend! He runs off to the detention center.

She is not happy to see him.

Leona: Mr. Wright... I’m not the woman you once knew.

Let’s Play A Matching Game

Sorry for the abundance of screenshots that are going to be throughout this section. Phoenix convinces Leona to let him defend her. Some of the conversation seems... familiar.

Leona: No one would defend someone who admits to killing a senator. I’m waiting for a court-appointed attorney.

Edgeworth: Every defense attorney I’ve talked to has turned me down.

Phoenix: In that case, let me defend you.

Game Phoenix: Let me defend you.

Leona: Don’t be ridiculous!

Edgeworth: Don’t be ridiculous.

Phoenix: I’ll never accept that you’re a murderer. Let me prove your innocence!

Game Phoenix: Huh? Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to prove that Miles Edgeworth is innocent.

Leona: I’ve already confessed my guilt.

Gumshoe: He confessed that he did it! In court!

Leona: It’s foolish to think you can win this case.

Edgeworth: My case is near hopeless, Wright.

Leona: (in response to phoenix offering to defend her) No you won’t! Don’t ever come here again.

Edgeworth: Look, just go away, and leave me alone!

Phoenix: You of all people should know. Once I decide to do something, I see it through to the end.

Edgeworth: Once you start on something, you always see it through, don’t you?

Leona: I never thought that you’d be representing me.

Phoenix: Ah, who could have guessed this day would come?

Edgeworth: Not me.

Phoenix: You believed in me. You saved me. And this time, I swear... I swear I’ll save you!

Game Phoenix: Edgeworth believed in me, and I believe in him. I’m the only one who knows the real Edgeworth. I’m the only one who can help him.

I could’ve done a few more, but tumblr is already threatening to murder my laptop.

So long story short, Phoenix manages to convince his lover to let him be the defense on the case. Then immediately after swearing to save Leona, he starts singing a song, which I’m not screencapping because this is enough:

“As long as there are people in this world, there’s only one path I will follow! As long as there is love in this world, there’s only one path I will believe in!”

Edgeworth sings this in the second musical after saying that he returned to California because of Phoenix. Phoenix sings it now after swearing to defend Leona. You draw your own conclusions.

And then we finally get the opening credits. Eleven minutes in.

Just Pretend This Is Narumitsu Fanfiction

Following the credits, we see a beautiful beach. Couples (exclusively heterosexual, of course,) dance and embrace in the background for some time, before revealing Phoenix and Leona, in the Even Further Past, before the LSATs or whatever the ace attorney universe’s excuse for law school exams are.

Phoenix establishes his absolute hatred of change, an important characterization moment.

Phoenix: The view here never changes, huh?

Phoenix reminisces on when they were kids. Leona’s parents were both lawyers (they’re both lawyers) and sometimes they would be like lawyers with her when she was a kid. This inspired her to also become a lawyer after their tragic death of Sickness. They never specify what the sickness is that caused two people who must be relatively young to die while Leona was in her early twenties at the latest. It may be whatever sickness claimed Leona’s life later. Sad Woman Disease. (Sad Man Disease for her father, I guess?)

Phoenix also talks about why he’s becoming a lawyer.

Phoenix: Watching you chase your dream inspired me to become a lawyer too.

So, it’s not “my childhood friend looked sad in a newspaper” because I guess that makes no sense or is too gay or something. But this is another important piece of Phoenix characterization. His entire life so far has been focused around Leona. They’ve been friends since they were kids, and then Phoenix decided to become a lawyer solely because Leona was becoming a lawyer. Not even to try and get back into contact with her after she moved away or anything; just because he’s so obsessed with her that he wants to have the same career as her, then they can run a Mom & Pop Law Firm or something, years in the future, after years of happy marriage and a few children or like whatever the hell.

Well, there’s a few steps they’ll need to get to that. At this point Phoenix still hasn’t confessed his feelings for Leona. He does so here, on this beach.

Leona tries to protest.

Leona: But I’m pushy, selfish, and only care about my goals... You’d get fed up with me.

Phoenix: That’s what I’ve always admired about you. That’s who I’ve been chasing all these years. That’s the only person... I love.

Sooo, Phoenix, your type is pushy selfish people who only care about their goals...? In the first, older lower-quality video translation it was “only care about my work”, too. Hm. Things to think about.

They sing a little duet together. Then we go back to present-day of what’s technically still a flashback. Whatever. Murder is happening.

Back To The Murder

So some plot things to establish: Leona is the legal counsel of Governor Miller, who is running for president in the AMERICAN PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION. After the flashback so that Phoenix has some time to change clothes, they show an interview of him talking about the murder.

Governor Miller: I vow to forge a peaceful country with my own two hands, and to prepare myself for whatever may lie ahead.

Reporters: Through thick and thin, he’s a friend of the people!

The Takarazuka musicals are not very good at hiding their killers.

Phoenix: Oh yeah... It’s almost time for the presidential election, isn’t it?

NEVER FORGET, WRIGHT. THIS IS AMERICA. LAND OF THE FREE! god what even was that line.

Anyways, we meet Gumshoe, who is incompetent once again. Maya runs around the crime scene, picks up the murder weapon, puts her fingerprints all over everything, moves things around, all while Phoenix is like “lol get a load of the world’s stupidest girl” or whatever. But who cares about that.

It’s time to get to the only valid part of this musical.

Edgeworth’s Gay Little Villain Solo

You may have seen this one before.

Edgeworth arrives, but not really. It’s like Phoenix heard Edgeworth was prosecuting and immediately entered a dream-like state, where Edgeworth is heralded by the sound of trumpets in Great Revival. He’s played by a different actress than in the other two musicals, since I think she retired in between the six or so months from this musical to the second. She still plays the role well, though, or as well as can be when you’re written in an ace attorney Takarazuka musical.

Shrouded in scarlet solitude... it’s Edgeworth.

Yes, those are six Edgeworths. Yes, they pick Phoenix up and carry him around and dance with him. Yes, it was probably not meant to be at all homoerotic.

He sings a song that’s called “My rule”. I only figured this out later, but it’s loosely based on a “catchphrase” of his in the Japanese version - in game 1 he says something along the lines of “All I can do is get every defendant declared guilty! So I make that my policy.” In DD in his dramatic anime introduction before the trial, he says “I intend to question the defendant with all I have. For that is a part of my creed.” “So I make that my policy” and “For that is a part of my creed”, to my understanding, are both translated from the same line, which I think is like, “sore ga watashi no ruru”, “That is my rule.” (If I’m wrong, please correct me.) In this song he sings about how he’ll reduce all criminals to ash and such, basically talks about his game 1 prosecuting strategy as “my rule”. 

It’s very fun and probably if you want to only watch one number of this musical, it can be this one. It starts about 26:10 in the video I linked.

Once the musical number is done, Phoenix and Edgeworth stare at each other, and the background fades into the courtroom, so court begins. I feel like I should note that Phoenix has not picked up any evidence or talked to any witnesses in this investigation except for Gumshoe, since Maya just moved some things around and then Phoenix had some weird fever dream about Edgeworth which presumably took up the rest of the day.

The Trial, Day 1

Edgeworth: Consider it a prelude to the poignant Greek tragedy that’s about to unfold.

Maya: The real tragedy’s your pompous attitude!

Those are the only screenshots I took of this trial day. Here’s a summary, though:

The trial starts off with Leona confessing, Phoenix says “no I think she’s innocent”, and since ace attorney doesn’t care about the defendant’s wishes he’s allowed to proceed. For some reason Leona lets him do this without complaint. 

Gumshoe is the first witness, he claims to have caught Leona red-handed at the scene of the crime, standing over the corpse. Phoenix tries to claim that since Gumshoe didn’t see Leona committing the crime, he didn’t actually catch her red-handed, to which Edgeworth responds “What do you think being caught red-handed means?” 

Once Gumshoe is dismissed, Lotta takes the stand. She has a photo of the actual moment of the crime, where Leona is holding a knife in the air in front of the victim. 

The Takarazuka musicals like to do this thing where the image is blurry and zoomed out, but then Phoenix will go “I’VE NOTICED A CONTRADICTION” and it zooms in really far as the resolution increases drastically in order to show you the contradiction that is impossible to spot for yourself, because they don’t want people figuring out the mystery in this musical based off of a video game where you have to solve the mystery yourself. Anyways Phoenix zooms in on this photo and sees that there’s blood on Leona’s hand, presumably before she stabbed the victim. How did it get there?

Edgeworth suggests the victim was stabbed multiple times. Phoenix says the autopsy report contradicts that. Edgeworth, uncharacteristically, does not update it to suit his argument. 

Phoenix concludes that this photo is not showing the moment Leona stabbed the victim, but the moment Leona removed the knife! ... Which somehow casts doubt on her having been the one to stab the victim. Because as everyone knows, anyone wanting to kill someone would never remove a knife, it’s not like they’d bleed out faster that way, or anything.

And this whole contradiction is confusing because presumably if the victim was stabbed and then the knife was removed, they’d know that happened, because then the knife would not be found stuck in the victim’s body, since the victim was only stabbed once. So this shouldn’t be news to the prosecution that someone removed the knife after stabbing. But the investigation was headed by the most incompetent version of Gumshoe ever, so. sure. I guess no one knew.

That at least manages to extend the trial another day.

This Totally Has To Be Illegal

After the trial, Phoenix goes to talk to Governor Miller, aka Mr. Totally The Real Killer. Phoenix asks him why he decided to hire Leona as his legal advisor.

Basically, it’s because her parents were both renowned lawyers. Her father was a Chief Prosecutor, and her mother was a defense attorney. ... a prosecutor and a defense attorney couple... who does that remind us of...

Phoenix points out that just because her parents were good lawyers, it doesn’t mean she’d necessarily be one. Miller says that, sure, but she is actually really talented, and her law school marks were spectacular. Phoenix says “WHY WERE YOU LOOKING AT HER LAW SCHOOL MARKS”, like it’s somehow? suspicious? for a government official hiring legal counsel to look at their law school marks?

Apparently it IS suspicious because Governor Miller freaks out and asks if this is an interrogation. Before Phoenix can press much further, he gets a phone call, and leaves Phoenix alone in a big room.

So naturally Phoenix behaves like a fully grown adult running a law firm.

If all he did was sit in the chair, lift up a desk lamp, and poke his finger on a pen, that’s one thing. But then he leans over, OPENS THE GOVERNOR’S DESK DRAWER, and finds a knife that’s just sitting there casually. It looks like a butter knife. It’s not anything major. Maybe the dude just wanted to butter his toast?

I mean I know Phoenix will dig around in stuff whenever in the games, but he has no reason to suspect Governor Miller at all, much less dig through his drawer probably full of confidential government documents to lift up a knife that he thinks is suspicious. It’s not even covered in blood or anything?

Naturally Governor Miller’s assistant comes in just then, and Phoenix puts the knife. in his breast pocket. 

bud. It may look like a butter knife, but putting knives up against your chest is not a great idea. Much less stealing a knife from a governor? 

Well, in his panic, he accidentally knocks over a bunch of books on the desk. The governor’s assistant helps him pick them up, and they find a photo. Look a little familiar?

The photo has the assistant, the victim Robert Cole, Governor Miller, and the victim’s brother who died in an incident two years ago. He’s the “Neil Marshall” of this musical, and he died in what was essentially the SL-9 incident. Same general premise, except it occurred in the courthouse, and the names are different.

AND FINALLY WE REACH THE END OF ACT 1. They do a musical number here which is a weird sort of mashup of the main opening credits song, Edgeworth’s Villain Solo, and the love duet between Phoenix and Leona. They are all such different songs that it sounds a little weird.

ACT 2, FINALLY

The act begins on a sour note with Maya playing with the knife and showing off her characterization, which is one of the most infuriating Maya characterizations you’ll sometimes see around the fandom by people who don’t like Maya.

Maya: Let me whip up my special spirit channeler hamburgers!

sigh.

But then we’re saved (?) by the arrival of EDGEWORTH, who is presumably just here to chat. He asks Phoenix if he’s defending Leona in hopes of winning her back, then says to keep out of it, since it’s a very important case and he can’t understand the gravity of it.

Then Phoenix says this.

Phoenix: Would you be saying that if you were the one on trial? The defendant is in a dark prison, reaching out for hope... Can you imagine the loneliness and sorrow of being ostracized?

CAN YOU IMAGINE IT, EDGEWORTH? CAN YOU IMAGINE IF YOU WERE ON TRIAL AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO WOULD DEFEND YOU AND BELIEVED IN YOUR INNOCENCE??

Edgeworth responds to this by essentially rehashing his speech in Turnabout Sisters about how he needs to find all defendants guilty because he can’t guarantee their innocence and all that. Maya gets upset and leaves so that Phoenix and Edgeworth can talk about their childhood in private.

Phoenix once again complains about how people change since nine years old.

Phoenix then says that he has something Edgeworth doesn’t: the POWER TO BELIEVE! Then Maya comes in and tries to spike Edgeworth’s coffee, so he leaves.

The Class Trial

Phoenix explains a bit about Edgeworth and his backstory to Maya. Namely, the class trial. Phoenix was accused of stealing lunch money, Edgeworth stood up for him, but instead of Larry, Leona stood up for him. I guess Suzuki Kei thought “oh the class trial, if Leona stood up for him, it would be so romantic, because she’s a woman, and he’s a man”, or something like that. 

Edgeworth wanted to become a Great Lawyer Like His Father! But then he turned cold as ice.

Phoenix: His father got too deeply involved in a case... and paid for it with his life. Edgeworth saw him murdered. He was never the same again. I bet he couldn’t forgive the criminal.

Yeah I bet he couldn’t ever forgive the person he thought killed his father all these years, Phoenix. I bet he really hates that person, Phoenix. I bet he has nightmares about that person killing his father or something, Phoenix.

Phoenix: He vanished, then returned without his mercy or compassion. He had become a monster. When he lost his father, he also lost the ability to believe in others.

So like... one of the most chilling things about this musical is that they never actually solve DL-6. This probably roughly takes place 15 years after DL-6, since they were about the same age when the class trial started, and at least Leona is 24 now. The next musical takes place three years from now, and in it, Edgeworth refers to von Karma as his mentor, implying he’s still around and doing things.

So, in addition to everything else going wrong with this musical, DL-6 still happens, but von Karma never frames Edgeworth for it fifteen years later. The statute of limitations runs out, and von Karma forever gets away with his crime. And Edgeworth has no idea.

What changes did they make to DL-6, though, you may ask? I’m desperate to know as well. In the third musical, which I’ve watched because I hate myself but am unable to fully understand because I don’t know much Japanese, there is a scene where Miles flashbacks to DL-6. It’s abstract, but he makes gun-throwing motions at Gregory, followed by a gunshot sound.

Therefore, in this musical’s internal canon, either Miles Edgeworth shot his father, or he believes he did for the rest of his life.

... moving on.

Phoenix: But he still has his humanity. It’s still there, deep down inside!

At least, if nothing else, Phoenix still believes in him. Even this Takarazuka Musical couldn’t touch that.

The Feenie Sweater

Right after this, Larry barges in, and Phoenix leaves him alone with Maya. The musical tries teasing Larry/Maya, but fortunately, Maya’s having none of it.

Maya: You’re barking up the wrong tree.

Props to this musical for not being as bad as it could have been.

After this, the two sit down on the couch, and Maya asks for more gossip on Phoenix and Leona. Larry launches into a story, which turns into a flashback that ends up being narrated by Phoenix halfway through. This one’s about Phoenix and Leona’s relationship.

This is an interesting line in here, “I’ll guide you to the future”, for it loosely referencing the sort of love ballad Phoenix sings with Lucia in the second musical which is about “I’ll take you to that radiant future”, and he later sings to the memory of Leona right around the time of his big spiral into despair.

I’m sorry if you haven’t read my other essay and just said “wait what” to what I just typed.

Leona was getting ready to move to New York to defend the weak “in the big city”. This is rather strange wording because it implies that California does not in fact have a big city. She says some things in her conversation with Phoenix that probably plant some of his later issues.

Leona: This is the first time we’ll be apart since we were kids.

Leona: We promised we’d always be together.

Leona: I’ll be waiting. Waiting for you to come to me.

Haha. Sure would be a shame... if something were to happen... and they wouldn’t be able to be together anymore...

So some dancers wearing black come in and take off their outer jackets, to symbolize the passage of time. They circle around Phoenix and Leona. In this, you can just barely see, Phoenix is wearing a pink sweater beneath his jacket.

“Oh,” I think to myself, “Is that the Feenie sweater? Are they including it here as a reference to the games?”

Then the dancers keep moving.

THAT IS NOT THE FEENIE SWEATER. That is a pink sweater with a sexily drawn woman on it.

This is the other half of the reason why I decided to go through with making this essay. 

This is so incredibly funny to me. Suzuki Kei Who Has Played The Games Seven Times has seen the hand-knit bright pink sweater with a giant red heart on it seven times. The sweater Iris, Phoenix’s girlfriend, lovingly knit for him that he wears all the time even though it is one of the tackiest, cheesiest items of clothing to ever exist. And so, when the costume designers were designing the clothes for College Phoenix Wright, they asked themselves: “Should we include the Feenie sweater?”

and “NO,” someone must have shouted, “NO, we can NOT include the Feenie sweater, it is PINK and it has a HEART on it and it’s TOO GIRLY. Phoenix Wright is a MANLY MAN. He would not EVER wear something PINK with a HEART on it.”

“BUT,” someone else said, “it’s a REFERENCE to the original games, where he DID wear a pink sweater with a heart on it! We MUST include it to pander to the fans!”

“WAIT,” a third person interjected. “I have a BRILLIANT IDEA. We can keep the pink... But to make it VERY CLEAR he is a heterosexual, masculine male... we put a sexy woman on it.”

And Person Three Got A Raise.

Thank god we’re finally halfway done this musical.

We Just Have To Go On With Our Lives Now

There’s plot or something happening. Leona breaks up with Phoenix inexplicably over the phone. Probably because of that freaking sweater. Imagine wearing that. God.

Eventually we go back to Phoenix talking to Leona, and he asks about the Jack Lyon case, which is the rip-off version of the Joe Darke case. Leona is pretty cagey about it, but Phoenix proves that she was there in the gallery that day. Leona refuses to answer, claims again that she killed the victim in her case, and leaves.

This makes Phoenix sad, so he starts singing.

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

If this sounds familiar, it’s the part where I started absolutely losing my mind in the second musical because this line had never shown up before then, I’d forgotten it was in this musical, and Phoenix was screaming it alone in a red room, so I thought he was like desperately resorting to a necromancy ritual in hopes of bringing Leona back to life.

Instead, this line actually has CONTEXT, though it does just end up enforcing my theory. This is Phoenix mourning what he used to have with Leona, wanting to bring the “old her” back, because he’s devastated that people sometimes change. There are several flashbacks of their college days where he’s wearing his Sexy Woman Sweater. He does succeed in winning her back at the end of this musical. Before she dies, of course.

Phoenix in musical 2 still believes that he can bring back what he used to have with Leona... even beyond death. That’s something affirmed by this musical. I’m very grateful to it for somehow managing to enforce my nonsensical theory.

Doctor Ema

After this, Phoenix returns to his office, and meets with someone new.

That’s right! Only now, halfway through the musical, do we actually get to meet the Ema-equivalent to Leona’s Lana-equivalent. Her name is Monica Clyde. She has little rainbow heart stickers on her briefcase, which is the closest thing this musical has to acknowledging that gay people exist.

But what does this little briefcase contain, you may ask? Scientific investigation tools? No.

A full surgical toolset. Because you never know when someone’ll get sick, or when someone will need an entire operation in front of you. I guess.

So yes, Monica Clyde is not a forensic scientist in training, but a doctor! She decided to become a doctor because of her parents, who passed away of The Sickness, and so became a doctor in order to save lives like theirs.

Once more this has much darker and deeper implications than the musical is even aware of, because Monica is so anxious about treating sick people that she carries a full surgical toolset around with her at all times, scared to lose someone like she lost her parents... and then sometime in the next three years, Leona, her big sister, is going to die.

Of what? The strange Sickness that claimed her parents? A car accident? A botched spur-of-the-moment surgery? Whatever it is, Monica was unable to save her, even when she’d been training her entire life for it.

Monica is not mentioned at all throughout the second musical. It’s as if she does not exist.

Because unlike Ema of Rise From The Ashes, Monica is not at the heart of this story. She is, primarily, a plot device here to make Leona not trust Phoenix so that he can angst about their relationship. 

What a mess this world is.

The Trial, Part 2

Rather than try to prove Leona’s innocence, Phoenix wants to link the current case to not-SL-9, the Jack Lyon case. He does this by showing this picture.

Senator Cole, the victim, is in this picture. His younger brother whose name I’ve forgotten, the victim of not-SL-9, is also in this picture. They are brothers. It is apparently novel that they are in the same picture, and somehow makes their cases linked.

As well, Governor Miller is in the picture. I guess you could say like... Governor Miller’s legal counsel is the defendant, so that’s another link? Even though the Governor would presumably know a Senator, so this isn’t an unusual group. Right now Phoenix has absolutely nothing to prove that these two cases are linked other than “hey, these two victims are brothers”, but apparently it works. So they spend a lot of time talking about not-SL-9, since Leona has confessed to the murder on day 1 and there is absolutely nothing indicating that she can’t be immediately declared guilty.

They hid the fact that Monica was a hostage in this not-SL-9, meaning that some of the case records were forged. Here’s Edgeworth’s reaction when this comes out.

Edgeworth: This is an outrage! I’m the most influential prosecutor in America! There’s nothing I don’t know!

In RFTA, when Edgeworth learns he’d been using forged evidence to give a man the death penalty, he is devastated, his entire worldview is shaken, he sees himself as a monster who could end up becoming horribly corrupt if he isn’t stopped.

Musical Edgeworth goes “I DIDN’T KNOW SOMETHING???”

It’s certainly strange characterization, but I guess Edgeworth is further behind in his character arc than in RFTA, so... ugh. Fine. 

Phoenix calls Monica out as a witness to prove she was involved in the case. This causes Leona to panic, and try to dismiss Phoenix as her attorney, like Lana in RFTA, but Edgeworth interjects to call Monica in anyways. He and Phoenix have a little moment.

Edgeworth: You said to believe in others. I suppose I’ll try believing in you. Try to keep up.

Phoenix: Edgeworth!

So Monica comes to the stand to testify. We get to see this picture of Monica being held hostage, and not-Joe-Darke’s incredible eyeliner.

Lots of it is very similar to the actual RFTA, except instead of the victim being stabbed on the knight with the giant knife, he’s instead stabbed with a regular old knife. Leona still refuses to admit to what really happened, until Edgeworth convinces her to believe in Phoenix.

Edgeworth: Your attorney is a runaway train with a one-track mind. Yet he placed all of his faith in you. Believe in him. You owe him that much.

Leona testifies, and says that when she found the victim, he was stabbed with a scalpel.

Here is where things get weird.

Scalpels Can’t Kill People

So basically earlier in this trial, they talk about how Leona knew that the knife that stabbed the victim was double-edged despite being buried in his chest. The judge questions if this means Leona killed him, but Phoenix is quick to say no, she was searched when she entered the courthouse and couldn’t have concealed a knife.

Yet, Monica was able to bring in her surgical toolkit which contains several sharp knives, scalpels, scissors, etc.

This is the first major contradiction.

Leona continues to say that when she found Monica, and the scalpel stabbed in the victim, she also ran into Governor Miller, who if you haven’t been able to tell yet is the Gant-equivalent of this musical. He offered to help her with the cover-up, etc.

The next bit goes a lot like RFTA. Phoenix accuses Governor Miller, who barges in, says Phoenix has the decisive evidence in his pocket. This is the “butter knife” that Phoenix took from his office when he dug around in confidential documents and stole it for no particular reason. It has Monica’s fingerprints on it! ... And Phoenix’s and Maya’s too probably because they were handling it without gloves, but they don’t mention that part.

Leona cries about how she shouldn’t have trusted Phoenix because he was apparently now blaming Monica, Monica looks terrified, she and Leona have some good sister moments but it’s not as good as it could be if the story was actually about Leona and Monica like how RFTA was about Lana and Ema. But Phoenix has the decisive piece of evidence that can turn this around.

It is this:

Phoenix: Scalpels are made for medical incisions, not stabbings. So how did it stab the victim?

...

...

...

... What?

So like. Yes, scalpels are made for medical incisions. Medical incisions often involve cutting through flesh, very easily. As a result, they are sharp. Extremely sharp. As in: their purpose is literally to stab people, very specifically.

Yes, they’re easier to control, so that surgeons don’t regularly stab people how they’re not supposed to be stabbed, but it’s not like, impossible to stab someone in a killing way with a scalpel? Admittedly, I have never tried to kill someone using a scalpel. And I do not have experience using a scalpel for surgeries because I am not a surgeon. But I’m pretty sure, if you take a sharp scalpel, and you stab someone in the chest with it with a reasonable amount of force... they die.

Like, is this a particular kind of scalpel that is not very sharp? Is the problem that the blade doesn’t match up with the initial wound? But even then, we don’t have the original unforged autopsy report or even a picture, so how would Phoenix know what the original wound looked like to say it didn’t match up? And even then why wouldn’t Phoenix say that instead of SCALPELS CAN’T STAB PEOPLE???

This is his decisive contradiction and it makes ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE TO ME!!!

Well Darn I Guess Scalpels Can’t Kill People

This is such a decisive piece of evidence, that scalpels can’t kill people, coming from the man who thought “caught red-handed” does not involve being caught standing over a corpse with blood on your hands, that it causes Governor Miller to confess.

Unlike Gant, who created the murder with Neil Marshall both to ensure that there was decisive evidence to convict Joe Darke, a serial killer who had not left any decisive evidence behind, and gain control over the prosecutor’s office in order to pull similar stunts to get criminals convicted using false evidence, Governor Miller does not have that as his motive. After all, he’s not a police officer. Instead, he ended up accidentally killing not-Joe-Darke, and then set up the incident in order to get Leona on his side. As her parents were both influential lawyers and very respectable, having her and her parents’ reputation on his side could help him become President of America Where This Takes Place.

So, let’s just take a moment to run over some of the things that made the original Rise From The Ashes great, in my opinion. Just for fun.

1 - The heart of the story between the Skye sisters. Lana closing off to protect Ema, Ema wanting to get through to her sister and get back to the way things used to be. Phoenix, in this story, is more of a bystander to this plotline rather than in the heart of it himself.

2 - Edgeworth’s Character Development. Basically RFTA creates an interesting transition between Turnabout Goodbyes and JFA. It causes Edgeworth to re-evaluate everything he knows about being a prosecutor. So quickly on the heels of Turnabout Goodbyes, it crushes the last bit of hope in him. It compares him to Gant, who also hates criminals, and forces him to wonder if his hatred of crime will one day lead to him being a criminal himself. He’s already convicted one person on forged evidence; how many others could there be?

3 - The Ends Justify The Means. ... wait come back, don’t leave. What I found neat about this case was also Gant’s motive. At one point he was presumably an honest person who hated crime and wanted to stop criminals. But over time in the police force, he became corrupted. He wanted to have all criminals convicted. So what do you do when you don’t have the evidence to convict them? Joe Darke was a serial killer who has killed several people and may have killed more if he’d gone free. The only way to stop and convict him was by using forged evidence. Other criminals could hide evidence to get away with their crimes, so people like Gant would make it up to catch them; but then when do you stop? What happens if there’s no evidence because someone is truly innocent? When does the line between “this person is a criminal and I want to stop them” and “I just want to convict everyone I’m dealing with” become blurred? This is also something he shares with Edgeworth and helps to advance his character.

All three of these things are either lessened or outright ignored in this musical. Leona and Monica’s story takes a backseat to Phoenix and Leona’s Love Story, with Monica only showing up halfway through, and mainly as an excuse as to why Leona is withdrawn. Edgeworth doesn’t seem to blame himself for the forged evidence he used, and doesn’t have a crisis questioning his morality over it. And Governor Miller’s motive is purely power. Unlike Gant, who would have become Chief of Police whether he solved SL-9 or not, Miller needed Leona to win the presidency. And instead of asking her to help him with his campaign like a normal person, he just blackmailed her instead.

... How do you play the games seven times and miss this much?

The Case Finally Ends

god. we’re almost there.

The case ends, Leona is declared not guilty but will still face trial for covering up murders and such. Probably less of a sentence than Lana because she was not involved in ongoing police corruption? Either way she’s dead in three years, so she’s got something a bit more concerning coming up.

She’s led away. Phoenix sings a bit about Leona before being interrupted by Edgeworth... who has something important to tell him.

Edgeworth: You awakened within me those once-cherished emotions I had discarded. I see visions of a distant, nostalgic past.

So basically this is the unnecessary feelings of the musical. Something along the lines of “seeing you again and fighting for my former ideals is making me question many things about myself.”

How does Phoenix respond?

Phoenix: Edgeworth... Try talking normally for a chance.

Sure, we were all thinking it, but that’s a little cold, Phoenix.

Edgeworth tries a smooth recovery.

Edgeworth: I don’t do... idle chit-chat.

This doesn’t accomplish much. So he leaves to allow Leona to visit with Phoenix alone. He’s got to go change for something more important coming up.

Leona and Phoenix decide that they’re going to get back together once Leona is done her sentence! They make a promise that is very funny if you know she’ll be dead in three years.

Phoenix: I’ll be waiting. For you.

There are a lot of hugs here, I’m not screencapping them all. There are also several moments where their faces get very close together and like, their nose brushes the other’s cheek or something, but they never actually kiss. Is it because the actresses weren’t comfortable with it (valid), or they thought kissing would be too much for the musical (sure, whatever), or since both characters are played by women the show staff did not want two women kissing on stage (probably the real answer)? I don’t like watching kisses, but I kept bracing myself for one and then it never happened, so.

Phoenix ends the main part of the musical with one last musical number starring my personal favourite piece:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I like to think that at this point, this is present-day Phoenix, after finishing his reminiscing, still desperately wishing he could bring Leona back from death.

But alas, he cannot. And so, after one last daydream of them dancing together on the beaches of California, singing about their love, the musical ends.

Dance Time!

This starts at exactly the two hour mark, if you’re interested in watching what is, once again, one of the only fun parts of this musical.

Seriously, Edgeworth’s actress kills it here, when I first saw this I went “oh, this is why I saw so many people being gay for her on twitter.”

Edgeworth’s song is an encore of “My Rule”, so it’s lots of fun. Afterwards Phoenix gets another fun piece.

Then we get to the love ballad part, which I can probably overanalyze, I feel like I haven’t done enough ridiculous over-analyzing in this essay in comparison to the other.

Uhhh so the fog represents how Phoenix feels lost in this world without Leona. You can see it in the second screenshot separating the two of them, representing the barrier of death between the two of them. Idk it’s midnight I’m getting worn out from having to think about this musical for so long.

But his mourning over Leona’s death becomes even more apparent in the credits, where Phoenix sings that one line again:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I’m not fixing that screenshot, I think it’s oddly fitting, in a way. That’s me right now.

Then at the very end, he sings this song.

Phoenix: I’ll spend... this eternal life... soaring through... the heavens!

Technically, this refers to his name Phoenix, but let’s dig a little deeper. He spends the rest of his life soaring through the heavens... the heavens that Leona went to after her untimely death, perhaps?

Overall, the musical becomes much more interesting when you just see it as a prequel to the second musical. This musical establishes many core concepts of Phoenix’s character: his refusal to believe in the concept of things changing, for one, and also his extreme dependency on Leona who he was never separated from since they were kids and where he based his entire life around her dreams and ideals. All he can think about is her. And in the end, he promises to wait for her in California.

Yet, to paraphrase Miles Edgeworth, all that is waiting for him is her death. Their dream of opening up a Mom & Pop Law Firm will never come true.

Thanks again for bearing with me even though this wasn’t as funny!

[overwhore-s]

A Freak in a Sheet (Ghost!Bakugou x Reader) part 2 NSFW

part 1 

AO3

There are more advantages to living in a haunted house than just cheap rent. 

Warnings: swearing, sex (gender-neutral reader)

It was a shit day if you’ve ever had one, and at the end of it, you just want to curl up on the couch and binge the fuck out of Keeping up with the Kardashians. Kicking off your shoes, you call out to Bakugou.

“You wanna see what Kim’s been up to?”

“Fuck yeah I do!” He answers from the living room. You grin. You are extremely lucky to live with someone who shares your passion for cheesy reality television.

When you walk into the room, he’s already waiting for you, TV remote in hand. “You look like shit,” he observes upon seeing you. You don’t take it personally though, knowing it’s his own unique way of encouraging you to open up about what’s been troubling you.

You stifle a yawn and plop down next to him. “Tough day. Customers were acting entitled as usual. And I forgot my wallet at home, so I didn’t have enough money for lunch. Or dinner.” Honestly, worse things have happened to you. It won’t be the first, nor the last day you went without eating.

Bakugou doesn’t see it that way.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He yells, jumping up from the couch, surprising you.  “You can’t be skipping meals!”

“It’s okay dude, I can just order takeout or something,” you try to calm him down, but Bakugou is bit like a really spitty cat when he’s angry – the more you try to soothe him with words, the more aggressive he becomes.

“No pizza for you today. No fucking way. We’re gonna cook you a real ass dinner with real ingredients,” he huffs, already on his way to the kitchen. Confused, you trail after him.

The concentrated manner in which he gathers all his supplies tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He definitely has a presence in the kitchen, like some Michelin chef. And his chopping technique! You’ve never seen anyone chop onions that fast.

“Whoa,” you say, feeling kinda awkward just standing around and letting him do all the work, “you’re really good at this.”

His cheeks redden, his hand holding the knife slowing down momentarily. “So what If I am?!”

“Man, you really need to learn how to take a compliment,” you chuckle, “what are we making, by the way?”

“Fried rice. So make yourself useful and grab me a pan and a bag of rice, would you?”

“Roger.”

You work well together, you think. While he takes care of chopping and cutting the vegetables, you heat olive oil on medium heat, waiting for that tell-tale sizzle. You soon catch yourself humming some tune you heard on the radio at work, hips swaying as you stir the vegetables, rice and meat Bakugou put in the skillet. You giggle as he makes you surrender the frying pan so that he can toss the rice, and subsequently you marvel at how expertly he’s doing it. It’s been a while since you last cooked. You almost forgot how fun it is – even more so in good company.

“A shame we don’t have cashew nuts,” said companion murmurs, frowning at the contents of the pan after they’ve been tossed and fried and spiced to his liking. He looks at it almost longingly; you can’t help but notice. Ghosts can’t smell or taste anything. Bakugou told you he feels things, like pressure or texture to a certain level, but only if he concentrates.

“Ah, well, this is a low-budget kitchen,” you wave your hand in dismissal, eager to lighten up the mood. “Never mind though! It smells absolutely delicious!” And it looks absolutely gorgeous, but you don’t say that aloud, fearing his ego might explode.

“You should taste it before serving, just to be sure,” he suggests, already bringing a spoon to your lips. You hesitate for a second, suddenly hyperaware of all the sounds, smells and sights in the kitchen. The oil sizzling. The sweet smell of spices and fried onion. Bakugou, staring at you expectantly with an undecipherable expression on his stupidly attractive face as you part your lips and slowly, tentatively lick the spoon.

He shouldn’t have need for oxygen, but his breath hitches all the same.

“So, how is it?” He asks, voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

“Delicious,” you answer, but in truth, it’s not the food you’ve been paying attention to.

He positively glows in the kitchen lights. Like some otherworldly, ethereal being, and in a way, he is one. You look at him and have to fight the impulse to touch, hold, never let go.

“That’s all?” He questions further, with that adorable frown of his.

And his lips. They look soft. If you were to kiss him, right now, right there next to the stove under the lights and in your silly little apron, would he reciprocate it?

Stop it. You’re being disgusting. He’d probably, no, certainly think so, and push you away and never talk to you again.

“Why don’t you taste it as well?” You blurt out, realizing your error far too late. The spoon has already been pushed to his mouth, conveniently open as he was about to say something – most likely tell you to get fucked – and then he swallows and his eyes widen like he’s discovered something amazing.

“You…” You start to say, only to get immediately cut off by him.

“How in hell is this possible?!” He shouts, but not angrily, more like he can’t hide his excitement. “I…could taste it. The onions. The carrots. The…the fucking chili.” He brings the spoon to his mouth one more time and here it is again – that glint in his eyes. To the evident surprise of both you and him, he laughs, a rich, beautiful sound you’ll never get sick of.

Happy Bakugou is a foreign concept, but you like it very much.

“You kidding me?!” You exclaim. “That’s excellent news! Does that mean your sense of smell is back as well?”

He sniffs the air before grinning widely. “It wasn’t there just a few minutes ago, but now there’s no mistaking it. That’s some good fucking fried rice we made, all right.”

We made. You and Bakugou, together. And for some reason he can feel like a human now? You can only speculate why that happened, but maybe your grandma would know? She’s the one who introduced you to the world of the not-living, after all. You have to ask her, gosh, she’s going to be angry with you for not giving her a call in so long – but first, first you have to hug Bakugou.

And so you do. You squeeze him for all you are worth and he responds in kind, arms wrapping around your back to press you even further into his firm chest. As always, he’s slightly cold to the touch, but warms up quickly enough.

The hug lasts for ages, and as much as you wish to fall asleep like this, the food must be getting cold. You wonder if he can eat it with you – it’s not too much to hope for, is it?! – but when you attempt to wriggle free from the embrace, he grunts and presses you against him even tighter. And that’s when you notice, when you feel it, the unmistakable hardness poking you in the lower belly.

Oh. So that works too.

This is impossible, and flattering, and far too tempting to not comment on.

“All that just from a hug?” You tease, as if you yourself weren’t practically dripping just from him spoon-feeding you.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Well, he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You kiss him like your life depends on it. He appreciates the intensity of it, judging by the groan escaping from low in his throat, the way his hands drop from your sides to knead at your ass. He slides his tongue into your mouth, rubbing it against yours. You’re only kissing and your head is spinning already.

He nibbles at your lower lip before releasing it and looking you straight in the eye. “You want more?” He asks, urgently.

Incapable of responding verbally, you only nod.

He gives your ass one last playful squeeze before lifting you up onto the kitchen counter, the fried rice all but forgotten as you dive in for another heated kiss. Bakugou, you find, is a very hands-on kind of lover. His calloused palms venture under your shirt, exploring your smooth flesh and curves with unhidden curiosity.

“So soft,” he informs you in between kisses, making you blush even more if that’s even possible, “and you smell nice.”

You disagree, seeing as you’re in a sore need of a shower after the long day you had, but you’re not about to argue with a man who has his tongue in your mouth.

He lifts the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head, chuckling when you get trapped, and gasping when you free yourself and grind against his still clothed cock in revenge.

It soon becomes painfully clear the kitchen won’t survive you fucking in it once you knock over the bottle of chili and it spills on the ground, creating an ominous red pool.

“Bed?” You say, breathlessly, and he agrees. “Bed.”

You stumble into the bedroom as in a drunken haze, and while you remember him undressing you on your way to the bed, him becoming suddenly naked was not your doing. Well, he is a ghost. You can’t exactly say you’re bothered by it, as it saved you significant time and trouble.

“Before we do this,” you whimper as he lavishes your neck and chest with wet, open-mouthed kisses, “I need t-to tell you…”

He slides further down your body, positioning himself between your thighs. Your breath catches in your throat, knowing what he’s about to do. “B-Bakugou…”

“You can tell me later. Just relax now,” he purrs, his hands spreading your legs further apart. You close your eyes and press the side of your face into your pillow.

The very first touch of his tongue to your overheated sex is enough to send your mind reeling. You whine, wanting more pressure, but he keeps you in place, keeps teasing you with short little licks and bites to your inner thighs. It’s infuriating. Every time he brings you close to the edge, he purposefully slows down, robbing you of your release. It’s hardly fair; he hasn’t so much as felt anything in years, you’ve only gone without sex for months, so how does he find himself with so much more patience than you?

“I think you’re ready for it now,” he notes, finally reappearing from between your legs.

“I have been forever now, thanks for noticing,” you roll your eyes.

He narrows his eyes at you.  “If you don’t like it…”

“Never said I don’t! Shit…look…j-just do it already, okay?!” You bite your lip, looking at him pleadingly without actually saying please. You’ll save begging for later. Something’s telling you you’ll need it.

Bakugou’s expression is that of concentration as he aligns himself with your entrance. “Say if it hurts.”

It doesn’t. You thought it would be cold too, but he’s just as warm as a real man. He is a real man, you remind yourself. He certainly takes you like one, all hard thrusts and savage grunts as he chases his, and your release.

And God fucking damn it, he’s beautiful. Illuminated by moonlight, shining with sweat – yours? Do ghosts even sweat? – producing all those sounds that are pure music to your ears. You run your fingers through his spiky, soft blonde hair, scratch his scalp and have him reward you with a particularly deep thrust. It’s usually awkward with new lovers, not knowing what they prefer, having to learn it the hard way, but with Bakugou, you fuck like you were made for each other.

This round – because you know there will be more – looks like it’s going to be a short one. You’re too overstimulated from his earlier ministrations and Bakugou, well, he isn’t exactly pacing it out with how fast he slides in and out of you.

In the last few seconds, as need for release overdrives all his senses, he grabs onto your hips so hard you’re sure he’ll leave bruises, and buries himself into you for one last time before coming with a shudder. You’re close behind, burying your face into his shoulder while babbling incoherently. You don’t believe you ever came this hard. Your ears are ringing, heart beating fast like a hummingbird’s.

“What?” He asks, petting your hair comfortingly as you try to catch your breath. He sounds fine, if not a little dazed. His chest does not heave with uneven breaths, nor is he all red and sweaty in the face. And, the wetness sticking to your inner thighs is all your own.

“You wanted to say something, before,” he murmurs, as you begin to calm down, “so what was it?”

You meet his eyes with your own, finally. You must look like a mess, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Instead he stares at you like you’re the only thing on Earth he doesn’t hate, and the feeling’s mutual.

“I love you, you asshole,” you sob.

“I love you too idiot. So whatcha crying for?” He frowns, wiping a stray tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, drawing a sharp breath before answering.

“I’m just so damn happy.” And you are. Really. You’ve spent years believing there wasn’t a person alive who could possibly love you in a way that you deserved, and turns out you were right.

You lie there for a while, limbs intertwined, dreaming up a wonderful future together, until you’re propelled to sit up by a terrible thought. “The food!”

“Shh. You can still microwave the shit.”

“But it won’t taste as good! I don’t wanna let your good food go to waste…”

“Hey.” He pulls you back into the bed just as you were going to leave it. “I can bring it to you. Get some rest, pipsqueak.”

Fried rice in bed?! The man wants to spoil you.

And you don’t mind in the least.

[emitheduck]

Letters (Bucky x Reader)

A/N: No spoilers or anything. Just a sad, but cute story I thought of one day last week. ---

Bucky had been staring at the box in front of him for an hour now. It was a small hat box that had his name on top of it in beautiful cursive. He didn’t normally get packages, so when Sam had dropped it off for the other man, it instantly sparked confusion.

He decided he was glaring at it long enough that it was time to open it. He was confused of course when inside the box was just a few envelopes and a few other little things in the box. He dug around and pulled out eight letters, along with a few dried flowers and a picture of himself in uniform before he left for the war.

The letters actually were dated, seemingly in order of when he should read them. They felt fragile, and when he saw that the letter had the year 1942 on it, he could easily tell why they felt that way

James, I figured I would write to you because I wanted to tell you how much I’m going to miss you. Someone said any letters I write will get to you, so I thought I would write. I wish I had more to say, but you’re going to give them hell in the war. Please come back to me in one piece. Always yours, (Y/n)

“Shit..” Bucky mumbled, shaking his head as he gently slipped the letter back into the envelope. These were letters from his old girlfriend (Y/n). She clearly saved these letters, but he was surprised that it took this long for him to get them. He opened the second one. James, I just got the news you died in the war. Someone said you fell off a train, and then news also broke out that Steve had died. I just can’t believe that I lost both of my friends, without even getting to say goodbye. I thought that writing some letters to you, even if you aren’t here to get them, it would be good for me. I never got the chance to tell you that I always loved you, and I know we only dated for a little bit, but I love you so much and thought I should get that off my chest. Always yours, (Y/n)

Now the letters seemed to make a little more sense as to why they were sitting in his living room. However they got passed down, someone must have figured they would be better suited if he had seem them. Word had broken out about him years ago, and after the dust from Thanos finally settled, someone must have felt it was a good time that these made it to him. He toyed with the envelope of letter number three, but slowly pried it open anyway.

James, It’s been about a year since I last wrote to you, but I feel almost guilty when I tell you I found someone else. He was in the war, and I met him when my parents had his family over for dinner. He’s sweet, but he’s not you. I think it might be nice if I go out with him, but for some reason I don’t want you to be mad. You’re not even here, and yet I don’t want to disappoint you. Anyways I think giving him a shot might be what I need. Always yours, (Y/n)

Bucky groaned as he slid this one away from the letter away from him, instantly grabbing the fourth and tearing it open, being careful to not rip the delicate paper that was underneath. This was definitely something he wasn’t going to mention to his therapist.

James, I never wrote because I was unsure of what to say. I got married. I had a baby. We actually named her after you. Her name is Jamie. I know you would have loved to meet her, but I’m happy that my life is going well. I miss you everyday. Hopefully I’ll have more to write soon Love, (Y/n)

Now this was the icing on the cake. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but wow, it felt really shitty. This made him think that maybe he did have to tell his therapist about this, because this letter alone made him want to cry and burn the rest of them. He was so curious that he didn’t even notice he was opening number five.

James, I lost this box in a move, and forgot all about it and that makes me feel horrible. The pain of losing you doesn’t go away, but it gets better. My little girl is in school, and she reminds me so much of you. She definitely has your personality, and I think that’s funny because she doesn’t even know you. (Y/n)

Bucky didn’t want to admit that he noticed her endings to these letters getting smaller, but he noticed. She no longer was ‘always yours’ and she even stopped signing that she loved him. He kind of wondered how three more letters could make him feel even worse than he was already feeling, but after glaring at number six, he was sure that it was going to be worse.

James, It’s so hard to believe, but my little Jamie got married. I found the last letter I wrote, and I can’t believe it’s been this long since I wrote to you last. I promise I’ll write back to you as soon as I can, but I’ve been busy. Life is really picking up again, and it feels amazing. (Y/n)

Fuck it. Number seven was already in his hands by the time he put down number six. This was totally not good for him mentally, and tonight was going to be a nightmare night, he could already tell. There was too much about this side of his past that hurt; he wished so much he could have been there for (Y/n). He wished he was the one who got to live this life with her, but the world had other plans.

James, I’m a grandmother! The little girl is so tiny and beautiful, and Jamie even named her after me. I could not be happier, and I just had to tell someone, and I figured the ghost of you would be the best person to tell. I hope that one day, I’ll tell her all about you. I wish you were here. (Y/n) His heart was racing while he slowly put the letter down. He had one more, but was concerned as to why there was only one left. There was no way that one more could be the end, but he had to remember that if (Y/n) was old enough to be a grandmother, there was no way she was around today. He opened number eight.

James, I don’t really know what to even say. I am sick, and I know I don’t have much time left. They said you were on the news, but I feel like that’s a dream now. A dream that you’re back. I’m afraid I can’t write anymore, but now I’m hoping you are back to be the angel I always knew you to be. This will be the last letter, as I’m going to spend my final days with my husband and family. I love you. (Y/n)

Bucky didn’t even realize he was clutching the paper until it was too late. The last letter had ripped in his grasp and he put his head in his hands, finally allowing himself to cry. She had loved him up until the end, and that’s all he needed to know. He was also glad that she had never actually seen him as the Winter Solider, but remembering him as the man he was before he left for the army.

He slowly stood up from the floor, dropping the last letter back into the box as he grabbed his keys and left his apartment. Coffee. He needed coffee. Anything to stop the pounding headache that was starting to grow from feeling all these emotions at once. It was a good thing there was one right next door from his apartment.

The smell of coffee calmed him. It was something about how the smell was so similar to a warm hug, and it made him feel a little bit better. Plus, what was the problem of drinking coffee when you couldn’t sleep anyway.

He got to the register and paused. The girl behind the counter was beautiful, and he was actually at a loss for words. He coughed slightly to clear his throat, and looked at the menu. “Can I please get a medium, hazelnut latte with whole milk please?” He internally kicked himself for saying please twice.

“No problem. Anything else?” She asked him while she got to work making his coffee. “No, that’s it. And I actually have one of these.” He said as he dug through his wallet to pull out a punch card. He was a frequent buyer here, and today meant his coffee was free.

She smiled as she handed him his coffee. “That’s always the best feeling in the world.”

Bucky grabbed the cup from her and paused, looking down at her name tag. Her name was (Y/n). “H-Hey, this is going to sound crazy, but is your mom’s name Jamie?”

Her smile fell slightly as she looked at him. “Yeah, it is. Why, are you some stalker or something?”

“No! Not at all! It’s a long story, but I knew your Grandma.” He explained as he looked at the cup in his hand. “It's just kind of ironic in away. Anyways, thanks for the coffee." He sighed as he turned around to leave.

"Wait!" (Y/n) yelled, causing him to stop in his tracks and look at her. "Would you maybe want to come by sometime when I'm done working, and we could get dinner or something?"

Bucky nodded, and smiled. “Yeah. That sounds really nice.” Masterlist

[sanababes]

Golden Child (II)

= twiceblackvelvet x fem!reader

(a/n: YES!! after 6 months of waiting LMAO im finally updating golden child which some of you really liked it uwuwuwu~ enjoy hihi! even though i know it's not that great-)

------

"Since we have a new student today, I'm planning to carry out a Battle Trial for all of you."

Mr. Ok announced with a pleasing smile on his face. The class started to shout and cheer loudly which made your eyebrows furrow as you never know how the sudden event works. On the other hand, Sana was also happy at your adviser's news but seeing your reaction, she had a hunch that you probably had no idea what it was about.

"Uhm, if you're wondering what a Battle Trial is, it's like a test? We'll be grouped into different numbers of teams and that's how the combat will begin!" the girl said with enthusiasm.

You just nodded and thanked the latter before turning your eyes away from her captivating aura, it was something too much you can handle. Nevertheless, you decided to just relax until a harsh ball of wind smacks your head abruptly. You almost fell off your chair but luckily Sana had caught your arm on time, and if she didn't, you would probably be known as a newcomer who lets herself plummet down the floor of her classroom. Don't forget, you're the renowned 'Golden Child' too... Imagine how embarrassing that could be.

"Lalisa Manoban, you little bitc–"

Before you could curse the hell out of her, Mr. Ok had spoken up once again, "It seems like we're all ready… Shall we head to the Gym Gamma?"

The class answered 'yes' in unison before they made a beeline outside of the room. You could hear Lisa snickering behind your back which made you grumble under your breath, you faced the latter quickly and guided your right hand over her wrists. You created an ice chain around it before smirking playfully.

"Get lost."

---

After arriving at the said training area, Mr. Ok immediately ushers all of you to change into your own training suits. Sana never left your side too as you and your classmates walked to the large cemented stadium. 

Then the boys and girls were divided at the moment, each of them changing from their uniforms into their own training outfits. You went ahead to the lockers nearby and scanned through the assigned names of each compartment just to find yours. After a while, you finally saw it by the farthest end and immediately pushed the password in. A blue tracksuit was provided inside the compartment and there's a few hygiene supplies in a small pouch. You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly before grabbing the suit and undoing the first few buttons of your blouse.

"I would appreciate it if you would like to show off your body, Kang." you recognized your cousin's voice. 

"But do it when we're alone, okay?" 

You chuckled at her tone as you faced Dahyun who was already dressed in her own suit. You gave her a pat on the cheek before whispering, "Got it, Miss Kim."

She pushed you playfully into one of the partitions which successfully got you to start changing your clothes, decently.

Dahyun waited for you, and after a few minutes, you finally got out and thanked the latter. She puts her arm around your shoulder before pulling you out of the dressing room. 

"So~ How have you been doing lately?" she beams while the two of you regrouped with the other students.

"Hmm, I'm doing great," you replied. "Still sulking about this whole school and shit…"

She chuckled at your sudden change of mood, "You know how mischievous your sister is, and you wouldn't even realize it. And maybe… you can even learn more about your mother if you study here."

You just nodded languidly.

'Right... I should know more about the Mistress.'

"Everyone! Please gather around the center please!" Mr. Ok yells with excitement as he clasps his hands together.

All of the students followed their adviser's order as they stood in the middle of the stadium. You slipped your hands inside the pockets of your suit before glancing at Lisa who's currently chatting with a certain brunette.

You watched them closely, noticing the cat-like eyes of the other girl which looks significantly familiar. Nevertheless, you huffed out a sigh before moving your attention away from the two.

"Before officially starting our Battle Trial, I would like to call out our dear Class Representative," the studly man stated, then a girl immediately struts beside Mr. Ok. which made your eyebrow raise with interest.

"Sassy…" you muttered under your breath which earned a hit on your shoulder from the pale skinned girl by your side.

"For the one who's new, Im Nayeon is the name." the girl remarked as she gave you a look that you couldn't comprehend.

You bowed your head slightly and gave her a fake smile, the latter dismissed it quickly by continuing what she was tasked to say.

"Our class will be grouped to Mr. Ok's choices of teams and the fight will begin as soon as possible," Nayeon said eloquently. "Your team's main goal is just to avoid being knocked out or you could be the one who will knock your enemies out. That's all, and I wish you guys to do your best."

Your classmates started to holler around, giving the Class Rep an earnest attention. The certain latter just grins arrogantly before folding her arms onto her chest.

"Okay, moving on! Shall I start picking all of the teams?"

Mr. Ok's mouth curves in a slightest hint of smirk. But that alone, makes chills run down on your spine.

'Ahh shit, just what the hell is this fine man planning…'

"Starting off with--" teams were started to be formed, ranging from solos, duos, and trios. Coincidentally, you were grouped with that cat-eyed girl from earlier and a boy whom you never met before. They stood awkwardly, clearly keeping an obvious distance from your alluring frame. This made you chuckle quietly as you decided to greet them politely, "Uhm, hello. I'm Y/n and please, make yourselves comfortable."

Both of their eyes widen as the boy scrambles to acknowledge your sudden greetings. Meanwhile, the girl pulls herself together and just gives you a simple smile, "You can call me Jennie. By the way, I heard a lot about you from Lisa."

"Ahh, I see. That weirdo must have told you some unnecessary things as well so I would like to apologize in advance." your statement made Jennie laugh softly before she lifts one of her hands and waves it dismissively. "Don't worry, those things would be exclusive between the three of us only."

You just nodded sheepishly and changed the topic, "And you are–"

"Oh! Right, how rude of me. I'm Chan and I hope we'll be good friends from now on, mate." you gave him a passive smile and gladly accepted his friendly aspiration.

The three of you started to chat smoothly after that short introduction with each other. You learned that Jennie's quirk is Perfect Aim while Chan's quirk is Vibrate. Jennie further explained that her quirk allows her to use any weapon with accuracy in an agile manner, then Chan also explained that his quirk allows him to generate vibration or shockwaves through any kind of medium.

You instantly try to analyze their weaknesses whilst formulating a strategy in your head that could helpfully put your team at an advantage. Then, you proceeded to explain your quirk to them, the two of them were secretly doubting your power as you never showed it to the public. Nevertheless, they have no choice but to trust you in this round of the Battle Trial.

---

"Calling the next contenders!" Mr. Ok calls out. "Jennie, Y/n, and Chan versus Nayeon, Ten, and Gahyeon."

The six of you immediately walked inside the cemented platform. You glanced at your teammates and thankfully, they seemed pumped up which made you feel a little at ease. Your other classmates began to murmur as they were in awe due to the incoming line-up of contenders, with Nayeon being one of the top 5 students of Leidenschaft Univeristy, with you being the 'Golden Child', and the rest being one of the best students in Class 1-A. 

You reached down to your waist and unclipped your beloved metal mask from one of the hooks of your training pants. It was an essential equipment that you need while full-on using your quirk as it regulates your respiration, this was recommended for you to use because you often have a hard time breathing when utilizing your abilities without using your mask.

"Please prepare your stance," Mr. Ok said as he slips the whistle between his lips. "The round will begin  in 3…"

"2…" you exhaled heavily before heightening your senses.

"1…" a smirk started to form in the corner of your lips.

"START!"

A growl of thunder erupted from outside of the stadium, then you quickly picked up the change of color in Nayeon's eyes. Her orbs shined in yellow as she blasted a large charge of lightning towards your direction. You barely blocked her attack, instantly forming a shield of glaciers from the weight of your right foot. 

You hoisted yourself sideways and began blasting ice balls towards the latter. One of them successfully hit her leg which gave you a chance to check on Jennie and Chan's situation. They were doing quite fine as Gahyeon and Jennie were against each other while that goes the same with Ten and Chan.

"Hey! I'm the one you're fighting with right now, you know," Nayeon taunted as she forms a makeshift lightning sword and swiftly jabbed it to your chest. 

You groaned at the buzzing sensation spreading throughout your body, nevertheless, it didn't last long which made the spectators by the side gasp in surprise. Nayeon was strong as hell, and no one could last from her electrocution if she applied it thoroughly.

"Nice try, Nayeon-ssi." you grinned smugly before grabbing her forearm and freezing her whole dominant arm. "But I don't think charging such low strength can bring me down just like how you think it is," you crossed your left feet into her right ankle and quickly pushed her over.

The shocked bunny-like girl was caught off guard which resulted in the two of you toppling down to the ground. In the spur of the moment, your left hand held the back of her head so it wouldn't hurt Nayeon so much since the fall itself was pretty rough.

FWEET!!!

The sound of Mr. Ok's whistle resonated loudly but it didn't make you or Nayeon budge from the intense gaze that the two of you are sharing. Her piercing glare sent shivers down your spine but you didn't let her take over, your eyes reflected a nonchalant and unbothered look which triggered the latter's growing anger more.

"Ehem… Uhh, are you guys planning to stay in that position for the whole time?" your adviser teasingly said which put the rest of the class into a fit of laughter.

Nayeon immediately pushes your hand and body away before storming off to the changing room. You just chuckled lightly at her bratty attitude before lifting yourself up.

Meanwhile, Jennie and Chan shared a meaningful look with each other, making sure that they'll never let you go and will start to bug you about the 'tension' between you and Miss Class Representative.

"Moving on!" Mr. Ok clapped his hands for a few times which fortunately got the attention of the whole class.

"We got Jennie, Chan, and Y/n as the winner of this round! The three of you will get full marks for today," he announced shortly before scribbling something into his pad of notes.

"And don't worry Ten and Gahyeon, the two of you did great too… that applies to Nayeon as well."

The man continued his statement before letting the five of you out of the platform, instantly commencing the next fight with a new line-up of students. 

You distanced yourself away from anyone before heating your body up due to your almost-freezing skin from your previous ministrations. Heaving a sigh of relief, you removed your metal mask and let it hang around your neck as fog of your breaths came out of your mouth.

"Y/n!" 

It was Chan and Jennie, they gave you a nudge with a grin on their own faces which you would gladly smack off if you were given the chance.

"What?" you knitted your eyebrows together at their sudden disturbance.

"I think someone has taken a liking towards Nayeon~" the cat-eyed girl remarks which made you scoff as you rolled your eyes at the same time.

"You wish," you playfully pushed her shoulder. "Anyways, you guys did a great job earlier. Although, I was too pre-occupied due to Miss 'Sassy Ass Bitch' that I couldn't watch you guys fight at all."

The two just chuckled and gave you a pat on the back, "Don't worry, we actually enjoyed the show-off between you and Nayeon."

"Yeah, right," you shrugged them off and as you were about to leave, Jennie grabs your arm then leans incredibly close to your face.

"I know you're holding out," she whispered in sultry laced tone. "And that's pretty disappointing for someone like you," you can feel her pushing a finger against your chest.

"You're scared to loose control, aren't you? Especially with that flames of yours…"

You were utterly confused at her vast knowledge, but your blood started to boil as your mind started to be flooded with memories that you despise the most. A sharp pain suddenly shoots through your temple which made you wince as you closed your eyes in silent agony.

'No... Please stop...'

Those memories, it was all tainted with hatred, violence, and unpleasant recollection of your upbringing. It was a whole, opposite side that no one knows except you and him.

"How did you..." a few students nearby began to shudder as you unconsciously began to emit your dark aura.

Jennie immediately noticed this.

The girl caressed your cheek then just left a kiss on it before strutting away to her other friends. You continued to grit your teeth in silence which didn't went unnoticed by Chan.

"She can be feisty at times," he gives you a comforting rub on the back to make you calm down.

"Just don't let her get into your nerves, that would make her more gutsy." he showed you a soft smile as his gaze averted to something, or someone behind you.

"Y/n?"

-

-

-

~to be continued~

[imma-potatoo]

Blond Janus Darkside Headcanons

I noticed how I haven't written down any info on the dark sides (Wrath, Apathy, Depression, Remus and pre-AA Virgil). More will be added.

Masterpost

Taglist:

@mother-snake, @writerstrashbin, @psychedelicships, @cryptidwriterdotcom (ask to be removed or added)

Wrath

Leader of the dark sides

Can induce a blind rage

When the rage is happening the recipient cannot control what they say or do and react simply on their first thought

The rage becomes stronger the more angry the person becomes

Wrath can't bring someone out of the rage. He can induce it but the person has to come out of it themselves

He has almost no control of Apathy because of that due to his lack of emotion

Likes to wear a partial suit. Finds that the coat is restricting and makes more complex movements hard

Still owns the coat. Just never wears it.

Symbol is tattooed on his left wrist

Orange and black color scheme. Like this:

Immediate reaction to almost anything is to yell.

Loves huge parties

If he's going to make a point, he makes it loud and clear. Often in front of other people so they can see what happens if you step out of line

Rules the dark sides more like a dictatorship then a family or of equel footing

Believes that they have to bend Thomas to their will and that the light sides are complete fools who will only destroy Thomas life

Wants Thomas to take what he wants and not to worry about who he leaves behind

If Thomas has to kill a politician to get what he wants? Sure go ahead. As long as he gets what he wants

When angry, Wrath is ruthless

He'll take your deepest fear and taunt you with it until you snap under the strain and comply to his every whim

He refuses to take no for an answer

Because of his hatred for the lights; he takes it out on Janus

He's big on public humiliation

If Janus would step out of line; well, he doesn't need all of those scales does he? He's sure Apathy would love to see the reactions if you rip some off

To aid in the control of the others; Wrath has complete control over the food supply

When the others are listening and followings orders. Good, they get to eat properly

When they don't? Your options are moldy bread or cheese that has been out in the open for about a month.

Him and Apathy eat like kings while the others decide between food poisoning and starvation

Likes to take words of affection and make them have a negative meaning (ex: the word Love.) after beating the hell out of someone, he would make them look directly in his eyes and says that he loves them... And he makes them say it back

He hates it when the others cry

Says that they're doing it for attention and that they should shut the fuck up

Apathy

Second in command

Can nullify peoples emotions. Leaving them feeling like an empty shell. The effects normally break after an hour

If Apathy knows your name he can control you like a puppet

White and black outfit. White shirt with black suspenders and pants.

Doesn't show where he keeps his symbol (its on his right ankle, its more like a tattoo then a patch)

Has a deep obsession with fire

Owns a zippo (a lighter that flips open)

Often feels empty due to his function. The fire makes him feel warm, feel more human (as human as the sides can be anyway)

Doesn't quite understand emotion. He understands the basics of it (cry = sad, laugh = hqppy, yell = angry.) but the more complex reactions confuse the hell out of him. Crying out of happiness is one of the things he will never understand.

Because of his lack of understanding of emotions; Apathy tries to understand through making others feel said emotions

Wants to know how someone would react when you break a precious item? Time to find a couple photos.

Will someone scream when you waterboard them? Hm well, only one way to test that.

Opinions change like a flip of a switch

One day he'll help you make dinner with a plastered on smile. The next he'll knock you out and burn you with his lighter with that same smile

Has only properly laughed twice

The first time was when Thomas accidentally laughed at someones funeral (he couldn't cope that the person was gone and his default reaction was to laugh)

The second was after the three of them (wrath, depression and him) shut off the heating to Janus' room and locked him inside

In order to understand things he doesn't know; he does experiments

He's not allowed to experiment on Wrath and Depression has no fun reactions. So he has his fun with Janus instead

Kinda likes it when blood stains his dress shirt

Because its warm. The warmth that once came from the person now belongs to him and it eases the cold empty feeling only slighty and temporary but its warm

He's indifferent on the lights. They're a little too perky for his tastes

Depression

Third in command

Doesn't really get a lot of say with decisions

Can erase certain memories (he doesn't use it very often)

Wears a medium blue dress shirt, brown leather suspenders with a black bowtie.

Normally keeps his sleeve rolled up

When crying; his eyes leak black

If the tears hit your skin, its a 10% chance that you could collapse and start spewing your insecurities while your eyes leak black

Symbol is on the back of his neck

Doesn't really mind not having the control that Apathy and Wrath have

Less work for him to do anyway

Couldn't care about the other twos blatant abuse of Janus

He sees it as a way to keep Janus in line

If Virgil wanted to play father figure he can go ahead. But that doesn't mean he has to be kind

Respects and looks up to Wrath

Normally just follows the lead of the others

He's the epitome of the duckling following the leader

Wrath has steak and potatoes for dinner? Depression also wants that too

Wrath says that they need to bend Thomas to their will? Well duh! Of course!

Wrath says that Janus has been out of line lately? Well why don't we break his leg again to show him a lesson

Most of the time, the food restrictions have no effect on him bc he listens to Wraths every word

Virgil

Was the second in command before he left

Opposed Wrath on his more extreme tactics

Has the ability to control shadows and others own Anxiety

Hated the dress code that Wrath insists on having. What kind of person wears suspenders and a dress shirt daily anyway?

Still wears the stupid things anyway because Wrath said to and he's not in the mood to get beat

Symbol is tattooed on underneath his shirt. The left side

After adopting Janus he lost his position as Wrath's right hand

Kinda pissed him off when he got demoted. Not bc of the loss of power. But bc he couldn't protect Janus as well

After adopting Janus he became the 4th in power (after Depression)

Remus

Is the epitome of don't give a shit

He has the power to conjure things and cause intrusive thoughts

Half the time he ignores the dress code completely

Typically opting for his normal clothes but does own a uniform as well

(if anyone has a better photo of this outfit pls pls pls DM me. I've looked through hundreds of photos and this is the best dark green dress shirt with suspenders I got)

Symbol is tattooed on the swell of his back

Gets practically no opinion on dealings or decisions with plans

Remus is a indifferent party. One moment he'll help you. The next he'll stab you in the back

He mostly just works with who can give him what he wants the fastest

He actually feels pity for Janus

Not like he'll ever act on that but he still feels a bit bad for the guy

Remus is kinda like that uncle at family get togethers that no-one talks to or cares about but he's always there

Janus

Oh boy, where to start?

Has the lowest rank out of every other side

His power (the ability to make people unable to talk) can only be used on the light side of the mind

He is also unable to heal immediately on the dark side

Meaning that he has to treat his wounds the old fashioned way

Doesn't really like the dress code

Only gets to wear his normal outfit when he's visting the light sides

Blond hair (wow! Really? Not like its the the name of the au!!)

His patch isn't a tattoo

This boi has the biggest fucking sweet tooth you could ever imagine

He is also so fucking short

His shoes have lifts to make him taller

He's cold blooded

When he gets focused, he bleps

This is turning fluffy-

He is literally covered head to toe in scars

Almost no skin was left untouched

Lying is a defense mechanism for him. He's deceit! He can lie his way out of anything!

Heavily disagrees on Wraths views

Thomas should get ahead, of course he should. But that shouldn't come at the price of someones life or the cost of his reputation

Hurting someone to get ahead in the short-term is only going to harm you in the long term

To hide the bruses, he applies thick layers of makeup and illusions if he's on the light side

Hasn't gotten a good sleep in years

He's terrified that someone will break into in bedroom while he's sleeping and finish him off

Or that they'll cut the heating again and he'll slowly freeze to death

Or that they'll drag him out of his room and chain him up somewhere to become nothing but a punching bag

He has agoraphobia (fear of open spaces)

Hasn't had positive touch since Virgil left

He has venom. Its very lethal and only activates when threatened

When angry, his eyes glow yellow and his canine teeth grow sharp and long that they stick out of his mouth slightly like fangs

Was meant to be a light side and function as Validity and Societal Self Preservation. But the dark sides found him first and brought him back with them

Virgil is his father figure

Doesn't really know how to feel after finding out that he's not a dark side

He does feel really really lied to and betrayed

But... Virgil is his dad. Virgil raised him

How could he be upset?

Writes down all of his thoughts and complaints in journals that he keeps in his room

He started writing journals when he was very young, so there is hundreds of them

Honestly doesn't know how to feel about him being a light side.

He's mad at Wrath. He knows that. But he can't do anything because his powers don't work on the dark side

He might as well be powerless.

When on the light side (so when all his powers work) his powers include: silencing others, the ability to repress sides/ make them unable to appear to Thomas and illusions.

His title is technically Validity with the added function of societal self preservation

Still goes by Deceit anyway

----

Has three brands burned onto him via Apathy

Is on his left ankle. Its his snake symbol. About the size of your fist

On his right bicep. The word "monster" in bolded writing. About two fingers in thickness.

Left chest, above his heart. The words "Property of the Dark Sides" in cursive text. The writing sits in a box.

All the brands are extremely painful for Janus if touched. Brand #3 is the brand he hates the most

His scales are more in patches then a perfect 50/50 split down his body

More will be added in the future.

[kelelamentia]

Dinner at Wayne Manor

Dinner at Wayne Manor

@ozmav you wound me up and set me loose.

 Wayne Manor:

In the front hall standing in a line was Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim and Damien; in that orders, with Alfred standing in front of them like an officer in front of his troops.

“Now, when Ms.Marinette arrives there will be no inappropriate language, no crude gestures or noises, and there will be no interrogation.  Do you gentlemen understand?”

“Yes Alfred.” Was the group response, Damien felt that he should add something.

“I would never behave in such manner in front of Marinette.”

“So you’ll do it behind her?” Tim prodded.

“No! Of course not Drake, Marinette deserves a gentleman.”

“So you’re going to look for one for her Baby Bird?  Is that why you’re bringing her here, to introduce her to us?” Dick teased looking over to the youngest.  Damien growled at Dick.

“Boys please don’t get into a fight, Alfred just cleaned and we want to NOT look like idiots for our guest.” Bruce interrupted.

“I don’t think we have to worry Bruce, anyone that the Demon Spawn brings here is probably just as rude and demonic as he is.” Jason shot at Damien.

“Shut up Todd, I’m not demonic and neither is Marinette.”

“You can be a bit…rude little D.” Dick pointed out.

“I’ve improved Grayson, unlike these two.” Damien nodded towards Jason and Tim, who were trying to guess what Marinette looked like.

“How much do you want to bet this girl has piercings Timmy-Boy.”

“Piercings, no, leather, spikes and combat boots? Totally, Jason.”

“Or maybe tattoos.”

“Boys!” Bruce yelled, getting their attention.

“That is rude and uncalled for, stop.”

“Aw, come on Bruce you can’t honestly believe that…”

*Ahem*

Alfred cut Jason off by clearing his throat.

“What did I just go over Master Jason?”

“Sorry Alfred.”

“Indeed, now Ms.Marinette will here in just a moment and I want you to at least pretend to be respectable young men.”

*Doorbell rings*

“There she is now, if you would please wait in the living room, I will greet Ms.Marinette.” Alfred announced.

“How does he do that!?” Everyone muttered as they walked to the living room.

 Living Room:

The Wayne family was sitting around in various spots when Alfred brought in a young girl wearing a sky blue sun dress, with a light gray cropped jacket (Which, unknown to them had a hidden pocket for TIkki), wearing light gray flats, carrying a medium sized box.

“Hello everyone I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, it’s nice to meet you.” Marinette introduced herself.

Damien was the first to respond, the other left mute at what they were seeing.

“Hello Marinette I’m thrilled you come.”

“Hi Damien, I’m happy you invited me.” Marinette said turning a bit shy.

Burce was the first one to snap out of his haze.

“Hello Marinette, I’m Bruce Wayne, welcome to our home.”

“Hello Mr.Wayne.”

“Please call me Bruce Marinette, I want you to feel welcome.  Let me introduce the rest of the boys.” Burce started, turning towards the other three boys in the room.

“This is my eldest, Dick.”

“You.Are.So.Cute.” Dick said in rhythm of him bouncing on his chair, making Marinette blush, Damien grit his teeth, and Bruce sigh.

“My second eldest, Jason.”

“Blink twice if you’re here against your will Sweet heart.” Jason winked, Damien was now gritting his teeth and glaring, Bruce plowed on.

“And my second youngest, Tim.”

“You’re cute, and calm, and not glaring at everything.  You‘re Damien’s girl! I can’t believe it!” Tim stressed as he pulled his hair with both of his hands.  Damien was now giving out a low growl; Marinette decided it would be best if she stepped in.

“It’s nice to meet all of you, but I’m not here against my will and I’m not Damien’s g-girl.” Marinette started strong and finish faintly.  A secret smile was shared between Bruce and Alfred, Bruce’s attention was then drawn towards the box Marinette held.

“Did you bring something Marinette?”

“Yes, I brought some Macrons that I hope everyone will enjoy.”

Damien jolted.

“You didn’t have to bring anything Marinette.”

“Master Damien is correct Ms.Marinette, this was not necessary.” Alfred added.

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to, so I did.” Marinette chirped opening up the box show them what’s inside.

Inside was 15 macrons, each styled after a member of the Bat-family.

“I hope you don’t mind if they are decorated after Gotham’s heroes.” Marinette questioned.  The male were gathered around the box in stunned silence, when Dick broke it.

“I’ve never seen anything like this around Gotham before, and there is a lot of bat-themed stuff out there.”

“That’s because I made them!” Marinette cheered.

“What?!” was the group response.

“You made these Marinette? These look better that any other Bat-themed cookie I’ve seen before.” Bruce praised.

“These look marvelous Marinette, but where did you make them?  Your hotel room doesn’t have a kitchen.”  Damien asked, unaware that his brother’s will be teasing him about know what Marinette’s hotel room looked like later.

“I asked the hotel kitchen staff if I could.  They said yes, but only if they could have the left over cookies.”

“What flavours are they?” Jason questioned, Marinette began her answer.

“The Batman ones are a black-berry, the Nightwing ones are blue-berry, the Red Hood ones are spiced dark chocolate, the Red Robin ones are mocha (Because, I heard he likes coffee), and the Robin ones are strawberry.”

“Wow, this must have taken you awhile to make.” Dick commented.

“It wasn’t hard, my family owns a bakery in Paris, and so I’ve had lots of practice.”

“Wait! You’re cute, sweet, bake AND you STILL like Damien??!!” Tim just couldn’t understand! As Tim was having a brake-down, Jason was reaching for one of the cookies; only to have his hand slapped away by Alfred.

“Now Master Jason these macrons will be save for after dinner.” Alfred scolded taking the box from Marinette’s hands.

“Everyone please make their way to the dining room dinner is now ready.”

*Oven timer ding*

Alfred walks to the kitchen leaving the boys to bring Marinette to the table.

“How did he do that?” Marinette asked, and everyone answered.

“We don’t know.”

 Dining room:

Alfred brought out a delicious meal of roasted chicken and steam vegetables, with a garlic toast side. With the main meal out of the way, they felt they should let their meal settle before having cookies and decided to get to know Marinette better.

“So Marinette, what are you interested in doing, Damien had mentioned you like designing.” Bruce began.

“I do, just recently I finished a project for Jagged Stone and…”

“Wait!” Tim shouted.

“You are THAT Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the one who made Jagged Stone’s “Hard Rock” Album cover and famous Eiffel tower glasses, and inspired Clara Nightingale to change music video, at 14! And most recently just made both their outfits for the World Wide Music Awards?!” Tim exclaimed pointing at Marinette.

“The f-“

“Jason!” Bruce managed to cut off the swear word before it left his mouth.

“I loved Jagged’s suit” Dick reminisced fondly, Jagged Stone was very popular in the Wayne house.

Damien just stared in wonder at the girl sitting beside him, she has already achieved great things, but is still humble, not bring it up unless someone asked her first.

“That is very impressive Ms.Marinette, I look forward to seeing your designs in person one day.”

“Thank you Alfred.” Marinette managed to squeak out.

“You’re welcome, now I believe it is time for cookies.” Alfred returned to the kitchen to bring the box out and giving everyone a chance to calm down.

Cookies were brought out and everyone grabbed one, with the exception Marinette saying she already had plenty of cookies.  Bruce and Alfred had Batman cookies, Dick; Nightwing, Jason: Red Hood, Tim; Red Robin, and Damien; Robin.

In synchronous, everybody took a bite.

Marinette fidgeted nervously in her chair, waiting for a reaction.

Dick started the chain.

“WHOA!”

“Holy Sh-“Jason was cut off again by Bruce.

“Jason! But, these are fabulous cookies Marinette”

“Agreed Master Bruce, I must get your recipe Ms.Marinette.”

Tim was just staring at his cookie, like it could answer all his questions.

“Marinette these taste as fantastic as they look.” Damien complemented.

“Thank you Damien, your opinion means so much to me.” Marinette smiled at Damien, she then continued.

“Did save one of each to leave on the balcony for Gotham’s Heroes (I hear that’s popular).  Do you think they would like them?”

Bruce froze and recovered.

“I’m sure they would love them just as much we do.”

The evening went on and soon it was time for Marinette to leave.

 Front Entrance:

“I’m sorry to say that I have to leave, but I should get back to the hotel before it becomes too dark.”

“Its fine Marinette, I’d rather you get back safely more than anything else.” Damien assured.

Marinette then turned her attention to everyone else.

“Thank you have having me, it was great to meet all of you, and I hope you enjoy the cookies.”

“I’m glad you came to visit Marinette, I hope to see you again soon.” Bruce nodded.

“Yeah come by again little Lady and bring more cookies.” Dick grinned.

“Any baked good you bring will be welcome here Pixie-Pop.” Jason smirked.

“Yes welcome to come by again.” Tim distracted by his phone said, causing Alfred to shoot a sharp look at him.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening Ms.Marinette.” Alfred said in farewell, holding the door open her.

Marinette got in her ride and drove away; a new topic came up from Tim.

“Hey Brat, what kind of ring do you want to get Marinette?”

“What?!” Damien turned his head so fast, it’s miracle he didn’t snap his neck.

“Hey!  You found a girl that’s cute, sweet, bakes, started/runs her own business at 14, and can tame your sorry butt.  The smartest thing to do right now is keep her, now what kind of ring.”

“Drake!”

“Choose pink diamonds Tim, she likes pink.”

“Grayson!”

“On a silver band, that would look nice.” Dick inputted.

“On it.”

“Hey Demon Spawn.” Jason called drawing Damien’s attention.

“How do you know what her hotel room looks like?  Were you spying on her?”

“NO Todd! I would never do such a thing!”

“Rrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiigggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhttttttttt” Jason dragged out.

As the bickering continued Alfred and Bruce stood off to the side, and sighed, both knowing something was going to get broken before patrol.

End.

That was Dinner at Wayne Manor

Also…

Extra:

Later that night Marinette left a box of Batfam themed cookies on her balcony, with a note saying;

“Thank you, for all that you do. –Marinette”

And went to bed.

The next morning the box was empty and a new note was left behind.

“We do what we can, thank you for the cookies, they’re great.” It was signed by all of them.

[underoossss]

Cappuccinos - H.O

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x reader

Coffee Shop AU

Summary: 3 times Harrison tries to ask you out and one time you ask him.

AN: Hello everyone! Guess who’s back with a one shot! ME! This is for @hollandsosterfield​ ‘s writing challenge with the prompt “Can you give me a knife for my birthday? So I can stab you with it?

---

1

The sound of the coffee grinder and the chatter of distant conversations from some customers sitting by the window surround Harrison as he takes his 15thorder of the day. “So you have a large iced coffee with three shots of caramel, a croissant and an apple. Is that everything for you today?” He asks the woman standing in front of him who nods as she fishes out her wallet from her purse. “That’d be $7.25. Can I have your name for the order?”

“Dorothy.” She says, showing him her debit card so that Harrison can prompt the purchase on the machine in front of her. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He smiles, handing her a receipt and moving to take a croissant from the pastries display for her. He puts it in a baking tray and places it on the toaster oven for a bit to warm it up. “There’s a croissant in the oven, Will.”

“Okay.” His friend nods as he finishes two orders and proceeds to call the person’s name over the counter. “Two mocca’s for Lilly?”

Harrison lets out a deep breath, looking around the shop. The 7am rush hour had come to an end, leaving only Dorothy who waits for her iced latte and a group of three sitting by the window. They look like they’re finishing up a presentation, all their laptops propped on the antique cream coffee table in front of them. After his brief scan of the room, he glances up at the clock propped on the wall. 8:05, the next rush of students going to their 8:30 class will come by soon enough. The thought makes Harrison’s hands sweat so he focuses on the smell of freshly baked blueberry scones coming from the kitchen. Y/N, comes by at 8:10am every day, orders a coffee and sometimes grabs a fruit from the display basket before rushing to class. She’s from the Art Institute a few blocks away and Harrison’s been crushing on her from the moment she stepped into the coffee shop on a Monday 4 months ago. He believes she’s an architect, always carrying plans and drawing buildings on the coffee table by the turquoise sofa next to the chimney.

The sound of the bell hanging over the door makes him look up to see you enter the coffee shop. A strong wind had blown your scarf out of place and you fix it while walking to the register. “Hey, Haz. How’s it going.” You set a large binder on the counter for a second, shaking your arms when they get some rest.

“Good morning.” He smiles back. “What can I get for you today?”

“A medium cappuccino with some cinnamon on top, please. Oh, and a banana muffin.” Your eyes light up when you spot the freshly baked muffins on the pastry display on your right.

Harrison smiles, your smile almost lighting up the whole shop. After a few seconds, he shakes himself out of his daze and puts one of the muffins in a paper bag that he hands to you. “That’s gonna be $5.”

You place the paper bag on top of your binder before reaching inside your tote bag for your wallet. After you pay, Harrison smiles and moves over to the expresso machine ignoring Will’s knowing look when he starts to make your drink. Shot of expresso, steam the milk, and foam. Harrison hums as he prepares the drink, the delicious smell of coffee flooding his senses. When the drink is ready he puts the white lid on top where he writes your name with a flower next to it, the way he’s always done it from day one. It’s been months, ask her out already! “So, um, I was wondering.” Harrison places the coffee on the counter but stops talking when he sees you’re on the phone. Your forehead is creased, confused, as someone speaks on the other end.

“What do you mean he’s picking up the assignment already? It’s not 8:30 yet!” You look up and smile at Harrison, getting your coffee and mouthing a quick thank you to him.

Damnit.

2

“Harrison, it’s been months of you pining over her.” Will rolls his eyes when he spots Harrison staring at the door expectantly the next day. A large batch of customers had just left a couple of minutes ago, so him and Will were enjoying a little peace before the 8:30am rush arrives. “Just ask for her number, you should see the way she looks at you.”

Harrison lets out a laugh, “There’s no way that she looks at me. I’m just the part time barista that makes her coffee and she’s nice.” His fingers fiddle with the pocket of his turquoise apron as he waits for you to walk through that door.

“The arts university is blocks away and she can easily go to the Starbucks next to it, and yet she chooses to come here every day.” Will insists as he cleans the countertops and puts some of the espresso cups in the dishwasher.

“It’s probably more crowded over there, that’s all.” Harrison shrugs, moving the gaze to the clock on his right. 8:10.

The doorbell dings as another group of people enter the coffee shop, you among them. This time though, there’s a guy next to you, his arm around your shoulder; he’s laughing at something you said. “There’s no way the dean said that Y/N.” Tom shakes his head.

Harrison feels his shoulders sag but he puts on a fake smile for the customers standing in front of him. He should’ve known, he probably wasn’t the only one crushing on you, you’re funny and kind and so hardworking. There’s been days you’ve stayed at the coffee shop studying until closing time, losing track of time as you go through your schoolwork. Harrison has the proof he needs now, to support the already known fact that his own nerves prevented him from even getting your number on time.

“I’m telling you Tom, you’re 100% suspended for traveling to England in the middle of the semester.” You chuckle as you step up to the cashier, your turn to order. “Hey, Haz! Good morning.” Your smile is bright but the one Harrison gives you in return doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His heart is still in the process of breaking but he clears his throat, ignoring the way you tilt your head in confusion.

“Hi Y/N, a cappuccino today?” He grabs a sharpie so he can write your usual order on the paper cup before looking up again.

“Yes please, and a-”

“And a large caramel latte for me, please.” The guy next to her, Tom, smiles. “You getting something to eat, love?”

Love.

“No I’m good. Just those two drinks Haz, thank you.”

“No problem.” He smiles, but it feels forced. His chest feels heavy and he chastises himself again for taking so long.

“I hope you’re having a nice day so far.” You comment, a little weary, and you take out a $20 bill from your back pocket. Your eyes are darting across his face, like you can tell something’s off with his mood.

“I am, thanks. You?” He hands Tom’s cup to Will in a silent request that his friend doesn’t question. He then proceeds to make yours after he gives you your change back.

“Yeah, me too.” You nod, moving to the pickup area and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You’re wearing a rust color sweater today, your hands hidden inside the sleeves and Harrison thinks it’s the most endearing thing in the world.

“Of course you are, I’m back.” Tom says making you roll your eyes and Harrison has to bite the inside of his cheek to avoid giving away how awfully awkward he feels. Stop crushing on this guy’s girlfriend, idiot. He writes your name on the lid before drawing a small smiley face on it, instead of the usual flower. She probably won’t notice anyway.

“Here you go.” He says, placing your cup on the counter and regretting not drawing the flower on it when he sees you frown for a brief second.

“Thanks, Haz.” You mumble, averting your gaze from him and heading to the door.

“See ya!” Tom says as he follows you.

“See you…”

3

“EVERYONE! IT’S THIS BEAUTIFUL LADY’S, WHO ALSO HAPPENS TO BE MY BEST FRIEND, BIRTHDAY TODAY!” Tom all but yells when he enters the coffee shop with you by his side at 8:10am the next day. You cover your face in embarrassment.

“Can you get me a knife for my birthday, so I can stab you with it?” You say rolling your eyes at him but smiling anyway.

Harrison is frozen in place for a second, was he really that lucky and that stupid? Best friend. Not girlfriend. He had been so wrong! He drew a stupid smiley face on your coffee for a stupid assumption he had made. “God I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are.” Will chuckles to his right, holding his hands up when Harrison glares at him. “Wait, I wasn’t supposed to comment on that?”

Harrison shakes his head, getting a chocolate cake pop from the glass display and handing it to you when you reach the cashier. “Happy birthday, Y/N.” He smiles, because he’s ecstatic, he hasn’t lost his chance.

Giving you a cake pop brings back the memory of his failed attempt at flirting about a month back. You had been studying until late on a Thursday night, the same day he was covering for Andrea who had an important exam to study for. Harrison had thought it was fate that you two had seen each other on the same day twice; something that never happens. So as they started to clean up the counters and packing leftover pastries up, he put a single double chocolate chip cookie on a plate and walked over to where you sat. You smiled and tried to pay for it; he argued that since they were closing, it was no problem at all.

“Is this your way of kicking me out?” You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on your face that makes Harrison scramble for words.

“N-no, no! That’s not what I meant! You just order them often and-” He held his hands up, the last thing he wanted was for you to think he was kicking you out. Why did he mention the shop closing?

“Hey, it’s okay I’m only teasing you.” You chuckled, stopping his rambling.

You smile in surprise again at the sight of the cake pop. “Harrison, thank you.” The look in your eyes is soft and Harrison’s stomach does a backflip.

“It’s your birthday, it’s on the house!” He smiles back, the smile is so wide his cheeks start to hurt. The relief of knowing he still has a chance and the fact that it’s your birthday, fills him with happiness. In his opinion birthdays are always special, no matter whose birthday it is, without birthdays you wouldn’t be standing in front of him making his morning better every day.

You take the cake pop and thank him again before ordering yours and Tom’s coffee. They go through the usual conversation: Cappuccino? Yes, please. And a large iced coffee? Yup. When you pay and he gives you your change, he decides to keep the conversation going. “Any plans for you birthday?” He asks, writing the orders on their respective cups. Maybe if you’re free he can ask you to hang out.

“Yes. Actually I-”

“Would you mind? You’re holding up the line!” An old lady behind you makes you and Tom jump, giving Harrison an apologetic look. He had been so caught up on his feelings and staring at you that he didn’t realize the second rush of customers had arrived and were waiting in line.

“A bit moody…” Tom mutters under his breath and Harrison couldn’t agree more.

“Sorry ma’am.” Harrison says, trying to go for an innocent smile to ease her mood. The last thing he needed was a rude customer ruining his morning. “Have a nice day, Y/N.”

You smile at him again, moving over to the pick up counter. “You too, Haz.” You give him one last look over your shoulder before going back to talking to Tom.

Another chance missed. He couldn’t even make her coffee for you, he’s so stupid for taking so long. “What can I get for you ma’am?”

4

It’s 3:47pm when Harrison hears the bell over the door ring, signaling someone entering the coffee shop. Het sets down the expresso cups he was rearranging and looks up to see who it is. Y/N. Since breakfast and lunch time had already passed, the shop was mostly quiet and Harrison was the only one working outside. He fixes his apron as he walks to the cashier and clear his throat before he smiling. Why are my hands so sweaty? If they could stop sweating, that’d be great.

“Hello, you’re still here.” You say as you approach him, fixing the tote bag on your shoulder. You’re wearing a blue sweater today. It has a couple of flowers embroidered on the cuffs and Harrison thinks it’s really nice.

“Hey, Y/N. A second coffee?” Harrison leans his hands on the counter next to the register. It’s only the two of us, don’t screw it up.

“I have a long night at the university’s library. I work today of all days.” You nod your head and sigh. “But it’s okay, it’ll give me time to get some assignments done.”

Harrison gives you a sympathetic smile, working late on your birthday doesn’t sound like fun at all. “Well, at least you’re looking at the bright side of it.” He shrugs and picks up a sharpie and a medium paper cup. “Your usual?”

“Yes please, but let’s spice it up. Normal coffee for work feels a bit too boring.” You smile at him before looking at the drink menu.

“Pumpkin spice?” Harrison suggests.

You chuckle and shake your head then make up your mind a second later.  “Let’s go with salted caramel.”

“You got it.” Harrison winks. He actually winks. That was probably so lame…He feels his cheeks burn in embarrassment and he gives you a shy smile as you hand him the money to pay for your drink. A few moments later both of you move to the pick up area; you lean against the counter watching Harrison work on the coffee.

This is it. There’s no one else ordering coffee. Ask her! Now!

“So I was wondering if you’d like to hang out sometime? Maybe go for a picnic?” Harrison says at the same time you speak up as well.

“I’m having a small gathering tomorrow for my birthday. I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

Both of you look up at the same time, and it’s not awkward at all; it’s only funny. What are the odds that you two choose to ask the other out at the same time? So Harrison chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “You go first.”

“I’m having a small gathering with a couple of friends tomorrow for my birthday. Would you like to come?” Your hands tap the counter, probably out of nerves, and Harrison finds it comforting. He’s not the only one that’s nervous.

“I’d love to.” He beams, his heart drumming incessantly on his chest. She asked me out! And to her birthday!

“Really? Awesome!” You smile, biting your lip to tone down your excitement. “And I’m free on Saturday, for that picnic?” Your head tilts to the right in question. As if Harrison would pass up any opportunity to get to know you better.

“I-I’m free too, yeah that’d be really nice.” Harrison nods, he remembers the cup of coffee in his hand and quickly puts a lid on it before it gets cold. This time though, he draws a little heart on it instead of a flower and he can’t help but feel incredibly happy when you smile at the sight of it.

“I, um, I need your phone number.” You say smiling at him, suddenly looking shy once again.

“Oh! Right!” Harrison’s cheeks turn pink once again as he looks around for somewhere to write. He spots the cookies on the display and smiles; he places a double chocolate one on a paper bag and writes his phone number on it along with his name. “Here you go.”

“Awesome.” You smile, taking it. “You didn’t have to  give me a cookie, though.”

“I know but I wanted to, it’s your birthday.” Harrison shrugs. “And I know you love them so.”

“Fine.” You chuckle, putting the bag inside your tote and getting ready to leave. “I’ll text you then. Have a nice afternoon, Haz.”

“Bye, Y/N.” Harrison waves. YES!

If any of the clients saw Harrison celebrate by the espresso machine, they didn’t comment on it. There were usual customers anyways, they knew how badly those two have been crushing on each other.

Tagging: @parrkerspeters @parkerpuffwrites @hollandharrison @lovestrucktom @sincerelymlg @fairydustparker 💕

[fandima-moved-read-pinned]

Would it be awesome to see you do all 100 asks? Yes. Will you do them? We shall see.

Wanna bet 

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? - More cereal than milk! 

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?- No, actually. I hate the cold ^^' And if there's cold air on my cheeks then it's on my nose and that's no good 

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? - Usually a post it note! Not very random, but it's normally what I have on hand. 

4: how do you take your coffee/tea? - Depends on my mood! Sometimes I'll take my coffee black, other times ill add a fricc ton of creamer, whipped cream, and sugar. Also sometimes I mix coffee with hot chocolate and it's amazing. 

5: are you self-conscious of your smile? - Very. 

6: do you keep plants? - Always. I still have the carnations from Valentines Day (which surprisingly haven't died yet) 

7: do you name your plants? - Nope. 

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? - just a mechanical pencil or a graphite pencil. They usually end up being sketches. But if I like how it looks I'll go over them in pen. 

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? - Yes and no? I'd do it more often but I don't want anyone to hear me. Especially my mom. 

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? - Side, always facing the wall. 

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends? - The only one I can think of off the top of my head is *slap slap slap* *jumps out window*. No I will not explain. 

12: what’s your favorite planet? - Pluto! Or Make Make. Make Make used to be my favorite because me and my brother would pronounce it wrong on purpose. But Pluto is ver pretty. 

13: what’s something that made you smile today? - seeing my brother's reaction to his birthday present from me! I made a little felt monkey with bushy eyebrows (I needle felted it) 

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? - Probably very messy. But also it would constantly smell like food! 

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! - Mars is shrinking. It is Smol. 

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish? - Fettuccine Alfredo with Shrimp! It's what I usually ordered at Olive Garden until I found out that it was expensive and was probably stressing out my parents. 

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? - Don't laugh okay but pink! I want to dye the bottom half of my hair bright freaking pink. Like hot pink. 

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. - That time I slapped a guy twice for picking me up. That guy was my best friend. He picked me up from behind and I sorta whipped around and slapped him. The first time he didn't put me down, he just laughed. So I slapped him again. He got the hint. 

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?- I don't. I tried a while back, but I figured it would be easier just to talk to people about my issues instead of writing them down. 

20: what’s your favorite eye color? - Green. Or dark brown. 

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. - Not sure what this means, sorry. I've got this pencil pouch that has a tree print on it that I've used for a few years now even though it has a hole it it. Does that count? 

22: are you a morning person? - No. I wake up at 5:30 am on weekdays and usually don't get out of bed until I have ten minutes to get ready and leave. 

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? - Stay in my room and draw! Although I don't have lazy days. Every time my mom comes upstairs I immediately start cleaning because if I don't she'll yell at me for being lazy. 

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? - Yes. Take a look at who sent this ask. Also my other two online friends! One of them I spam with worms on a string and the other I just know I can trust and I don't know why. 

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into? - the only place I've broken into is my own house. I had to climb the backyard fence to go through the back door because me and my brother forgot our keys. 

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit? - My plain black tennis shoes. I need to get new ones because these ones are old and barely fit but every time I mention it, it's like I never said a word. 

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor? - Candy Cane! 

28: sunrise or sunset? - Sunset! I get to see the sun setting behind the Rocky Mountains and it's really pretty. 

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? - exist 

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? - Yes. I'd rather not talk about it. 

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. - socks can burn in hell for all I care. I hate socks. I only wear them if I have to (like while wearing shoes) 

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. - I remember being at a sleepover a few days before I moved (this was in South Korea) and I woke up at 3:34 am (yes I remember the time don't ask why) because one of my friends was playing Megalovania on the keyboard. Then she turned around and asked who the hell took her pretzels. They were under her pillow. 

33: what’s your fave pastry? - c w a s o a n t (with jelly inside!) 

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? - I still have this stuffed animal now (I have all of my stuffed animals. I haven't brought myself to get rid of them). It's a little pink blanket with a bunny head named Squeek. Not Squeak. I didn't know how to spell that. 

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? - No. I don't have any. 

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now? - https://youtu.be/7TqLXIBG-6g   not a band but still

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? - Messy! It may sound strange, but I can't find anything when it's clean. It also feels empty unless I've got stuff all over the floor. 

38: tell us about your pet peeves! - When I tell remind someone of the rules and they say "okay" and continue breaking them. Like we aren't supposed to put pans in the dishwasher because it ruins the pans. Yet my brother always puts them in there. I remind him and take it out, and he says "okay" and puts it back. I also hate it when I ask someone to stop doing something (usually when it's making me nervous or upset) and they ask "WhY?" in a really annoying tone and keep doing it. I ALSO hate it when I'm in charge and yet no one listens to me. 

I also don't like it when no one says thank you. It makes it seem like they don't appreciate me. 

39: what color do you wear the most? - Grey. I want to wear colorful clothes but the last time we went clothes shopping and I asked for pastel colors, I walked out of the store with grey, light grey, brown, and dark blue clothes. 

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you? - I have a locket that I made for my seventh birthday. It has little charms in it (a rose, my first initial, a heart key, and a birthday cake) and it's gold. I love it and I don't know why. 

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving? - There's a book series that I don't remember the name of but it's about a girl who is forcibly turned into a siren by three other sirens. She has to eat human hearts to live. It's kinda gorey, kinda romantic, lots of action. I love it. 

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! - Unfortunately no, I usually get coffee at a gas station ^^' 

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? - My dog Freyja! Whenever I take out trash, she comes with, and when the sky is clear I like to point out the starts with her before we go back inside. She's very sweet. But I can't stargaze for more than a minute. 

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? - Last year I went on a trip to Florida to stay with my grandparents for a week. I remember waking up one morning with a beautiful view of the ocean and the sound of waves crashing onto the shore. My grandparents have an apartment of sorts that faces the Atlantic and you can literally go down the stairs and go swim in the ocean if you want to, it's like a two minute walk, not even. I love the ocean and the sound of waves and seagulls is always calming to me. But my house is very loud and there's no peace here. 

45: do you trust your instincts a lot? - Yes. When I have a bad feeling about something, I address it. It's not always true, but I don't want to risk anything. 

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. - Sorry, I don't know many puns. I guess I'm just not a pun-ny person. 

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? - fucking macaroni with bread crumsb that shit is nasty af 

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? - Storms, especially tornados. Now my biggest fear is death. Whether I'm the one dying or its someone I care about. 

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? - Not really, I don't have money to buy anything ^^' Even when I do have money, I spend it on art stuff. That reminds me that I need to fix my radio. 

50: what’s an odd thing you collect? - Fabric. I have so much and I don't even use it. But when I see a nice fabric, I get it (if I have money). 

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? - 'Old Timer Rock and Roll' (probably not the name of it) always reminds me of my dad. One day we were driving in his Jeep, just us two, and I mentioned that I wasn't a fan of the music on the radio. We ended up compromising and that song was the first one on the radio station that we switched to. 

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? - I am unfortunately not up to date with the memes. Although the ones where it's like "you've mc-ed your last Donald" or "you've ratted your last tatouille" always make me exhale aggressively. 

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? - None of the above! I've been wanting to watch Heather's though. I just never get around to doing it. 

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? - My brother. Not the same one from before. 

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point? - nothing, sorry. I'm not very dramatic. 

56: what are some things you find endearing in people? - when they pour their heart out about a certain subject that they love. I know a lot of people tend to bottle up their opinions but when someone trusts me aniugh to tell me all about it, it's just sorta nice. 

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? - I just sorta spaced out for the first have then did a little dance for the rest of it. I love the line "I see a little silhouetto of a man" and it's more upbeat and the music just makes me dance a little 

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? - bold of you to assume I have a group of friends 

59: what’s your favorite myth? - There's this one I heard as a kid that involves a faceless girl on the side of a highway who tries to steal faces. 

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? - I can't think of any off the top of my head, but poetry is nice! 

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received? - I don't really remember. I try to only give gifts that are meaningful. 

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? - nope! I usually drink milk! 

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? - I usually leave my music to its own devices, but all the books are organized by series and genre. 

64: what color is the sky where you are right now? - Blue! Just any other afternoon sky. 

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with? - My older brother. We don't get to talk much. 

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? - Colorful, with a few white flowers! 

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? - Those are usually the days that I don't feel anything. 

68: what’s winter like where you live? - The weather is all over the place. A little snow, then the next day, it's like 60°F. Not even joking. It snowed Friday and Saturday was warm. 

69: what are your favorite board games? - Monopoly and Battleship! 

70: have you ever used a ouija board? - No, but I really want to. But my dad won't let me. 

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea? - I don't really drink tea, sorry! 

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it? - Nope. I'll forget it anyway. I usually set alarms for certain things but then I don't do it. 

73: what are some of your worst habits? - Biting the inside of my cheek and scratching/pinching my arm when I'm nervous. 

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. - kind, a good listener, talented, and understanding 

75: tell us about your pets! - We have four dogs. There's Emrys (the dog I've posted pictures of before), Cirilla (a husky German Shepard mix, very sweet), Cayde-6 (a Rottweiler mix I think, super energetic, loud, and steals food off the counter even when someone is watching), and Freyja (a German Shepard mix, puppy, also very sweet! She knows the phrase 'give hugs' and she always comes with me to take out the trash for whatever reason). I also have a Guinea Pig (who I want to get a friend for because she's lonely, but my parents keep saying no) names Neo. 

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t? - Working on my Someconsious series, cleaning, and probably checking in with some friends. 

77: pink or yellow lemonade? - Pink 

78: are you in the minion hateclub or Fan club? - Hate club. I don't like them. They're just annoying and bright and their language is stupid to me. 

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? - One of my exes surprised me with a cars and roses out of nowhere. It wasn't Valentines Day, it wasn't my birthday, he just went out of his way to do something nice for me when I was having a rough week. 

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? - They're a sort of off white. I want to paint them light lavender or pale blue but my parents have only painted the living room and refuse to paint anywhere else for whatever reason. I know we can afford paint, I know we have time. They just stopped caring. 

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. - Not sure what it means by abstract, but I'll try. Her eyes are similar to the bottom of a small river. The brown in the middle with green rings on the edges remind me of a river I used to go fishing in back in Oklahoma. 

82: are/were you good in school? - I'm okay. I have all A's and B's, but I have easy subjects that aren't very hard. 

83: what’s some of your favorite album art? - I don't really listen to albums, my music taste is mostly individual songs. Even then I don't really pay attention to the art. 

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? - I want to get a quote of sort on my ankle. Something in another language so I can tell them it means something mysterious and deep when in reality it's the description of a toaster oven that hasn't been cleaned since 1995.

85: do you read comics? what are your faves? - I read a few webcomics if that counts! I like Castle Swimmer a lot! Gay fish bapeys are best fish bapeys. 

86: do you like concept albums? which ones? - I don't know what those are, sorry 

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? - The Princess Bride and the Last Unicorn. But I'm biased because they're both a part of my childhood. 

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? - not in particular! 

89: are you close to your parents? - I'm only close with my dad. My stepmom can go fuck herself. She just told us that's she'll be making a schedule for the next two weeks because there won't be school. One of the weeks was spring break anyway! We aren't missing much! 

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. - I like Palm Beach in Florida! It's fairly quiet, right next to the ocean, and filled with retired people who are all really nice. 

91: where do you plan on traveling this year? - Nowhere, we don't travel much. I really want to go to Florida again though. 

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? - I don't add cheese at all! It sort of ruins the texture for me. Especially the grated sprinkle cheese stuff l. I hate now it feels. 

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most? - I just keep my hair down. I don't like it in any other way. 

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? - My brother. His birthday is today! 

95: what are your plans for this weekend? - cry a lot cry some more lose feelings for a few hours draw watch YouTube art videos then try not to yell at my mom like I did last week

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? - I just get it over with so I can do whatever needs to be done. Or I schedule it for when I'm not going to be using it. 

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? - INFP-T/Mediator, Scorpio, and Hufflepuff 

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?- A few weeks ago. And no, I did not enjoy it considering I was supposed to be working on an important project that day. 

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. - Where We Started, If You're Going Through Hell, and We Like to Numb (a mix of We Like to Party and Numb) 

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? - Future. In five years I plan on being in college and I want to see what I should be prepared for and if my interests have changed. 

This took me at least an hour and a half. Thank you though! I 

[gardenflowerswriting]

Mafia! Ivar AU (pt. 1)

A/N: this kinda takes place in Chicago, when mafias around there were very popular. Any who, I hope you like it! Gif: all-about-that-fandoms

You stood at the counter, waiting for your brother behind the kitchen door to finish up the burger the person at table three had ordered. "You know," he set the plate down in front of you, "sometimes, the waitresses actually do there job, instead of standing around."

You gave an annoyed smile before lifting the white circle filled with food, "you know, if you did your job faster, I wouldn't be left to stand."

He turned back around, " touché."

You could feel the smile on your face as your made your way to the table, a blonde haired girl sat next to a man in a fancy suite, fancier than normal for these parts. He looked down at the plate when you placed it in front of him, criticizing the work in his head. "Is that all for you?"

He stared at it a little while more, before turning to the girl, "do you want anything baby?"

She let out a little giggle and placed her hand on his chest, "no hvitty, I told you I wasn't hungry."

He only nodded his head and looked back up at you, "uh, come back in twenty, we have more people coming." You nodded your head before turning back to the kitchen. It was dead in the little restaurant your brother owned, though you'd much rather be any place else, he said your father wouldn't have wanted you wondering the streets of the city without a job.

"Oh, no hvitty, I already ate! Hehehe!" You mocked the girls words in a high pitched tone. You hated girls like her, all preppy and happy just because they sat on expensive dick.

"Hey!" Your brother drew your attention, a small smile creeping across his face, "are you making fun of customers again?"

You groaned, almost slumping down against the wall, "James, Ive been working here for almost two years! And you said I could leave as soon as I found a new job."

He looked back down at the small stove, cleaning its grey sheen away, "and have you."

You scrunched your face, "have I what?"

"Found a job Y/N?"

"No," you whined, "but daddy would have allowed me-"

He cut you off, "y/n, find a job-that is suitable, then we can talk about you leaving. I need you here, you're my best waitress."

You rolled your eyes, "I'm your only waitress."

As he walked past you, he kissed your head, "and I love you for it."

It wasn't long before you heard the bell of the door opening. You didn't want to leave the kitchen just yet, you wanted to pretend you weren't working for your older brother anymore. "Hey!" James came up from behind you, "get out there!" You started to turn but he stopped your again, "and what ever he says, you get."

"Okay?" You didn't really understand what he meant until you saw who joined Hvitserk Lothbrok in a large booth.

"Did you get them?" The youngest Lothbrok sat in a nice blue suite, a single black tie to go with it.

You watched Hvitserk shrug before taking another fry, "their out in the car."

Their conversation was cut short by your arrival to their table. You gave a soft smile, pulling a note pad out of your apron, "what can I get you?" Your eyes matching with the dark hue of the youngest son.

You had never been so close, but you heard talk of what he did. He would buy and sell guns, drugs, liquor, didn't matter, anything for some cash.

"Uhh," you could see him biting his cheek as he looked through the menu, "get me a. . steak, baby," you could feel you cheeks turn a little more pink as he smirked, handing you the thin piece of paper.

You smiled softly, "how do you want it?"

He thought to himself for a moment, "medium-rare, more pink though."

You nodded your head, writing down his words. You looked back up to the men who walked in with him, "and anything else?"

Ivar looked around to the men almost twice his size, "no-no, we're good love."

"Okay, a medium-rare steak coming up, and side?"

"Bake potato."

You scribbled the words down fast, "it will be only a couple minutes."

He shrugged, "take your time," giving you a wink as you turned. You could feel his eyes on you, and you couldn't help but feel happy, knowing you wore your tightest skirt today.

As you walked in the door, James rode behind you quick, "what did he want?"

You felt yourself smile a little, but then slipping out of your trans, "oh, um medium-rare steak with a baked potato," you handed him the slip. You could see his nervousness as he began cooking, "James, don't get to worried."

He shot you a glare, before throwing you a rag, "why don't you go clean the bar?"

You rolled your eyes, making your way back out with a small rag in your hand, it was damp from when you cleaned the tables earlier. "Hvitserk, I don't understand why you would leave them in the car!" Ivars voice wasn't quite a yell, but you could hear his anger, "didn't you think they would wish to see them before they bought them!"

You dropped the cloth into the table, their eyes didn't even drift up to you, "I'm sorry, just-"

"Your lap dog got in your way?"

You could hear the girl scoff, waiting for Hvitserk to reply, "are you not going to say anything?"

Hvitserk didn't move, but she sure did. She marched out of the booth and towards the door, "oh, baby come on," Hvitserk slid out behind her, "look what you did now!" Ivar snickered as he watched his older brother chase after her.

"Y/N!" You turned to see your brother standing in the window, "Are you gonna serve him?"

You blinked for a couple of seconds, before nodding your head, "yeah-yeah," you picked the plate up, letting the cloth lay lifeless on the bar. Now, Ivar sat with his hand resting on the back of the booth, his legs stretched as his other hand played with the knives. His eyes moved up your body as you approached him, "steak medium-rare with a potato," you glided the plate down in front of him.

He smiled, "thanks." You nodded your head, beginning to turn when he spoke again, "why don't you sit with me."

You laughed a little, "me?"

He shrugged, "why not?"

"Oh, I have to clear the bar, I would. . . but." Your head pointed to the clear table.

"Fine," He said, slipping out of the red booth with his plate in hand.

You looked at him confused, "wh-what are you doing?"

He began making his way to the empty seats that sat lifeless, "well I'll sit with you then."

You gave him a half smile as he plopped down, setting the plate down with him. You made your way behind the counter, picking up the once abandoned rag and beginning in the middle, where Ivar sat. You occasionally looked up at him, watching as he took pieces of his steak. "Do you need a drink?" You asked, continuing your scrubbing.

"Water," you turned to the kitchen, grabbing a cup and filling it halfway with ice, then water.

You set it down in front of him, "here you go."

He took it from the place you set it, bringing it to his lips and taking a long swig. He looked around, the dull colors bringing into his light, "isn't it kinda sad in here?" You couldn't help but laugh, even though you tried to hold it in, he smiled, "what?"

You looked up, "this is kinda my brothers dinner, before that my dads."

His eyebrows raised, "oh, I'm sorry I didn't-"

You couldn't stop smiled, "your fine, I agree it's a little sad sometimes."

He cut a piece of his steak, biting it before speaking again, "Are you single."

You looked up to his blue spheres of eyes, "why does it matter?"

He smiled, leaning back against the stool, "I was wondering if I could take you out on a date?"

“And what if I said I had a boyfriend?” Though you didn’t really have one, you just wanted to see what the renowned gangster would say.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice for you to hear, “then I would still ask you out in a date.”

You tried not to smile, “when are you free then?”

“Tomorrow, I’ll pick you up here. 7.”

“Alright then.”

He smiled, “alright.”

Tags: @cute-but-psychoxx @naaladareia @hail-kattegat @readsalot73 @ivarslittlebadgirl @tephi101

[ivarsshieldmadien]

Surrender Part 4

This is for readers 18+ and contains NSFW GIFs!!!!

I hope everyone enjoys reading part 4 of Surrender!!!

“Do you want my cock Kil?” Ivar asked walking around the bed slowly. Kilia let out a moan and a nod, “Say it! I want to hear you say it.” Ivar said raising his voice. “I want your cock my king.” Kilia said needing some sort of release, Lydia’s and Ivar’s fingers got her so close to the edge and then Ivar yanked her back. “Where do you want my cock Kilia, tell me?” Ivar ordered. “In my pussy.” Ivar smiled in a menacing way, “I don’t think your cunt deserves my cock.” Kilia let out an angry, low growl, “fuck you Ivar.” Ivar giggled at her anger, “There’s that sharp tongue.” Ivar snatched Kilia by her long black hair and pulled her off the bed and pushed her to her knees, “I know a better way to put that mouth to good use.” Ivar held the base of his hard cock and positioned it at Kilia’s mouth, “Open your fucking mouth, now.” Ivar said following it up with a slap on her cheek. She opened, and he shoved his long, hard cock between her lips.

Ivar pushed in and out making Kilia gag around him, “Don’t have much to say now do you.” Ivar said with a wicked laugh. “You couldn’t fucking help yourself could you Kil.” Ivar said in between thrusts as he fucked her throat. “You are so greedy. Greedy for Lydia’s pussy and now greedy for your king’s cock.” Ivar pulls out of Kilia’s mouth and came on her tits. She was a mess with his seed dripping down her body.

“Ubbe made something for you.” Kilia’s eyes widened because Ubbe’s toys usually meant over stimulation and she was already at her breaking point. Ivar held up a U-shaped metal contraption. It had a medium sized metal ball on one end and a large metal ball on the other. “Open up that greedy mouth for me, again.” Kilia obeyed and he stuck the large metal ball into her mouth, he pulled it out and stuck the other side in. “Get on your hands and knees on the bed.” He smirked watching her crawl to the bed, getting into position and waiting for him. “You are so gorgeous when you are like this, so fucking obedient.” Ivar ran his hand up her tight ass and squeezed, “Gods, I love your sweet ass.” He smacked it hard and then popped the medium metal ball into her ass. Kilia moaned and her body bucked at suddenly filling full. Ivar held her in place not giving her time to adjust before plunging the large ball into her soaking wet pussy.

Kilia yelled loud, “mmhmm scream all you like my pet. Tell me how you like having your pussy and your ass filled at the same time.” Kilia whimpered, “It feels so fucking good.” Kilia was starting to unravel, “Ivar, please, please my king, make my cum.” Ivar loved hearing her whine when they both knew he broke her. Ivar reached down and started circling Kilia’s clit. Her hips started bucking and rolling not wanting him to stop. Ivar bit down hard where her shoulder and neck met, when he felt her legs shaking, “Cum. Cum for your king.” Kilia cried out with his name on her tongue as she came.

Ivar pulled the plugs out of her sending aftershocks through her. She laid on the bed, legs still quivering, when Ivar pressed his body against hers. Ivar cleaned her up with a warm, wet cloth, paying extra attention to her breasts and nipples. He rolled her over, so he was able to spoon her, and he rubbed his fingers up and down her naked back, soothing her, whispering sweet things in her ear. “You are so fucking perfect, so beautiful. You did so well for me tonight.” Kilia drifted into a deep sleep and Ivar held her close as he followed her into sleep.

***

The next morning Ivar walked next door and barged in finding Hvitserk and Lydia tangled in the sheets. Hvitserk’s arm was thrown over the small woman and his hand was cupping her breast. Lydia’s blonde hair was disheveled, confirming their long, wild night of exploring each other’s bodies. “Hvit! Hvitserk! Wake up! We gotta go!” Hvitserk opened one eye to consider what was happening so he could decide if he was going back to sleep or getting up. When he saw Ivar looming over them and he rolled his eyes and propped himself up on his elbow. “What the fuck is going on?” Hvitserk asked, his voice was deep, still full of sleep. “We are going to patrol. Get out of bed. She will be here when you get back.” Ivar said walking over to Lydia, he bent down and quietly woke her, “Lydia, wake up kitten, why don’t you go get in bed with Kilia, she is still sleeping.” Lydia blinked up at Ivar with sleepy eyes and nodded. Hvitserk pulled her in for a long kiss sliding his tongue over hers. When he broke the kiss with an audible sound he said, “go ahead, I’ll see you a little bit later.” Lydia got out of bed wrapping herself in a fur and walked next door sliding in bed with Kilia. She was so warm and Kilia draped her arm over Lydia’s waist and kissed her on the shoulder. They were both back asleep in seconds.

***

Kalf, Ivar, Hvitserk and Ubbe were out patrolling farther out than usual. Ivar and Ubbe were walking in front of the other two men. Ivar patted Ubbe on the back, “The new piece you gave me to try out on Kilia,” Ivar paused making eye contact with his oldest brother and biting his fist. Ubbe smirked, “Yeah? It was good?” Ivar nodded his head slowly, “If you weren’t a prince already you would have a lucrative profession in metal works.” Ubbe smiled to himself and they all continued walking.

Kalf walked off to take a piss, he started looking around, it was too quiet, “FUCKING HEATHEN!” Kalf turns at the scream, to see a woman running towards him with a dagger in her hand. He puts an arm up to block her quick slashes and knocks the blade out of her. Kalf was one hell of a fighter, he loved hurting people and he got off on pain, so, when the woman slammed her fist in his ribs, he smiled.

She was strong and had one hell of a punch. She landed two more blows before Kalf lunged towards her and wrapped her up in a hold, “Fuck woman!” Kalf let out an annoyed roar and clocked her in the back of the head. This would have caused men twice her size to black out instantly, and somehow, she was still fighting him, trying to wiggle out of his grip. Kalf wrapped one of his huge arms around her throat and squeezed. She fought like hell against his strength, causing her to fall in to unconsciousness faster.

The other men come running at the sound of the struggle happening behind them. When they get to Kalf he has the woman tossed over his shoulder, “She came out of nowhere.” Hvitserk scuffed, “And clocked you good, I see.” Smirking at his at his reddening face. Ivar walked over and pulled her tight black curls back to get a look at her face. “Where did you come from?” Ivar said out loud but to himself, curious. “Take her to Ubbe’s workshop.” Ivar ordered.

Kalf was sitting across the mysterious woman. He tied her wrists and ankles to a chair and waited. She yanked her head up when she came to and hissed when she tried to pull her arms away, causing the ropes to bite into her brown skin. “She’s awake.” Kalf called out to Ivar, Hvitserk and Ubbe. They came closer and Ivar gave Ubbe a nod, giving him permission to begin the interrogation. “Who sent you?” Ubbe questioned. The woman didn’t say anything and just stared at Ubbe, shooting daggers with her eyes.

“She speaks our language. She has a mouth on her that’s for sure. She called me a fucking heathen.” Kalf told them. Ivar was leaning against a table with his arms crossed, listening to Ubbe continue, “Where are you from?” His question was met with further silence. Ubbe was the strong silent type but didn’t have patience for disrespect. Ubbe pulled a knife out of his waistband and held it to her throat that was already bruising from Kalf’s choke hold from earlier. “Who fucking sent you?” His voice was darker and full of violence. She pushed her neck towards the blade and smirked when she felt it pierce her skin. “What’s your name?” Kalf asked, still sitting. She cut her eyes back over to her captor and spit out, “Vyka.”

Ubbe backed away when Ivar placed a hand on his shoulder. “Vyka, tell us why you are in Kattegat.” Ivar said leaning forward, his voice controlled. Vyka’s honey brown eyes snap up to meet Ivar’s. She rolled her tongue in her mouth and spits in Ivar’s face. He paused, gathering himself. Hvitserk’s eyes widened and he looked over at Ubbe who looked equally as concerned when they heard him start to laugh. Ivar slapped her face hard and wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed cutting off her air supply, “You will talk. Do you fucking hear me? Fight all you want; my men will rip you open and make you squeal like a fucking boar.” Ivar wiped her saliva off his face with his finger and then licked them before letting her neck go and backing away. “Break her.” Was all Ivar told the men before leaving the workshop.

***

“Kilia, how long ago have you been here, in Kattegat?” Lydia asked, her head on Kilia’s shoulder. Kilia smiled with her eyes closed thinking back to when she arrived. Kilia was brushing Lydia’s hair with her fingers and took a deep breath before answering, “I have honestly lost count baby girl.” She knew the real answer but didn’t want to remember her life before Kattegat, before Ivar.

“I was born in a brothel. My mother was a whore there and I was paid, to the brothel owner, as a debt. He taught me how to steal and would send me out into the village. I would come back with all kinds of trinkets and small treasures. As, I got older he made me get more…involved at the brothel. She didn’t need to explain what that meant to Lydia. Kilia knew that when she felt Lydia’s body stiffen.

“I was good at stealing and would often go to the market to swipe meaningless things from people’s pockets and pouches. One day I was in the courtyard of the market and saw a group of men dressed in leather with long braids. I knew they weren’t from my home, so they were easy targets and I thought I would never see them again. I reached for a pocket and a hand wrapped around my wrist tight. I can still see his crystal blue eyes staring down at me. Ivar was probably eighteen at that time and his father Ragnar was still King.” Lydia turned her head to look at Kilia as she told her story.

Kilia continued, “He smiled, dropped my hand and I ran like hell. He looked so dangerous like he could have ripped my head off. I ran back to the brothel, it was the closest thing I had to a home. No long after I returned the door was busted in and chaos surrounded me. That’s when I saw him again. The way he fought, raided and killed did something to me. By the end of it all he was pulling me to their boats and in two moons I arrived in Kattegat.” Lydia’s eyes lit up, her mouth parted to ask a question when the door opened, and Ivar walked in with Hvitserk.

Kilia saw the fire in Ivar’s eyes. She knew him well enough to know she wouldn’t get any information out of him with Lydia here, “Hvitserk, take Lydia, I need a moment with Ivar.” Lydia looked back confused. Hvitserk walked up bending down and landing a hungry kiss on her lips. “Come on Dia, leave them be.” Lydia smiled at the nickname Hvitty had given her recently, it made her feel so wanted and included.

Before Lydia walked out she turned and looked back at Kilia. Kilia gave Lydia a wink and said, “I’ll see you tonight at the gathering.” Hvitserk walked Lydia further down the hall to his room. His hand was on the small of her back guiding her inside. She turned around and lowered her eyes seductively. “Hvitserk.” Hvitserk was on her in seconds pushing her up against the wall. “Mmhmm,” was all Hvitserk could get out, he was so focused on taking off her clothes. He was desperate to feel her naked body on his again, it had been several hours since he woke up next to her after a strenuous night.  Strenuous for more than one reason. Ivar told Hvitserk he could not fuck Lydia yet, he could only use his mouth and fingers. That was like asking a starving man to not eat the feast in front him.

The tone in Lydia’s voice was coaxing him to break the rules, to disobey his brother, his king. “When will I feel you inside of me?” She asked. It was all Hvitserk could do to stop himself from ripping her clothes off and fucking her, until she passed out, right where they stood. “I want to get you ready for me. Also, Ivar will want you as well and by the looks of it Kilia too. That’s a lot to handle. I’m waiting because I want you ready.” He lied. “Ivar will want to let loose at the gathering tonight to blow off some steam. “What happened when you were gone? Where did you all go?” Hvitserk smirked at her blushed cheeks, probably from him basically saying they were all going to fuck her at the same time, “you are such a curious kitten.” He says sitting down in a massive chair.

Lydia sat on some pillows on the floor at his feet waiting for his answers, “We found another woman, like you, but unlike you she put up one hell of a fight. We asked her some questions and she would talk. She was disrespectful to Ivar and Ubbe and Kalf are with her now.” Lydia was interested and asked, “What are Ubbe and Kalf doing with her.” Hvitserk’s gaze turned intense and answered, “Kalf and Ubbe are two people no one should fuck with. They are strong and love to dish out pain. They will get her to talk.” Lydia pictured the two men taking turns beating the woman within and inch of her life and she felt ill. She pushed the idea from her mind as fast as she could.

“Kilia will calm Ivar down. She might be the only person that knows how to.” Hvitserk told her changing the subject. “How will she do that?” Lydia asked rising to her knees placing her hands on Hvitserk’s thighs. He looked down at her seeing a playful smirk cross her face. “With her mouth.” Hvitserk bit out. “She has been teaching me things…things I want to practice on you.” Lydia said moving her hand toward his belt. “Not yet kitten. I don’t know if I will be able to control myself right now, but, tonight, before the gathering, I want to formally introduce you to my older brother Ubbe.” Hvitserk smiled at his plan for her and Ubbe’s part in it. It would be delicious.

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[joking-mr-feynman]

A Fiction Writer’s Guide to English

Tips, tricks, and complaints on how to make your story sound a lot better

By a five-year-old someone not qualified to talk about writing

Disclaimer: By no means am I a writer, a linguist, or an expert on any of the subjects discussed below. However, I do read a lot (a lot), published and unpublished works alike, and this post is made to address certain syntactical, structural, grammatical, aesthetic, and linguistic issues that irk me whenever I come across them. The following is my personal opinion (albeit a well-researched one), and if I've said something horribly wrong, by all means tell me and I shall fix it post-haste. Probably.

Again, this is by no means fully comprehensive, and I doubt it is fully accurate, but from what I've read, this list could do a lot, with a few simple tips, to ameliorate fiction and fanfiction stories a thousand-fold; because, to be honest, a spelling mistake or a grammatical error is one thing that will infallibly take me out of a story and will get me to look at it with a much more critical eye. 

Note: the grammar and punctuation rules below (mostly) follow the American set of rules as standard, since I am American, and most fanfiction stories use this standard as well.

I will probably, once the initial post is out there, come and update it when I come across something that would be a helpful addition; feel free also to shoot me a message or an ask if you have a question or need clarification on anything.

These tips are ordered in no specific way whatsoever, and credit goes to all the original creators of the images and posts I reference herein.

Use the passive voice wisely. You'll hear a lot of English Teachers tell you that the passive voice is bad bad bad, and should never ever ever be used. This is not the case. While one should shy away from using it too frequently, there are some cases where the passive voice is acceptable, and even preferable. As a reminder, the passive voice is when the subject of the clause receives the action:        "The ball was kicked." Use the passive voice sparingly; it is best used when "the thing receiving an action is the important part of the the sentence—especially in scientific and legal contexts, times when the performer of an action is unknown, or cases where the subject is distracting or irrelevant". (For more info, go here.

Pay attention to the setting and the time period of your story. While this may seem self-explanatory, I have seen far too many stories where everything is going perfectly until the student who is supposed to be in a London primary school asks his "Mom" to help him with his "math" homework. (The correct words are, of course, "Mum" and "maths”.) Similarly, a gentleman living in 1880's New York will not greet his friends with "Yo, what's up, man? You good? Cool." (Yes, that is an actual line I have actually read.) I know that this can be hard, especially for authors who don't live in the country their story is set in, but a little bit of research goes a long way in making your story sound better. (This doesn't apply to writers who use anachronisms and the wrong words purposefully, for humor or otherwise).

Accents and dialects. When you want a person to speak in a certain accent or dialect, research that accent or dialect a bit to understand the most prevalent words and grammatical form, and use them in your dialogue, and, if in first person, your narration as well. You can also think about adding certain regionally-specific words, spellings and grammatical structures. If imitating a work written in that region, definitely watch the spellings and alternative words, and incorporate them in both your dialogue and your narration. ( “mom” vs. “mum”, “math” vs. “maths”, “color” vs. “colour”, etc.).    e.g., in England:         I was sitting there, laughing --> I was sat there laughing.         curb (street), jail, tires, tv --> kerb, gaol (sometimes), tyres, telly, etc. 

Beware punctuation with dialogue. Use commas. (NEVER EVER EVER CLOSE A DIALOGUE QUOTATION WITHOUT SOME FORM OF PUNCTUATION! There must ALWAYS be either a period, a comma, a question mark or an exclamation point, or an em-dash before the quotation marks close.) The following image perfectly illustrates the proper ways of punctuating dialogue: WARNING: Use em-dashes instead of en-dashes for interruptions. See below. 

Dashes vs. hyphens "-":  hyphen, used to separate parts of compound words and last names. (e.g. five-year-old; pick-me-up; short- and long-term; Lily Evans-Potter) "–":  en-dash (because it has the width of an "N"), used in number and date ranges, scores, directions, and complex compound adjectives. (e.g., he works 20–30 hours per week; the years 1861–1865 were eventful; FC Barcelona beat Real Madrid 3–2; Ming Dynasty–style furniture is expensive) (Note: when you use "from" before a range of numbers, separate the numbers with "to" instead of an en-dash.) "—": em-dash ("M"), can be used instead of parentheses, commas, colons, or for interruptions in dialogue, thought, or narration. (e.g., I know I'm right, and you're — stop throwing things at me!) (For more info, go here.)

Vary sentence lengths. When your sentences are all the same length and all the same complexity, your story starts to sound monotonous. Experiment with length, clauses, commas and semicolons, etc.: “This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.” — Gary Provost For more on sentence and paragraph structure, see thewritersguardianangel’s post.

Don't be afraid of contractions. Contractions are common in everyday speech and in everyday writing. Use these, especially in dialogue, since contractions will be used almost all the time, unless the character is older, teaching, or speaking intentionally formally. (A college student is not going to tell his friend "You have got to do this homework assignment, or you will fail the class, and the teacher has caught on to you. He will not be lenient." It'll look more like "You've got to do this homework assignment, or you'll fail the class, and the teacher's caught on to you. He won’t be lenient.")

Avoid overly verbose and complex wording, especially in dialogue. Don't use words that are very grandiose and complicated, especially in dialogue with younger people. A teen might use "merely" once or twice, especially in more formal speech, but will very probably use "just" instead. It makes dialogue more realistic too; real conversations don't often have very hypotaxical, full-of-dependent-and-subordinate-clauses language.

Use italics. Italics are, fortunately, available in all softwares and formatting when writing a story, so one mustn't shy away from using them. They provide a very good way to indicate emphasis, as well as to show anger or frustration without the use of capitals, which just make sentences sound like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Compare "'I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!' I yelled." and "'I can't believe you,' I hissed." Much more effective, no? (A good rule of thumb is: italics for everything except someone blowing their top. Think the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.)

Narrative Perspective. Unless using third person omniscient, stick to one narrative point of view for one section of text, and don't change the perspective style in the story. Don't start in third person close (like Harry Potter) and end in first person (like Percy Jackson). A note about third person close: you can change whose perspective the story is told in throughout the story, but separate those perspective changes, either via a new chapter or a scene break ("******"). Perspectives: First Person: usually singular, occurs when the narrator is telling the story. (Moby Dick, Percy Jackson). Can sometimes be plural (A Rose for Emily). Third Person Close/Limited: the narrator is separate from the main character but sticks close to that character’s experience and actions. The reader doesn’t know anything that the character could not know, nor does the reader get to witness any plot events when the main character isn’t there (Harry Potter). Third Person Omniscient: features a god-like narrator who is able to enter into the minds and action of all the characters (Little Women, The Scarlet Letter).

Use the subjunctive for conditionals and hypotheticals. This might be a bit of a controversial topic, so i'll make this optional, but strongly recommended. The subjunctive mood is what characterizes verbs in conditional and hypothetical situations, so wishes, dreams, hopes, predictions, etc. One should be wary of it in dialogue, though, because it isn't widely used. Use it freely in narration. Usually comes after if or that (e.g., I insist that he leaves leave now; If I was were there, I would be happy.)

Write out numbers. Don't use digits, use words. The man doesn't have 200 dollars, he has two hundred.

The verb "said". Unlike many who tell you never again to use the word "said" when constructing dialogue, I won't. "Said" is a good word, and should be used, but not over-used; find synonyms when it starts to get repetitive, and you can also use it with different adjectives to spice it up. Sometimes you don't need a dialogue tag at all. However, don't try to come up with a different synonym for "said" for every dialogue tag, since it just sounds excessively wordy and extremely trite.  A mistake a lot of writers make is the above, which is to replace every single instance of the word "said" with some outlandish synonym. Also, be wary not to replace a dialogue tag with an action verb (which can also lead to a comma splice) (e.g., "I can't believe you," Mike raged, "you're such an idiot!" vs. "I can't believe you!" Mike growled. "You're such an idiot!")

Connect independent clauses correctly. Independent clauses are sentence fragments which have a subject and a verb, and can stand alone as sentences. If one wants to join them into one sentence, however, there are three ways of doing so: One can use a semicolon (as discussed in the punctuation section below), or one can use a comma + coordinating conjunction. A coordinating conjunction is a word that can, after a comma, join two independent clauses, and they are FANBOYS (For, And, Nor, But, Yet, So). (e.g., Alex went to swim in the pool, but Max couldn’t come.) The last way one can connect two independent clauses is with a conjunctive adverb. Conjunctive adverbs look like coordinating conjunctions; however, they are not as strong and they are punctuated differently. Some examples of conjunctive adverbs are: accordingly, also, besides, consequently, finally, however, indeed, instead, likewise, meanwhile, moreover, nevertheless, next, otherwise, still, therefore, then, etc. When you use a conjunctive adverb, put a semicolon (;) before it and a comma (,) after it. They can also be used in a single main clause, and a comma (,) is used to separate the conjunctive adverb from the sentence. (e.g., There are many history books; however, none of them may be accurate.; I woke up very late this morning. Nevertheless, I wasn’t late to school.) These words can be placed pretty much anywhere in the second clause after the semicolon as long as they’re separated by commas on either side (e.g., Mark was happy to have finished his essay; his dog ate it, however, before he could hand it in.)

Punctuation, Punctuation, Punctuation. Watch your punctuation closely, because it can make or break your story. Dialogue punctuation has already been discussed above, but that is for formatting quotations, not for narration and the content of the quotations themselves.

Every sentence or sentence fragment, even it it’s a single word, MUST end with either a period ("."), a question mark ("?"), or an exclamation point ("!"). It can also end with an em-dash ("—") if and only if the thought or sentence is interrupted.

Commas are for separating sentences into more manageable chunks, to separate dependent clauses, and independent clauses with coordinating conjunctions (see below), and to mark off lists. (e.g., I wanted to talk to her, but she had to go shopping for milk, eggs, bread, and cheese.)

Use the Oxford comma. For those who don't know, the Oxford comma is the last comma in a list of things, just before the last item, usually before an "and" (e.g., milk, eggs, and cheese). It helps reduce a lot of confusion, and, while this is a topic that can be controversial, use it to be safe, and to avoid sentences like this: I dedicate this to my parents, my editor and Random House Publishing.

Beware the comma splice. Never ever ever separate two independent clauses (i.e., full sentences with subject, verb, and object) with just a comma. Use a period, a semicolon, or a coordinating conjunction instead. (e.g., A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves. (for this example, make the comma a period or a semicolon, or eliminate "it" from the sentence.))

Colons (":") are for denoting lists and setting up quoted text (not dialogue. Use commas for that.) (e.g., What I need is this: eggs, flour, and milk.; In Moby Dick, the main character, in the beginning of the book, says: "Call me Ishmael.")

Semicolons (";") are for separating two independent but related clauses, as discussed in the comma splice section above.

Tenses and tense agreements. This is a big one. When writing a story, choose a tense for your narration and stick with it throughout. If you start in the past, as a lot of fiction does, stay in the past until the end. Also, make sure all the tenses in your narration agree with the main tense of your story. (For flashbacks, one of two ways are possible: a blocked off section in italics, with the same tense as the main story, or within the narration, in the tense past the tense of the story (i.e. has -> had; had -> had had)) If events A, B, C happen in order, and we take B to be the "present" in the story (i.e. when the events are unfolding):

Present: B is happening. C will happen. A happened. (I walk down the aisle, happy. Hopefully nothing bad will happen. I wasn't able to cope when the incident last year happened.)

Past: B happened. C would happen. A had happened. (I walked down the aisle, happy. Hopefully nothing bad would happen. I hadn't been able to cope when the incident last year had happened.)

Give your story to someone who hasn’t read it yet. Writing and editing a story is a very comprehensive process, and both you and your beta reader will probably have read it so much that your and their eyes will be jaded and will slide over mistakes. A fresh pair of eves will always be beneficial in sussing out mistakes, typos, plot holes, and the like.

Watch for homophones, misspellings and incorrect word usage. This is the one that is most obvious, and the one that the most people catch and the most people hate. For this reason I will list the most common errors I have seen in hopes of helping those lost souls find they’re way. (See what I did their?) I’ll put in a break to not make this post any longer than it already is: 

Index: v. = verb; n. = noun; adj. = adjective; prep. = preposition; adv. adverb; conj. = conjunction.

There vs. their vs. they’re There = In, at, or to that place or position (Look over there! Who’s in there?) Their = third person plural possessive pronoun (my, your, his, our, their) (This is their car, that one is mine.) They’re = contraction for they are (They’re window shopping.) ex: If you look over there, you can see the Simpsons. They’re looking for their car.

Your vs. you’re Your = second person possessive pronoun (This is your card, that one’s mine.) You’re = contraction of you are (Stop shouting! You’re so loud!) You’re insufferable when you get your report card back.

Too vs. to Too = adverb: to a higher degree than is desirable, permissible, or possible; in addition, also (It's too hot in here; You love the Beatles? I love them too!) To = (prep): expressing motion in the direction of; identifying the person or thing affected; concerning or likely to concern something; identifying a particular relationship between one person and another (walking down to the mall; he was very nice to me; a threat to world peace; he's married to that woman over there) (infinitive marker): used with the base form of a verb to indicate that the verb is in the infinitive, in particular. (He was left to die.)

-'s vs. -s  vs. -s' (and similar apostrophic conundrums) -'s = a contraction for is, has, or us; possessive indicator for nouns. (it's = it is; let's = let us; he's = he is; a car's = of a car; she’s done it = she has done it); NEVER A PLURAL -s = indicator for plural nouns; with it, a possessive indicator. (phones = more than one phone; cars = more than one car; its = of it, owned by it) -s' = indicator of possessive plural nouns, and possessive for words ending in -s. (cars' = of multiple cars; Iris' = of Iris) Come on, let's go, he's not gonna come anytime soon. Iris' car's broken down, and the car's tires' air pressure is almost zero, and its exhaust pipe is clogged. The towing company workers are going to come soon. 

Were vs. we're Were = plural past tense of "to be"; subjunctive of "to be" (We were really happy; If I were rich, I would do this.) We're = Contraction of "we are" (We're going out tonight!) If I were you, I would have made your announcement when we were all together. Now we're all doing our own thing.

Who’s vs. whose Who's =  contraction of who is (Who's doing this?) Whose = belonging to or associated with which person (Whose pen is this?) Who's drawing on the board? Can you tell whose handwriting that is?

Who vs. whom Who = what or which person or people, the subject of a verb; used to introduce a clause giving further information (Who ate my apple?; Jack, who was my best friend) Whom = what or which person or people, the object of a verb (By whom was my apple eaten?) Who left this jacket here? To whom does it belong?

X and I vs. X and me X and I = (= we) used when both subjects are the subject of the verb. (Mike and I went to the mall.) X and me = (= us) used when both subjects are the objects of the verb. (My father took Mike and me to the shop.) A good way of figuring out which one to use is to get rid of the second person altogether, and see which pronoun you would use in that case: Mike and I went to the shop –> I went to the shop; He took Mike and me to the shop –> He took me to the shop.

Wary vs. weary Wary = (adj.) feeling or showing caution about possible dangers or problems. (Be wary of strangers.) Weary = (adj.) feeling or showing tiredness, especially as a result of excessive exertion or lack of sleep; reluctant to see any more of; (v.): to cause to become tired (He looked at me with weary, sleepless eyes.) His long day’s march had made him weary, but, wary of possible dangers, he made himself stay awake and keep watch.

Affect vs. effect (for our purposes, excluding obscure definitions) Affect = (v.) to have an effect on; to bring a difference to (The US foreign policy greatly affected European trade.) Effect  = (n.) a change that is a result or consequence of an action or other cause (The US policy's effect on European trade was largely detrimental.) Judaism's effect on Christianity largely affected the New Testament.

Could of, would of, should of THESE ARE NOT WORDS. They sound like real ones, but they're not.  The correct forms are: could have, would have, should have. (You can also contract them to could've, would've, should've.)

Lose vs. loose Lose = verb; to be deprived of or cease to have; to become unable to find something; to lose a game (I always lose my keys; If we don’t score soon, we’ll lose; I can’t keep losing people) Loose = adjective; not firmly or tightly fixed in place; detached or able to be detached (These pants are too loose; Let loose! You're too strung-up!) Loose shirts and pants are comfortable, but don't wear them to interviews or you'll lose your reputation and respectability.

Except vs. accept Except = (prep.): not including; other than (everything except for my socks) (conj.): used before a statement that forms an exception to one just made (I didn't tell him anything, except that I needed the money). Accept = (v.) consent to receive; give an affirmative answer to; believe or come to recognize (an opinion) as correct (he accepted a pen as a present; he accepted their offer; her explanation was accepted by her friends.) He accepted every one of her excuses, except for her claim that her dog had eaten her homework.

Peak vs. peek (vs. peaked/peaky) Peak =  (n.): point or top of a mountain; point of highest activity; (v.): reach a highest point (He climbed to the peak of Mt. Everest; I peaked in sixth grade) peaked (US), peaky (UK)= (of a person) gaunt and pale from illness or fatigue. (You look a bit peaked/peaky. Are you ill?) Peek = look quickly, typically in a furtive manner; protrude slightly so as to be just visible (Faces peeked from behind the curtains; his socks were so full of holes his toes peeked through) Don't peek through the curtains!, he said, then climbed to the peak of a nearby hill.

Advice vs. advise Advice = noun: guidance or recommendations (e.g., He's in dire need of some relationship advice.) Advise = verb: offer suggestions about the best course of action to someone; to recommend; to inform. (I often advise my friends regarding their scholastic endeavors; I advise you to take this class; you will be advised of the requirements) Go, advise him about what to do for his relationship; he'll heed your advice.

Suit vs. suite Suit = (n.): outfit, set of clothes, men's outfit with jacket and pants (He's wearing a very nice suit.) (v.): be convenient for or acceptable to; act to one's own wishes; to go well with. (He lies when it suits him; suit yourself; that hat suits you.)    to follow suit = conform to another's actions. (James started eating and Lily followed suit.) Suite = a set of rooms designated for one person's or family's use or for a particular purpose; a set of instrumental compositions (I rented out the honeymoon suite; I love Gustav Holst's The Planets' Suite) The man, dressed in a sharp suit, stepped out of the honeymoon suite, and his newlywed wife followed suit.

Curb vs. curve Curb = (n.): a stone or concrete edging to a street or path (He parked his car on the curb) (v.): to restrain or keep in check (Curb your enthusiasm) Curve = noun: a line or outline that gradually deviates from being straight for some or all of its length; verb: to form or cause to form a curve (The parapet wall sweeps down in a bold curve; her mouth curved down) He parked his car on the curb, just where the road started to curve into the suburbs.

Ladder vs. latter vs. later Ladder = a structure consisting of a series of bars or steps between two upright lengths of wood, metal, or rope, used for climbing up or down something (He climbed the ladder.) Latter = situated or occurring nearer to the end of something than to the beginning; denoting the second or second mentioned of two people or things (The latter half of 1946; Arthur and Richard were friends, and the former died while the latter lived.) Later = comparative of late. (I was late, he was later.) Frank and Emma, while friends, had a falling-out; the former went into the ladder-making business, and, two years later, the latter moved to France. 

Lay vs. lie (re: the reclining or putting down definitions)

Break vs. brake Break = (v.): separate or cause to separate into pieces as a result of a blow; to interrupt (If you pull on the rope too much, it'll break.) (n.): an interruption; a pause from work (You're way too tired! Take a break!) Brake = (n., with equivalent verb) a device for slowing or stopping a moving vehicle. (If you want to stop your car, you have to press on the brakes.) Don't step on the brake so hard! You'll break both our necks!

Taught vs. taut Taught = past tense of "to teach" (I taught middle schoolers in Boston for three years.) Taut = (adj.) stretched or pulled tight, not slack; (of muscles) tense and not relaxed (The rope was pulled taut; all his muscles were taut and straining) In the fitness class my friend taught, he said that you shouldn't keep your muscles taut all the time.  

Through vs. threw Through = (prep.): moving in one side and out of the other side; continuing in time toward completion of; so as to inspect all or part of; by means of (a process or intermediate stage) Threw = (v.) past tense of "to throw" I threw the ball straight through the doorway.

Retch vs. wretch Retch = (n., v.) make the sound and movement of vomiting (When I saw the blood, I retched.) Wretch = (n.) an unfortunate or unhappy person; a despicable or contemptible person. (the wretches were imprisoned; ungrateful wretches) I almost retched at the thought of being nice to that ungrateful wretch.

Ring vs. wring Ring = 1. (n.) a circular band; a group of people or things arranged in a circle. (Her engagement ring was beautiful; the men stood in a ring.) 2. (v., associated n.) make a clear resonant or vibrating sound; (of a place) resound or reverberate with (a sound or sounds) (Church bells are ringing; the room rang with laughter) Wring = (v.) squeeze and twist (something); break by twisting it forcibly (I wring the cloth out into the sink; I wrung the animal's neck) If you don't stop that alarm from ringing, I'm gonna wring your neck!

Bear vs. bare Bear = 1. (v.) To carry; to support; to endure. (He was bearing a tray with a tea service on it; weight-bearing pillars; I can't bear it!) 2. (n.) a large, heavy, mammal that walks on the soles of its feet, with thick fur (Polar bear) Bare = (adj.) not clothed or covered; basic and simple (He was bare from the waist up; the bare essentials of a plan) Apparently, men can't bear to see women's bare shoulders.

Pose vs. poise Pose = 1. (v., w/ associated n.) assume a particular attitude or position in order to be photographed, painted, or drawn (She posed for the camera). 2. (v.) to present or constitute (a problem, danger, or difficulty); to raise (a question) (This storm is posing a threat to our summer plans; a statement that posed more questions than it answered) Poise = (n.) graceful and elegant bearing in a person. (Poise and good manners can be cultivated.) Poise is not just striking a haughty pose; it's about how you hold yourself.

Pore vs. pour Pore = 1. (n.) a minute opening in a surface (this opens up the pores in your skin) 2. (v.) be absorbed in the reading or study of (I spent hours poring over my physics textbook). Pour = (v.) (especially of a liquid) flow rapidly in a steady stream; to cause a liquid to do so (The water poured off the roof; I poured myself a glass of milk). As I was cleansing my pores with a face mask and poring over my favorite book, I accidentally spilled the water I had poured myself all over my pants.

Breech vs. breeches vs. breach Breech = the part of a cannon behind the bore. Breeches  = short trousers fastened just below the knee Breach = an act of breaking; failing to observe a law, agreement, or code of conduct, or the action of doing so (A breach of contract; the river breached its banks) (Come on, guys, no one wants to hear about an army trouser-ing the perimeter.)

Rend vs. render Rend = (v.) tear (something) into two or more pieces (teeth that would rend human flesh to shreds) — Note: the correct term is heartrending, since whatever does that rips the heart in two. Render = (v.) provide or give (a service, help, etc.); cause to be or become; represent or depict artistically (A reward for services rendered; the rain rendered my escape impossible; the eyes are exceptionally well rendered) The artist's rendering of the wolf's fangs, which would easily rend human flesh to shreds, was amazingly realistic.

Damnit It's either dammit or damn it. The "n" disappears if it merges into one word, but stays if it's two.

Conclusion: Look. Writing is hard. I know. Some of the above tips seem fairly obvious, and I know that mistakes, errors, and typos happen and go unnoticed. That being said, if you apply these tips regularly, and devote a bit more time to proofreading and editing, the quality of your story and the satisfaction of a lot of your readers will increase tremendously. Authors, I know writing is a thankless job, and many of you are sacrificing your own time to satisfy your followers and your readers; and for that, on behalf of your readers, and even on behalf of those that read and don’t leave reviews, thank you. Do not ever think that this post is meant to belittle you or your devotion to your craft; it is just a list of hopefully helpful suggestions that can help you and, with it, please those readers — like me — who are unfortunately too picky for their own good. And again, use these tips freely (I take credit only for putting them together), good luck, and know that you are universally loved for your efforts, past, continuing, stopped, or postponed. Thank you.

[twxntrash]

Stories from Work

I’ve worked at Burger King for maybe five or six years now and boy do you get colorful people.

Pair of college girls who came inside wearing onesies 

The older guy who comes through drive thru and his entire passanger seat is full of empty fast food bags and cups.

Group of guys who hit on the girls at the window.

The drunk college guy who asked me to marry him during DDays

The pair of college guys who went to the stores back door and peed on it during DDays

Students who park their cars in the customer parking lot over night or during class even though there is a sign saying they can’t do that.

They then get pissed at us when we get their cars towed. Since their cars get towed to Yankton, which is an hour away. And we give them warnings, its’ only on the third time that we tow them.

This one guy who came in almost every day and handed us his (old) medium cup demanding we refill it with water. If we try to give him a new cup he gets pissed and yells at us

This one lady who came through drive ordered about fifty nuggets and three orders of chicken fries. I asked if she wanted sauce, she said no. Came back not even five minutes later yelling because we didn’t give her any zesty sauce like she asked. Fun thing is, I even asked her again when she paid for her food if she was sure she didn’t want sauce.

This one girl known as ‘Jessica’ who every week calls the store with the same claim. That she ordered food the previous day on drive, but it was all cold. She gets pissed when we tell her we can’t give her the same order for free because 1. She says she doesn’t have a receipt and 2. The order was from yesterday and we generally only compensate for food if the call is made the same day you ordered the meal.

Fun thing is, we know she’s lying because she claimed she ordered lunch at 10:30 in the morning one time and it was all cold. Our food would have quite literally just came out of the fryers and broilers because we switch to lunch at that time.

Older guy who comes in every day, all he orders is a senior coffee. He’ll sit down right in front of the TV, read the newspaper and stay there for hours. Just drinking coffee and reading the paper.

So, one day we had a big group of college kids come in. They were really cool and polite. took up our group table and half of the second (smaller) group table. They asked politely if we could change the channel, because there was a football game and they would like to watch while they ate. We didn’t have a problem with that, so we changed it to their channel. Manager made the mistake of leaving the remote by the register instead of taking it back in the office.

So the older guy from the previous point came in with a friend, ordered his usual coffee and just parked themselves at the table the college kids were already sitting at. The college kids were rightfully confused and bothered by this stranger joining them.

He then went back to the counter, took the remote and changed it to the news without asking if he could do that.

Neither him or the friend he was with were even watching the news. He read the newspaper and his friend was on his laptop. TV was on mute with subtitles.

The college students were upset. The older man got pissy when manager changed it back to the game.

Had a pair of guys, probably high schoolers come through drive thru. I read back their order when they were at the speakers, I read back their order when they got to the window. They said they were missing a large fry, so I read back what was on the ticket and they said it was all in there. I explained to them that they did not pay for a second large fry, that I read back their order to them twice before they paid to make sure there was no mistake. That if they wanted a second large fry they’d have to pay for it. 

They called me a bitch for it. 

This really high guy came in, ordered a large meal with our most expensive sandwich. Gave me a prepaid card, it only had 50 cents on it so I told him that and how much he still had left to pay. 

He said cool, asked for his ticket. I explained again that, no, you don’t have fifty cents left on your card, that was how much the card covered. He still had to pay the rest.

His credit/debit card was declined, I swiped it a few times but nope.

His university card (we can put money on it, act like a pre paid card) had insufficient funds.

He apparently didn’t understand we needed his pre-paid card back so we could put the 50 cents back on it.

5 minutes later he came back asking if his food was ready. We had to explain that he couldn’t pay for the order so no he doesn’t get food. He then tried to order again, but his cards still were declined.

A guy who new him spotted him a few bucks so that the rest of the line could order. He tries to a 9 dollar meal for like 3 bucks. 

I had the misery to deal with a naked guy on drive thru. 

Many guys who like to come in shirtless or come thru drive in their underwear.

Someone puked in the urinal

Someone broke the urinal

A guy using the womens restroom to pee and not locking it. The lady who walked in on that blamed us for it. 

A group of 11 year olds running around the store and bothering customers. They didn’t order anything or were with anyone. They just came in to play around. Got told to leave.

Parents letting their kids run around the store like its a playground. 

A guy who comes through every night asking for hash browns. 

We got asked if we do delivery many times.

So during times when our orders are backed up, the managers don’t let us take any more orders on drive until we get most the food out. We tell them “I’m sorry, an order taker will be with you shortly, sorry for the inconvenience’, almost every time one lane will try to keep ordering.

One time a guy did this, so I went on speaker and repeated the line that we’d be with them shortly. He paused, then tried ordering again. I told him more firmly that we’d be with him as soon as we could. He asked if he could go to the window to order. 

another time, I told one lane this, and then I moved to the other lane to tell them it as well, that an order-taker would be with them shortly. Lane 1 got pissed and yelled ‘We were here first!”

People who pull up really far from the window, that it’s hard to reach them. They barely reach out to hand their money or take their food. We have to practically lean our entire bodies out the window to give them their stuff.

One guy did this, the employee who was at the asked if he could pull up closer to the window next time. He snapped that ‘maybe if you weren’t so fat you could reach!’. She was pregnant and he wasn’t even within the yellow line cars need to be in when at window.

This guy came in, ordered something that came up to a little over six dollars. Paid in all dimes and nickles.

Frat kids who come in, ask an employee to wear the BK crown so they can take a selfie with us. Don’t order anything.

A college kid came in, paid for his food in singles, then threw the ones at me saying ‘Hey now you’re a stripper!’ while laughing.

We had this mom come in one night the week of christmas with her baby and seven year old daughter. A table next to hers were talking and cursed. She went APESHIT over it. Started yelling at them, telling them to apologize and to shut up. Demanded that the manager kick the other table out for being a disturbance. Manager said that he could not because the table has not caused any sort of problem that he has seen. She started swearing at him, demanding a refund. He couldn’t because her daughter had already started eating (You could tell the girl was mortified by her mom)

She got kicked out, then threatened the manager that she’d call his supervisor about this and that she was going to mcdonalds. Like we cared, McDonalds getting 1 more customer wasn’t going to make their sales better than ours.

Customer asking for barbecue sauce with their ice cream. Since it’s not with an item that gets sauce,we charge 15 cents per packet. She got pissed.

We have a lady who comes through on drive-thru in a motorized wheelchair, asked for 4 crispy juniors, when counting out her change she had a twenty and a few ones and a handful of change. Gave me 2 ones and all the change. Was a dollar short. I told her that. She looked through the rest of her change all dumbfounded. I asked her if she would like to just take off one sandwhich, because then she’d have enough with what she handed me. Said that if she had the 4-something to cover all four she’d take the four juniors. 

She still had a twenty and a few ones in her hand. But apparently she didn’t have ‘enough change’ to cover a dollar. Acted like it was our fault.

People who come over after dining room is closed and locked up. They try our main door and then move to the side door as though it’d be unlocked. 

People who start banging on our windows to let them in so they can order food after the inside is locked up.

People who ask for a shake 15 minutes till we close. We tell them our ice cream machine is down for its nightly maintenance (We turn it off 30 minutes before close) and they go ‘okay, then can I have an ice cream cone’. Like, dude, if we don’t have ice cream for shakes, we don’t have ice cream for cones.

People who order the #2 Texas Double Whopper, come back complaining that it’s the wrong sandwhich that they ordered a #2. We have to explain to them that the Texas Double is the #2 and that it is not the same as a double whopper. 

We had this guy who apparently regularly ordered a bacon double whopper cheese plain with a large fry. After we had a small price increase, he was mad that it cost more than it usually did. Said that it wasn’t how much it should cost, that I rang it up wrong. I read back exactly as it was listed. He interrupted me every two words ‘that’s not right’ when it was right. He just wouldn’t let me ever finish what I was saying. Manager talked to him and spent almost ten minutes at the window trying to explain to this man who clearly did not want to listen that the prices went up, why they went up, and how it all came to the total it came to. He made us delete his order and left. Haven’t seen him since.

Back when we had waffle cones, I had this couple who ordered two twist cones, waffle cones. When I gave them their ice cream they yelled that we charged them double. I spent a few minutes having to explain to them that that’s not what their receipt is saying.

Former high school classmate of mine came on drive thru demanding a military discount. I had to explain to her that our stores supervisor doesn’t want us doing discounts on drive. There is a sign saying it on the window.

People who order Bic Macs. at Burger King.

People who don’t order the right sandwhich (Ask for a Rodeo Burger/Meant Rodeo King, Ask for a Crispy Chicken/Meant Crispy Chicken Junior) and blame us for their mistake.

People who just say ‘I want the chicken Sandwhich’ and don’t clarify, so we have to list all our chicken sandwhiches so we know which one they want.

[rhetoricandlogic]

The Dragonslayer of Merebarton

— by K.J. PARKER —

AUDIO VERSION

I was mending my chamber pot when they came to tell me about the dragon.

Mending a pot is one of those jobs you think is easy, because tinkers do it, and tinkers are no good or they’d be doing something else. Actually, it’s not easy at all. You have to drill a series of very small holes in the broken pieces, then thread short lengths of wire through the holes, then twist the ends of the wires together really tight, so as to draw the bits together firmly enough to make the pot watertight. In order to do the job you need a very hard, sharp, thin drill bit, a good eye, loads of patience, and at least three pairs of rock-steady hands. The tinker had quoted me a turner and a quarter; get lost, I told him, I’ll do it myself. It was beginning to dawn on me that some sorts of work are properly reserved for specialists.

Ah, the irony.

Stupid of me to break it in the first place. I’m not usually that clumsy. Stumbling about in the dark, was how I explained it. You should’ve lit a lamp, then, shouldn’t you, she said. I pointed out that you don’t need a lamp in the long summer evenings. She smirked at me. I don’t think she quite understands how finely balanced our financial position is. We’re not hard up, nothing like that. There’s absolutely no question of having to sell off any of the land, or take out mortgages. It’s just that, if we carry on wasting money unnecessarily on lamp-oil and tinkers and like frivolities, there’ll come a time when the current slight reduction in our income will start to be a mild nuisance. Only temporary, of course. The hard times will pass, and soon we’ll all be just fine.

Like I said, the irony.

“Ebba’s here to see you,” she said.

She could see I was busy. “He’ll have to come back,” I snapped. I had three little bits of wire gripped between my lips, which considerably reduced my snapping power.

“He said it’s urgent.”

“Fine.” I put down the pot—call it that, no way it was a pot anymore. It was disjointed memories of the shape of a pot, loosely tied together with metal string, like the scale armor the other side wore in Outremer. “Send him up.”

“He’s not coming up here in those boots,” she said, and at once I realized that no, he wasn’t, not when she was using that tone of voice. “And why don’t you just give up on that? You’re wasting your time.”

Women have no patience. “The tinker—”

“That bit doesn’t go there.”

I dropped the articulated mess on the floor and walked past her, down the stairs, into the great hall. Great, in this context, is strictly a comparative term.

Ebba and I understand each other. For a start, he’s practically the same age as me—I’m a week younger; so what? We both grew up silently ashamed of our fathers (his father Ossun was the laziest man on the estate; mine—well) and we’re both quietly disappointed with our children. He took over his farm shortly before I came home from Outremer, so we both sort of started off being responsible for our own destinies around the same time. I have no illusions about him, and I can’t begin to imagine he has any about me. He’s medium height, bald and thin, stronger than he looks and smarter than he sounds. He used to set up the targets and pick up the arrows for me when I was a boy; never used to say anything, just stood there looking bored.

He had that look on his face. He told me I wasn’t going to believe what he was about to tell me.

The thing about Ebba is, he has absolutely no imagination. Not even when roaring drunk—whimpering drunk in his case; very rare occurrence, in case you’ve got the impression he’s what she calls basically-no-good. About twice a year, specific anniversaries. I have no idea what they’re the anniversaries of, and of course I don’t ask. Twice a year, then, he sits in the hayloft with a big stone jar and only comes out when it’s empty. Not, is the point I’m trying to make, prone to seeing things not strictly speaking there.

“There’s a dragon,” he said.

Now Ossun, his father, saw all manner of weird and wonderful things. “Don’t be bloody stupid,” I said. He just looked at me. Ebba never argues or contradicts; doesn’t need to.

“All right,” I said, and the words just sort of squeezed out, like a fat man in a narrow doorway. “Where?”

“Down Merebarton.”

A brief digression concerning dragons.

There’s no such thing. However, there’s the White Drake (its larger cousin, the Blue Drake, is now almost certainly extinct). According to Hrabanus’ Imperfect Bestiary, the White Drake is a native of the large and entirely unexpected belt of marshes you stumble into after you’ve crossed the desert, going from Crac Boamond to the sea. Hrabanus thinks it’s a very large bat, but conscientiously cites Priscian, who holds that it’s a featherless bird, and Saloninus, who maintains that it’s a winged lizard. The White Drake can get to be five feet long—that’s nose to tip-of-tail; three feet of that is tail, but it can still give you a nasty nip. They launch themselves out of trees, which can be horribly alarming (I speak from personal experience). White Drakes live almost exclusively on carrion and rotting fruit, rarely attack unless provoked, and absolutely definitely don’t breathe fire.

White Drakes aren’t found outside Outremer. Except, some idiot of a nobleman brought back five breeding pairs about a century ago, to decorate the grounds of his castle. Why people do these things, I don’t know. My father tried to keep peacocks once. As soon as we opened the cage they were off like arrows from the bowstring; next heard of six miles away, and could we please come and do something about them, because they were pecking the thatch out in handfuls. My father rode over that way, happening to take his bow with him. No more was ever said about peacocks.

Dragons, by contrast, are nine to ten feet long excluding the tail; they attack on sight, and breathe fire. At any rate, this one did.

Three houses and four barns in Merebarton, two houses and a hayrick in Stile. Nobody hurt yet, but only a matter of time. A dozen sheep carcasses, stripped to the bone. One shepherd reported being followed by the horrible thing: he saw it, it saw him, he turned and ran; it just sort of drifted along after him, hardly a wingbeat, as if mildly curious. When he couldn’t run any further, he tried crawling down a badger hole. Got stuck, head down the hole, legs sticking up in the air. He reckoned he felt the thump as the thing pitched down next to him, heard the snuffling—like a bull, he reckoned; felt its warm breath on his ankles. Time sort of stopped for a while, and then it went away again. The man said it was the first time he’d pissed himself and felt the piss running down his chest and dripping off his chin. Well, there you go.

The Brother at Merebarton appears to have taken charge, the way they do. He herded everyone into the grain store—stone walls, yes, but a thatched roof; you’d imagine even a Brother would’ve watched them making charcoal some time—and sent a terrified young kid off on a pony to, guess what. You’ve got it. Fetch the knight.

At this point, the story recognizes (isn’t that what they say in Grand Council?) Dodinas le Cure Hardy, age fifty-six, knight, of the honors of Westmoor, Merebarton, East Rew, Middle Side, and Big Room; veteran of Outremer (four years, so help me), in his day a modest success on the circuit—three second places in ranking tournaments, two thirds, usually in the top twenty out of an average field of forty or so. Through with all that a long time ago, though. I always knew I was never going to be one of those gaunt, terrifying old men who carry on knocking ’em down and getting knocked down into their sixties. I had an uncle like that, Petipas of Lyen. I saw him in a tournament when he was sixty-seven, and some young giant bashed him off his horse. Uncle landed badly, and I watched him drag himself up off the ground, so desperately tired. I was only, what, twelve; even I could see, every last scrap of flesh and bone was yelling, don’t want to do this anymore. But he stood up, shamed the young idiot into giving him a go on foot, and proceeded to use his head as an anvil for ten minutes before graciously accepting his surrender. There was so much anger in that performance—not at the kid, for showing him up, Uncle wasn’t like that. He was furious with himself for getting old, and he took it out on the only target available. I thought the whole thing was disturbing and sad. I won’t ever be like that, I told myself.

(The question was, is: why? I can understand fighting. I fought—really fought—in Outremer. I did it because I was afraid the other man was going to kill me. So happens my defense has always been weak, so I compensate with extreme aggression. Never could keep it going for very long, but on the battlefield that’s not usually an issue. So I attacked anything that moved with white-hot ferocity fueled entirely and exclusively by ice-cold fear. Tournaments, though, jousting, behourd, the grand melee—what was the point? I have absolutely no idea, except that I did feel very happy indeed on those rare occasions when I got a little tin trophy to take home. Was that enough to account for the pain of being laid up six weeks with two busted ribs? Of course it wasn’t. We do it because it’s what we do; one of my father’s more profound statements. Conversely, I remember my aunt: silly woman, too soft for her own good. She kept these stupid big white chickens, and when they got past laying she couldn’t bear to have their necks pulled. Instead, they were taken out into the woods and set free, meaning in real terms fed to the hawks and foxes. One time, my turn, I lugged down a cage with four hens and two cocks squashed in there, too petrified to move. Now, what draws in the fox is the clucking; so I turned them out in different places, wide apart, so they had nobody to talk to. Released the last hen, walking back down the track; already the two cock birds had found each other, no idea how, and were ripping each other into tissue scraps with their spurs. They do it because it’s what they do. Someone once said, the man who’s tired of killing is tired of life. Not sure I know what that means.)

A picture is emerging, I hope, of Dodinas le Cure Hardy; while he was active in chivalry he tried to do what was expected of him, but his heart was never in it. Glad, in a way, to be past it and no longer obliged to take part. Instead, prefers to devote himself to the estate, trying to keep the ancestral mess from collapsing in on itself. A man aware of his obligations, and at least some of his many shortcomings.

Go and fetch the knight, says the fool of a Brother. Tell him—

On reflection, if I hadn’t seen those wretched White Drakes in Outremer, there’s a reasonable chance I’d have refused to believe in a dragon trashing Merebarton, and then, who knows, it might’ve flown away and bothered someone else. Well, you don’t know, that’s the whole point. It’s that very ignorance that makes life possible. But when Ebba told me what the boy told him he’d seen, immediately I thought; White Drake. Clearly it wasn’t one, but it was close enough to something I’d seen to allow belief to seep into my mind, and then I was done for. No hope.

Even so, I think I said, “Are you sure?” about six or seven times, until eventually it dawned on me I was making a fool of myself. At which point, a horrible sort of mist of despair settled over me, as I realized that this extraordinary, impossible, grossly and viciously unfair thing had landed on me, and that I was going to have to deal with it.

But you do your best. You struggle, just as a man crushed under a giant stone still draws in the last one or two desperate whistling breaths; pointless, but you can’t just give up. So I looked him steadily in the eye, and I said, “So, what do they expect me to do about it?”

He didn’t say a word. Looked at me.

“The hell with that,” I remember shouting. “I’m fifty-six years old, I don’t even hunt boar anymore. I’ve got a stiff knee. I wouldn’t last two minutes.”

He looked at me. When you’ve known someone all your life, arguing with them is more or less arguing with yourself. Never had much joy with lying to myself. Or anyone else, come to that. Of course, my mother used to say: the only thing I want you not to be the best in the world at is lying. She said a lot of that sort of thing; much better written down on paper rather than said out loud in casual conversation, but of course she couldn’t read or write. She also tended to say: do your duty. I don’t think she ever liked me very much. Loved, of course, but not liked.

He was looking at me. I felt like that poor devil under the stone (at the siege of Crac des Bests; man I knew slightly). Comes a point when you just can’t breathe anymore.

We do have a library: forty-seven books. The Imperfect Bestiary is an abridged edition, local copy, drawings are pretty laughable, they make everything look like either a pig or a cow, because that’s all the poor fool who drew it had ever seen. So there I was, looking at a picture of a big white cow with wings, thinking: how in God’s name am I supposed to kill something like that?

White Drakes don’t breathe fire, but there’s this stupid little lizard in Permia somewhere that does. About eighteen inches long, otherwise completely unremarkable; not to put too fine a point on it, it farts through its mouth and somehow contrives to set fire to it. You see little flashes and puffs of smoke among the reed beds. So it’s possible. Wonderful.

(Why would anything want to do that? Hrabanus, who has an answer for every damn thing, points out that the reed beds would clog up the delta, divert the flowing water and turn the whole of South Permia into a fetid swamp if it wasn’t for the frequent, regular fires, which clear off the reed and lay down a thick bed of fertile ash, just perfect for everything else to grow sweet and fat and provide a living for the hundreds of species of animals and birds who live there. The fires are started by the lizards, who appear to serve no other function. Hrabanus points to this as proof of the Divine Clockmaker theory. I think they do it because it’s what they do, though I’m guessing the lizards who actually do the fire-starting are resentful younger sons. Tell you about my brother in a minute.)

She found me in the library. Clearly she’d been talking to Ebba. “Well?” she said.

I told her what I’d decided to do. She can pull this face of concentrated scorn and fury. It’s so intensely eloquent, there’s really no need for her to add words. But she does. Oh, she does.

“I’ve got no choice,” I protested. “I’m the knight.”

“You’re fifty-six and you get out of breath climbing the stairs. And you’re proposing to fight dragons.”

It’s a black lie about the stairs. Just that one time; and that was the clock-tower. Seventy-seven steps to the top. “I don’t want to do it,” I pointed out. “Last bloody thing I want—”

“Last bloody thing you’ll ever do, if you’re stupid enough to do it.” She never swears, except when quoting me back at myself. “Just think for a minute, will you? If you get yourself killed, what’ll happen to this place?”

“I have no intention of getting myself—”

“Florian’s too young to run the estate,” she went on, as though I hadn’t spoken. “That clown of a bailiff of yours can’t be trusted to remember to breathe without someone standing over him. On top of which, there’s heriot and wardship, that’s hundreds and hundreds of thalers we simply haven’t got, which means having to sell land, and once you start doing that you might as well load up a handcart and take to the roads, because—”

“Absolutely no intention of getting killed,” I said.

“And for crying out loud don’t shout,” she shouted. “It’s bad enough you’re worrying me to death without yelling at me as well. I don’t know why you do this to me. Do you hate me, or something?”

We were four and a quarter seconds away from tears, and I really can’t be doing with that. “All right,” I said. “So tell me. What do I do?”

“I don’t know, do I? I don’t get myself into these ridiculous messes.” I wish I could do that; I should be able to. After all, it’s the knight’s move, isn’t it? A step at right angles, then jump clean over the other man’s head. “What about that useless brother of yours? Send him.”

The dreadful thing is, the same thought had crossed my mind. It’d be—well, not acceptable, but within the rules, meaning there’s precedents. Of course, I’d have to be practically bedridden with some foul but honorable disease. Titurel is ten years younger than me and still competing regularly on the circuit, though at the time he was three miles away, at the lodge, with some female he’d found somewhere. And if I really was ill—

I was grateful to her. If she hadn’t suggested it, I might just have considered it. As it was; “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Just think, if I was to chicken out and Titurel actually managed to kill this bloody thing. We’ve got to live here. He’d be insufferable.”

She breathed through her nose; like, dare I say it, one of the D things. “All right,” she said. “Though how precisely it’s better for you to get killed and your appalling brother moves in and takes over running the estate—”

“I am not going to get killed,” I said.

“But there, you never listen to me, so I might as well save my breath.” She paused and scowled at me. “Well?”

Hard, sometimes, to remember that when I married her, she was the Fair Maid of Lannandale. “Well what?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Oh,” he said, sort of half-turning and wiping his forehead on his forearm. “It’s you.”

Another close contemporary of mine. He’s maybe six months older than me, took over the forge just before my father died. He’s never liked me. Still, we understand each other. He’s not nearly as good a tradesman as he thinks he is, but he’s good enough.

“Come to pay me for those harrows?” he said.

“Not entirely,” I replied. “I need something made.”

“Of course you do.” He turned his back on me, dragged something orange-hot out from under the coals, and bashed it, very hard, very quickly, for about twenty seconds. Then he shoved it back under the coals and hauled on the bellows handle a dozen times. Then he had leisure to talk to me. “I’ll need a deposit.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. There was a small heap of tools piled up on the spare anvil. I moved them carefully aside and spread out my scraps of parchment. “Now, you’ll need to pay attention.”

The parchment I’d drawn my pathetic attempts at sketches on was the fly-leaf out of Monomachus of Teana’s Principles of Mercantile Law. I’d had just enough left over to use for a very brief note, which I’d folded four times, sealed, and sent the stable boy off to deliver. It came back, folded the other way; and under my message, written in big crude handwriting, smudged for lack of sand—

What the hell do you want it for?

I wasn’t in the mood. I stamped back into the house (I’d been out in the barn, rummaging about in the pile of old junk), got out the pen and ink and wrote sideways up the margin (only just enough room, writing very small)—

No time. Please. Now.

I underlined please twice. The stable boy had wandered off somewhere, so I sent the kitchenmaid. She whined about having to go out in her indoors shoes. I ask you.

Moddo the blacksmith is one of those men who gets caught up in the job in hand. He whinges and complains, then the problems of doing the job snag his imagination, and then your main difficulty is getting it away from him when it’s finished, because he’s just come up with some cunning little modification which’ll make it ever so slightly, irrelevantly better.

He does good work. I was so impressed I paid cash.

“Your design was useless, so I changed it,” he’d said. A bit of an overstatement. What he’d done was to substitute two thin springs for one fat one, and add on a sort of ratchet thing taken off a millers’ winch, to make it easier to wind it up. It was still sticky with the oil he’d quenched it in. The sight of it made my flesh crawl.

Basically, it was just a very, very large gin trap, with an offset pressure plate. “It’s pretty simple,” I said. “Think about it. Think about birds. In order to get off the ground, they’ve got very light bones, right?”

Ebba shrugged: if you say so.

“Well,” I told him, “they have. And you break a bird’s leg, it can’t get off the ground. I’m assuming it’s the same with this bastard. We put out a carcass, with this underneath. It stands on the carcass, braces it with one foot so it can tear it up with the other. Bang, got him. This thing ought to snap the bugger’s leg like a carrot, and then it won’t be going anywhere in a hurry, you can be sure of that.”

He frowned. I could tell the sight of the trap scared him, like it did me. The mainspring was three eighths of an inch thick. Just as well Moddo thought to add a cocking mechanism. “You’ll still have to kill it, though,” he said.

I grinned at him. “Why?” I asked. “No, the hell with that. Just keep everybody and their livestock well away for a week until it starves to death.”

He was thinking about it. I waited. “If it can breathe fire,” he said slowly, “maybe it can melt the trap off.”

“And burn through its own leg in the process. Also,” I added—I’d considered this very point—“even without the trap it’s still crippled, it won’t be able to hunt and feed. Just like a bird that’s got away from the cat.”

He pulled a small frown that means, well, maybe. “We’ll need a carcass.”

“There’s that sick goat,” I said.

Nod. His sick goat. Well, I can’t help it if all my animals are healthy.

He went off with the small cart to fetch the goat. A few minutes later, a big wagon crunched down to the yard gate and stopped just in time. Too wide to pass through; it’d have got stuck.

Praise be, Marhouse had sent me the scorpion. Rather less joy and happiness, he’d come along with it, but never mind.

The scorpion is genuine Mezentine, two hundred years old at least. Family tradition says Marhouse’s great-great-and-so-forth-grandfather brought it back from the Grand Tour, as a souvenir. More likely, his grandfather took it in part exchange or to settle a bad debt; but to acknowledge that would be to admit that two generations back they were still in trade.

“What the hell,” Marhouse said, hopping down off the wagon box, “do you want it for?”

He’s all right, I suppose. We were in Outremer together—met there for the first time, which is crazy, since our houses are only four miles apart. But he was fostered as a boy, away up country somewhere. I’ve always assumed that’s what made him turn out like he did.

I gave him a sort of hopeless grin. Our kitchenmaid was still sitting up on the box, hoping for someone to help her down. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m hoping we won’t need it, but—”

A scorpion is a siege engine; a pretty small one, compared to the huge stone-throwing catapults and mangonels and trebuchets they pounded us with at Crac des Bests. It’s essentially a big steel crossbow, with a frame, a heavy stand, and a super-efficient winch. One man with a long steel bar can wind it up, and it shoots a steel arrow long as your arm and thick as your thumb three hundred yards. We had them at Metouches. Fortunately, the other lot didn’t.

I told Marhouse about the dragon. He assumed I was trying to be funny. Then he caught sight of the trap, lying on the ground in front of the cider house, and he went very quiet.

“You’re serious,” he said.

I nodded. “Apparently it’s burned some houses out at Merebarton.”

“Burned.” Never seen him look like that before.

“So they reckon. I don’t think it’s just a drake.”

“That’s—” He didn’t get around to finishing the sentence. No need.

“Which is why,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, “I’m so very glad your granddad had the foresight to buy a scorpion. No wonder he made a fortune in business. He obviously knew good stuff when he saw it.”

Took him a moment to figure that one out, by which time the moment had passed. “There’s no arrows,” he said.

“What?”

“No arrows,” he repeated, “just the machine. Well,” he went on, “it’s not like we use the bloody thing, it’s just for show.”

I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times. “Surely there must’ve been—”

“Originally, yes, I suppose so. I expect they got used for something around the place.” He gave me a thin smile. “We don’t tend to store up old junk for two hundred years on the off chance in my family,” he said.

I was trying to remember what scorpion bolts look like. There’s a sort of three-bladed flange down the butt end, to stabilize them in flight. “No matter,” I said. “Bit of old rod’ll have to do. I’ll get Moddo to run me some up.” I was looking at the machine. The lead screws and the keyways the slider ran in were caked up with stiff, solid bogeys of dried grease. “Does it work?”

“I assume so. Or it did, last time it was used. We keep it covered with greased hides in the root store.”

I flicked a flake of rust off the frame. It looked sound enough, but what if the works had seized solid? “Guess I’d better get it down off the cart and we’ll see,” I said. “Well, thanks again. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

Meaning: please go away now. But Marhouse just scowled at me. “I’m staying here,” he said. “You honestly think I’d trust you lot with a family heirloom?”

“No, really,” I said, “you don’t need to trouble. I know how to work these things, remember. Besides, they’re pretty well indestructible.”

Wasting my breath. Marhouse is like a dog I used to have, couldn’t bear to be left out of anything; if you went out for a shit in the middle of the night, she had to come too. Marhouse was the only one of us in Outremer who ever volunteered for anything. And never got picked, for that exact reason.

So, through no choice or fault of my own, there were nine of us: me, Ebba, Marhouse, the six men from the farm. Of the six, Liutprand is seventeen and Rognvald is twenty-nine, though he barely counts, with his bad arm. The rest of us somewhere between fifty-two and sixty. Old men. We must be mad, I thought.

We rode out there in the flat-bed cart, bumping and bouncing over the ruts in Watery Lane. Everybody was thinking the same thing, and nobody said a word: what if the bugger swoops down and crisps the lot of us while we’re sat here in the cart? In addition, I was also thinking: Marhouse is his own fault, after all, he’s a knight too, and he insisted on butting in. The rest of them, though—my responsibility. Send for the knight, they’d said, not the knight and half the damn village. But a knight in real terms isn’t a single man, he’s the nucleus of a unit, the heart of a society; the lance in war, the village in peace, he stands for them, in front of them when there’s danger, behind them when times are hard, not so much an individual, more of a collective noun. That’s understood, surely; so that, in all those old tales of gallantry and errantry, when the poet sings of the knight wandering in a dark wood and encountering the evil to be fought, the wrong to be put right, “knight” in that context is just shorthand for a knight and his squire and his armor-bearer and his three men-at-arms and the boy who leads the spare horses. The others aren’t mentioned by name, they’re subsumed in him, he gets the glory or the blame but everyone knows, if they stop to think about it, that the rest of them were there too; or who lugged around the spare lances, to replace the ones that got broken? And who got the poor bugger in and out of his full plate harness every morning and evening? There are some straps and buckles you just can’t reach on your own, unless you happen to have three hands on the ends of unnaturally long arms. Without the people around me, I’d be completely worthless. It’s understood. Well, isn’t it?

We set the trap up on the top of a small rise, in the big meadow next to the old clay pit. Marhouse’s suggestion, as a matter of fact; he reckoned that it was where the flightlines the thing had been following all crossed. Flightlines? Well yes, he said, and proceeded to plot all the recorded attacks on a series of straight lines, scratched in the dried splatter on the side of the cart with a stick. It looked pretty convincing to me. Actually, I hadn’t really given it any thought, just assumed that if we dumped a bleeding carcass down on the ground, the dragon would smell it and come whooshing down. Stupid, when you come to think of it. And I call myself a huntsman.

Moddo had fitted the trap with four good, thick chains, attached to eighteen-inch steel pegs, which we hammered into the ground. Again, Marhouse did the thinking. They needed to be offset (his word) so that if it pulled this way or that, there’d be three chains offering maximum resistance—well, it made sense when he said it. He’s got that sort of brain, invents clever machines and devices for around the farm. Most of them don’t work, but some of them do.

The trap, of course, was Plan A. Plan B was the scorpion, set up seventy-five yards away under the busted chestnut tree, with all that gorse and briars for cover. The idea was, we had a direct line of sight, but if we missed and he came at us, he wouldn’t dare swoop in too close, for fear of smashing his wings on the low branches. That bit was me.

We propped the poor dead goat up on sticks so it wasn’t actually pressing on the floorplate of the trap, then scampered back to where we’d set up the scorpion. Luitprand got volunteered to drive the cart back to Castle Farm; he whined about being out in the open, but I chose him because he’s the youngest and I wanted him well out of harm’s way if the dragon actually did put in an appearance. Seventy-five yards was about as far as I trusted the scorpion to shoot straight without having to make allowance for elevation—we didn’t have time to zero it, obviously—but it felt stupidly close. How long would it take the horrible thing to fly seventy-five yards? I had no idea, obviously. We spanned the scorpion—reassuringly hard to do—loaded Moddo’s idea of a bolt into the slider groove, nestled down as far as we could get into the briars and nettles, and waited.

No show. When it got too dark to see, Marhouse said, “What kind of poison do you think it’d take to kill something like that?”

I’d been thinking about that. “Something we haven’t got,” I said.

“You reckon?”

“Oh come on,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t keep a wide selection of poisons in the house. For some reason.”

“There’s archer’s root,” Ebba said.

“He’s right,” Marhouse said. “That stuff’ll kill just about anything.”

“Of course it will,” I replied. “But nobody around here—”

“Mercel,” Ebba said. “He’s got some.”

News to me. “What?”

“Mercel. Lidda’s boy. He uses it to kill wild pigs.”

Does he now?, I thought. It had occurred to me that wild boar were getting a bit hard to find. I knew all about smearing a touch of archer’s root on a bit of jagged wire nailed to a fencepost—boar love to scratch, and it’s true, they do a lot of damage to standing corn. That’s why I pay compensation. Archer’s root is illegal, of course, but so are a lot of useful everyday commodities.

“I’d better ask him,” Ebba said. “He won’t want to get in any trouble.”

Decided unanimously, apparently. Well, we weren’t doing any good crouching in the bushes. It did cross my mind that if the dragon hadn’t noticed a dead goat with a trap under it, there was no guarantee it’d notice the same dead goat stuffed full of archer’s root, but I dismissed the idea as unconstructive.

We left the trap and the scorpion set up, just in case, and rode in the cart back to Castle Farm. To begin with, as we came over the top of the Hog’s Back down Castle Lane, I assumed the pretty red glow on the skyline was the last blush of the setting sun. As we got closer, I hoped that was what it was. By the time we passed the quince orchard, however, the hypothesis was no longer tenable.

We found Luitprand in the goose pond. Stupid fool, he’d jumped in the water to keep from getting burned up. Of course, the mud’s three feet deep on the bottom. I could have told him that.

In passing: I think Luitprand was my son. At any rate, I knew his mother rather too well, seventeen years ago. Couldn’t ever say anything, naturally. But he reminded me a lot of myself. For a start, he was half-smart stupid, just like me. Hurling myself in the pond to avoid the flames was just the sort of thing I might have done at his age; and, goes without saying, he wasn’t there when we dug the bloody pond, twenty-one years ago, so how could he have known we’d chosen the soft spot, no use for anything else?

No other casualties, thank God, but the hay barn, the straw rick, the woodpile, all gone. The thatch, miraculously, burned itself out without taking the rafters with it. But losing that much hay meant we’d be killing a lot of perfectly good stock come winter, since I can’t afford to buy in. One damn thing after another.

Opito, Larcan’s wife, was hysterical, even though her home hadn’t gone up in flames after all. Larcan said it was a great big lizard, about twenty feet long. He got one very brief glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye, just before he dragged his wife and son under the cart. He looked at me like it was all my fault. Just what I needed after a long day crouched in a briar patch.

Luitprand played the flute; not very well. I gave him the one I brought back from Outremer. I never did find it among his stuff, so I can only assume he sold it at some point.

Anyway, that was that, as far as I was concerned. Whatever it was, wherever it had come from, it would have to be dealt with, as soon as possible. On the ride back from the farm, Marhouse had been banging on about flightlines again, where we were going to move the bait to; two days here, while the wind’s in the south, then if that’s no good, then another two days over there, and if that still doesn’t work, we’ll know for sure it must be following the line of the river, so either here, there, or just possibly everywhere, would be bound to do the trick, logically speaking. I smiled and nodded. I’m sure he was perfectly correct. He’s a good huntsman, Marhouse. Come the end of the season, he always knows exactly where all the game we’ve failed to find must be holed up. Next year, he then says—

Trouble was, there wasn’t time for a next year.

By midnight (couldn’t sleep, oddly enough) I was fairly sure how it had to be done.

Before you start grinning to yourself at my presumption, I had no logical explanation for my conclusions. Flightlines, patterns of behavior, life cycles, cover crops, mating seasons, wind directions; put them together and you’ll inevitably flush out the truth, which will then elude you, zig-zag running through the roots of the long variables. I knew.

I knew, because I used to hunt with my father. He was, of course, always in charge of everything, knew everything, excelled at everything. We never caught much. And I knew, when he’d drawn up the lines of beaters, given them their timings (say three Glorious Sun Ascendants and two Minor Catechisms, then come out making as much noise as you can), positioned the stillhunters and the hounds and the horsemen, finally blown the horn; I knew exactly where the wretched animal would come bursting out, so as to elude us all with the maximum of safety and the minimum of effort. Pure intuition, never failed. Naturally, I never said anything. Not my place to.

So: I knew what was going to happen, and that there was nothing much I could do about it, and my chances of success and survival were—well, not to worry about that. When I was in Outremer, I got shot in the face with an arrow. Should’ve killed me instantly; but by some miracle it hung up in my cheekbone, and an enemy doctor we’d captured the day before yanked it out with a pair of tongs. You should be dead, they said to me, like I’d deliberately cheated. No moral fiber. Ever since then—true, I shuddered to think how the estate would get on with my brother in charge, but it survived my father and grandfather, so it was clearly indestructible. Besides, everyone dies sooner or later. It’s not like I’m important.

Marhouse insisted on coming with us. I told him, you stay here, we’ll need a wise, experienced hand to take charge if it decides to burn out the castle. For a moment I thought he’d fallen for it, but no such luck.

So there were three of us: me, Ebba, Marhouse. The idea was, we’d follow the Ridgeway on horseback, looking down on either side. As soon as we saw smoke, Ebba would ride back to the castle and get the gear, meet us at the next likely attack scene. I know; bloody stupid idea. But I knew it wouldn’t happen like that, because I knew how it’d happen.

Marhouse had on his black-and-white—that’s breastplate, pauldrons, rerebraces, and tassets. I told him, you’ll boil to death in that lot. He scowled at me. He’d also fetched along a full-weight lance, issue. You won’t need that, I told him. I’d got a boar-spear, and Ebba was carrying the steel crossbow my father spent a whole year’s apple money on, the year before he died. “But they’re just to make us feel better,” I said. That got me another scowl. The wrong attitude.

Noon; nothing to be seen anywhere. I was just daring to think, perhaps the bloody thing’s moved on, or maybe it’d caught some disease or got itself hung up in a tree. Then I saw a crow.

I think Ebba saw it first, but he didn’t point and say, “Look, there’s a crow.” Marhouse was explaining some fine point of decoying, how you go about establishing which tree is the principal turning point on an elliptical recursive flight pattern. I thought: that’s not a crow, it’s just hanging there. Must be a hawk.

Ebba was looking over his shoulder. No, not a hawk, the profile’s wrong. Marhouse stopped talking, looked at me, said, “What are you two staring at?” I was thinking, Oh.

I’m right about things so rarely that I usually relish the experience. Not this time.

Oh, you may be thinking, is a funny way of putting it. But that was the full extent of it: no elation, no regret, not even resignation; to my great surprise, no real fear. Just: oh, as in, well, here we are, then. Call it a total inability to feel anything. Twice in Outremer, once when my father died, and now. I’d far rather have wet myself, but you can’t decide these things for yourself. Oh, I thought, and that was all.

Marhouse was swearing, which isn’t like him. He only swears when he’s terrified, or when something’s got stuck or broken. Bad language, he reckons, lubricates the brain, stops it seizing up with fear or anger. Ebba had gone white as milk. His horse was playing up, and he was having to work hard to keep it from bolting. Amazing how they know.

On top of the Ridgeway, of course, there’s no cover. We could gallop forward, or turn around and gallop back; either case, at the rate the bloody thing was moving, it’d be on us long before we could get our heads down. I heard someone give the order to dismount. Wasn’t Marhouse, because he stayed mounted. Wouldn’t have been Ebba, so I guess it must’ve been me.

First time, it swooped down low over our heads—about as high up as the spire of Blue Temple—and just kept on going. We were frozen solid. We watched. It was on the glide, like a pigeon approaching a laid patch in a barley field, deciding whether to pitch or go on. Very slight tailwind, so if it wanted to come in on us, it’d have to bank, turn up into the wind a little bit to start to stall, then wheel and come in with its wings back. I honestly thought: it’s gone too far, it’s not going to come in. Then it lifted, and I knew.

Sounds odd, but I hadn’t really been looking at it the first time, when it buzzed us. I saw a black bird shape, long neck like a heron, long tail like a pheasant, but no sense of scale. As it came in the second time, I couldn’t help but stare; a real dragon, for crying out loud, something to tell your grandchildren about. Well, maybe.

I’d say the body was about horse-sized, head not in proportion; smaller, like a red deer stag. Wings absurdly large—featherless, like a bat, skin stretched on disturbingly extended fingers. Tail, maybe half as long again as the body; neck like a swan, if that makes any sense. Sort of a gray color, but it looked green at a distance. Big hind legs, small front legs looking vaguely ridiculous, as if it had stolen them off a squirrel. A much rounder snout than I’d expected, almost chubby. It didn’t look all that dangerous, to be honest.

Marhouse is one of those people who translate fear into action; the scareder he is, the braver. Works against people. No warning—it’d have been nice if he’d said something first; he kicked his horse hard enough to stove in a rib, lance in rest, seat and posture straight out of the coaching manual. Rode straight at it.

What happened then—

Marhouse was five yards away from it, going full tilt. The dragon probably couldn’t have slowed down if it had wanted to. Instead—it actually made this sort of “pop” noise as it opened its mouth and burped up a fat round ball of fire, then lifted just a little, to sail about five feet over Marhouse’s head. He, meanwhile, rode straight into the fireball, and through it.

And stopped, and fell all to pieces; the reason being, there was nothing left. Horse, man, all gone, not even ash, and the dozen or so pieces of armor dropping glowing to the ground, cherry-red, like they’d just come off the forge. I’ve seen worse things, in Outremer, but nothing stranger.

I was gawping, forgotten all about the dragon. It was Ebba who shoved me down as it came back. I have no idea why it didn’t just melt us both as it passed, unless maybe it was all out of puff and needed to recharge. Anyway, it soared away, repeated the little lift. I had a feeling it was enjoying itself. Well, indeed. It must be wonderful to be able to fly.

Ebba was shouting at me, waving something, the crossbow, he wanted me to take it from him. “Shoot it,” he was yelling. Made no sense to me; but then again, why not? I took the bow, planted my feet a shoulders’ width apart, left elbow tucked in tight to the chest to brace the bow, just the fingers on the trigger. A good archery stance didn’t seem to have anything to do with the matter in hand—like playing bowls in the middle of an earthquake—but I’m a good archer, so I couldn’t help doing it properly. I found the dragon in the middle of the peep-sight, drew the tip of the arrow up to find it, and pressed the trigger.

For the record, I hit the damn thing. The bolt went in four inches, just above the heart. Good shot. With a bow five times as strong, quite possibly a clean kill.

I think it must’ve hurt, though, because instead of flaming and lifting, it squirmed—hunched its back then stretched out full-length like a dog waking up—and kept coming, straight at me. I think I actually did try and jump out of the way; just rather too late. I think what hit me must’ve been the side of its head.

I had three ribs stoved in once in Outremer, so I knew what was going on. I recognized the sound, and the particular sort of pain, and the not quite being able to breathe. Mostly I remember thinking: it won’t hurt, because any moment now I’ll be dead. Bizarrely reassuring, as if I was cheating, getting away with it. Cheating twice; once by staying alive, once by dying. This man is morally bankrupt.

I was on my back, not able or minded to move. I couldn’t see the dragon. I could hear Ebba shouting; shut up, you old fool, I thought, I’m really not interested. But he was shouting, “Hold on, mate, hold on, I’m coming,” which made absolutely no sense at all—

Then he shut up, and I lay there waiting. I waited, and waited. I’m not a patient man. I waited so long, those crunched ribs started to hurt, or at least I became aware of the pain. For crying out loud, I thought. And waited.

And thought: now just a minute.

It hurt so much, hauling myself onto my side so I could see. I was in tears.

Later, I figured out what had happened. When Ebba saw me go down, he grabbed the boar-spear and ran towards me. I don’t imagine he considered the dragon, except as an inconvenience. Hold on, I’m coming; all his thoughts in his words. He got about half way when the dragon pitched—it must’ve swooped off and come in again. As it put its feet down to land, he must’ve stuck the butt of the spear in the ground and presented the point, like you do with a boar, to let it stick itself, its momentum being far more effective than your own puny strength. As it pitched, it lashed with its tail, sent Ebba flying. Whether or not it realized it was dead, the spear a foot deep in its windpipe before the shaft gave way under the pressure and snapped, I neither know nor care. By the marks on the ground, it rolled three or four times before the lights went out. My best estimate is, it weighed just short of a ton. Ebba—under it as it rolled—was crushed like a grape, so that his guts burst and his eyes popped, and nearly all his bones were broken.

He wouldn’t have thought: I’ll kill the dragon. He’d have thought, ground the spear, like boar-hunting, and then the tail hit him, and then the weight squashed him. So it wouldn’t have been much; not a heroic thought, not the stuff of song and story. Just: this is a bit like boar-hunting, so ground the spear. And then, perhaps: oh.

I think that’s all there is; anywhere, anytime, in the whole world.

I tried preserving the head in honey. We got an old pottery bath and filled it and put the head in; but eight weeks later it had turned green and it stank like hell, and she said, for pity’s sake get rid of it. So we boiled it out and scraped it, and mounted the skull on the wall. Not much bigger than a big deer; in a hundred years’ time, they won’t believe the old story about it being a dragon. No such thing as dragons, they’ll say.

Meanwhile, for now, I’m the Dragonslayer; which is a joke. The duke himself threatened to ride over and take a look at the remains, but affairs of state supervened, thank God. Entertaining the duke and his court would’ve ruined us, and we’d lost so much already.

Twice I’ve cheated. Marhouse was straight as a die, and his end, I’m sorry, was just ludicrous. I keep telling myself, Ebba made a choice, you must respect that. I can’t. Instead of a friend, I have a horrible memory, and yet another debt I can’t pay. People assume you want to be saved, no matter what the cost; sometimes, though, it’s just too expensive to stay alive. Not sure I’ll ever forgive him for that.

And that’s that. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.

[fizzy-popper-blog]

Raise Your Flag

Chapter 1

Beep beep beep!

An alarm clock starts to go off signaling another crappy day is beginning. A young man wakes up and stretches with a groan. He begrudgingly gets out of bed and heads to his dresser, gets out a pair of black jeans and a black hoodie and slowly puts them on. He's half asleep while he stumbles to the bathroom and begins to brush his teeth and comb his shaggy brown hair. After he is done he looks at himself in the mirror. The white pasty skin on his arms almost reflects the overhead light and his brown eyes are so dark they're almost black. His skin is littered with scars that look new and old. They are scattered all across his fragile skin like the stars in the night sky. Before he could get any more distracted he quickly looks away in shame. These scars were a reminder of how weak he was. That he needed to stick up for himself sometime soon. But he knew he couldn't, he had to first fix himself before he could defend himself. Tracing the scars on his flesh he remembers the stories behind them and what he had gone through.

Darting out of the small space, he makes a beeline for the stairs for the door before his other woke up. She was a ball of pure unadulterated hate and regret mixed with a drop of self-superiority. She often mocked him for everything he did no matter what it was that he did. She often called him names and compared him to his dead beat father. "Alex why couldn't you simply so this or that." Well, when you have so much pressure on you its kind of hard, to say the least, Alex's life wasn't fun by any means. His scars and horrible health just amplify that fact. He tiptoes quietly to the front door of his run-down house, yes a house, a house is not a home unless there are people that care for you in it. Grabbing his book bag and opening the front door a blast of hot heat swarm Alex. He starts to sweat a little but brushes it off with his sleeve. He hasn't even walk out the door and he just wants to stay at the house. He may be abused and home verbally but it's better than being swarmed by vultures in that damned school.

Making his way down the sidewalk he is cautious, he looks in all directions and looks at the directions of sounds. He's learned that to survive in this neighborhood you need to be on your guard day and night. No matter who the hell you were there was a chance of you getting jumped by low life muggers or gang members. Especially his kind they would say since he wasn't what they would call normal. He came out as bi a few weeks ago and it didn't go well. Hwi mother freaked out and told anyone that would listen to her gibberish. She told the neighbors and they told their kids in a chain reaction the kids started to intensify their antics towards him to the point of physical violence. He regrets his decision of coming out, especially to his mom. He should have known that she would over exaggerate the reality of a situation like that. I mean, she reacted the same way when she realized that his dad left her for another woman. He didn't exactly blame his dad for wanting to escape, he just wished that it didn't involve abandoning him.

Sighing he heads to school, hoping that his friends were there before the popular kids could get to him. He remembers the first time he bumped into them. The leaders consisted of A tall yell dressed young man, a blond pretty skin girl, and a tan medium sized man that may or may not have hit him once or twice. While they were tearing him a new one a tall bulky ginger jock jogs up to them. He growls orders to them to leave him alone. That scoff and walk away leaving Alex and the jock to themselves. The jock scoffs and holds out his hand. Alex hesitantly takes it and stands up, dusting himself off. "Thanks, I don't know what they might've done if you hadn't interfered." The jock smiles at Alex and shakes his hand gladly.

"Hey it's no problem man, they're just a bunch of b itches anyway. The names Jack, Jack Letter, nice to meet ya'." Alex smiles slightly and shakes back. "Alex Hecht, nice to meet you too." Jack pats him on the back and slings his arm around Alex's shoulder.

Before they could say anything else high pitched squeals coming from behind them make them jump. "Oh my goodness, look how adorable he is, can we keep him, please!" A cute young man with strawberry blond hair wearing a pink sweater and tan pants approached and squishes Alex's cheeks together. A female and another male pleaded with Jack if they could keep him an call him, um, cub. The female had tan skin and black hair wearing a clean place best with a white shirt and a play skirt to go with it and by God, those vibrant green eyes could make anyone swoon.

The other male is slightly tanned and has a mop of white died hair, wearing a deep purple cardigan and skinny jeans. He had blue eyes that sparkle behind black-framed glasses. They were staring intently at his own eyes and squealed again. Jack laughs and steps back beaming with joy at their newfound friend "Nathan, Jewels, and Katherin, give the boy some space, he's been through a lot." The trio steps back and looks sympathetically at him. Katherine speaks up first. "We're sorry, it's just exciting to see Jack so excepting of someone, especially in this school." The pink one, who Alex assumes in Jewels, smiles and nods his head frantically and hugs Jack. "Yeah, Jack Pack doesn't like that many people, especially ones that pick on others." Jack smiles and kisses his head, this sticks Alex and compels him to ask. "I'm sorry if im being to forward but are you guys, you know, part of the LGBTQ?" Beaming with joy Nathan answers immediately " Hell yeah brother, we the 'fags" of the school, the misfits."Alex looks at them in wonder and belonging. "Oh my God, I finally found someone from my squad," Alex replies breathlessly, he was so happy to finally belong somewhere. "I tried to find someone like me for so long." Alex starts to tear up, noticing this Jewels hugs him tightly.

Jewels suddenly jump back and beam at Alex. "Especially me considering im the stereotypical gay man, " he then hugs Jacks arm and remarks, "Especially for Jack~." Jack blushes and blinks stupidly and avoids eye contact with the group.

Katherine rolls her eyes and slings her arm over Alex's shoulder and smirks, sending Alex's discomfort."Youll get used to it hun, they do this so much that you get concerned if they don't act like this." Nathan slings his arm over Alex's other shoulder and nods his head. "At this point, they probably forgot we're here," Nathan replies with a smile "We should kindly remind them." As Katherin taps Jacks shoulder Jewel Jewels pouts and lets Jack go. Alex watches them interact with each other and starts to tear up again, this time in joy. Nathan and Jewels see this first and tackle him in another hug. Alex let's out a well like a kicked puppy but soon calms down. He begins to grin and then wraps his arms around the two boys. They all begin to squeal and giggle like some school girls.

Pretty soon the great of the group joins in the hug and then starts to laugh. They realize that they are probably late to class, but it's okay. For one they finally feel happy with who they are and who they associate with. They quickly wipe the tears and exchange their numbers and head to class. After school, they all text each other and exchange their stories. Who they are in detail as what they do to survive. Over the next few days, they really start to know each other. They grow together as a family and realize that they got each other's back. They realize that family doesn't end in blood. That was the best day of Alex's life. He finally found people that understood him and could relate to him. Smiling to himself Alex silently walks up to the steps of what will be the beginning of the worse and best few months of his life. It will determine whether the will survive the next few years of his life or continue to live in his shell.

Alex enters the school and looks around. The school is bustling with life as people walk to and through the halls, making them packed to the brim. Alex pushes through the crowd as he notices a small crowd of people at one wall of the hall. He pushes through the crowd more as he begins to see a poster. This poster is yellow to stand out and has orange and red decoration on it. The text reads:

Pick a celebration!

One lucky student is picked to celebrate whatever national day they want (as long as its school proponent) for the end of the school year!

Alex's eyes widen, this could be his only chance to have a day where he's normal. He rushes to the poster, takes the shape and writes his name and what he wants to celebrate.

Alex Hecht: Pride Day

Alex smiled to himself thinking this could his chance to change, to become more confident and proud in his sexuality and that of others. He quickly looks around and runs to his first class. Breathing heavily he takes his seat and hopes for the best like always.

[topimagines]

I'm Sorry I Failed You- Josh Dun

Request- Hello! I love your writing:) can u do a josh imagine? Maybe we’re your Tyler’s sister and while there on tour you get jumped walking to your and joshs’ appartmemt and they find out and there all worried? Thanks have a great day/night!

Y/N’s P.O.V. 

 Only a mile and a half from your apartment and your car decided to break down. You typically would have called your boyfriend Josh but he was on tour with your brother Tyler. You got out of work late that day and the walk to your apartment isn’t always the safest late at night. You and Josh lived together in L.A. by a bunch of bars and on Saturday nights the sidewalks were filled with drunk horny men.

You grabbed your purse from your car and threw your phone in. You set out on your walk home enjoying the warm night. You wanted to call Josh but you couldn’t because he and Tyler were in the middle of a show. So to say the least this walk was going to be boring.

You were about a mile from your house now when you felt like you were being followed. You looked over your shoulder to see a 3 tall men stumbling behind you. You felt them walking faster behind you so you decided to quicken your pace and turn down the next street even though it wasn’t in the right direction of your house. You could hear your heart pounding from being scared.

When you finally thought you lost them you slowed down and took out your phone quickly to call someone, anyone really so they can distract you while you find your way back home. You dialed Jenna’s number knowing she was basically your best friend and she would keep your mind off of the slightly terrifying walk. The phone rang twice before the familiar voice came through the other end.

“Hey Y/N what’s up.”

“Oh nothing. My car broke down so I have to walk home and I wanted to talk to someone to distract me for a bit. so, how’s tour going?”

“Oh okay. Tours going great, we all wish you were here. Especially Josh.” she said.

You were about to respond when you heard loud footsteps behind you. You turned around and saw the same 3 men running towards you.

“Y/N are you okay?” Jenna asked, she must have been suspicious of your long break in the conversation.

“Um, no there are like 3 people chas-” and before you could finish you were pushed to the ground and you phone flew from your hands out of reach. You could her Jenna yelling you name but you could respond due to someone kicking your ribs. The biggest man ripped your purse off of your shoulder and put it to the side while another man  sat on your back holding your face to the pavement. You were screaming but nobody heard you.

“Stop, please. Get off me.” you begged and the one kicking you stopped and the one on top of you stood. You turned over and looked at the 3 men looking down at you.

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do.” the biggest man said and he punch you straight on the face. You could have sworn your nose broke.

The smallest man who was kicking you earlier knelt down next to you and started petting your hair. You could smell the alcohol on his breath as he spoke.

“What should we do to this one guys?” he asks as he moved close to your neck. Your fear paralyze you and could scream. He start pulling up your shirt and tears rolled down your cheeks as they pulled you up and put you against the wall.

“Stop fucking crying or we’ll beat the fuck out of you.” the medium sized man said. You knew you weren’t getting out of this. You couldn’t control your tears and you were quickly pushed back to the ground. You felt the skin on your palms and knees scrape against the hard ground and your arms couldn’t hold you from the pain. You fell and hit you head and the last thing you remember is seeing the 3 men running off.

You woke up to the sound of your phone busy on the pavement.  You phone was lighting up with Jenna’s face calling you. You reached as far as you could reach and pulled it to you.

It hurt so bad, even to simply swipe your finger across the screen to answer the call.

“Y/N. I’ve been calling you for the past 5 minutes are you okay? Where are you?” she asked frantically.

You could really talk due to your ribs being in so much pain. “Jenna I’m fine, just don’t panic. I’m walking home now.” you voice cracked a few times and she knew you weren’t okay.

“Y/N what happened? I know you’re not okay. I heard those guys, I stayed on the phone the whole time. Talk to me.” you wanted to talk but you didn’t want to Josh or Tyler to found out. They were both really overprotective of you.

“Y/N say something or I’m going to tell Tyler. I don’t care if they’re in the middle of a show or not. I’ll go and right on stage and interrupt the whole thing to tell them.” she threatened.

“Okay, fine. Please don’t say anything to them.” you started to stand  and you had to use the wall for support. “These 3 drunk guys just beat the shit out of me.”

“Oh my god. Y/N how hurt are you?”

“Well my feels like it’s broken and it’s bleeding. My ribs hurt and so does my head. Look I’m only 2 blocks from my apartment. I’ll walk there and tell you more. I just need to sit down, I feel really dizzy.” you said stumbling, trying to walk but you were really dizzy and nauseous.

“Y/N tell me where you are, I’m calling you and ambulance you don’t sound okay.”

“Only if you don’t tell Tyler and Josh, I’ll be fine. I just need to get some help and I’ll tell them when I’m ready, Please.” you begged.

“I won’t. Now tell me where you are.”

“On the corner of Daniel ave and 5th ave.” you said sitting down against the wall. Your legs were beginning to weaken and you could feel you eyes starting to close.

“Y/N stay with me. I have an ambulance on it’s way there now.”

“Okay” you mumbled and you blacked out again.

Jenna’s P.O.V.

I had heard the whole thing happen and I know she didn’t want me to tell anyone, but I was married to her brother and he needed to know. Not to mention her boyfriend Josh needs to know. I promised I wouldn’t tell them in order to get her location out of her. I called her the ambulance because I could hear her drifting off in the conversation.

I gave the hospital my number so they would call me when she got there.

When they called me to tell me they found her passed out on the sidewalk I knew I had to tell Josh and Tyler. They needed to know even if that meant they would end the concert early.

I tried getting Tyler’s attention from the side and he stopped sing, looking at me with concern because I never bugged him during a show. Josh stopped playing and came over to where Tyler was.

“Dude are you okay?” he asked Tyler as I approached them.

“Yeah Jenna looked like she really needed to tell me something and I felt like something was wrong. What’s going on? Is Y/N okay?” he turned his attention to me and everyone in the arena was completely silent.

“No. um Y/N she’s hurt. Like really badly. She’s in the hospital. I think you need to end this and we can talk.” with that Tyler pulled the microphone to his lips and Josh ran off with me asking me all sorts of questions about Y/N.

“Okay, I’m very sorry this has to be this way, but we have to end the show early.” Tyler said and the crowd was filled with disappointment. “My sister, Josh’s girlfriend is hurt and we really need to get to her. Goodnight and stay alive all. Thank you for those who are understanding.” he ran off stage and found Josh and I.

“What happened, is she okay? Where is she?” Tyler asked all the same questions Josh had asked.

“We’ll explain later, i just booked us an immediate flight to L.A. I think we should get to her.” Josh said with tears threatening to come from his eyes.

“She’ll be okay Josh, she just needs us there.” Tyler said not knowing anything.

At the airport Jenna told her side of the story to Tyler and Josh.

Before getting on the plane Tyler was really worried about you and he texted your family to tell them what happened. Josh couldn’t keep still. When ever he was nervous he would bounce his leg and that’s what he did the whole plane ride and car ride to the hospital.

Josh’s P.O.V.

As soon as we got to the hospital I basically ran to the front desk.

“Hi sir, how may I help you?”

“My girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N, she was brought here about 5 hours ago. I need to see her. Is she okay?”

“Her file says she’s not awake right now, I’m going to get her doctor and you can go back to see her with him.” the woman said and then she left. I stood there and Tyler and Jenna came up to me.

“What’s going on?” Tyler asked and the doctor approached.

“Hi, which one of you is the boyfriend?” he asked.

“I am. Can I go see her?” I said quickly.

“Yes, but please know that it looks worse then it is.” he said leading us back to her room.

When I entered the room I saw Y/N just laying there asleep. Her hands had scraps all of them. Her arms had all sorts of bruises along with her face. She had blood stained on her upper lip and her head was wrapped in white bandages.

I went over and sat next to her holding her hand.

“So is she okay?” Tyler asked the doctor.

“She lost quite a bit of blood from hitting her head. She has 3 fractured ribs and she has a lot of bruising and scrapes. She will be okay, but we want to monitor her to make sure she doesn’t pass out again. She needs rest and pain medicine and she’ll be all good to go in a few weeks when those ribs heal.” he said.

The doctor left after a few more questions and I saw that Y/N was starting to wake up.

“J-Josh?” she questioned. Her voice was quiet and raspy.

“I”m right here baby.” I said kissing her on the hand.

“How you feeling kid?” Tyler asked walking over and rubbing a non-bruised part of your arm.

“Um, it hurts but I’m fine. Why are you here though? Did I mess up your show?”

“No Y/N you didn’t mess up anything. We’re here because we love you. You’re my sister and I would do anything for you.” Tyler said.

“Babe you didn’t mess anything up. You’re more important than a show. Everyone will understand.” Josh said.

“Hey guys, I just got off the phone from the police. They found one of the guys that hurt Y/N and arrested him. Then he turned in the other guys. They’re all in custody.” Jenna said entering the room.  

“Good, I was about to beat every drunk guy in L.A. for hurting my sister.” Tyler said and it made you laugh. When laughing it felt like your whole body was broken. you flinched slightly at the pain and it drew everyone’s attention to you.

“You okay Y/N?” Jenna asked.

“Yeah, I’m just in a lot of pain and tired.”

“I think it’s time we leave so you can sleep. I don’t think I’m gonna convince josh to leave your side though. We have a hotel across the street. Call me if you need anything.” Jenna said and Tyler and her said their goodbyes.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Once they left Josh sat a little closer to you pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’m sorry I failed you Y/N. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Josh said and you could hear the tears in his eyes.

“Josh look at me.” you said “you didn’t fail me. You’re always there for me. Nobody could have stop this. I’m okay.” he looked into your eyes and smiled.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I love you so much. I want you to rest and get better, okay?” he said getting up from where he was kneeling beside you.

“Wait don’t leave. I haven’t seen you in 3 weeks and I want to keep you close.”

“Well I don’t want you to have to move. I’ll be right over here on the couch.” he said and as he went to pull his hand away from you you tugged on his hand making him look at you.

You moved (painfully, but didn’t let it show)  in the bed so there was enough room for Josh to lay with you.

He smiled at you and laid next to you and held your hand kissing your head.

“I love you Y/N, so much.” Josh said as you start drifting off to sleep.

“I love you too. Thanks for be so amazing.” you said drowsily and then sleep took over the both of you.