#honestly i find this so funny. i wonder what the casting process was like like.

[claudia-kishi]

First impressions?

[olympeline]

More thoughts on national animal forms in Hetalia:

Their beast selves are slightly bigger than what’s considered normal for the species. Not to such a degree that they’d look like freaks, but big enough to make you take a second glance.

They’re incapable of human speech while in animal form. I’m on the fence as to whether they’d be able to speak to each other as beasts or whether they’d have to change back to hold a conversation. Leaning towards the latter, honestly. These forms are wild and primal and speech of any kind just feels too human.

The appearance of a nation’s human guise stays mostly consistent throughout their lives, but their animal form is different. It can change radically depending on what’s happening in the world. This is most often seen with territories and settler colonies who break away and ascend to true nationhood. Like Alfred, who only became a bald eagle after the USA won independence from the British Empire. Before that he was a young lion. And if you’re wondering whether a super badass Lion King style battle ever took place between him and Arthur during their war? I’m happy to inform you the answer is: yes. Absolutely Hell Yes it did. 👌

Only real animals count. So no unicorn form for Scotland, dragon for Wales, etc. They’re cool but I prefer the consistency of everyone having creatures that actually exist, you know? Oh and, if you’re curious, I picture Scotland’s animal form being a stag. Not sure about Wales’s yet.

Speaking of the UK family, Arthur is a lion but he didn’t start out that way. He was a rabbit in the distant past. Quite the transformation. When did he change? Hard to say. Definitely not before Roman Britain ended. Most likely it would have been either during the reign of William the Conqueror, or else at the start of the Hundred Years War.

The manner in which an animal form changes depends on the circumstances behind why it’s changing in the first place. For Alfred, who won his freedom in battle’s flame, it was a fast, violent, and painful process. The first night after the war was won, Alfred bloodily tore off his golden lion’s pelt and cast it into the fire. Then he resculpted his fleshy, naked, skinless body and reclothed it in a bald eagle’s feathers. The whole thing was over before the sun rose above the newly made country. And as agonising as it was, it was also a relief for Alfred. His lion’s skin hadn’t felt right ever since the start of the war. It itched, and chafed, and burned, and almost drove Alfred mad. Even as a human, it tickled and whined and gnawed at him in the back of his mind. Only getting worse as the war dragged on. Eventually Alfred was assuming his beast form regularly just so he could bite and tear at himself in a frenzy. The revolutionaries got used to seeing their fledgling country covered in the wounds he’d gouged into himself in a futile attempt to find relief. None came until victory was won and he could cast off his lion form - and his old self - for good.

Meanwhile Matthew, who peacefully slipped into a fluffy lion cub form after Arthur won him from Francis, was very different. His independence was gradual and diplomatic so there was no need for a violent ripping of flesh. Instead, over time, Matthew quietly started using his lion form less and less the more Canada drew away from Britain. Until one day, when he badly needed release from the trappings of the human world, he assumed his beast form for the first time in decades. Only to find it had changed. Something Mattie had been expecting for a while but it was still a shock when it suddenly happened. There wasn’t any pain or anguish for him, though. Just a small feeling of wistfulness at the realisation he’d never wear his lion form again. It’s fine, though: a Canadian horse suited him better. Fit like a glove right from the start.

Mattie ultimately becoming a horse is funny too because, while I haven’t made up my mind yet about what Francis should be, a horse is an option I’m considering. Which would mean Matthew went from French foal, to British cub, then ultimately back to horse again, lol.

Maybe…maybe a horse is good for Francis? Maybe? Urgh, I don’t know! Seriously, I’ve only just started this AU thing and already Francis has become the bane of my existence. 😂 France is a world power and England’s historical rival. So his animal form would need to be something that could not just fight, but win against a lion. Yeah, a rooster ain’t cutting it, lmao. A big destrier style war horse could conceivably kill a lion by kicking or trampling it. Horses are prey animals but that doesn’t mean predators aren’t still scared af of a horse’s kick caving in their skulls and smashing their bones to powder. Also, historically horses are symbols of wealth, grace, war, and just plain pretty to boot. All of which fit Francis. My only other idea is that he’d be another lion. Because England got its lion from French nobility. Or maybe he’d be a lion up until the French Revolution? Then he’d pull an Alfred and rip off his pelt - or have it ripped off him by force during the Reign of Terror - and be remade as a horse. Lions are one of the symbols of monarchy so it’s some nice imagery there. Napoleon relied heavily on his cavalry too. Yeah, it could work. Maybe…? What do you guys think? Any other ideas? Post em below if you have em.

A nation-person doesn’t always change their animal form completely if their real world circumstances are altered. Take Argentina for example; a Spanish colony who started as a black calf and still remained a bull after locking horns with Antonio and driving him out of his part of South America. A bull suited Argentina so a bull he stayed. Though his coat and horns did turn from black to silver post-independence. Argentina. Land of beef. Land of silver. Silver bull, geddit?

Finally, there’s the differing effects of conquest where the original inhabitants of the land aren’t replaced like what happened in the Americas. Cases like Romano: a nation whose animal form never changed through all his ups and downs. Not after Antonio conquered him, not after being set free, and not after unification with Feliciano. Romano remained an Italian wolf through it all. Change was possible but it never happened for him. I guess it would depend on factors like how much of the original culture survives, how tightly the controlled nation is under the thumb of the master nation, etc. In the most extreme cases a conquered nation’s animal form might change completely to mirror that of their conqueror. Other times they might shift only a little. Like, say, if Ireland’s original animal was a wolf. Then, after being crushed and occupied by England, that wolf began to look more doglike. Symbolic of the English (later British) goal of “taming” wild Ireland. Stuff like that. A case by case basis, really.

(That’s all for now. Hope you enjoyed reading. I’m tagging this as my national animals AU ☺️)

[seriouslycromulent]

The Surprising Reason John Larroquette Took His Career-Defining Role on 'Night Court'

The comedy ninja reveals all this week's 'Parade' cover story.

MARA REINSTEIN

UPDATED:JAN 19, 2023

Get in a car and drive about 30 miles north of Portland, Oregon, into southwest Washington. That’s where you’ll find actor John Larroquette.

He and his wife, Elizabeth, have lived on a piece of rural property for about five years. He collects books and likes to narrate plays in his home recording studio. Sometimes the couple head into the city to try new restaurants and go to the theater and concerts. “It’s really beautiful,” he says. “And at my age, it’s time to slow down and be out somewhere.”

In fact, Larroquette is so fond of his far-from-Hollywood lifestyle that not too long ago, he considered himself retired from the business with a fulfilling career and a room full of trophies to show for it. Never did he think he’d return to grueling TV work, let alone reprise the very role that made him a household name.

Guess what happened next?

Yup, Larroquette, 75, is suiting back up as wise-cracking, endearingly smarmy lawyer Dan Fielding in a new version of the irreverent sitcom Night Court (premiering Jan. 17 on NBC). Set decades after the 1984-92 original, it still chronicles the colorful cast of characters passing through the New York City after-hours courtroom. But now, the Honorable Abby Stone (Melissa Rauch), the daughter of Judge Harry T. Stone (Harry Anderson), bangs the gavel.

Fielding starts the series as a process server, though not for long. “As an actor, I thought it would be an interesting idea to revisit a character 35 years later in his life and see what happened to him,” Larroquette says. “I can’t do the physical comedy and jump over chairs anymore, so my conversations with the producers were about how to find the funny.”

Call it the latest unexpected turn for a seasoned star who began his professional journey as a DJ for “underground” radio in the 1960s, moved from his native New Orleans to Los Angeles to jumpstart his career, once took a gig in exchange for marijuana, played a Klingon in the third Star Trek movie and completed rehab to kick his heavy drinking—all before his very first audition for Night Court in 1983. After the sitcom’s last episode, he won his fifth Emmy (for the drama The Practice) and a 2011 Tony for the Broadway revival of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. He and Elizabeth, wed for 47 years, have three grown children.

“I honestly wish I had a tape recorder going at all times because he’s led such an interesting life and has such wonderful stories,” marvels Rauch, his co-star and a Night Court executive producer. “He’s super-quick, funny and definitely tells it like it is.”

Exhibit A? His interview with Parade, in which he discusses life and death, and everything in between.

Did you sign on to the series right away or was it a tough sell?

When Melissa [Rauch] presented the idea to me, I immediately said, “No thank you.” I didn’t like the idea of being compared to my 35-year-old, younger self. These conversations went on for a year. Then, one day, she told me that she wanted to be on-camera as well, so I decided to try and do it. We ended up pitching the show together, and it got picked up. You know, in New Orleans, there’s a French word called “lagniappe,” which means “a little bonus.” That’s what I consider myself. She’s the heart of the show.

Sadly, a few of your co-stars—including Harry Anderson and Markie Post—have died in recent years. What was it like being on the set without them?

Very emotional. Harry passed away in 2018, but it’s still a tender spot in my heart because he and I were together for a long time even outside of work. Markie and I were very close, and we had exchanged a few emails about the show before she died [in 2021]. She was a big cheerleader for it. And Charlie [Robinson, who played the clerk “Mac”] died when we were shooting the pilot last year. I saw him a lot because we both love the theater. Being on the set—I don’t say this glibly—but it was like seeing dead people. I’d always remember how I had this bizarre and completely sincere family for nine years.

Going back to the 1980s, why did you originally take the Dan Fielding role?

It was a paycheck. This was 1983, and I was still a journeyman actor going from job to job. I was a regular on a series in the ‘70s [Baa Baa Black Sheep], but then I took a few years off to do some extremely heavy drinking. After I got sober and realized I wasn’t going to die, I thought, “What am I going to do?” I had been in a pretty big [1981] movie called Stripes with Bill Murray. I read for Ted Danson’s role in Cheers.

Wait, how far did you get in the Sam Malone casting process?

Oh, I just walked in and did a cold reading along with every other 32-year-old actor at the time. But then I auditioned for the judge in Night Court. The producers asked me to read for this other role of Dan Fielding and I said, “Sure.” Even if I hated the role, I would have taken it because I needed to make money to help pay the rent and support my family and be a responsible member of society. It was luck that I really liked it. Then I got lucky again when NBC picked up the show as a mid-season replacement.

During the height of the show’s popularity, you earned four consecutive Emmys for your performance. That must have felt beyond validating.

Obviously, being acknowledged by your contemporaries was an incredible honor. I don’t say that blithely. It was a remarkable, remarkable feeling. And I was up against some formidable talent—mainly all those guys from Cheers.

Why do you think the character was and is so appealing?

I think because he allowed the audience to know that he wasn’t a bad guy. He was more like a feckless buffoon. He also really wanted to be loved. As a matter of fact, in our pitch, we screened an old scene of Fielding in a hospital bed telling Harry, “I don’t have a life; I have a lifestyle. Nobody has ever said, ‘I love you.��” So when we find Fielding again, he’s loved and lost. And Harry’s daughter forces him out of his cave. It’s a real full-circle moment.

Let’s go back to your own start. Did you have any music skills coming out of New Orleans?

Well, I started playing clarinet in third grade, then I moved to the saxophone in the 1960s. But I euphemistically say that I could talk better than I could blow. So, I took that sax out of my mouth and became a DJ and started using my voice as much as I could. I’ve always loved the analog aspect of audio. I still have some reel-to-reel tape recordings and old microphones.

Is that how you ended up narrating the opening prologue for [the 1974 horror classic] The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?

No, no, that wasn’t through any kind of past work. In the summer of ‘69, I was working as a bartender at a small Colorado resort in a little town called Grand Lake because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life. [Director] Tobe Hooper happened to be in town and we became friendly. Flash forward four years, and I found myself in L.A. collecting unemployment checks and trying to decide if I wanted to be an actor. Tobe heard I was in town and asked for an hour of my time to narrate something for this movie he just did. I said, “Fine!” It was a favor.

Per the Internet, he gave you a joint in lieu of payment. True?

Totally true. He gave me some marijuana or a matchbox or whatever you called it in those days. I walked out of the studio and patted him on his back side and said, “Good luck to you!” Now, I have also narrated the consequential films and did get paid. You do something for free in the 1970s and get a little money in the ‘90s. I’m not a big horror movie fan, so I’ve never seen it. But it’s certainly the one credit that’s stuck strongly to my resume.

But you’ve appeared on the big screen plenty of times. Did you have movie-star aspirations following all your TV success?

The movies I’ve done are mostly forgettable. Blind Date [from 1987] is an exception, but that’s because of Bruce Willis and Kim Basinger. And Blake Edwards directed it. It was funny. But my face is not made for a really big screen. It’s a broad, clown-like face. It’s good for a TV two-shot. And you ride the horse in the direction that it’s going and television was always right there and offering me stuff, so I kept doing that.

You also performed in a musical for the first time in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying in 2010. How was that change of pace?

I was hesitant to do it because I had never sung and danced on stage. I was convinced I was going to be fired in the first two or three weeks. I’d keep going in my head, “five, six, seven, eight!” just trying to get the steps down. But I loved the lifestyle of being a stage actor in New York. I loved working with Daniel Radcliffe, and we became fast friends. It got to a point where I couldn’t wait to get to the theater and try it again that night. If you’re given the opportunity to do something that may be a stretch, I think it’s important to try and see if you can pull it off.

Can you talk a bit about your personal life? You seem a little reclusive.

Reclusive isn’t accurate, but I’m definitely an introvert. Elizabeth and I met doing the play Enter Laughing and got married in 1975. She puts up with me, and you can’t ask for much more than that. Our kids are grown. My daughter Lisa is a graphic designer and my son Jonathan has had a podcast for the past 17 years called Uhh Yeah Dude. And my youngest son, Ben, is a musician who graduated from the Berklee School of Music. He actually composed the new theme music for Night Court. They’re all lovely, and I love them dearly.

That’s quite a professional and personal success story, no?

You know, considering where I’m from and the kind of culture I grew up in, yes. I’ve been very successful in my chosen field. And I’m grateful for having done that because there were times when I thought I would not live, much less have a career. It’s nothing to be taken for granted. But I’m very old now. Three quarters of a century. I’m sort of playing with house money from now on, regardless of what happens.

Sorry, but 75 isn’t very old!

Yes, it’s old. It’s old. Please. It’s old. There are certainly people who live longer, but I can go down the list of wonderful friends and coworkers who are now deceased. One being Kirstie Alley, my costar in [the 1990 comedy] Madhouse, who was younger than I am. She was a lovely person, and so funny. There are only a few more exits on the freeway and you’ve got to choose one. But I’m not afraid of the hereafter and I don’t bemoan it. It’s been an interesting ride, and all rides eventually end.

Do you have any sort of words to live by?

As corny as it sounds, take things one day at a time. You know, I learned when I stopped drinking at age 32 that all you have is right now. Use the present in your life as much as you can.

Source: https://parade.com/celebrities/john-larroquette-night-court-cover-story

-----

My thoughts (please feel free to ignore):

I'm sure someone in the fandom has already posted this interview John did last year with Parade magazine when the new Night Court premiered. But I can say that it's new to me, so I'm sharing it in case it's new to someone else too.

I apologize for the highlighted purple sections above. That's just me marking the parts of the interview that resonated with me the most.

I don't know about anyone else, but some parts of his answers to the questions made me feel kind of sad. Partially because he's clearly experiencing grief at the loss of his friends. And partially because John himself may not be with us for much longer (although I hope I'm wrong and he beats Betty White to 100).

But I was talking to my mother about some of his answers, and she said that as someone who has reached an age milestone herself, she understands his perspective. And I guess I do too.

It's important to remember that in any other profession, John would likely be retired by now. So we should really be grateful for any roles he takes or public appearances he makes, and hope that his days ahead are filled with the calm, joy and laughter that he so rightly deserves.

[harlequinoccult]

Willow has always been a social butterfly, but she has always had... problems getting emotionally close to people. it's difficult to be open about yourself when you've been hiding behind layers upon layers upon layers upon layers of masks your entire life and you don't even know who the fuck you really are anymore, much less how you actually feel about things. she hates falling in love, she hates getting attached, but she knows that if she wants to thrive in life she can't do it alone. strenght in numbers and all that, she's not stupid, she knows how to play the social game, she knows that being likeable gets you way more than trying to isolate yourself.

so she's nice to people. especially those who are useful to her. she smiles and makes her voice as sweet as honey, as sweet as venom, rotting her lips every time she opens her mouth. she's confident, she's funny, she's every man's dream girl and much more. people are easy to play with. you just have to find the right buttons to push.

she just wishes no one else was able to push her buttons. it would make her life easier, not feeling anything. not falling for anyone. being 100% sure that her smiles and her touches were always practiced, fake. like she is. but there's always someone. there's always that one person who manages to slip through her cracks, who worms their way into her heart, who makes everything so much more complicated.

like her best friend. her one true friend. her only real confidant in that hellhole of a city. her roommate.

the one Carter kills.

she shouldn't have cared. if she just hadn't gotten attached, she wouldn't be suffering so much anymore. but she did. and now her debt is being held above her head, and she has to work for Carter of all people.

at the start, she's a little terrified. then she gets curious, wants to know about the whole process involved in things like this but she hates Carter too much to bother sweet talking that out of him (she's dropped the pleasant mask around Carter a long time ago. she highly doubts he would buy it at this point anyway). it takes a lot shorter than would be considered normal, but soon she's desensitized. stops caring. never cared much to begin with, but now there's a whole new layer of apathy to her.

she starts thinking abt killing. she starts thinking abt killing a lot.

she thinks abt her boxing practices, how good it feels to hit the punching bag. how she always found the rush of adrenaline that comes with a bar fight to be a special kind of addictive. hears the sounds of Carter finishing off a kill while waiting in the car and wonders what that must feel like.

beating someone's face in. feeling blood in your hands. grabbing all that frustration, all that anger she feels inside, letting it out. letting it all out. she finds herself hitting the face of a pervert at a bar and wondering what would happen if she didn't stop. comes back from her daydream to find herself being dragged away by security, the man who harassed her with blood spilling out of his nose and eyes.

still moving.

still alive.

it's not enough.

her skin i t c h e s .

....when she receives Host's invitation, she's not really expecting much. doesn't take long for her to realize what it's all about once she gets there, however.

it's a pleasant surprise, to say the least.

she gets to satisfy her urges curiosities and she gets to stay away from Carter?! it's perfect! she'd kiss the Host if she could, honestly. being stuck in a forest surrounded by hot people... if she could snatch herself a sugar daddy/mommy while at it, someone who could pay off her debt and pamper sustain her for life, it'll be perfect. (her main romance(s) will be Elysium and Host, purely by selfish reasons bc that's how she rolls. that will not stop her from flirting w literally everyone of the cast until she can't anymore and she definitely does not actually expect to fall in love w them... but she probably will anyway. i am especially interested in her dynamic w Ely, bc they seem to be the one who's most likely to understand Wills on some level.)

out of my 3 ocs that i use to put in Situations, Willow is definitely the one who's going to enjoy slsq the most. she's having a fucking blast, her morals are dead anyway and she's always been thirsty for violence. this is enrichment for her. at least until The Horrors begin (falling in love /hj).

i genuinely am not sure what her personality is gonna end up being in the game itself. if i had to guess, i'd say bubbly, with a teeny tiny dash of caustic (both her and Ariel are bitter and cynical, they just deal with it in different ways. Ari tries to be a better person and Wills either lies to herself or drowns in her own wrath). babygirl is a fucking mess, she's not going to fix anyone, in fact i feel like she's the one who needs fixing-

a few extra fun facts: she can't cook or clean to save her life. her apartment is an absolute mess just like her life but she is one of the best sex partners you could possibly ask for so she has that going for her. her style is trendy/stylish cute and revealing clothing, she knew going out to the middle of a forest wearing a mini skirt was a terrible idea, she just didn't care bc getting a few scratches matter less than looking good does to her. she's Tiny (157 cm/5'2" tall) but she's extremely strong bc she's addicted to exercising so she can and will kick your ass at any opportunity. 

she looooves making people have low expectations of her. even the way she dresses helps give her the bimbo image she adores to cultivate. catching people by surprise is a powerful weapon when used right, and she knows how to use it extremely well. her words can cut deeper and more painfully than any punch she could throw your way as well, her passive-aggressive game is insane. she knows how to use words not only to charm people, but to rile them up as well. i have a feeling she and OD will be besties, if nothing else purely because the both of them love chaos.

ok that's all! thanks for indulging me :)

(2/2) 

-🦊

(pt 2)

[phunockery]

Trigger warning allergic reaction, random etymology facts pertaining to sexual acts, talking about death, the melodrama of trying not to die.

(Spoilers) If you're reading this, it means I survived the night.

This is a timed log after finding out I poisoned myself. I don't think I'll die from it but this sucks and I'm feeling emotional and melodramatic.

11:00ish

If I die tomorrow, I didn't mean to. I promise. I just wanted a drink. I usually don't, it usually upsets my stomach. But tomorrow I turn 34 and I was feeling frisky and wanted something to drink while I play my traditional birthday (and sad mood) game: Sonic 2. So I grab a Kirkland hard seltzer from the fridge. Never tried the brand, but it was black cherry and I like that.

I decided to try to time some of my runs, nothing serious. Beat a couple of my pbs feeling good.

After drinking about 1/4th of the seltzer and I notice that my head is feeling funny and I wonder how a 5% drink was making me feel like that. My game play gets bad, but I beat my PB on Chemical Plant 2.

Aquatic Zone is a mess, mild improvement in act 2... And I start feeling itchy. Hives are building. I grab some Benadryl, chew two and as my chest tightens I look up what could be causing this.

11:15

Apparently there is a filtering process called finning that run the alcohol through animal products, like gelatin.

That comes from pigs.

That I am deathly allergic to.

The company does not have to disclose this information and honestly this a best guess, because what else would make me allergic to an alcoholic beverage?

Now I am sitting here, trying to differenciate anxiety and anaphylaxis. Taking deep breaths, epi pen in hand. I'm not going to call 911 because I can't afford it, if you're mad, join the club. (🦅 Insert screams of eagles and freedom here 🇺🇲)

It's almost midnight. I am almost 34 and I am live blogging my allergic reaction because I have nothing else to do

'call 911' that is far too expensive and I don't want to leave my kids with massive amounts of debt because I decided to get treatment (eagle screaming and freedom noises here 🦅)

I messaged a few friends, but they're busy. My friend is probably going to kill me in the morning when she sees this if I'm not already dead.

I'll probably live... I once survived a wedding where the brides mother unintentionally tried to kill me. I was lucky then because there was a doctor in the house... But that was worse. I had lost my ability to breathe immediately.

I'm just itchy. Soooo itchy. I am covered in hives... It doesn't help that my other friend made dinner and no one put cast iron that has cooked bacon and allergy together yesterday... Which I suffered for. Granted I suffered less then than I am now. Now now, but still itchy and cramps.

11:30

I hope to make it to cramps. I should. I can still breath. I am just so itchy. I hate this. I should be getting rest so I can pretend to have a good birthday. Instead I will pretend to have a good birthday and deal with aaaallll the fallout of having a full allergic reaction.

11:35

Chest is no longer feeling tight. A friend has message saying they are going to bed. I sent a message asking if they have a few moments to just sit with me. I think it was too late, they're offline.

11:40 I'm still itchy. My legs, my arms, my scalp, my chest, my armpits... It all itches. This really sucks. (Remembers that sucks used to be a euphemism for bjs and this fact gives me the chuckles of strength).

11:45

double checked messages to other friends. All unread. Some are online, some are not. But I am still alone so you, future reader, remain my emotional support pen-pal.

The skin around my eyes is itchy like I was crying. I don't think I've been crying. I'm upset, but not like that.

Good news: this won't be my worst birthday.

My worst birthday was in 2009. I was BMT for the USAF and on my 19th birthday, two days before graduating, I was acting unusually confused, was sent to the hospital and diagnosed with viral meningitis. I was booted from the USAF shortly after recovering.

11:50 Hell this isn't even as bad the last 7 years that just got progressively worse. I was let go of my job on my 30th birthday and became disabled two days later. (Barely related). Last year I was coerced into going to a water park (I don't do good with loud noises any more) and I wound up breaking a tooth trying to swim in the shallow waters. My ex was not comforting about it and suggested that I not make a scene in front of my kids because they would get upset.

11:55 I can breathe a bit easier. Still left unseen and I turn 34 in 5 minutes.

3 minutes to go and I am trying to fight the sleepy of the Benny's until I feel less itchy.

2 more minutes, I really hope I don't die, my friends don't deserve to have a corpse in their guest room

12:05 made a happy birthday post on TikTok. My voice is definitely affected, but I can talk and breath.

Still left on unseen. I feel bad that they're going to wake up and find out that a friend reached out for help and help wasn't available. That is going to suck. Hopefully I'm still alive and can tell them they're good and deserve sleep.

12:20 a rando has become the first to wish me a happy birthday. A friend messaged to let me know they're glad I'm safe and they're going to bed so they can work in the morning. They hope I find someone to talk to. It looks like it is just you and me

12:23 the stomach has put in its bid for attention. I will spare you the details. The Benny's are taking effect. I am soooo tired and the body itches slightly less. Except around the eyes, it still feels like I've been crying

12:29 my apologies to my friend: I fear I have destroyed your toilet. It should be fine in the morning.

12:30 the stomach still hates me. I hate me. I just want to go to bed.

12:40 tired. Imma go to bed with my Epi Pen on the bedside table. I wake up to everything anyways. The sudden inescapable lack of breath should be more than enough to wake.

I could really use a 'there there's and a hug. And now my eyes are itchy again, at least I know why this time.

Good night.

[talesfromtheunknowable]

I think you're the kindest sweetest most imaginative soul I know! I love your little universe and the fact that you've been with it for so long is so wholesome!! I love the different blogs you have and I would love to understand Anuli more! Fae are absolutely adorable and I relate to faer philosophy so like please I will absolutely fan around your finished WIP :D

ALSO the fae pronouns are so creative and it adds on to the magical finding yourself undertones of The Land of the Fallen Fairies! I love them a lot

- Anonymous ;D

THAT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME THANK YOU SO MUCH <3

(I don't know how to communicate how I stop and smile at each and every ask. How it makes my nights of worrying and frantic rewrites, hoping to the stars that this turns out nice. How it casts my internal world, the majority of myself that honestly is my sanctuary in such a wonderous way that I loose any words to express that feeling.

But I can say thank you.

So thank you. It's absolutely wonderous,)

And as for Anuli:

Anuli character sheet <- Basic info and little fun facts

'How did Anuli come to be?' <-- Original character sheets and general LotFF iterations

Lot's of info on Human AU's, Anuli and Kamari, and a philosophical infodump <--- has some more 'philosophical' Anuli info

General tag

ANNNDDD: @imjusthereforeternity

Anuli in general was supposed to be a character that is (a) easy for me to write - so not a ton of actions and as many thought processes as I can get - and (b) represents that need to chase happiness, to fix yourself so you deserve that happy ending.

And part of that is because of stories themselves.

Little me trying to navigate a world they didn't understand found that stories were... not a perfect framework, but by stars did they help. How to be funny. How people think. And most importantly, WHY. Why any of it works the way it does.

And yet, both stories, and the entire universe, told me that 'good things happen to good people'. That those who have a certain attitude, that those who believe certain things or have a certain lifestyle or go through a certain arc will have that whimsical happy ending I wanted so bad, it hurt.

Anuli was my companion, in every time I cycled over to the beginning, throughout all of it. It got to the point where I would accidently call myself 'Anuli' in my head because at times, when I needed a coping mechanism, life was simply story fodder.

... That was a slightly unrelated rant.

Anywho! Anuli's philosophy and internal dynamics.

Anuli does not remember faer tree, or being tethered. Just that fae has been tethered, for as long as fae could remember.

(This is definitely not because I didn't want to write these parts because it was boring in previous iterations... totally not. /j)

But at least fae had stories. Stories, and Kamari. The Place of Tethers may be a villain out to get faer. It may have bright captured stars that scream throughout the night in static, but Anuli has stories. Fae has Kamari. Anuli would have a happy ending someday, because of Kamari. Kamari promised. Fae promised.

And Anuli had glimpses of the happy ending already. Fae knew what it would be like, for fae had already felt that sort of elation. All fae needed was for faer tether to be broken, for the Place of Tethers to be vanquished forevermore.

And Kamari promised. Anuli had Kamari, so it would be okay. The Place of Tethers was bearable because Kamari was there.

...

So anywho, Kamari disappeared for a day.

(I'm probably going to fix bits and pieces of this draft, since it's the first thing I've written for this iteration, and it was difficult for perfectionistic me. Kamari probably told Anuli that fae may be gone for longer and Anuli would get distracted in preparing a story to tell Kamari that fae forgot that Kamari wouldn't be there.)

And Anuli ended up breaking faer tether.

Great!

Fae defeated the antagonist. The Place of Tethers was gone. They had a happy ending now! Kamari would be ecstatic.

Kamari was not, ecstatic.

All this is to say that Anuli had a happy ending before, and fae didn't truly enjoy it because fae thought it might get better.

Then fae ruined it.

And fae's been chasing that happy ending, what fae had before, what fae could've had if fae had just waited, if fae wasn't a fallen fairy, ever since.

This is that sort of 'I CAN FIX ME' that Anuli runs by.

Villains don't get happy endings unless they have redemption arcs. If Anuli had a redemption arc, if fae could only get rid of all the bad parts of faerself....

ALSO ALSO!

I want to try to make the bulk of the Land of the Fallen Fairies fairly episodic, so I can explore a different aspect of this concept each 'episode' and leave myself open to writing as I please.

So I want to try out different episodes. Specifically, 'metal adventure ones', like those where you split yourself into all the different aspects of your personality?

That, but Anuli tries to 'rid' of all the 'evil ones'

And the 'fix your past' episodes? Not time travel, but 'change your memories so they don't bother you anymore.'

The opposing aspect of Anuli is the 'I waste love' part.

And I always have the hardest time describing this in a way that feels how it is in my head. It's not 'hurting others'... more so 'not being able to repay them', they have sacrificed their lives, their time, all their love, for your betterment, for your happy ending, and all you give them is regrets.

And they will feel betrayed by that.

They should hate you for that.

But no, they still want you to get better, they still love you.

And that hurts more than anything else.

So Anuli's character becomes this contradiction of 'wants to change self for a happy ending' and 'me being around others... forget about happy... would ruin everything.'

WHICH BRINGS ANULI TO STORY CYCLES.

It gets worse and better then worse again. An aha moment that unlocks a so-close-to-the-happy-ending one day, then a dark night of the soul the next.

Because stories are by no means linear. There is regression at times... as painful as that can be to admit, and that 'trying to tame your garden' is absolutely exhausting. At that point, is happiness - this abstract unknowable feeling - worth it anymore? Especially when it feels so strained, so empty, on the rare occasions fae does feel it.

All I can offer to this is that... it's a garden, it's a story. It will cycle, all of nature does that. Stories end right after the happy ending, and you have to find another story. And that... well their cycles are not as painful as life itself, because by no means are you a character, you're just reading.

Life could be like that too.

---

As of the current arc of @imjusthereforeternity, Anuli thinks that its faer nature for faer stories - and faer life - to spiral into darker, more morbid storylines. THANKFULLY.

OUTLINES.

(I went on the planning obsession and sold my soul to the underworld trying to follow it to a T, so this will be fun.)

And Anuli keeps making disclaimers, these are new beings, they can be saved. If they are warned, they can be saved from trying to want anything from Anuli, from rooting for the antagonist.

Hopefully.

The archives excite Anuli quite a bit, fae's fixing faerself, this will work! Fae will never have to be an antagonist because Kamari's having faer happy ending and Anuli is completely rewriting faerself to follow these outlines.

I mean, sure, fae's having trouble getting faerself to do some of the things, and is getting distracted by other ventures, but the outlines will stop anything from getting too plot-ruining.

It has to.

---

Thank you again for the ask! I'm so so glad you like the Land of the Fallen Faires.

[the-hinky-panda]

Sacrifice (A Narcos Fic)

Title: Sacrifice 

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Eduardo Sandoval x Fem!Reader

Summary: For all intents and purposes, you should hate each other, or at least harbor a strong dislike. But life has a funny way of bringing just the right people together at the wrong time. The war on drugs in Colombia is a gigantic chess match. If you’re smart and lucky enough to survive it though, you could have a beautiful future. 

Taglist: @seltsamkind​ @xoxabs88xox​ @littleone65 @dufresnes​

“You really shouldn’t think so highly of yourself, Eduardo. You know what we are, don’t you?” 

Your cheekiness amuses and irritates him to no end. “And what is that?” 

“We’re pawns.” You rethink your statement. “Well, maybe you’re more the rook and I’m the knight, but you get my point. We’re the pieces on the chessboard that are very useful but ultimately are sacrificed in order to win the game.” 

“And what makes you so sure we’re going to win?” 

You never did answer him. One of the hundreds of interruptions that he can no longer remember prevented your conversation from continuing. That was always the way between the two of you. Brief flirtations with intimate moments that reality and crisis always brought to a grinding halt before those moments had a chance to be finalized in a natural order.  Who knows where you would have ended up if they had reached completion. 

Eduardo Sandoval has so many questions that he is desperate to find the answers to now that he has the chance. That’s the only reason he can accept for why he’s standing in a mostly empty baggage claim in some small airport in a town called Harrisburg. The United States. A place he never intended to travel to, let alone spend any considerable time visiting. But he’s not here to see the country, or the land. He’s coming to the only place that he feels will show him a shred of acceptance and softness after his being cast out of his homeland: you. 

He has always found it easier to dedicate himself to people instead of organizations. People were more nuanced than the rigid structures of social constructs like politics and religion. There was more flexibility with the decision making process and there were always less people involved in that process. He  pledged his heart, mind, and soul to César Gaviria and his vision for Colombia. But now that he had given all three of those, plus his reputation and career, to protect the man who was Colombia’s best chance at a prosperous future, he needs to find someone else. Apparently Colombia isn’t the only one with a future now. With a resigned sight, he grabs his suitcase off the carousel and steps outside in the sticky, humid summer air. At least that’s something familiar. 

Then he sees something else that is familiar. You. Leaning against a hatchback with a bike rack on the roof, you look much like you did in Colombia: thin and wiry, dressed in khaki shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers. The only thing that is new happens to be a long, raised scar that runs along the plane of your shin. He wonders why he even came here, why he thought America was a good choice to retreat to so he could lick his wounds. But then you smile at him, push yourself away from the car with such a fluid grace that his mouth goes dry. 

That too, is familiar. 

“Hola, Eduardo.” You open the back hatch of the car. “I really wasn’t sure if you were going to show.” 

He puts his suitcase in the back of the car. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he was going to show up either. “Well, here I am.” 

You briefly touch his arm. “I’m glad you came.” 

For a split second, his world rights itself and everything feels stable. It’s been so long since he’s felt that way that it disorients him for a moment. But you drop your hand and head to the driver’s side of the car and he’s off-kilter once more. He drops into the passenger seat, buckles the seatbelt and takes note of just how clean your car appears. You must have recently cleaned it. For him, perhaps? Did you even think highly enough of him to spend time doing that? As you pull away from the curb and maneuver onto the turnpike, heading east from the airport, he remembers a conversation he had with Gaviria when you were still in Colombia, assisting with the DEA and Search Bloc. 

César had that half grin that twisted the corner of his mouth. It only appeared when he was truly relaxed and feeling most like his true self. Eduardo knew he was in for it just from that half grin, never mind the twinkle of mirth in his friend’s eyes. For once, he was thankful it was a late hour and it was just the two of them in the office. 

“When are you going to stop throwing sand in each other’s face and just talk to each other?” He raised his hand to silence Eduardo’s defensive comeback. “Talk civilly, I mean.” 

He felt heat rise to his cheeks at being called out on this embarrassing little flirtation he allowed himself to engage in with you. “When she stops picking up handfuls of sand.” 

César laughed and shook his head. “My God. I have half a mind to send you out on a playground so you can push each other down in the dirt and end this nonsense.” 

“She’s insufferable.” 

“And you’re never difficult.” The grin grew. “You’re in love with her.” 

He scoffed. “Don't’ be ridiculous.” 

“Out of all parties involved, I am the least ridiculous.” The smile lessened. “Is it because she’s an American? CIA?” 

Eduardo didn’t think himself to be a nationalist, holding to the belief that Colombians were superior to any of the other nationalities, arrogant Americans included. But did you grate on his nerves because you were one of the gringos that were invading his country and trying to tell them what to do? Was it because you were one of the top intelligence officers the CIA had to offer which was why you were the courier that ran classified files between the Embassy and the Presidential Palace? He can’t put his finger on what it was exactly that set his teeth on edge when you entered the room. “I don’t know. She’s just…” he made an exasperated noise. 

 “Just promise me that when the time comes, you will take a chance. If not with her, then with someone else. Your level of dedication and loyalty should be focused on more than just a figurehead. Countries are made up of people and those people start with families. Strong families create strong countries.” 

So he promised. And now he’s here, sitting in your car and studying your profile. He tried to imagine himself with other women. The smartly dressed secretaries and interns that took up residence in the presidential offices. He met the dignitary's daughters and senator’s sisters, but they all seemed vapid and flat. They were black and white and you were screaming technicolor. 

He always came back to you, no matter how hard he fought against it. You were brash, loud, inappropriate, so…American. He tried with everything in him to dislike you, to keep you at arm's length, but you danced over those boundaries as if they never existed in the first place. He fell for your sharp wit and challenging sense of humor. You met his intensity with your own brand of passion and it was both addicting and irritating. 

You were passing through the Presidential offices, having just delivered an envelope of papers and pictures from the US Embassy. You were dressed in your cycling gear, garish neon green bike helmet tucked under your arm, and sweat slipping down the side of your face and along your neck. His mouth went dry at the sudden desire to trace the path of those droplets with his tongue, to taste the mix of salt and you. 

And it infuriated him. 

“Delivering pizzas? Or some other American food nonsense that’s in a greasy bag?” he teased, following you into the elevator. He needed to clear the lobby of reporters before César left the building for the day. But he also needed to clear his mind of you. However, it was just the two of you in the elevator and it was proving a difficult task. 

“Actually it was a box addressed to you. It was ticking so maybe you should give it a good shake before opening it.” You flashed him a cheeky grin and he fought the urge to kiss it from your lips. You were so incredibly fearless, cracking casual jokes of bombs as if it wasn’t an actual threat. 

“Given how you handle your deliveries, I feel fairly safe that if it were a bomb, it would gone off by now.” 

You narrowed your eyes but whatever retort you had was cut off as the doors opened and there’s a group of about ten reporters waiting for him. You take note of each and everyone of them. This was something you two did have in common, constantly aware of your surroundings and the people in your vicinity. Always scanning the crowds for threats and coming up with escape routes. Perhaps César was correct. You and he were just too similar, summoning feelings of annoyance that comes from staring into a mirror for too long. 

“I don’t envy you your job, Vice Minister.” 

The sudden desire to hear you say his name surprised him. He wondered though, just how it would sit in your mouth and curl around your tongue. How would you say “Eduardo” in the odd twang of your accent? He tried to shake this feeling off by straightening his tie and buttoning his suit jacket. “What is the saying you Americans have, it’s a tough job but someone’s got to do it?” 

***

You can’t believe he showed up. To be honest, you almost didn’t show up to the airport because you were so convinced there was no way that Eduardo Sandoval would actually arrive at your local airport. But he did. And now he’s sitting in your car as you drive him back to your little white farmhouse in the rolling corn fields of Lancaster Country. It’s surreal. You never really struggled with words but you do now and you can hear the uncertainty in your tone when you do speak. 

“How was your flight?” 

“Fine,” he answers shortly. But then he sighs, a short burst of air through his nose. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.” 

You laugh, that sharp staccato of sarcasm and broken pieces of confidence. “If you don’t know why you’re here, I certainly can't help you with that.” But then you sigh quietly, seriousness and softness bleeding into your tone. “I was kind of hoping it was because you want to see me.” 

“I did,” he says defensively. “I do. I’m just…not good at this.” 

The desire to tease him is so strong but you tamper it down. Teasing and trading barbs was for then, not now. Now requires you both to be honest and direct with your words and intentions. “Yeah, I’m not that great with it either. I suppose if we were good at it, our time in Colombia would have ended differently.” 

You have never attended a formal function at the Embassy before but when Eduardo had asked if you were going to attend the Presidential Christmas Banquet that the Americans had been invited to as a show of camaraderie between Colombia and America, you couldn’t say no. You had no idea what you were doing so Connie Murphy took mercy on you and helped you choose a dress for the party. It was an odd piece of clothing, off one shoulder, black and warm oranges of tulle and satin, embroidered around the bodice and bell-shaped skirt. You felt ridiculous in the gown. 

Until you saw Eduardo’s face when he realized it was you. Then, you felt like a lady. 

He never complimented you verbally but you could tell by how fascinated he had been with the dress, jewelry, and elaborate up-do of your hair, that he had been suitably impressed. He had even danced with you, a formal waltz that you had managed to follow despite your desperation at memorizing the feel of his hand on your waist. Or the exact shade of blue his eyes were. Or the bend and wave of his hair. 

If you hadn’t been in love with him before that night, you certainly were by the end of that dance. 

He had offered to walk you out when the evening was winding down. In the alcove of the coat check, he had put his hands back around your waist and kissed you. It had been an impromptu action, most likely fueled by too much champagne and the gaudiness of the holidays. But you memorized every detail of the action. The soft press of his lips against your own, the warmth of his body that was much closer to you than it ever had been, the weight of his hand on the small of your back, and the clean, sharp scent of his cologne. 

You had been thankful for the two week break the holidays offered since it took you that long to stop grinning like the lovesick fool you had suddenly turned into. But then nothing happened. The next time you saw each other it was across one of the outer offices of the Presidential Palace. It was a brief moment of eye contact, a slight dip and nod of your heads, and then business as usual. 

You were more than a little heartbroken. 

“I wish I had taken you home that night at the Christmas party.” 

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at not only his directness in the statement but also in the realization that you both were thinking of that party at the same time. “Really?” 

“Really.” He looks out the passenger window. “When I was sitting in La Catedral with Escobar, out of all the decisions that I had made in my life and career, that was the one that I regretted the most.” 

You feel uneasy with the depth of the conversation. You haven’t seen each other for a few months. He had called out of the blue asking if he could spend some time with you in the States, that he needed to put some space between himself and Colombia. There was no elaboration, just desperation. You reached out to some of your contacts who were still in Colombia, hell you even placed a call to President Gaviria himself, but all you gathered was an outline sketch of the situation. 

Things had taken a turn for the worst and Eduardo’s strength, his loyalty, became the noose around his neck. Stepping onto the plane to leave his homeland had been the equivalent to stepping off a ledge. The rope snapped taunt and he landed in the front seat of your car. A stranger in a strange land. 

You had told him to let you know when his flight landed and you would be there but you didn’t expect this kind of confession to happen…well, ever. He was always one to play things close to his chest. You always knew what he was feeling, maybe even thinking, but he was brilliant at keeping everyone in the dark about his long term plans and goals, never confirming or denying anything. But you knew he cared about those around him, even you. You knew that right from the start actually. There are some qualities that shine through no matter how hard he tries to hide them. 

You couldn’t believe how stupid you had been. You knew Bogotá was going to be wild and almost lawless when it came to cyclists and drivers. There were no rules of the road when it came to sharing the space on the asphalt. So when the car clipped you and you went skidding across the uneven pavement, you really only had yourself to blame. After the satchel of information from the US Embassy had been delivered to President Gaviria, you had asked the nicely dressed secretary to use the bathroom so you could tend to your wounds instead of bleeding all the way out on priceless carpets and pristine marble floors. You didn’t expect for the small room to look like the OR after a surgery. Wadded up paper towels, soaked in blood littered the floor while the sink was completely discolored in varying shades of red. And you still hadn’t managed to get all the grit and gravel out of your legs. 

There had been a sharp rap on the door that caused you to jump at the suddenness of the noise. “Solo un minuto. (Just a minute.)” 

 You tried to wipe up the blood that was staining the black and white tile of the bathroom floor but all you did was smear into pink streaks while adding to the drops of blood. You shoved a clean paper towel between your teeth as you tried swiping again at the floor when someone tried to open the door. 

“¿Eres la mensajera? (Are you the courier?)” a man asked. 

“Sí sí, yo soy. (Yes, yes I am.)” The situation was quite hopeless. There was no way you were going to get everything cleaned up in a matter of seconds. You opened the door and came face to face with the bluest eyes you had ever seen. They were so striking they knocked all sense out of your head and all words out of your mouth. And for someone who always has something to say, that was a true act of power. 

“Tengo un botiquín de primeros auxilios, si lo quieres. (I have a first aid kit if you want it.)” 

You swallowed down the nervousness that had decided to lodge in your throat. “Okay.” 

He stepped into the bathroom, letting the door swing shut behind him. “¿Necesitas ayuda? (Do you need help?)” 

You paused, struggling to find words as his eyes rove around the small room and take in the bloodbath. He didn’t wait for an answer, just opened the kit, grabbed the antiseptic, and started cleaning the road rash on your arms, hands, and legs. He took off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of the door, rolled his shirtsleeves up, and flipped his tie over his shoulder as he helped in the effort to stop the bleeding. You tried to make sure none of your blood stained his suit but he had waved your concerns away with a long-fingered hand. 

“Me hará parecer intimidante. (It’ll make me look intimidating.)” 

You wanted to point out that his tall, strong frame and piercing blue eyes made him intimidating enough but you couldn’t get your mouth to work just right yet. You realized as he smoothed his hands down your calf to secure a bandage, that this was the thunderbolt that people always referred to when they talked about falling in love. 

“I’m glad you called me,” you finally say as you pull into the long, gravel driveway that leads back to your home. 

He hums in acknowledgement of the statement but doesn’t say anything else. His eyes are constantly moving, taking in the corn fields, the line of oak trees that stand as sentinels along the driveway, the small white clapboard farmhouse that sits in a copse of trees. You park right by the steps that lead up to the porch. 

“It’s not much, but it’s home.” 

He takes in the surroundings with a small smile that tugs on the corner of mouth. “It’s lovely.” He reaches for your hand and you willingly give it. His lips brush against your knuckles. “As are you. Still.” 

The same butterflies that you had back in Colombia whenever he had been near erupt once more in your stomach and chest. You hide their reappearance behind a smile and shake of your head. “Oh, you smooth talking politicians are all the same.” 

You reluctantly slip your hand out of his and get out of the car. He retrieves his suitcase and follows you up the steps onto the porch. Your hand hesitates briefly when you slip the key into the lock and remember the one and only time you ever visited him at his home in Colombia. The fear and hesitation that you had felt as you stood on his front porch, waiting for the door to open, return in full force. 

You knew the basics of what had happened at La Catedral. A miscommunication had occurred and Eduardo had walked straight into the lion’s den. Somehow, he had managed to walk out unscathed. It had been a miracle. A Catholic church sainthood level miracle. You had been watching his house, a mid-sized townhome on a quiet street in Bogotá, for almost five hours. It was one in the morning when you saw a small light turn on in an upper floor window and you breathed a sigh of relief. 

He’s home. He’s safe. He’s alive. 

And now that you knew that, and had confirmation, you were furious. 

You got out of the car and marched across the street, stomping up the steps, and pounding on the door in three quick strikes of your fist. You couldn’t believe he did something this stupid, this harebrained, as to walk into Pablo Escobar’s prison, alone and unarmed. But when the locks on the door were released and the door swung open, tears suddenly blurred your vision. 

He’s home. He’s safe. He’s alive. 

And you wept with relief when you saw him standing in front of you, exhausted and weary from the experience. There’s only the briefest of hesitations before you crossed the threshold and collided with the center of his chest, burying your face into the wrinkled cotton of his dress shirt. He still smelled of gunpowder, flash bombs, and fear. He closed the door and secured all the locks once more with one hand while the other settled on the small of your back. He bent his head so his temple pressed against yours, the rough rasp of his unshaven cheek scraping against your tearstained one. For once, there was nothing to say. 

It had been seven months since that kiss at the Christmas party. Seven months of looks, discrete touches, and stolen moments in abandoned offices. Those impersonal nods of acknowledgement lasted an entire week before you found yourselves alone in the elevator again and succumbed to the desire to kiss again. It was helpful that he was the one who knew where all the security cameras happened to be located in the Presidential Palace. 

You never thought anyone could have meant this much to you, especially in this business of espionage and intelligence gathering, but he had snuck past all your defenses and taken up residence in your heart before you realized what was happening. You couldn’t, or wanted, to imagine an ending where you didn’t end up together, out of the shadows and living a normal life. Didn’t you both deserve that after all the sacrifices you’ve both made?

And you almost lost him. Almost lost that beautiful dream of a future. 

He folded his tall frame around you. “Lo siento, mi amor. Lo siento. (I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry.)” 

You hiccupped as you tried to find your words. “¿Por qué? ¿Por qué entraste allí? ¿Solo? (Why? Why did you go in there? Alone?)” 

“No sé. Yo solo…(I don’t know. I just…)” he sighed heavily. “Solo quería que esto terminara. (I just wanted this to end.)”  

You knew he didn’t mean to insinuate the end of whatever this was between you, but the undercurrent was still there. When Escobar is caught, you will be sent back to the States. But how could you not want this terrorist to be caught? How many lives had he taken with his drugs, bombs, and sicarios? He needed to be caught and imprisoned. In a real prison. Colombia needed peace in the same way a man stranded in the desert needed water. How selfish were you? 

“Lo sé. Yo... quiero que termine también. ( I know. I…want it to end too.)” You pressed your fingers into the cords of his back muscles, your ear directly over his heart. “Solo quiero que ambos estemos vivos al final de esto. (I just want us both to be alive at the end of this.)” 

His hand was in your hair, the other one holding your hip hard enough to leave bruises. “¿Puedes quedarte? (Can you stay?)” 

You should have said no. Secrecy was your speciality and this was breaking all the rules. But you felt the tremor in his hands, the unsure warble in his voice, and it overwrote your common sense and logic. 

“Por supuesto mi amor. Me quedaré. (Of course, my love. I’ll stay.)” 

His mouth landed on yours with no pretense or warning. There was nothing subtle or gentle about that kiss. It had been raw emotion, unfiltered fear and relief that could only be shown after a near death experience. His hands, still trembling from the aftermath of being a hostage, desperately tried to rid you of your clothes. You knew, quite well, the base desire to feel the skin and nearness of another person after the type of experience he had just had. You showed some compassion and unbuttoned your shirt before he ripped the fabric with his fumblings. 

He fought with your bra while you went to work on his belt, sliding the leather out of the metal clasp, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. Nothing was going to be accomplished until this desperate act of intimacy had been completed. Your hand closed around his hard length and his teeth sunk until your lower lip, drawing blood. You gasped and jerked your head back. His eyes were blown so wide with desire that there was just the faintest ring of clear summer blue around the black irises. It was like looking at the ocean from a plane: clear blue water before the seafloor drops off into the abyss. 

You shimmied out of your jeans and underwear, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor of the entrance way.  You made it to the steps and that’s where he laid you down and claimed you. The hardwood dug into your back with each thrust of his hips, the mixture of pain and pleasure at finally feeling him over and inside of you, completely overwhelming your senses. His mouth latched onto your clavicle, sucking a bruise over the rise of bone. 

“¿Dónde? (Where?)” he panted into your ear. 

Your response had been to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper inside of you as you both came with a shudder and groan. You ran your fingers through his thick hair and down the side of his face while your heart rates slowed to a normal pace. He pulled away reluctantly with a touch of shame but you had chased his mouth with yours, assuring him that this had been a welcomed encounter. He stood up, taking you with him, your legs still hooked over his narrow hips, and continued up the stairs. You both showered before falling into bed, exhausted and tangled together. 

You had no idea, no warning, as you laid in his bed watching the sun rise that morning, feeling the twitching of his greedy hands on your skin as wakefulness broke over him, that your entire world was about to be turned upside down in a matter of hours. 

***

He sees you hesitate at the door. “Is everything alright?” 

You shiver with a full body shake. “Yeah, fine. Sometimes the lock sticks.” 

“Ah.” He knows it’s more than that. He remembers the last time you both had crossed over the same threshold and how that had ended. He still feels slightly guilty for unceremoniously taking you on the stairs and not doing things proper and right by you. He should have taken you out to dinner, bought a nice bottle of wine, at least gotten you into his bedroom before taking your clothes off.  But the life you both led was anything but conventional so why would your courtship be anything different? 

Which begs the question, what does your courtship look like now? What are the conventions surrounding a disgraced Vice Minister of Justice and a CIA intelligence operative? Two chess pieces that have been knocked off the board, no longer in play and returned to their box. Which brings a second question to his mind, hopefully one that is easier to answer. 

Shortly after that Christmas party when he had given in to the temptation of your painted lips and delicate slope of your shoulders, you had found yourselves at the same cafe, sipping coffee and trying to appear sociable to any onlookers. Even César had joined you two for coffee eventually and Eduardo had thought you would have excused yourself. But you didn’t. Then he worried that the regular sharp-tongued barbs would start up but they didn’t. The conversation had continued as if you had been three friends having a chance meeting at the local cafe. If felt…normal. 

“Do you remember that time we had coffee?” 

You give him a confused look over your shoulder. “Is this your way of asking me to make some coffee?” 

“No,” he scoffs. “It was the time we had that conversation when you referred to us as chess pieces.” 

“Ah yes,” you smile brightly as you take down a couple wine glasses and pour a fragrant red before handing him one of them. “The rook and knight.” 

“Why those pieces? I’ve always wondered.” 

You fidget with your fingers as you process the question. He recognizes this now as your gathering of thoughts. Your mind moves so quickly that you blurt things out, like calling him a rook, but then you have to process why you said that. You and César were such complete opposites. He would labor over words and explanations before speaking his mind but you just opened your mouth and let spill whatever was in your brain. Two incredibly different ways of communicating, same insight and intelligence though. And for some reason, you both chose him to stand by your sides. He wants to know why. He would never get the answer from César, but he might from you. 

“Well, I guess because what was happening in Colombia was nothing but a chess game. Two kings positioned their pieces across the land in an effort to conquer the board. The rook moves in straight lines, no deviations. His straightforwardness isn’t limited and he can move as many paces as necessary to protect the king. Are you familiar with the castling move?” 

It’s been years since he played but he vaguely remembers it. “It has something to do with the rook moving across the board to protect the king.” 

You nod. “Yes, the king can either move to the left or right to avoid capture or the rook can position itself to the same square as the king to defend it. That was your job, protect the king, no matter what. And you did.” 

“So why the knight for you?” 

“I guess because the knight had such a unique movement on the board. Up and over. That’s kind of how I saw my position. I would move forward for the US government and then to the side so I could help the Colombian people. And given that I was working for both countries, I had the mobility that many Americans didn’t, much like how the knight can defend, attack, and even jump other pieces.” You shrug. “I don’t know, it sounded good at the moment.” 

He walks around the island in the middle of the kitchen and sits on one of the bar stools. “Obviously César and Pablo were the kings. Who were the queens?” 

You tilt your head to the side as you think, exposing the long line of your throat. “For César, I would have to say Colombia. That really was his only goal, to make the country as safe and prosperous as possible. He would listen to anyone who had Colombia���s future in mind. Pablo, I honestly think his queen was his mother, Hermilda. Everything he did, he did for her or because she enabled and encouraged him to do it.” 

He smiles slightly. “Yes, mothers have a way of inspiring their sons to action.” 

“Mijo, you’ve barely eaten anything.” 

He speared a piece of potato and dutifully put it in his mouth like he’s eight years old again and not thirty-eight and Vice Minister of Justice. Although, how long he’s going to hold that position, he doesn’t know at the moment. 

“No wonder you’re so thin,” she admonished gently. “Are you sleeping any better?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

She narrowed her blue eyes, the same shade and shape as his own, but she refrained from calling him out on his lie. To be honest, he has barely slept or eaten since he’d come back from Medellín, from the mess of La Catedral. Of course the news reported on his capture and Escobar’s escape. Of course the Attorney General was investigating Eduardo’s “involvement” in that escape. If this had happened a year ago, he would have dusted off his shoes, straightened his tie, and walked out of La Catedral with his head held high. He would have told the Attorney General to investigate until his heart’s content and not lose one second of sleep over it. But life has a way of lining things up and knocking them down. One small event doesn’t seem so significant, but when they keep happening, when things keep falling down, there is a force that builds behind the fall. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. That reaction is what is keeping him up at night. 

“How’s your friend, Eduardo? The one who is in the hospital?” 

He took another bite of food to buy time as he thought of his answer. He walked away from Medellín unscathed. You are not able to walk away from Bogotá at all. “She’s alright, Mamá.” 

“Eduardo.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Please.” 

She sighed and folded her napkin, placing it neatly by her plate. “I want to talk about it.” 

“Why? She’s an American who got hit by a car while on a bicycle and is going back home. There is nothing to talk about.” 

“When is she going back?” 

He stared down at the plate of food, no longer able to put any more of it in his mouth. It was his favorite meal, the one his mother makes for him on Sundays when she watched the news and worried about him. But it just tasted like ash and regret. This was his fault. “Day after tomorrow.” 

“She won’t stay here? Recover here?” 

You wanted to stay. You begged your bosses to let you recover and go through physical therapy here. He had stood on the other side of the hospital room door and listened to you plead, threaten, and cry in an effort to sway their minds. But all of your superiors including Ambassador Crosby and Station Chief Stechner came back with the same answer: no. The doctors and healthcare were better in the States. You would receive more attention and better security if you were on American soil. You called it bullshit to their faces and he couldn’t have been more proud of you. But you were still leaving, in forty-eight hours no less. “She works for the American government, Mamá. She doesn’t get a choice where she's going to recover.” 

His mother hummed, the noise she always makes when she disapproved of something. “You’re Vice Minister of Justice-” 

“Justice,” he repeats, “not physical therapy.” 

“I just think you should be able to intervene in some way.” 

Honestly, so does he. But he doesn’t want to talk about that, about how guilty he feels for not checking in with you that morning. How you had allowed him to explore your body with his hands and mouth, properly and thoroughly, tangled in his sheets. You had left to report to the Embassy but not before peppering his face with kisses and leaving him to bury his face in a pillow that now smelled like you. You promised to come back that night and he was already counting down the hours. 

But then the phone call came. Your voice was quiet, tamed. Your speech was slurred as you tried to stammer out what had happened. A car had taken a turn and clipped you, throwing you under the back wheel and crushing your left tibia and fibula. You got the license plate but the car was found abandoned on the other side of the city, the driver long gone. You were alive and lucky but…

“Are you going to see her before she leaves?” 

He should. He needed to, if he were honest. But sometimes, even his bravery ran aground and he ended up taking a coward’s way out. “I don’t know. Why are you so concerned about this?” 

“Can’t a mother be concerned for her son?” 

“Her son, yes. But her son’s friend that she never met?” He gave her a playful suspicious look. “That raises some concern.” 

“As does the fact that I never met this woman and now she’s leaving.” She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “Who is going to make my son happy again?” 

It had been a good question. A good enough question that drove him to visit the hospital the next day. However, when he reached your room, there was another person in the bed, a man suffering from some kind of stomach issue. Eduardo had turned around to inquire at the nurses station of your whereabouts when he saw a familiar figure in the elevator. 

CIA Station Chief Bill Stechner. 

He knew the news was not going to be to his liking but he stepped into the elevator anyway and waited until the door closed before saying anything. 

“Chief Stechner.” 

“Vice Minister. I’m surprised to run into you here.” 

“Same.” 

“Oh, I was just making sure one of my agents didn’t leave anything behind in her hospital room. You know how people can get when they’re all hopped up on pain meds. They can get forgetful and easily distracted. What about you?” 

He bit the inside of his cheek and reminded himself to be polite. “I was just visiting a friend. I didn’t think she would be released until tomorrow.” 

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? She’s doing better and getting out of this hell hole.” He clapped Eduardo on the shoulder. “Don’t look so angry there, Eddie. It’s not good for your blood pressure.” 

The doors opened and Stechner stepped off and disappeared into the crowd of ER patients and nurses. The entire one minute interaction was more than unsettling. He left the hospital and went straight to the Presidential Palace knowing that César was most likely still there. He needed another set of eyes to figure out what was off about his conversation with Stechner. He realized as he got into his car, he was too close to the situation to see it clearly. 

He had, at some point, fallen completely in love with you. 

***

You keep fighting the urge to pinch yourself as you sit on the deck, remnants of dinner still sitting on the wrought iron table with refilled glasses of wine. Eduardo looks the most at peace you have ever seen him. His jaw is relaxed, his smile coming easier, and the line of his shoulders low and dropped. His fingers aren’t fidgeting, although that could have something to do with the fact that they’ve been interlaced with yours for the majority of the time. The early evening has chased away the heat of the day, a gentle breeze moves the leaves of the oak trees in a slow pendulum swing from their branches. The sky is turning a deep purple as fireflies start to blink in the grassy expanse of the horse pasture. 

It’s a perfect moment and those never seem to last. Especially when your curiosity gets the better of you. 

“What happened?” 

His smile falters briefly. “When?” 

You give him a reproachful look. “Come on, now. Why are you here? No one is telling me what happened.” You squeeze his hand. “I want to know why you’ve decided to grace me with your presence after all this time.” 

“Who’d you call?” 

You shrug. “Some of my old contacts down there.” You take a sip of wine and speak the next name into the glass. “President Gaviria.” 

“You called César Gaviria?” 

“I did. You know how I get when I’m curious.” 

He huffs a laugh. “Oh yes, I know. What did he say?” 

“Not a whole lot.” You frown slightly remembering that terse conversation. You had hoped the trust that had been built between the three of you would have been enough to get the truth of circumstances but Gaviria had been quite close lipped about the events. 

Eduardo sighs, the air released through his nose. “He was…disapproving of how I handled a situation.” 

Ah. That stays in line with what you knew of the President and his faith in his Vice Minister. Gaviria would never air his grievances, even if it would have helped prepare you for Eduardo’s arrival. “What situation?” 

“My resignation as Vice Minister.” He takes a sip of wine. “Public opinion was turning against us. Escobar was still on the run from his escape from El Catedral. Sicarios were murdering police offices by the hundreds across the country. We thought bringing back Colonel Carrillo would have ended the violence given his determination to capture Escobar but…” 

“The ambush.” Pieces were starting to fall into place. You had met Carrillo in passing a couple times. The man reminded you of a pit bull, broad, fierce, and locked onto a target. If anyone had a chance at capturing Escobar, Carrillo was the one. Unfortunately, the pit bull was put down. 

“It was looking like Escobar was going to win and the Colombian people were looking for someone to blame. The news reporters were starting to use César’s name more and more.” 

“So you took the heat for everything.” 

He nods slowly. “Better the people hate me instead of César. Hopefully it will buy him enough time so he can find Escobar.” 

“Who is going to replace Carrillo?” 

“I suggested a Colonel who has been fighting FARC for the last three years. He has the opposite reputation of Carrillo: methodical, rule follower.” He actually smiles. “He’ll drive the DEA agents crazy. No more gringo vigilantism.”

“Watch it now, I engaged in quite a bit of that gringo vigilantism. Some of which benefited you, if you remember.” 

“Not that you made it very easy for us!” 

“They were giving me so much pain meds, I couldn’t even think straight! You’re lucky I dialed your number and not some random Colombian’s.” 

“I think it would be safe to assume they wouldn’t have understood what you were saying. César and I barely understood it.” 

“But you did understand it. Finally.” 

***

“What did she say again?” 

Eduardo dropped the handlebars of the bicycle onto the floor. His hands were covered in grease, sweat plastering his dress shirt to his back, and the desire to just give up grew with each passing minute. But he had to keep going. 

“She said for us to take a close look at her bike.” 

César, with equally dirty hands and rolled up shirt sleeves, tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Did she say her bike specifically?” 

“No, she said ‘my mode of transportation.’” 

“She didn’t have a car?” 

“No. She used public transportation or military vehicles. This,” he points to the pile of metal, “was what she used to get around Bogotá.” 

César wandered around the small living room of the one bedroom apartment that you had inhabited. Eduardo had told him of the conversation with Stechner at the hospital and both men agreed that Stechner was most likely worried that you had left some important files or tapes behind that he couldn’t find. Then you had called from your American hospital, still groggy from the pain meds, and told him he needed to look at your mode of transportation to find what Stechner was looking for. 

“Eduardo,” you had said, slurring the last half of his name, “you have to find it before he does. Please.” 

Your desperation had been palpable. 

“Maybe,” César said, his eyes roving around the apartment, “she meant something else other than her actual bike. A model, perhaps, or…” 

“A picture.” Eduardo saw it, a framed print of tree branches that give the illusion of a bike, hanging over your desk. He and Cesár carefully take it off the wall and inspect the front of it. Turning it over, Eduardo used a pen knife to slice open the back of it. Sure enough, there was a thick manila envelope in the back stuffed with pictures and intel about a new group that was being formed: Los Pepes. Eduardo and César sat at your small kitchen table and looked through all the documents and pictures. After an hour, César huffed a short laugh. 

“So this is why she didn’t want Chief Stechner to find this.” 

Eduardo looks at the picture César is holding up. It’s of the Castaño brothers and Bill Stechner. 

***

“What did you do with the packet of information?” 

Eduardo smiles. “We memorized it and then César took it home and burned it in his fireplace so nothing could be brought back to you.” 

That means much more to you than it should. “Did it help?” 

He shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’m sure eventually it will. Any information can be helpful in a war such as this one.” 

“A war we’re no longer fighting in now.” 

He pulls your hand up to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. “A war we both survived though.” 

You suppose that is true. You both are lucky, much luckier than most. Which is why you decide to push your luck. “How long will you stay?” 

There’s no hesitation in his answer. “However long you will let me.” 

“Eduardo-” 

“I love you. I have for a while now. And I’ve never done anything for myself. Everything about my life has been driven by someone else and their needs. Now, it’s my turn and I choose you. I want to be with you.” 

You’re thankful for the darkness to hide the tears that are stinging your eyes now. You have loved him from that moment in the bathroom when he patched up your road burns. You have loved him and every battle of wits that you two ever waged. You loved him enough to dress in a ridiculous ball gown just to feel his hands on your waist for a two minute dance. You loved him enough to confront him about the events at La Catedral. And you loved him enough for tears of bitter regret to fall as they loaded you into a medical helicopter to prematurely take you home to recover. 

“I love you too and you have no idea how happy I was that you called me, that I was the place you wanted to come to after everything fell apart.” 

He actually smiles and laughs, a completely genuine show of emotion. “I have to admit, I was afraid you were going to tell me to go elsewhere. Somewhere considerably more south.” 

“Oh stop!” 

“I was!” He laughs again but turns serious quickly. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want your life from Colombia to follow you home.” 

You take in a deep and full breath for the first time in years. “Colombia, Pennsylvania…the place doesn’t matter. Eres mi hogar. (You’re my home.)” 

“Y tu eres mio. (And you are mine.)” 

You stand up from the table, keeping your hand in his and gently tugging him to his feet. You lead him back into the house, through the kitchen and into the hallway. You start walking up the stairs but stop a few steps up and turn around. “You know, we could just-” 

He surprises you by sweeping your legs out from underneath you and holding you bridal style. “Oh, I’m going to do right by you this time.” 

“My my, sir, you are such a charmer.” 

“I’ve been told I would make a good politician.” 

You slide your fingers through the curling hair at the nape of his neck. “I wouldn’t quit your day job.” 

He makes a disappointed noise as he continues to climb the stairs. “I may already have.” 

“Oh dear.” You press your lips against the side of his neck, your tongue pressing against his pulse, and you feel his steps falter. 

“You may want to avoid doing that until I have you safely on a bed.” 

“I do like to live dangerously.” 

He huffs in mock-frustration and looks around the landing at the four doors facing him. “Are you going to help me out here or what?” 

“There’s three bedrooms and a bathroom. Take your pick.” 

He gives you a desperate look, much like the one from his return from La Catedral. “I want your bed.” 

Desire erupts from under your skin, not just from his words, but the emotion behind them. You do like to play chess, the thrill of trying to out-guess your opponent but there is something about that feeling of elation towards the end of the game: the winning move. So you give him the rook’s directive. 

“Straight ahead.” 

And he complies with zero hesitation. He pauses only for you to reach over his shoulder and flip on the lightswitch, before dropping you on the bed. You bounce a couple times, laughter bubbling up and out of your throat until his fingers find the scar on your left shin. His thumb slides down the raised, shiny skin where you’ve lost feeling in that particular area. But you still feel it in your heart, as if he’s touching your soul. 

“What happened?” The question is quiet and serious, just like his sky blue eyes. 

You shrug. “I got hurt, I healed up.” 

He gives you a mildly annoyed look. “Querida-” 

“Hey,” you slip your hand around his jaw and pull him up towards you. “We can talk about that later.” 

“I feel like I let-” 

“You didn’t. Not at all.” You smile up at him. “You’re going to let me down if you don’t kiss me though.” 

He acquiesces to your request by pressing his lips to yours and you feel like you’ve been hit with another thunderbolt. You need him in every way imaginable. You need his skin against yours, his weight on your body, his mind engaged with yours, his heart beating in rhythm with yours. Your hands start fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt and you feel his lips pull into a smile against your own. 

“Un poco desesperados, ¿no es así, mi amor? (A little desperate, aren’t we, my love?)” 

“Cállate, Eduardo. (Shut up, Eduardo.)” 

And so he does, tugging you up into a sitting position and pulling your shirt over your head. His hands immediately drag down over your breasts before reaching behind you and unhooking your bra. You roll your shoulders and slip out of the satin garment, falling back against the well-worn quilt on your bed. His mouth chases your descent, landing on your neck and moving down over your collarbone before closing over one of your nipples. 

You try to get your brain to communicate with your fingers as you’re still struggling to unbutton his shirt but you finally manage that task despite the way his tongue is flicking against your already peaked nipples. You push the fabric off his shoulders and he’s forced to sit up to remove the shirt completely. His physique hasn’t changed at all since the last time you were in this position. He’s still blade thin to match his sharp wit. His hands are drawn to the rise of your breasts. 

“Eres tan hermosa. (You are so beautiful.)” 

“Me alegra que pienses eso. (I’m glad you think so.)” 

He tuts in mild disappointment at your flippant comment before returning to your lips. He gently squeezes one of your nipples between his fingers and when you gasp, he slips his tongue past your lips. Your own hand slides between your bodies and palms his hard length, causing him to surge against you. You smile. 

“Now look who’s desperate?” 

His hands push yours aside as he undoes his belt and he starts to remove his pants. “I was trying to take it slow.” 

You’re already shimmying out of your shorts and underwear. “Since when have I ever taken anything slow?” 

His knee knocks into yours, making you spread your legs wider to accommodate him. “Do we need-” 

“No, I’m good.” 

You know the time to take things slowly will come either later on tonight or tomorrow morning. But right now, you need to feel him inside of you. You wrap your hand around him and give him a few quick strokes which makes him close his eyes. 

“Querida, please.” 

If it were any other time, you would draw this out until he was incessantly begging and pleading but you don’t want to admit that you’re just as desperate. You missed him so much, this connection that you two share. You line him up to your entrance and tip your head back when he finally slides into you. This, you decide, is what coming home feels like. This delicious feeling of culminating excitement and satisfaction. His hand curls around your jaw, the pads of his fingers pressing into your cheek and neck. 

“Te amo, querida,” he whispers against your lips. 

You almost lose your voice when you feel him pull back and rock forward again. “Te…te amo, Eduardo.” 

He murmurs things that you can’t hear against your skin, things in lilting Spanish. You hook your legs over his hips and feel him slide deeper inside of you. He uses more force with each snap of his hips and soon he’s hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you. The last time you had been with someone had been with him and now that you’re together again, there’s no slowing this down for either one of you. Your fingernails press down into the sinews of his shoulders as you feel the breaking of your orgasm wash over you. He presses his face against your neck and emits a low groan as he comes inside of you. 

And there it is, the moment you’ve been waiting for: your heartbeats are in sync. The world has righted itself. Both of you have finally come home. 

He raises his head and leans his forehead against yours, blindly kissing your lips and almost missing your mouth. “Te he extrañado mucho. (I’ve missed you so much.)” 

“Well,” you slide your fingers through his hair, “there’s only one way to avoid that.” 

He hums in question as he traces your cheekbone with his lips. “¿Y cómo es eso? (And how is that?)” 

You take a deep breath. “Stay.” 

He smiles against your cheek. “If you insist.”

[jack-kellys]

ok OK ok .

he asked if i'm a paychopath (i said how the hell should i know that?)

AND/OR

there's gotta be a way to fix who i am

ok these were tough idk why but i cracked em

send me a title and i’ll give you a plan!

first up:

albert isn’t one to criticize someone and actually mean it. but he seriously cannot be the only one who thinks jack kelly’s younger brother is a little strange.

race is wonderful, though, even so. he’s funny, he’s really quick, smart about lots of stuff, and he’s thoughtful. earnest. the guy means really well.

albert’s a bit captivated by him, fine, but mostly he’s curious. because the boy can be too smart sometimes- knowing some tidbit of information that is exactly useful in whatever scenario they’re in, or understanding perfectly how albert’s car needs to be fixed when albert’s been studying cars for years and can barely catch on to what race is saying. or sometimes saying what albert says… before he says it.

they’re not even out of high school yet- they’re 17, going into their senior year. jack and charlie—race’s brothers—don’t think anything of it, and al seems to be race’s closest friend at the moment…no one’s commented on anything. and that makes sense, technically, since it’s simply out of the ordinary.

and sometimes, so are jack and charlie, but al sees them less so maybe it isn’t fair of him to judge them.

but after school, al’s walking to meet race at jack’s truck in the parking lot, and al watches from forty feet away as race lifts his hand- and the hood of the car lifts with it.

“racer, what are you doing,” is sighed behind him, al whirls around to see jack, who honestly just looks fucking annoyed as he hears race’s ‘oh, shit! sorry!’ from beyond them, and then al is hiked over jack’s shoulder like he’s a bunch of fucking grapes and not six feet tall and their high school’s star hockey player.

he’s tossed in the car, and they drive, and it’s explained why race could figure out how to do such a thing.

it’s just. the explanation is that they’re aliens, and are currently stranded on earth.

yeah my thought process was literally “haha the title could be funny bc what if they literally didn’t know what a psychopath was because of them literally being from another world. lmao”

anyway onto the second one! this one i am. i’m looking at rn.

yk what we’re going fantasy idc.

in a world where power is defined by love,

nah jk kind of so i’m putting this au in a fantastical city where everyone has some sort of magic. lineage is everything to everyone, ancestors from centuries in the past can still define a person’s future, and especially future talents or gifts.

jack is, luckily, born into a higher position. he comes from a line of elementalists on his father’s side and healers on his mother’s. david is born lucky as well, from a long line of dedicated spellcasters, an extremely difficult magic to master.

they grow up together, taking classes and honing their skills along with their friends. this is starting to sound like the owl house but i promise they just have lots of magic types and that’s all

and jack makes a mistake. mistakes. he makes one final mistake that cannot be forgiven, because it’s not just a mistake, it’s damage. to his community, to his home, and worst of all, his family.

his parents cast him away. they don’t allow him home. they don’t forgive, not this time.

and jack finds that ever since, his magic has… dulled, when he tries to use it. and when he doesn’t try, doesn’t think, it’s- it’s out of control. the two people who had loved him the most, supported him all his life, had turned their backs, his lineage had sawed his branch off the tree, and he was paying for it.

it’s a road of hurt, acceptance, reformation, and especially learning to let others love him- because when he does, that’s when his powers start to bloom properly once again.

[husbandohunter]

Stardew Impact [Genshin+Stardew Valley/xReader]

Part 1/3 Kaeya, Diluc

Synopsis: “A mysterious phenomenon brought you and your s/o to an unfamiliar world: Pelican Town! Without the power of Visions, the two of you begin to learn the life of what it takes to be...a farmer?”

(DOMESTIC FARM LIFE YIP YIP)

Coming soon...

Albedo and Childe

Zhongli and Xiao

(A/N): So the brainrot was real in this one. I planned to add Albedo for a Mondstadt edition but kinda went overboard so I gotta split this one into parts too. Wordcount_almost 2k spspspsp

______________________________________________________

Diluc

• Already has the whole year planned in his head. Literally if Diluc were to play this game, he'd have a booming farm within year ONE. Calm and collected through and through, though the new environment raises alot of questions, as long as you were still with him, Diluc ain't complaining

• The town welcomes you two with open arms. It was all thanks to the attire. Diluc wore his usual dark coat adorned with regal gold while you had a dress made of Liyue's finest silk, one that he bought for you. Needless to stay both of you reeked the aura of rich aristocrats (Mayor Lewis is pleased that greedy bastard)

• Once the farm was permitted to your owndership, Diluc began to think of ways to turn it into a vineyard. He was a businessman afterall. Although the staff back at the Dawn Winery were the ones who tended the field, Diluc still knew a few things about planting due to his childhood days Master Crepus would bring him out to their yard and demonstrated the process of gardening. He still remembers those days clearly, doing the very same this moment with you.

• Occasionally works at the Saloon bar. It was the perfect opportunity. As you took care of the farm side, Diluc continues to look for more ways to increase the income while gathering information from the folks around town. Gus LOVES to have him over, like he's just so efficient and reliable! They soon become good friends saying if Diluc were ever to own a wine stock, he would gladly buy from him.

• This is why Diluc would stay a little later due to just chatting with the people from the bar. One time you walked into the Saloon only to the front desk with Emily alone. Turns out the others were in the other room, too busy playing a game of pool. You decided to leave him be since it was rare to have Diluc so relaxed in leisure activities. Thus in the end, you spent your time chatting with Emily until a whole hour has passed before your lover notices and apologizes for losing track of time.

• Everything felt like a dream because it was his dream. To live a life undisturbed from chaos, his duties and the dangers that lurk in Teyvat, Diluc grew fond of the domesticity. There was nothing he loved more than to spend his hours by your side, day after day, returning home to your freshly handmade meals.

• Spring: Already up and early planting the parnersnips (I'm very soft for gardener Diluc you see). What do you expect from a workaholic? Even during his leisure time you would often find him near some plant as he does consider this hobby quite therapeutic. But when it rains, Diluc would be standing beside you with an arm around your shoulder, smiling contently as you lean into his touch. He gazes through the dripping window and silently admires the current progress you both made on the farm.

• Between the two annual spring festivities, I would say the flower dance. Diluc is a private man and would prefer to take things where no eyes were on sight. But with a little bit of nudging from Gus (your wingman), he gives in and leads you to the center stage. Elegant. Graceful. The way you two moved together became the talk of the event. Though, Diluc was already used to people staring by now, all he needed to do was to ignore them and keep his focus on you.

• Summer: No blankets in bed. Nope, its bloody hot in Pelican Town. He tends to stay indoors or anywhere with shade, in other words, his work hours in the Saloon increased.

• Diluc always has a nice cold drink prepared for you if by any chance you were to pay a visit after a whole day of labour. It's a habit he's made subconciously as if it would be a natural occurance for you to enter the door. His colleagues would ask him who did he make that drink for? Honestly so cute i cri

• Moments like these remind him of Mondstadt, where he quietly wipes the glasses while listening to you talk. Your voice is soothing. Sun rays peek from the side casting onto the umber tables, reflecting a rich golden light as the radio plays a soft song in the background. It's so peaceful, the town was small hence not many people visited the bar, Diluc came to appreciate this warm privacy (plus no Venti and Kaeya which is a huge pog realization).

• Autumn: Harvest time baby. The kegs are full and the sheds are full of kegs. This season was huge stonks and the house ended up getting an upgrade. Diluc is the type of man who wants to make sure that his spouse wouldn't have to work another day of her life. I reckon this is why he's so ambitious because he wants you to have the best and you deserve the best. (Husband material. Slap a ring on him ladies).

When there was no more work left to do, time would be spend peacefully exploring the woods. While you skipped a few steps ahead as the leaves crunched beneath your feets, Diluc follows slowly from behind. He sees your back but his eyes stares somewhere far beyond whats in front of him: His future. 

It was such a stark contrast to the one he envisioned before. One filled with uncertaintly, blocked by darkness with no silver lining in sight, endlessly wandering as he drags the claymore against the ground. There was never a day in which the Darknight hero wouldn't think of Mondstadt. Leaving the city in the incompetent hands of Ordo Favonious while Abyss Mages continue to lurk fuels him to find a way to return as soon as possible and yet...

"Higher big sis!" Jas tightens her hold on the ropes as you pushed the swing with all your might. She laughs, like a child, it was full of innocence and joy. Later Vincent came in and nugdes you, asking when his turn will come.

"You wanna go too? Alright alright don't worry," waiting for Jas to come down, you lift the boy up so that he was seated safely on the chair, "3..2..1 go!"

He wonders if he could just be a little selfish for once.

• Winter: Best man to have in this season. Every morning Diluc would find himself restricted in movements due to a pair of arms around his waist and legs entangled with yours. Turns out you've been doing it subconciously because he's just so warm (Diluc keeps it lowkey and pretends to sleep longer cuz of it)

~~xx~~

Kaeya

• Haha looks like the portal is gone, guess we'll be stuck forever :)). No kidding Kaeya would be so down to stay here for the rest of his life and the best part is to spend it with you. He doesn't show a shred of concern regarding Teyvat, not like he's easily shaken by events that are abnormal, but you can see that Kaeya is truly and genuinely happy. (You're stunned).

• Oho we also have this marvelous landscape just for the two of us? And a cozy little cabin to go along with it as well? This should be fun~ 

• Of course Kaeya would also know a few things about planting, just the basics since he did grow up with Diluc. When they were kids, Crepus would give each of them their own pots so they can grow their own plants. It eventually became a competitive thing where whoever's plant grows the fastest gets to eat the other person's dessert for a year (no one wins. They end up sabotaging each other which Diluc started first, thinking it'll be funny as a joke).

• You are, and will be going on dates with him. In fact, the amount of dates you two went on increased since then. The townspeople would call you two "lovebirds" since he's practically by your side 24/7. 

• I mean he doesn't have the responsibilities as a Cavalry Captain anymore so what else is there to do?

• Would attend all annual events no matter what season. 

• Evelyn constantly gushes how much of a wonderful pair you and Kaeya make and often is the one who provides Kaeya a fresh bouqet of flowers for him to use as a gift. George on the otherhand just rolled his eyes mumbling something along the lines of "youngsters these days" and "crazy hormones."

• Befriends Pam. Love for beer plus somewhat cynical attitude? They get along real swell! She starts sending some recipes into the mailbox of course saying if yall ever need a hand, let her know.

• Spring: I can see Kaeya be switching back and forth between caring for the farm or taking quests posted on Pierre's bulletin board. He likes to keep things interesting, learning the ways of the new world while also getting to know the people around town.

• Would NOT return Mayor Lewis' shorts in which he found in Marnie's room. It's such high quality blackmail material. Kaeya is currently plotting what is the best way to use it to his advantage.

• He didn't tell you of course.

• Summer: There are no blankets because he is your blanket. Since your cabin was small so was the bed. That's why he has to hold you so that no one falls off when rolling over. Either he hugs you with your nose close to his neck, or your back against his chest while spooning you or holding hands if sleeping on your sides became too much. Yall need a serious house upgrade.

• For some reason Kaeya becomes more energetic in the summer. He lets you rest in the shade while handling the farm work for the time being. If you guys got a pet it would be a cat. Hes the first one to refill their bowl every morning outside.

Another day passes as summer comes to an end, the town’s Mayor invited you and your lover to see the annual Dance Of the Moonlight Jellies. Kaeya being the opportunist was delighted to come along. Locking the door of your house, you follow him down the path and made your way to the beach.

Everyone from town was already gathered by the docks when the sun had disappeared down the horizon. You stood by his side in a space far from the others, watching  the candle boats set off to ride the waves, lighting up a small ray of light for creatures to find. 

“Wow,” your tone almost above a whisper, “If only our friends back home could see this too.”

“Perhaps,” he says. Kaeya slips his fingers into yours and you shot him a curious glance, “But let us enjoy this moment shall we? Just the two of us.”

And there they were. A sea of luminescence radiating colours of brilliant blue with hints of green like a city of laterns floating in a world below. Their image reflects in the star of Kaeya's eyes as he wonders, where would they go? Where would the light lead them? They were so free with nothing to worry, so serene just like the sea and unknowningly, he squeezes your hand. It was a sense for confirmation. One to remind him that this moment was indeed a reality he wishes to keep.

Autumn: Finally a house upgrade and a kitchen!! Because it was harvest season, you guys end up making a set of delicious meals with all the recipes the townspeople gave you. Kaeya can cook since he lived by himself back in Mondstadt. Most of the stuff he learned to make were food that can be accompanied by alcohol though...

• Ahah remember Mayor Lewis' lucky shorts? He found a use for them. It was displayed on the stands during the Stardew Valley Fair (Oh my how did this get here? Must be the wind). Ends up buying a Rarecrow for the farm when Lewis bribes him not to tell this to anyone.

Winter: This was mostly an indoor season for the both of you. With the existence of television, nights would be spent until morning while watching movies at the couch. A blanket drapes around your shoulders as extends to his.  Oh and don't forget the hot chocolate! 

[danses-with-dogmeat]

could you do the anxious tics prompt with fo3 and new vegas companions? sorry, i think i’ve asked you to add characters a lot but i just really love your writing ^^”

FO3 and FONV Romanced! Companions react to Lone's/Six's Anxiety Tics

Here you are, my love. Please never feel bad about requesting more people! It's honestly what I live for, and I loooooove making content for the FO3 and NV folks, since I feel like there's a lot less written about them in general 😊

So thank you so much for the ask!

Here is the prompt with FO4 Companions!

FO3

Butch:

     The flash of large red-framed letters had caught Butch’s attention as the pair stood waiting to speak to Doc Church outside his clinic in Megaton. “Whatcha got there, babe?” he had asked, before realizing that it was, in fact, exactly what he had thought. Lone blushed as they looked up at him, hiding behind the pages of their comic book. “You really kept that? After all these years?” They had nodded to him, explaining that it was a sort of security blanket for them, that they could always count on reading the same story, seeing the same happy ending each time they looked between the pages, each time they felt uncertainty or stress, they could count on Grognak to see them through it. He grinned whenever he saw them with it, often curling up beside them, or leaning his head on their shoulder to try and read along with them. In these cases, Lone had to read the pages slower than they normally would, reading the same comic book over and over for the last 10 years means you can skim through it pretty quickly, but they don’t really seem to mind. Now they get to watch as this person that they care so much for enjoys the comic book they relied on and adored for so long.

Charon:

     The ghoul was curious about Lone’s tendency to nap directly after dealing with stressful situations, but he decided not to voice any inquiries. His companion would explain themself if they wanted him to know more. One day, they did. Lone had thanked him for always looking after them while they rested off their anxiety, and mentioned that it was something they couldn’t help. Charon had nodded at them, acknowledging their gratitude, before his blue eyes had narrowed in his effort to process the rest of what they had said. It seemed strange to him, sleeping off nerves... Wouldn’t that make it more difficult to sleep? He decided that the logic of it didn’t really matter, whatever it was that caused it, he would look after his partner as they took the time to rest. Soon enough, they would beckon for him to join them, leaning against his shoulder or laying their head in his lap as he kept watch over them. A scarred hand would come to run softly through their hair, or graze lightly over their arm as they dreamed away their anxieties alongside their watchful partner.  

Clover:

     Lone wasn't quite sure why, but it seemed to them that Clover was always so handsy whenever they became anxious. They had to admit, they didn't necessarily mind it, but she always seemed to get frisky at the most inopportune times. Meanwhile, Clover just can't seem to figure out why Lone is always casting hints her way in the middle of stressful situations. She gets it, she totally is picking up what Lone is putting down every time they draw their bottom lip between their teeth and gnaw away so suggestively, but do they really have to do that right now?! Once Clover finds out it's just Lone's way of coping with their anxiety, she feels sort of foolish… but that doesn't stop her from getting a little turned on whenever Lone does it, even though the timing is usually inconvenient for both of them. But after the trouble and stress has passed, Lone will certainly need to blow off some steam, right? If that’s the case, Clover is more than ready for it. 

Cross:  

     Cross often noticed when Lone had trouble focusing, she tends not to miss a thing, especially when it comes to her Lone. When she sees her partner struggling to keep their attention trained on the person speaking to them, she usually will step in and ask if the person can speak to her companion again at a later time. Her direct and clear way of speaking is a relief for Lone when they are experiencing tension, as their listening becomes almost ineffective when they are being spoken to during times of high stress or anxiety. Paladin Cross understands this, and pays particular attention to speak slowly and with great care in these times. Due to her affinity for speaking this way normally, she and Lone tend to never have issues with communication; which evidently, tends to keep Lone from becoming anxious when they’re around their partner.

Fawkes:  

     Within his first couple weeks of traveling alongside Lone, the mutant noticed their need to constantly snack. When he decided to inquire about it, and they hesitantly explained their habit to stress eat, he wasn’t sure he understood it, but he knew that he had his own ways of dealing with his nerves, which came in the form of wringing his hands whenever he became anxious. So, if this is how Lone deals with it, he will accept it without question. It wasn’t until one fateful day, when Lone had realized they were completely out of snacking material and they were on the brink of a breakdown, that they realized Fawkes had taken their words to heart, as he reached out a large hand, filled to the brim with an assortment of their favorite snacks from one of his pockets. All this time they thought he only kept ammunition in there, turns out, their partner always had a well-stocked stash of their anxiety-repellent hidden away for cases just like these. They smiled coyly as they took a box of snack cakes, and a tin of crisps, settling down beside Fawkes as he lightly ran his hand up and down their back as they leaned into him, their breathing already beginning to return to normal with each passing moment.

Jericho:

     The ex-raider always thought it was a little annoying, the way his companion would stutter at him every time something got dicey, or when they had to deal with some sort of verbal confrontation. It was painful to watch, and when he brought it up to them, and they stuttered back an embarrassed response, he realized it was well out of their control. It would still bug him, and he might make an off-handed comment about it every once in a while, but the more he saw that those comments weren’t funny to his partner, the more they glared at him as he laughed at his own rude jokes, he decided he should refrain from such talk. Lone hadn’t developed a thick skin like most wastelanders he was used to, and certainly not like most raiders; and he would have to constantly remind himself of that. After his realization, he wouldn’t say a word about their stutter again, and God help anyone who did. You mention his partner’s stutter, you’ll probably have one too by the time he’s done with you. If you still even have a tongue, that is.  

FONV:

Arcade: 

     The doctor almost flinched at the feeling of Six’s fingers wrapping around his thumb the first time they did it, but he managed to keep his composure and simply utter a sarcastic comment in response to their sudden action. But when their stress passed, and they explained that it was a tic of theirs that they had trouble controlling, he immediately understood. Not only was he a doctor (so you know, he has pretty extensive knowledge regarding things of this nature) but he’s also had his own lovely tangles with anxiety in the past, and can’t really blame Six for their habit (despite the fact that he has absolutely no tics of his own to deal with). However, his understanding of it doesn’t mean he isn’t going to make some sort of humorous comment on the action whenever it occurs. At Six’s annoyed expression he says that he is simply trying to lighten the mood a bit, maybe distract them with his humorous musings. Six thinks he must not have a clue that he exercises his own coping mechanism (ahem, sarcasm) whenever their gesture makes him uncomfortable, so they end up trying to keep themself from grasping onto his thumb to the best of their abilities. But, to be honest, they’re relieved when Arcade begins reaching over his hand to them in times of stress, his eyes avoiding theirs, and his comments going unuttered, but his thumb extending outward to allow easy access nonetheless. This gesture usually results in a kiss on the cheek for the doctor when his partner has gotten through their bout of stress.

Boone: 

     He had noticed it when he first met the courier, the way they couldn't look him in the eye. Boone hadn't been sure if it was just him, considering his constant need to wear sunglasses and his somewhat stoic demeanor, or if it was the way they were with everyone, but either way, he didn’t mind in the slightest. When he found that it was a result of their anxiety, he simply nodded to them in understanding, and the pair went on their way. The sniper honestly wasn’t big on direct eye contact himself, another boon of wearing sunglasses was being able to keep your eyes trained wherever you liked, and so people tended not to notice his own habit of avoiding eye contact with them. He threw the idea out to Six one night, and soon enough the pair wore matching sunglasses nearly all the time. And though, as he said, he didn’t mind Six’s habit one bit, the knowledge that they only looked people in the eye when they felt completely comfortable and at ease with them made it all the more special when they did decide to look into his eyes when the pair was talking, or sharing a tender moment. In those little instances, Boone liked to study the details of his partner’s eyes, committing their warm and vibrant glow to memory, paying distinct attention to their unique shape, and the way their pupils dilated as they gazed back at him. He only wondered if they noticed his eyes doing the same in return as he took in the details of the one he loved.

Cass:  

     The caravaner always tends to offer some form of alcohol to Six whenever she sees their leg shaking in such a way. Cass is familiar with the side effects of withdrawal when she sees them, and she'll try to help her partner to the nearest drink as soon as she can. When Six finally asks her about why it is that she offers alcohol to them when they’re feeling stressed, mentioning that it maaaaaay not be the most healthy coping mechanism for anxiety, she is a bit confused. They were anxious!? Strange, she only tends to shake like that when she hasn't had a drink in a while. With the knowledge that it’s a nervous tic of theirs, Cass uses it to her advantage to better tell when her partner needs to take a load off, or blow off some steam. At the sight of their leg thrumming away, she’ll give their thigh a pat to get their attention, and then ask if there’s anything she can do to help them. As luck would have it, a stiff drink does tend to give Six the time to calm their nerves, so that trend isn’t completely abandoned once Cass has found out the truth about Six’s habit.

Raul:

     "What's the matter, boss? Can’t find the right word? Lo siento, mi corazón, English isn't my best language, but I can try and help if you want." Raul is… confused at first. Whenever Six snaps their fingers, he can't seem to figure out if they're trying to find the right word to say, or if they happen to be looking for something, maybe they're trying to keep time, or make a beat? Maybe they’re counting something, trying to remember a phrase? Once they tell him it’s just a nervous tic they have, Raul looks a little embarrassed at the fact that he didn’t assume this earlier on. The ghoul tries not to pay much attention to his partner’s habit, since he knows it must make them a little self conscious when people point it out, but sometimes he can't help but snap along, trying to make a little song to go along with their own improvised rhythm. When Six does finally notice his contribution, Raul just likes to wink at them in response, flashing a playful little smile as they blush in embarrassment at the fact that he caught them doing their nervous tic.

Veronica:

     When Veronica noticed that her partner had pierced ears, she was ecstatic. Ecstatic, and jealous. She always wanted to pierce her ears, to find or make her own pretty little earrings to decorate herself with, but alas, ear piercings were certainly not within the limits of Brotherhood dress and decorum. Given her interest in them, it’s no surprise that she noticed the way Six twisted the backs between their fingers, twiddling the bits of jewelry absent-mindedly whenever they became stressed or nervous. Often times, Veronica would reach a hand out to gently pry their fingers from their earring, pulling their hand to her lips so she could give it a small kiss before bringing it to settle somewhere else, to keep them from damaging the little bits of jewelry in their ears that she envied so much. 

[doctenwho]

Man (and TARDIS)’s Best Friend

Hey! Thanks so much for the request, I had a lot of fun with this one! Most of the dogs in this fic are either dogs I had when I was little (and currently) and a few are my friend’s dogs. 

The TARDIS being a troublemaker is my new favorite thing, so hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,700

Summary: Check out the prompt above :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the rightful creator!)

In your defense, things had probably gotten out of hand. You really hadn’t meant for it to happen, for one to turn into two, two into three and... well, three into seven.  

It really had started with one.  

Just a few weeks ago. You were on earth, which, for it being your home planet, you didn’t tend to spend much time around anymore. You and the Doctor hadn’t exactly split up, but he’d left you to your own devices while he went off doing whatever it was he was doing on earth. The man had an agenda, and earth was the only place you didn’t mind being by yourself on.  

It was later in the evening, street lights illuminating the darkness around you as you strolled. It was nice to just be back on earth for a while, where you knew the terrain, and the people. Where things weren’t completely surprising, or shocking.

You’d been so caught up in your own head as you wondered around, you’d barely noticed the creature cowering on the sidewalk that you tripped over. The creature whimpered, and winced down, and it instantly broke your heart.  

You’d always been an animal person, sympathizing with those neglected, or abandoned, or abused. You couldn’t imagine ever intentionally hurting, or leaving a pet alone, so this was hard to see.  

The dog, you realized, stared at you fearfully. Cowering down like you were going to hit it. It was an older dog, dirty and scruffy, some kind of shih-tzu mutt if you were to guess. Its fur was matted, clearly left to on his own for a while at this point.  

You didn’t even want to think about what this dog had been through, just from his attitude towards humans, as well as it’s neglected state. He’d obviously been abandoned—maybe grown too old and lost that cute ‘puppy’ image that some people craved. The thought disgusted you.

The poor little guy was skin and bones, shivering where he was tucked in on himself despite his coat of matted fur that was probably too warm for even the late-night chill.  

You knew you couldn’t leave him. Not in good conscious. He obviously needed someone—he needed a person to care for him, and do the right thing for him, which is... well, it’s how you found yourself sneaking into the TARDIS with the poor little dog swaddled in your sweater.  

The Doctor wasn’t much of an animal person. He’d never outright said it, but you’d never really seen him interacting with creatures. Not like how a human would love and care for a stray dog, or cat. He never seemed the type.  

You weren’t sure how he was going to react to the dog.  

You moved swiftly through the TARDIS, your little companion wiggling in your grip as you snuck through the TARDIS halls. You weren’t even sure if the Doctor was in, or out.

“(Y/N)?” His voice called from behind you. The bundle in your arms froze, as did you as you debated your options. You were a ways away from your bedroom—the safety of it where you could clean up the little dog and think of a better plan than to be caught in the hallway with a stowaway in the Doctor’s space and time machine.

The Doctor’s steps were approaching, following behind you. He was so close. You turned to look behind you, afraid he’d catch up and you’d have to explain the dog so soon. You squeezed your eyes shut, thinking about making a break for it as you turned forwards again--

And there before you, was a doorway. Which didn’t make sense, because you’d been in the hallway, at least twenty steps away from your bedroom door, if not more. You knew for a fact there wasn’t any doorways for a while, because this corridor often felt endless. You looked around in confusion, frowning to yourself as you let your hand settle on the doorknob.  

“(Y/N)?” The Doctor called again, confused, and so much closer than before. You barely had a second thought as you pulled the door open, tumbling in as your feet moved before your brain could process the action.  

The door shut behind you, which you had absolutely no part in as you tried to finally catch your footings, arms securing around the bundled dog. It was only when you looked up to see where you ended up that you realized you were in you room.  

It didn’t make a lick of sense, but you were quick to settle the dog into your closet as you heard steps approaching, managing to jump onto the bed and pretend to be reading a book that was on your bedside table just as the door opened.

The Doctor furrowed his brows at you, gaze looking from the book in your hands, up to your face in confusion, “I could’ve sworn I just saw you returning to the TARDIS,” the Doctor commented, voice almost distasteful as he eyed you.

“Nope,” you forced out, hoping you didn’t sound as much like you were hiding something as you did to your own ears, “been here a while, Doctor.”

The man casted his eyes around the room again, looking for anything out of the ordinary, before he settled on you again, clearly coming up short.  

“Uh huh, well, we’ll be leaving shortly if you’re good to go?” he blinked, leaning just the slightest bit against the doorframe, and giving the room another thoughtful onceover.

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered out, cursing your anxious nerves internally before flashing the man a grin to hide you panic.

“Alright, well,” The Doctor frowned as he moved to pull the door shut behind him. He paused before it shut, standing for a second before he spoke again, “I was unaware humans could read upside down.”

The door clicked shut, and it was only then you let out a breath, eyes snapping down to the book you were indeed holding upside down. You groaned to yourself as you righted the book before dropping it back on the bedside table annoyed at that tiny detail that could’ve ruined it all.  

You pushed yourself off the bed, moving swiftly to the closet where you pulled the door open and smiled down at the nervous little dog. He was still mostly wrapped in your sweater, but his head and shoulder were exposed.  

“C’mon,” you offered your arms, “let’s get you clean up, huh?”

The dog only hesitated for a second before moving close enough for you to pick up. You cradled him in your arms, pressing your cheek against his head as you stared up at the ceiling for a second.  

You weren’t entirely sure what had happened just then, but you know one thing. You definitely hadn’t done it alone.  

“Thank you,” you smiled up to the ceiling, knowing exactly who’d helped you protect the little dog.

----

You’d given the little dog the name Teddy. He’d been a nervous wreck when you’d been snipping away at his matted fur with the scissors in your bathroom, but he’d warmed up to you a lot while you bathed him warm water with a sweet-smelling dog shampoo that was, confusingly enough, hidden away in the bathroom cabinet.

The name had only really come to be when bedtime rolled around, and you found yourself with a cuddly, snuggly little dog tucked in your arms. It was like snuggling with a teddy bear, and you couldn’t imagine naming him anything else as you stroked his ears as he slept.  

You really had just meant to leave it at Teddy, and see how long you could get away with hiding him away in your room. You snuck him food from the kitchen, set down a bowl of water in the bathroom, as well as a bowl of kibble that you had absolutely no idea where it had come from. You suspected the TARDIS helping you out where she could, and the thought made you smile.  

It was almost a game at this point, and it was a funny thought that it appeared to be you and the TARDIS against the Doctor. Finally, the odds seemed a bit more well-rounded.

Hunny and Saidy had come into your life unexpectedly.  

You knew the two German Shepherd Rottweiler mixes well. You’d gotten the call from your friend, the one who owned the two, that she could no longer keep them. She was being evicted, and it was quite hard to find a flat that would allow someone to have two medium-big sized dogs.

You knew you really shouldn’t take them—but you knew the girls, and they loved you, and the thought of them being rehomed, or given to the pound or something else just because no one wanted to take them made a weight settle in your stomach. The thought of them being separated tore at your heart.  

You weren’t sure where you were going to keep them, as you walked into the TARDIS holding both a pink and purple lead as you led them into the time and space machine. The girls were quiet, silent besides their paws tapping on the floor, as well as their panting as you led them along.  

You bit your bottom lip as you opened your door, stepping in quickly as you ushered them in, before closing the door and leaning your back against it. When you looked up, your jaw dropped.  

Your room was double the size it had been before. Three food bowls, and three dog beds—one small, and two big enough for Hunny and Saidy to sprawl out on. It warmed your heart to see, the effort the TARDIS was going through to make room for the dogs was honestly adorable.  

There’d been that inkling of worry that you wouldn’t have enough room to house these dogs and that you’d need to start rehoming them.  

You grinned up at the ceiling, “you go, TARDIS,” you laughed out as you kneeled to scratch at both Hunny and Saidy, then, to the dogs, you continued, “welcome home, girls.”

Teddy wagged his tail happily from the bed, hopping down to greet the new dogs, and you were overjoyed to see them all getting along.  

----

Gizmo was not a dog. Well, he wasn’t an earth dog, at least. You and the Doctor had been on a planet in a universe you hadn’t even known existed when the two of you stumbled upon a pack of little creatures.  

They were babies, you could see.  

You’d never seen anything quite like them. They were tiny—like teacup chihuahuas, fluffy like them too. They were a bit bigger than palm sized, and you were sure they didn’t weigh much more than half a pound, if that. They almost... well, they kind of resembled dragons too. It was like an earth dog and a dragon procreated.  

Their colours were vibrant, an orange one with purple markings, a green one with red patches. One tri-coloured one, which was two different shades of blue with patches of white.  

They were rainbow chihuahua-dragon hybrids.

The babies flocked around you and the Doctor, attempting to crawl up your shins. They made little sounds of excitement, not quite a bark, but close enough, and you instantly fell in love with them.  

“Awh!” You swooned, kneeling down so the small creatures could finally make their way up you. You’d learned early on to only be afraid of things if the Doctor appeared to be afraid of it—or if it was threatening you with weaponry, or violence. The Doctor never really seemed afraid of that. “What are they?”

“Tricos,” the Doctor huffed, crouching down so he was lower, but not quite at an angle for the little creatures to crawl on him. “They’re easily domesticated creatures, but are more-so viewed as nuisances by the locals.”

You frowned, looking down at all the little faces. They didn’t act much different than puppies on earth would. “Why do the locals not like them? They’re like little dragon-dogs—look at how cute!” You grabbed the blue and white one under the arms and hoisted him up for the Doctor to see his face.

“Well,” the Doctor clicked his tongue, crinkling his nose at the little Trico, “They’re scavengers. Like earth raccoons and rodents. Besides, they don’t quite have the intelligence for violence, so they’re pretty low on the food chain. Some locals have domesticated them, but lots don’t want to put in the effort.”

“Well,” you stuck your bottom lip out in a pout, “I like them.”

“I know,” the Doctor’s smile was small, his hand reaching out to stoke one of the Trico’s backs, before he was standing up again, “well, c’mon then. We can stay here all day. There’s things to be done.”

You pouted, taking the Trico’s off your lap one by one, petting them before settling them on the ground before you were standing as well, ducting yourself off. You looked back at them, frowning as you waved before you followed after the Doctor.  

It was only when you were tucked away in your room that evening, surrounded by Teddy, Saidy and Hunny that you noticed the sweater you’d shrugged off and tossed onto your bed shift as if something was in it. You froze, watching the sweater move, as the dogs around you growled—Teddy being the only one confident enough to draw closer.  

Your heart stopped for just a second as Teddy sniffed the sweater, only to cry out in surprise as the little blue and white Trico’s head peeked out from under the folds of the sweater, tiny tail wagging against the weight of the sweater.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you laughed away the fear, sliding off the bed to kneel beside the sweater. The Trico’s nose pushed into your cheek, before it gave you a lick like earth dogs did when they liked someone. “Have you been hanging on all day?” You asked, knowing the creature wouldn’t respond now that his attention was locked onto Teddy, who was reversing cautiously towards the girls.  

“It’s alright,” you hushed the dogs, offering your palm to the Trico; the little creature didn’t hesitate for a second before pulling himself up, tail whipping back and forth happily as he did so—and you could see a bit of the lack of intelligent the Doctor had mention, but it just warmed your heart. “It’s okay.”

The dogs took the evening to get used to the little Trico who you named Gizmo. You’s fallen asleep boxed in by German Rotties, with Teddy tucked against your side, and the tiny little Trico snuggled up on your chest.  

That following morning, you found a book on Trico knowledge and care instructions on your bedside table and whispered a hushed thank you to the TARDIS as you propped it open and read about the newest addition to your dog pack.  

----

After the Trico, you weren’t entirely sure how you’d managed to find Chloe, Bella and Cohen. They were a package deal, Chloe, an older Pitbull, who’d trailed behind you, hesitant but trusting all the same as if you gave off some kind of calming pheromone that attracted dogs in need. She walked slow with Bella and Cohen following behind her like ducklings.  

Bella was a French bulldog, and you weren’t entirely sure why someone would abandon such an expensive dog so young, but you’d taken her in easily. Cohen was the smallest of the three, a chihuahua mix that pressed in tight against the Pitbull.  

They were all strays down on earth, and you’d just happened to stumble upon them while the Doctor was chasing some alien criminal around for the safety of earth. You almost felt bad sneaking away to lead the trio of dogs into the TARDIS where she welcomed them with open arms, and three additional dog bowls, and a huge cushion that the three of them could curl up on.

“I knew you were up to something,” You spun quickly, mouth dropped in a hurried attempt to get something out as the Doctor stood with his arms crossed in the doorway, scowl on his face.  

Before you could say anything, your bedroom door slammed shut, much to your own surprise, and the Doctor’s as well, who you could hear jumping back in shock.

“TARDIS,” you gasped, attention shooting up to the ceiling.  

“(Y/N),” The Doctor’s voice travelled through the door, as the knob turned but wouldn’t open. “What in the world?”

You almost would’ve laughed if you weren’t busy ushering all the dogs into your adjoining bathroom and closing them in. You tried to make yourself look natural, standing awkwardly in front of your bathroom door, and it was only then that your bedroom door finally open, the Doctor stumbling in like it had pushed open as he’d been leaning on it.

“What,” he gasped out as he tried to regain his footings, “is going on here?”

“Nothing,” you squeaked out.  

You’d known that at some point you wouldn’t be able to hide the dogs anymore. You knew the Doctor was clever, and you were actually a bit surprised it had taken him this long to figure you out. But that didn’t mean you weren’t afraid that it was happening now—you'd been holding on the idea that it would happen eventually.

The Doctor stepped more into the room so he couldn’t be locked out again, where he eyed everything in your room, his gaze settled on the dog beds and food bowls. His gaze raised from the beds and dishes to your face, where his features were unreadable.  

He was a smart man, so he obviously knew what he was looking at when he asked: “what’s all this?”

You couldn’t seem to come up with a logical explanation besides the truth. But you still stuttered over your words.

“What’s in the bathroom?” the Doctor asked calmly, stepping closer to you, as you stepped back, blocking the bathroom door more urgently.

“W-what bathroom?” You asked dumbly, but to your surprise, the Doctor’s eyebrows shot up as he angled his head to look around you. You turned to look back at the door, stumbling away as you blinked at the now vacant bathroom entry. You gaped, glancing towards the ceiling before focusing back on where the bathroom should be.  

The TARDIS never ceased to amaze you.

The Doctor’s face was pressed into a look of uncertainty as he stared at where the bathroom door should be. It was the most shocked you’d seen the Doctor in all the time you’d known him. His gaze fluttered in your direction, where his eyes narrowed on your shoulder, “that’s a Trico on your shoulder.”

It wasn’t a question. You hand flew up, where it indeed settled on the tiny little creature. You groaned aloud as Gizmo made a similar noise. You should’ve known he was going to cling to your clothes as you tried to get them all into the bathroom—that was how he found himself a home here.  

“I knew I heard barking,” the Doctor’s eyes blinked rapidly like he was trying to understand, “and it certainly wasn’t him—” the Doctor’s gaze settled on the Trico, “what else do you have in here?”

You let out a long sigh, moving towards where the bathroom door should be. “The jig is up,” you called loudly, and almost immediately; the bathroom door was back. You ignored the mystified look on the Doctor’s face as you pulled the door open and the dogs all trotted out, barely batting an eye at the Doctor’s shock.  

“You’ve brought dogs into my TARDIS,” the Doctor had a distant look in his eyes, “my TARDIS helped you hide these dogs from me. How did you turn my TARDIS against me?”

“I didn’t turn her against you,” you huffed, voice bordering on annoyed, “she just has a soft spot for dogs, I guess.”

You instantly felt bad, swallowing before you mended your words, “it really did start with just one, and then... well, how can you say no to them? Look at their little faces. And... I think the TARDIS really likes them too, because she’s been helping me out.”

“You stole a Trico--”

“Hey!” You frowned, “technically, the Trico stole himself. I didn’t know he was clinging to my sweater when we returned, he was just there. Look... I’m sorry.”

The dogs had all mad their way up to the bed, laying and watching the exchange. The little Trico though, refused to move from your shoulder. “They all just needed a place to be, like... like I did too when you found me. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not,” the Doctor’s voice was low, “frankly, I’m just a bit confused about why the TARDIS is so keen on these pets.”

“She’s a dog person—err, uhm, a dog time and space machine?”

The Doctor let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I suppose she is. She’s always had a soft spot for misfits.”

The Doctor doesn’t look unhappy, or upset. He looks thoughtful as his gaze sweeps over the dogs, lingering on both you and the Trico before he’d looking back to the earth dogs, “quite the collection.”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “so, uh, can we... can we keep them?”

“How long have they been here?”

“Teddy- the uh, the little white one- has been here about a month. Since that earth visit.”

“A month,” the Doctor’s face scrunched up, almost in disbelief, “I don’t see why not then. I doubt I have to tell you they’re your responsibility, which I’m sure isn’t a problem considering they already have been for an upwards of a month, right?”

“The TARDIS has been helping too,” you remind, smile slowly crawling onto your face.  

“I’m only allowing this because the TARDIS is so keen,” the Doctor informs, but you can see through his words. He always has a hard time saying no to you, the TARDIS just sealed the deal for him. “You’re lucky I love you,” his gaze casts upwards and his smile appears a little crooked, “the both of you.”  

<><><><>

Trico is the name of the Last Guardian, who wasn’t quite the inspiration behind the hybrid alien dogs, but I was picturing them looking a bit like Trico as I was writing. Body wise, at least, and I’m awful at naming things, and thought Trico would be a cool species name :). I thought an alien dog would be fun, since they travel space lol

As always, if this wasn’t what you were looking for, feel free to prompt again! I hope you enjoyed, because I really enjoyed writing this one :D Thanks for taking the time to prompt, and to read my writing, it means a lot!

[five-rivers]

Solutions to Nonlinear Equations

For @currentlylurking for the Phic Phight.  :)

.

“Ancients, Vlad.  I’m not rejecting you because I’m a rebellious teenager and you’re an adult, I’m rejecting you because you’re incredibly creepy.”

Vlad sniffed in what he hoped was an aristocratic manner and raised an eyebrow, minutely adjusting his grip on Daniel to keep him pinned to the floor.  

“We’re human-ghost hybrids, Daniel.  I’d hoped that you’d have realized by now that we are meant to be ‘creepy.’”

Daniel squirmed and began to mutter into the carpet. “Clockwork never acts like this, I’m fine with him—”

Vlad pulled back as if burned.  He hadn’t heard that name in—in—

In a long time.  

Years.  

The thought was almost expelled from his head when Daniel managed to elbow him in the jaw hard enough to make him see stars. Before he knew it, Daniel had slipped from his grasp and zoomed away.  

Whatever aspersions Vlad cast on Daniel’s mastery of his ghostly abilities, the boy was fast.  When he put his mind to escaping instead of picking a fight, he managed it more often than not, to Vlad’s great frustration.  Hence Vlad’s usual strategy of needling the younger half-ghost until fighting was the only thing on Daniel’s mind.  

He set down on a nearby roof.  There went his plans for the day.  Which, admittedly, had consisted of distracting Daniel while his ghostly minions set up a nasty surprise for him at the school, hence making him fail his test, which would, in turn, convince Maddie and Jack to let Vlad set Daniel up with a tutor, something he had suggested to them earlier, and—

Well.  Daniel would find them, now, no doubt.  

Ah, well.  

He had more important things on his mind, now.  Such as, how in two worlds did Daniel know Clockwork?  Because Daniel never just said things like that.  He barely knew anything about ghost culture.  He wouldn’t know to bring up obscure, secretive, ghost historical figures.  He wouldn’t know what that particular name would mean to Vlad.  

Tongues of fire flared out of his fingers, bringing a measure of stability to the gyrations of his core and his emotions.  

Daniel knew Clockwork.  And, it seemed, met him with some regularity.  Enough for him to compare his actions to Vlad’s.  

Would that ghost never be satisfied with ruining Vlad’s life?  Was he not satisfied with—

He cut off the thought, shaking his head.  Never mind that.  

What Vlad needed to do was find Clockwork.  Which meant inducing Danny to go to him at a time when Vlad when Vlad could follow.  Which meant determining when he had visited Clockwork in the past.  An undertaking to be sure.  

He closed his eyes and teleported to his lab beneath his mansion.  

“Maddie!” he called out, even before his body had fully reformed.  

The hologram flickered to life with a faint crackled from the projector.  “What is it, sugarpie?” it asked with a smile.

“Review the audio recordings from Fentonworks,” ordered Vlad.  “Search for the term ‘Clockwork.’  Report findings to me.”

“Sure thing, honey!”

Vlad had to review the cheerfulness settings on the Maddie program.  Maddie was upbeat, but not that upbeat.  This was almost sickly sweet.  

He threw himself into a nearby chair.  

Clockwork.  He thought he’d never hear that name again.  Not after he’d been literally and figuratively ghosted by him.  

He telekinetically pulled a book off his shelf. He ran his fingers over the leather tooling on the cover.  The book had been given to him by Clockwork, years ago, when he was still in that hospital.

Clockwork had been the one to first show him the Ghost Zone, and all the wonders in it.  Clockwork had been his friend, his only friend, through that long, agonizing hospital stay. He had been supportive, wonderful, kind. He visited often, though not on a regular schedule.  He’d helped Vlad ride out the waves of misery and anger that so often threatened to overwhelm him.  

Then, without warning, nothing.  

No goodbye.  The last time he left, he had even said something along the lines of ‘see you soon,’ although the memory was frayed from age and Vlad could no longer recall the exact words.  For a long time, Vlad had worried something disastrous had happened to Clockwork. But then he had finally managed to build his own portal, reach the Ghost Zone under his own power, and, according to every search he did, every line of inquiry that bore fruit, Clockwork was just fine.  

Vlad had been furious.  He had been betrayed.  He had spent the better half of a decade trying to plot revenge against Clockwork, before realizing that was akin to plotting revenge against a god and turning his sights to a more manageable target.  

Now…

Now, Vlad just wanted answers.  Both as to the reason behind his abandonment and as to why Clockwork was apparently repeating history with Daniel.  

“Sweetie pie,” said the hologram, with a chime, “audio processing complete.  There are over ninety-nine instances where the word ‘clockwork’ is mentioned.  Would you like to play the selected files?”

“Yes,” said Vlad.  “Include the video portions where available, and the thirty seconds immediately prior to and following the mention.”

He turned his attention to the nearest screen.  He had a lot of videos to watch.  

There was an envelope pinned to it.  It was sealed with wax, impressed with the image of a pocket watch and the initials CW.  Vlad attempted, and failed, to suppress the growl that grew in the back of his throat. Was this a joke to Clockwork?

He tore the envelope from the screen, ripped it open with equal viciousness, and began to read.

.

Three cups sat on the tea service tray next to the teapot.

“Are you expecting someone else,” asked Danny, “or am I going to break one of these?”

Clockwork chuckled as he began to pour the tea.  “The former,” he said.  “Although you may always surprise me with the latter.”

He handed Danny his cup.  Danny inhaled deeply.  It smelled sweet.  “What is it?” he asked.  

“A chamomile blend,” said Clockwork.  “For calm.”

“I think Sam drinks chamomile before she goes to bed,” observed Danny, offhandedly.  “Who’s coming?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Danny made a face.  “Do you have to be mysterious all—”

The front door of Clockwork’s lair slammed open, and Danny jolted forward in alarm – the only people who regularly did that were the Observants, who didn’t much care for Danny – but Clockwork put a steadying hand on his shoulder and rewound his tea into his cup.

“Clockwork!” came the expected yell.  The yeller, however…

“Is that Vlad?” asked Danny, not quite scandalized, but more than a little surprised.  

“Why, yes,” said Clockwork.  

“Did you – Clockwork, did you invite him here?”

“Other than the Observants,” said Clockwork, “no one can enter unless I will it.”  He took a sip of his tea.  

“But,” started Danny.  

Clockwork raised a hand.  “Don’t worry, he’ll find us soon enough.”  He repurposed the hand to pat Danny’s knee.  “And even should he prove to be in a combative mood, I will not allow you to come to harm.  You are safe here, Daniel.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Danny, looking away, towards the door in the sitting room through which Vlad would presumably enter.  

Sure enough, a few seconds later Vlad half-flew half-skidded into Clockwork’s sitting room.  He leveled an accusatory finger at Clockwork.  “You!” he proclaimed, with a great deal of venom.  

“Hello, Vladimir, I’ve poured you some tea.  Why don’t you sit down?  I understand it has been some time.”

“You under-?  No!  I will not sit down!  I will not drink your tea.  Not after you abandoned me for over a decade, just like that bumbling oaf—”

“Hey!” interjected Danny, not only because Vlad had once again insulted his father, but because he could tell that Clockwork, regardless of his stoic façade, was actually quite upset.  

“Don’t interrupt me, Daniel,” snapped Vlad.  “You don’t know what this, this ghost is. What he does.  You don’t know that he gets close to you, makes you think you’re friends, and then drops you without a moment’s notice.  Did you think it was funny to string along a man in dire straits? Did you?”

“I did not abandon you, Vladimir, I—”

Vlad scoffed and went on a tirade that Danny honestly found hard to parse.  But it sounded like Vlad and Clockwork had known each other in the past and then fallen out of contact in a way that aggravated Vlad’s abandonment issues.  Which didn’t seem like Clockwork at all, but Vlad sounded extremely certain and insistent, and Clockwork’s upset was actually finding its way into his voice, now.  Danny didn’t—

With all the force and abruptness of epiphany, Danny realized what was going on here.  

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Danny, putting down his cup. “Vlad, breathe or whatever.  Clockwork, you did tell Vlad that you experience time nonlinearly, right?”

“Of course,” said Clockwork, clearly offended.

“But Vlad, ah, had you gone through natural portals often when you met Clockwork?  Or, like, did you ever see him without him initiating contact?”

“I didn’t have my portal built yet, Daniel, so, no.”

Danny turned to Clockwork.  “Why did you-?  No that doesn’t matter.  Haaauuuhh, Clockwork, do you have-?”

Clockwork waved a hand and a whiteboard appeared.  

“Thanks,” said Danny, picking a marker up from the little shelf on the bottom.  He uncapped it, then recapped it.  “Actually, before that.  Vlad—” he pointed at Vlad, who looked about one second from exploding “—you have some idea of how old Clockwork is, right?  Or at least how old ghosts can get?”

“Yes, Daniel,” said Vlad, managing to overlay his supercilious ‘I know better than you’ attitude over his still obvious anger.

“Okay, great.  So, just to establish, Clockwork has been around at least since, uh, beginning of time?”

“Give or take,” agreed Clockwork.  “Although I have not experienced it all directly.”

“Right,” said Danny.  “Just, already, his perception of time is different from our because of age differences.”

Vlad looked slightly less angry, and slightly closer to curious.  

“But, then, there’s the larger issue,” continued Danny.  This time his uncapping of the marker was decisive.  He drew a flat, straight, horizontal line across the whiteboard.  “This is our timeline.  We deal with time linearly.  We’ve also got, I don’t know, parallel timelines, like this.”  He drew several more lines.  “You following so far?”

“Yes, Daniel, I’ve read my share of science fiction.”

He was probably rolling his eyes.  Curse his solid-colored red eyes.  It made interpreting his looks and figuring out where he was looking during a fight much more difficult.  

“Anyway, Clockwork isn’t on any of these lines. Because he experiences time nonlinearly.”  He drew a squiggly up and down line on the board that resembled the world’s saddest sine wave.  Or cosine wave.  There wasn’t a y-axis on the not-quite-graph, so it wasn’t like anyone could tell the difference.  They were effectively the same.  

And Vlad still made fun of him for failing math. Danny knew plenty about math.  He just didn’t have time to do the work.  Mostly because of Vlad.  

“Now, that, that is Clockwork’s timeline.  It isn’t always in contact with ours.  It’s, like, solutions to a system of equations. Nonlinear equations,” he specified, in case it had been too long since Vlad had encountered basic high-school-level algebra.

“It is somewhat more complicated than that, Daniel,” said Clockwork, exasperated.  “It’s more of—"  

“Yeah, but this gets the idea across more than the whole parade metaphor, doesn’t it?”

“I would say not.  This doesn’t even begin to touch on my abilities.”

“That’s because we’re just talking about your perception of time,” said Danny.  He considered for a moment.  “And also your ability to interact with our timeline.”

“Which includes my ability to perceive multiple timelines.”

“But that’s complicated, and I still don’t get it,” complained Danny.  

“It is less complicated than what you are currently trying to explain.”

“To you maybe, but the whole point of this is that you aren’t seeing things the same way we are.  You disappeared on Vlad, what, a decade ago?”  He looked to Vlad for confirmation.  

“A decade is hardly any time at all,” said Clockwork with exasperation.  He sipped at his tea.  

“It was fifteen years.”

Clockwork made a somewhat dismissive motion with a gloved hand.  “It’s a tiny fraction of your life as a whole.”

“It’s… closer to a third of his current lifetime,” said Danny with a wince.  “Or a fourth?  I don’t know how old you are, dude.”

“I went to college with your parents.”

“I know, and you were already graying then. Your age is weirdly hard to place.”

Vlad gave Danny a look, but his body language was no longer screaming ‘I’m going to beat the snot after you.’  Danny counted that as a win under the current circumstances.  He disliked Vlad, but in a fight with Clockwork… Well, Clockwork could demolish just about anyone.  

Not that Clockwork would.  Just that he could.  

“Daniel—”

“Please, Vladimir.  Just sit down.  Try the tea. I made it for you.  I knew you would be upset, although I could not see exactly why.”  Clockwork was almost pouting, now.  “Fifteen years is such a short time.”

“Clockwork, I’m fifteen.”

“I know,” said Clockwork, patting Danny on the knee. “Your timeline is so small.  And cute.”

Vlad was now distinctly on his back foot, offput and disarmed.  “His timeline is cute?”

“It is.  Don’t worry, yours is almost as cute.”

Vlad opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. Danny pushed the whiteboard away.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he said.  “Like I said, different perception of time.”

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel abandoned, Vladimir.  I simply wanted to give you some time to, ah, how should I put this?  Have space?  Find yourself?”

Vlad sat heavily on the couch.  

“You get used to it,” said Danny.  “But, Clockwork, do you think you can talk him into having fewer evil plans?  Because, really.  There are way too many.  Like, one a week.  They’re destroying my grades.  Have you ever seen anyone else who had weekly evil plans?”

“Evil plans, Vladimir?  Really?”

[pynkhues]

What is your favorite Christina and Manny performance on the show?

Oh man, I have a lot actually! I think they're both really wonderful actors who gave so much to their respective characters, and while I think they had chemistry off the charts with one another, I also think they had chemistry with pretty much every other actor on the show? It was a really charismatic cast in general, and they played off each other so well.

Okay, so I've tried to narrow this down to just a couple a season, but it's been wildly difficult, especially since Christina in particular has so many really great scenes on the show, and I'm sure as soon as I hit post I'll change my mind, haha, but okay, right now:

Rio in the 1.10/2.01 cliffhanger

Christina and Matthew are great in this scene too, but Manny really steals the show. His ability to navigate the complicated, evolving mood of the sequence across two different episodes and a long season hiatus is pretty much perfect, and seeing him flick on honeytrap mode is just !! A wildly great momen, and some really great acting from him.

Rio with the tyre iron in 2.04

The bathroom break is, of course, transcendent, but Manny is honestly at his most charismatic, his most electric, his most physical as a performer in the episode closer with the corvette. It's a scene I think I've watched about 12,000 times and it never loses it's energy. He's really just that good in it.

Beth and Ruby's fight in 2.08

Christina and Retta both are on fire in this scene, but Christina's line delivery of "I would choose you. Every time." lives rent-free in my head. The way her voice breaks, the frantic, urgent pain, it's!! Perfect!!!

Beth and Rio go back to Beth's in 2.09

The layers of vulnerability and intimacy are unparalleled, and Christina and Manny both play the moment with the exact right amount of nerves and tenderness and uncertainty. Magicccc.

Beth in Beth and Rio's reunion in 3.03

In a lot of ways, Manny has the easier job here. He's performing for Beth, and he does a great job, but Christina fractures in such a compelling way. She feels so tautly pulled in the moment, so unable to process what's happening in front of her, and you feel that as much as you feel her start to scramble mentally for her way out, and the beat where she finally finds that escape hatch? It only gets better on re-watch.

Beth and Rio in the park bench fight in 3.06

Christina's actually pretty amazing generally playing griefstruck after Lucy's death, but I love this scene in particular for just the anguish that washes over both of them. Neither of them ever wanted to be here, and yet they can't escape each other, and a conversation that starts about work and becomes about Lucy before becoming about them involves so many shifts in tone that they both just land so well.

Beth strongarms Gayle in 3.11

Look, they like - - never let Beth be funny, and the chance she has to be a total dick to Gayle after robbing her blind is cinema magic to me. Christina just kills it.

Beth talks to Dean in prison in 4.03

This could be one of my favourite scenes acting-wise on the show fullstop. I think Christina and Matthew are both tremendously nuanced in it, but Christina in particular opens Beth up to guilt and grief and fear in a way her typically closed-off character doesn't get to be. It's really affecting, and the glassy eyes get me every time.

Rio's look of betrayal in 4.08

Naked betrayal!! The way Manny shifts his whole face in a heartbeat as he realises what's happened!! I can't!!!

Christina in 4.14 after Rio re-delivers Beth's furniture / Beth and Rio 'he's in our way' scene

Christina plays weary about as well as Manny plays charming, which is to say very, very well, and there's something to the combination of that that shouldn't work, but really does. The exhaustion is palpable in both these scenes, and with that exhaustion, everything just feels a little closer to the surface. Both Christina and Manny play the beats with something that's not-quite-vulnerable, but not-quite-as-guarded as normal, and it just creates this sense of space, not just in the moment, but maybe for the future too.

I think that's me! What are some of your favourite acting moments on the show?

[danganfan103]

Danganmon: Extended Epilogues

12 people who were once Pokemon, now turned human (I forgot the name and I'm too lazy to look back for the name since my Instagram is glitching making it harder to go onto guides- it's hard to explain) find themselves in an interview when the suddenly need to leave. They then have to stay in a hotel for a period of time. There, our protagonist, Snom, becomes friends with a certain mastermind's sister, Candella. But when Candella is kidnapped by an abomination resembling the appearance of Maya, will they be able to save her with the others? If you want to find our, read Danganmon Extended Epilogues!

...

Hmmm, anyone wanna hear how I talk when I read the dialogue of certain characters?- Look it's really funny. For Viktor, I give him my Russian accent which is literally the worst Russian accent ever but hey, it's for fun. I'd give Candella a French accent but I can't do a bri'ish accent, let alone a french. I also love the one for Gertrude. I give her a squidward voice basically and it sounds so fucking funny. But now to the actual story and some recommendations for why to read. First of all, Candella and Snom's relationship. Whether you see it platonic or romantic, though Snom may be aro, I can't see the flags behind them too well, they are adorable together! Honestly, I'd just like seeing an hour of Candella in general. She better live, I swear. Oh and everyone being a jerk back to Viktor because they're sick of his shit. That's certainly gotten a few laughs out of me. Another interesting part is watching the cast try to escape wherever they are, I'm calling it "DFCI's Basement". There's also a bit of a mystery to it. Like, I've basically figured it out what's happening at this point but I always wonder to myself, is there something deeper to this? Because, there might be. I also like the development they're giving to some of these characters. Like, I feel like each of them is growing and changing in a way, some more subtly, some more obviously. So, if you want a story with funny interactions, good development, and an interesting story, read Danganmon: Extended Epilogues!

Spoilers and Predictions

Annette is the other traitor. I'm sorry, she is such a sussy baka! First of all, she was on guard duty with Cogsworth in, I think, Chapter 3. They said they found nothing but what if that's because they both went out and talked to the Cyrillo x Wimessir: Together Forever abomination. Plus, when they were recounting how they found their talent with Candella, they were making plans on what to do when they get out. What if that was so they could kidnap Candella and bring her to Cyrillo x Wimessir: Together Forever. Sorry Annette fans, I'm one as well, but she is so suspicious, I swear. But now onto who I think will die. Let's get who I think will survive out of the way: Gertrude and Cogsworth. Gertrude is going through development and I can tell that Cogsworth will soon. Now, for everyone else...

Chapter 5

Giselle or Viktor: I'm putting these two together cause if either of them die, the other survives. If Viktor died, I feel like it'd make Giselle realize she can't be so depressed and because of this, she'd try to live on to have a happy life for Viktor, Luis, and Yukio. If Giselle died, Viktor would realize he can't be suck a bitch and try to survive to be a better person for Giselle. I can't see the both of them dying, but I 100% can see one of them dying here

Hanayo: If Giselle and Viktor don't die somehow, I believe Hanayo would be the victim as a sacrifice. She's become stronger and more brave throughout the whole game so I think she'd protect everyone and die. Because of this, this'd motivate Gretchen to survive on.

Chapter 6

Snom and Candella: I feel like either of them would sacrifice themself for the other. I feel like Together Forever would end up resulting in Snom or Candella in danger. The other sees this and protects the other, dying in the process. It'd most likely be Candella who sacrificed herself but it'd be a huge twist if Snom died so I'm leaning towards them cause of that and DEFINITELY NOT CAUSE I'D GO INSANE IF CANDELLA DIES!

Annette: Like I've mentioned before, I believe Annette is the other traitor. I feel as in a moment of redemption, she'd sacrifice herself for everyone else. In that final moment however I think Annette can finally has a moment where she frowns, due to the fact she's, well, dying. It'd show progression because she finally let herself frown and not smile.

[matthewgiggles]

Silent Night (2021)

This isn’t a typical review (cast, plot, narrative, final score…), but more of an essay on finding reasons why the film has left me so distraught by the end of it. And even feeling more so, days later.

If this isn’t your kind of thing, I totally understand 😉 Especially if the film didn’t upset you as much (I am probably a minority anyway!), then this is certainly going to read like a : “WTF is she on about? Get over IT!” So if this you and you simply came for the Silent Night giggles: exit HERE. 😄

*SPOILERS* Warning!

The last couple of days I have made quite a few gif sets of several scenes. So I posted : the funniest scenes, all of the dancing and Goodey just being his adorable funny quirky self. Now out of all of those, there was just this 1 set with Simon & Nell dancing, that hinted at the drama in Silent Night.

If you happen to have stumbled on my gif sets and you haven’t seen the film yet or read any spoilers - you may well think that Matthew and Keira are starring in a very funny and smart festive comedy! Maybe wondering, well where’s the drama then? Or the horror element?

As for the ones who have already seen the film, I hope all the giggles in the gifs helped in some way to process the drama?

The fact is that I’ve been procrastinating writing a review for the last 3 days. During that time I also had no wish no make any gifs or screencaps of the 10+ deeply upsetting scenes. Thinking about writing a proper review, I tried to rewatch the entire film - but I honestly couldn’t handle it and thus failed miserably with flooded tears, after 30 minutes.

So in my case, not only does the ending of the film leave you an emotional wreck - it becomes even more painful the second time round as you know what will happen.

Even though I am fully aware and usually very good at following rule no 1: Never ever confuse the actors with their characters! It’s all just acting after all… Matthew’s superbe but heartbreaking performance - makes it really bloody hard not to in this one. So yes, Simon does make me cry…a lot..in this film.

I have a feeling it’s actually because of the comedy aspect of the film. We see so much of Matthew being his goofball self as Goodey in all those funny scenes - acting as Simon. That when the story flip-flops back into the drama & horror, it’s emotionally challenging to watch Simon’s utter hopelessness, despair and grief. Not that the casual viewer may not be affected too… but let’s face it this is a Goode blog, so you hopefully know what I mean?

Roman Griffin Davis (Art) - where to begin? Your brilliant acting performance broke me young man! Funny, charming, witty and of course Art was the heart and voice of reason in the film. I don’t know what hurts more: to watch Art’s death (the poisoning by the gas) followed by his parents’ grief, or the fact that Art came back to life in that final shot? The punchline of the entire film: “you could have survived the apocalypse if you hadn’t taken the exit pill’’ More poignantly: if Simon and Nell had listened to their son, the entire family would still be alive. Art wouldn’t have to wake up next to his dead parents and siblings - and possibly grow up without any family or friends. I guess that’s why it’s so upsetting: you continue to process all these different scenarios long after the credits.

I get that this film is a dig at the British middle-class and we’re most likely not meant to care so much about Simon and Nell. We are only in their company for 90 minutes, but I would lie if I said that I wouldn’t mind to see that family in a weekly 30 mins comedy TV show. Obviously the parents have their character faults and quite a lot to answer for! Leaving the actual plot of the film (climate change,end of the world, the exit pill) to one side for just one second - I absolutely loved the family dynamics and the interactions with their three sons.

We just saw a glimpse of their relationship, but Nell and Simon are a couple I would be rooting for. After Nell’s mother passes away, they try to find comfort and courage in each other, knowing full well that they have to kill their children and themselves in a few more hours. And… a few beats later we see them dancing to Fame!

See this is one of those perfect examples of what happens with the editing in Silent Night. A heartbreaking moment or a poignant scene is followed by comedy. A true rollercoaster 🎢 of emotions the whole way through. I am really trying my best to get into the mindset of Camille Griffin (director and writer) : “that the comedy is there to deliver and facilitate the drama.“ However if the point of the comedy aspect was to help the viewer digest the drama and storyline of the apocalypse better - and maybe even laugh at the end instead of feeling upset for the characters - then that way of storytelling didn’t work out for me at all! Again I know full well that I am in the minority here, and most audiences will indeed either laugh or simply shrug and don’t care at all. Moving on the next film / tv on the watchlist.

So after all that, do I like the film? YES!! For all the brilliant performances by the ensemble cast and for their perfect comedic timing. Those scenes are a pure delight to watch and re-watch again and again. I would have been very happy spending 2 hours with this funny lot, without the doomsday scenario looming over them. Also that I’m apparently writing a novel… means that the production team must have done something right, or I wouldn’t have been affected this much.

Will I re-watch the entire film again soon? NO! Hopefully will get there after some more time has passed.I do applaud Camille for tackling the subject of climate change, social injustice and the unfairness of life - even in death. I just wished like some other reviewers that she had picked one genre and committed to it fully.

If you’re still here after all these ramblings, you deserve a 🍪 and 🥂🍾

📷 Silent Night (Marv Studios) - all edits / gifs by me.

[tsuumu]

beautiful stranger.

oikawa x reader

a short piece in which oikawa tooru approaches you on a idyllic evening. it’s a little awkward though, since you’re trying to die.

word count: 3.3k

tw: indirect and direct implications of suicide.

your warm hands stay gripped onto the metal rails in front of you, applying enough force to watch your knuckles turn white. you find yourself doing it over and over until your fingers numb from the continued pressure. alone, you’re mulling over mundane affairs. you’d rather not be thinking about them but find this loop all too easy to fall into.

the shadow of the railing casts over a large canal, its water sifting freely, far beneath you. it laps over itself, slithers of fish break the transparent surface as they swim. some of their scales rise to kiss the sunlight in opaque relfections.

thin layers of petals scatter the ground beneath your feet that have slipped from overhead trees and continue to flutter down freely. glowers of dying sunlight seep through the shapes of them as they fall.

in this moment, autumn is alive.

it’s really lovely right now.

you’re here, all caught up in chasing that feeling of peace. safety in an open space. you have to cope with that fact that tranquility never comes easily for you.

there’s nothing that should be leaving you as deeply unsettled as you are. you’ve learnt to largely ignore feeling so overwhelmed, though it stirs and resurfaces times you wish it wouldn’t.

what’s bugging you is that you can’t quite get a grasp on your own life.

for starters, everything lacks coherent meaning. to you, there’s something constantly missing every single day. nothing purchasable, nothing attainable through hard-work and any level of perseverance. truly, it affects you so much so that even just standing here, feet glued to the very spot that is undeniably ‘lovely’, brings you nothing but unimaginable sadness.

earlier, you brushed it away as an off day but you know that’s not true. you’ve been feeling like this all the time.

it is, therefore, not at all abnormal to wonder: can a person have such thing as an off life?

you really don’t like to think about things like this too much. once you begin to muse over deep naysay you find yourself snowballing.

solutions are painfully unobtainable and it’s generally as productive as chasing pavements.

do i really enjoy being alone? or am i obsessed with the sensation loneliness brings?

“you know, if you stare long enough, you might end up wanting to jump in.”

at once, your vision snaps up, taken aback by the additional voice. you hadn’t realised that during your mindless lamenting, another person had quietly joined you by the evening canal-side.

fair skinned, dark eyed, chocolate curls brushed neatly over his features and cowlicks that bob against the light gusts of wind.

a boy offers you a smile, before shifting his feet towards the empty space to your left. you can’t seem to process him, staring at the empty spot he’d been in seconds earlier.

you’re not supposed to be here right now.

“i was totally kidding by the way.” he adds. “that was really dark, sorry.”

you’re silent in return, eyes casting back onto the running stream. the water is shallow and the fall long, so jumping in would certainly prove fatal. you know all of this too well. it’d disturb the fish who are just here to live, though, it’ll only be for a moment. they won’t know any better.

you don’t really know what to say. it’s troubling that he’s here and hearing it out loud disturbs you, like a direct call out. at no point were you prepared for any kind of conversation prior.

the two of you stand there in complete silence. it’s not particularly awkward, you just don’t know why he’s approached you so easily, talking to you like he’s known you well enough to make outlandish jokes.

asking directly for his intentions seems rude, so you’ll put up with it until he leaves.

“do you always come here?” the stranger pipes up once more, though his focus doesn’t leave the water. you breathe in deeply.

“sometimes.”

“oh, i see.”

his palms lay flat and he pushes gently off of the rails, only to fall back onto them with all his weight. he does it again, repeating the process over and over at a steady pace. you stay hunched over, keeping your distance. he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest though, clearly absorbed in his surroundings.

“it’s like a set out of a movie, this place. seems like somewhere i’d ask my girlfriend to marry me.”

your tongue rolls around in your mouth.

yes. you think. his girlfriend would most likely be thrilled-over the top-squealing if he did. that’s entirely his business.

you really don’t care to hear of other people’s romantic endeavours.

is it out of jealousy? you don’t know. maybe.

this conversation is meaningless. you wish he’d go away sooner so you could have this time to yourself.

also, jealousy is an ugly word. you hate it.

he stops his movement with a exhale of air, tilting his head back to blink up at the warm sky. the last touches daylight mingle with the oncoming darkness, creating a deep tinge of orangey-yellow.

“when’s your birthday?”

‎a petal lands on the bridge of your hand, sticking to your skin.

“do you want my social security number?” you deject.

“what? no!”

“are you sure? really, i’ll give it to you.”

“no!”

“then why are you asking for my personal information?”

‎

he falls silent for a moment, before mumbling out a small: “just wondering.”

a tinge of guilt creeps over you at his apologetic tone. you admit, your answers thus far must make you seem like a completely unapproachable asswipe. you’re not at all. you just aren’t all that sure how to make small talk with strangers when you’re trying to part with the world by dinner time.

it feels like an unexpected guest at your very lonesome party.

“it’s (insert birth month).” you fold.

he purses his lips, face contorting a little.

“i see.”

he doesn’t continue down that path after your response. the both of you return to a mutual silence, staring into the portrait scenery ahead. the stream fills the soundscape pleasantly. fallen leaves have gathered at the base of your shoes, brushing over the tip gently with the turn of the wind. you observe them quietly.

“can i ask you another question?”

he seems a tad more timid now.

he definitely thinks you’re the type to blow up and give him an earful about minding his own business, doesn’t he?

you’d never raise your voice. in general, but also because it’d break the comfort of the scenery the world has so generously given you.

“sure.”

“do you believe in soulmates?”

‎the question is a little random but not impossible to answer by any means.

“no.”

“what?”

“i said not really.”

“you said no.”

“that’s the same thing.”

“...fair enough.”

‎he exhales out, sounding a little disheartened by your curt response. perhaps to him, you were a tough nut to crack; an ambiguity for him to understand. were all people like that? you weren’t playing hard to get, in fact, you’d answered every single enquiry he has had to offer. his efforts are amusing, though.

you raise a brow at him.

“i’m sorry, was that the wrong answer?”

for a moment, he doesn’t reply, stuffing his hands into his pockets, gazing down at the head of his shoe. pivoting his ankle, he draws small circles with the tip of his foot into the ground, into the dead leaves.

“not at all.”

“your expression says otherwise.”

“um, it was just a bit bleak, i guess.”

you let your arms droop way over the railing, fingers wading through the autumn air. you’d never really taken the concepts of soulmates to heart. it was romantic bullshit put out by somebody looking for a fantasy to indulge in. out of seven billion people, there could hardly be a singular person made for you. people aren’t born for other people. if that were the case, it wouldn’t be a rose-tinted fantasy. it would be suffocating. where’s the freedom in love?

“most people always answer like you these days anyway.”

“oh, sorry.”

he looks up at you, tilting his head.

“no, don’t be.”

back to a default mute, left with nothing but the faint chitter of overhead swallows and the odd rumble of cars passing by.

“tooru.” he states, after a while.

“what?”

“tooru. my name is tooru.”

“oh, okay.”

“oikawa tooru.”

‎your fingertips have become flushed. maybe you’d pressed a little too hard on that cold surface earlier. now that all your blood has come rushing back, the tingling sensation feels foreign.

his name slips of the tongue rather easily, don’t you think?

“nice to meet you, oikawa tooru.”

“it is nice, isn’t it?”

for the first time, your gazes meet properly and you offer him a crooked smile.

“i suppose so.”

off the side of the canal, almost right under the bridge, a small cluster of ducks have gathered. adult ducks tend to be considerably larger than its offspring —as is factual with any animal— so it’s easy for you to tell that there’s only one parent there, along with three of its ducklings.

people like to come to the canal to feed the ducks bread, though you’d heard somewhere that it’s actually quite bad for them.

you wonder. do ducks care particularly if one of its ducklings die? will it do something with the body, cry out, hurt?

or is grief exceptionally human?

“i don’t actually have a girlfriend, by the way.”

he sifts out his phone, tapping the screen and sliding it open. you watch him turn it to its side, before leaning over to take a picture of the depths below. you just watch.

“oh, okay.”

he doesn’t elaborate, focused intently on his current task. your attention returns to the shape of the birds, bobbing up and down rhythmically.

there’s only so much you can say about the canal. yeah, it’s beautiful. you don’t have the right vocabulary to describe the way it makes you feel. honestly, it feels abysmal to even try. you’re convinced though, that you’re in love with the way the water moves. you’ve always appriciated it whenever you walk past, told yourself jokingly that you could die there if you had to.

funny, that.

beautiful things tend to hurt in an unbearably amplified manner.

“say, tooru?”

“yeah?”

“if i climbed over the railing right now, would you stop me?”

you’re both fixated on the paddling now. his phone is back in his pocket, elbows propped up. he hums, taking his time to think over your question.

“most likely.”

your fingers meet one another and the tingling spreads to your palms.

“i’m thinking of jumping, actually.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“my joke earlier...”

“yeah.”

his fingers drum rhythmically on the slender poles under the rail top.

“then i’d jump right in with you.”

the corners of his mouth tug slightly at your perplexity, supressing a chortle. he’s not laughing at you, though. it’s more a gesture of understanding. this tooru doesn’t know you at all, yet he gets it. he gets it all too well.

you get that he gets it.

tooru clears his throat. “bad day?”

“that’s an understatement.”

“well, you’re not a bad person for feeling the way you do.”

by now, the ducks have swam away, you can make out the general shape of them, melding into the distant, mute colours of the bankside. the sky look minutes away from being set alight. time has never been your friend, you see.

“i feel crazy for trying.” you’re rather blunt about it.

“fair enough.”

“…is that all?”

“well, do you want me to tell you that you’re not crazy?”

you lull into silence.

“i don’t know.”

with that, you shift to angle yourself so that he’s in your immediate peripheral, the thought of gawking at him seems ridiculous but you want to look at him. you find it hard to do it up front for some reason.

“i’m no suicide expert, but it’d probably be lonely doing something like that by yourself. wouldn’t it be comforting to know someone’s falling with you?”

your fingers run absently across the jagged surface of the rails, the old paint has been chipped away at, after all its years of protecting. in all it’s history, had anyone else hitched themselves over this very rail?

were they asking for the same answers as you?

god. that’s awful. you don’t want to think about that.

you catch each others’ eyes for a second but you resign quickly, focusing as hard as you can on the flecks of black on your thumb.

“that would be selfish of me.”

“not if i’m offering.”

you scramble to look anywhere else, abruptly turning. you’re facing away from the canal, stomach fluttering a little as you fall onto the rail’s length.

in all your time by yourself, you’d never been given an irrefutable reason to ‘be’. it’d always been a live-for-the-day type of experience. if a day is good, you’re utterly blissed out by it, totally in love with life. if it’s bad, you have little reason to go on. nothing particularly interests you enough to dedicate your days persuing it. fame seems tedious, looks are temporary, a six figure career sounds like emotional jail-time, or a slow, schedule-filled trek to death. whichever description sounds more sufferable.

you see, in essence, we all get off at the same bus stop. some journeys are simply shorter than others.

“you’re guilt-tripping me out of it.”

“i’m not!”

you’ve never stopped to ask yourself what it is you want.

death interests you, you suppose. though, you don’t see the reason to wait around and pretend to ignore it until one day it drags you kicking and screaming.

“oikawa tooru, don’t you have better things to be doing than offering to jump off bridges with strangers?”

that coy smile tugs at his lips once more. nothing you say seems to phase him. it’s like he knows you. he’s thinking: yeah, this isn’t anything out of the ordinary for them.

“should i? you look at that water like it’s someone you hate. or love. maybe both. i got curious.”

“curious?”

“yes. and quite frankly, you’ve left me curious. practically starving. you haven’t even told me your name.”

“my name doesn’t matter.”

“boo. that’s not true at all.”

his tongue pokes out, tugging at the corner of his eye. you shake your head, genuinely unable to hide your amusement, turning to him properly this time.

and really, it’s like the canal side and oikawa tooru were made from the same stardust. he blends right into the picture, as effortlessly pretty as the rest of it.

the strands of hair out of place, a little disheveled from the breeze. the scarf buried into his nose, glasses a little misty from the heat of his own breath but when they clear, you see his eyes all too well.

you’d like to tuck those strands into place, they’re bothering you just a little.

“(y/n).”

your brows furrow a little.

really, this could all very well be some sort of fantastical dream. as nice as it all is, it feels painfully unreal. boys don’t look like that on autumn evenings or offer to die with you.

that’s it.

tooru must be a figment of your imagination.

no. wrong. not a dream.

this is a corner of your mind you haven’t ventured into yet, psychologically, some kind of safety net. a sliced off piece of reality you’ve come to hide in because you’ve utterly lost your mind. he is nothing but a part of you that makes you feel at ease as you come to terms with your self-destruction.

god, that bothers you more. you are crazy.

your hand extends, reaches out all on its own.

you just want to know if he’s real.

oikawa tooru glances down for a moment, he’s probably wondering about you, what’s left you in such a state. though, he’s happy to slide his palm against yours, latching onto it. he shakes once, twice. a little more. tightens his hold a bit.

the weight of his fingers as they brush lightly against your palm is fantastical. he’s so warm. you can feel it spread through you from the pads of your fingers.

he’s very real.

tooru has rather pretty hands.

the contact makes you feel kind of delirious, a produce of being utterly touch-starved. just a simple touch. you’re embarrassed to say it but it takes everything inside of you not to start weeping or hold on frantically in case he does disappear, do something bizzare that’ll scare him away forever.

hey, tooru. are you made of honey?

“well, (y/n), i’m offering you my life right now.”

the sun has set foot on the horizon, plunging in ever so slightly. as a child, the thought of night scared you, feeling largely betrayed by the sun’s farewell. now, it’s a unique kind of comfort to see the moon. it’s as lonely as those who lay their eyes upon it.

“i don’t want it.”

his fingers slip downwards against the dips of your palm.

“you don’t?”

“no, i mean... i don’t want death. not right now..”

you don’t even want to think about it anymore. funny, how things like that work. you were so sure of it. today was the day. your dark rendezvous. weren’t you itching for it?

this bastard.

this man you’ve never met. he clasps onto your hand once and suddenly he stops your nauseating rollercoaster of thoughts and leaves you wondering if, actually, you’d like to see the canal-side again tomorrow, or in fifty years.

who are you really, oikawa tooru?

“no?”

“yeah.”

“then what do you want to do?”

“stay right here, i think.”

your fingers curl, maintaining your hold on him. you should be shy or awkward about this whole ordeal but so you’re desperate for that warmth to continue.

you both stand there, facing one another, hands extended. it’s a little robotic looking. you’re pretty stiff but very sure this is what feels right.

to you, existence is based solely on feeling your way through stages of life. that sickeningly sweet innocence of youth. childhood memories that to you, are dwindled husks of gold, valuable in some aspects but almost meaningless in others. to laugh or to cry allows an individual to create a deep-set connection to the environment around them. it is no longer passing scenery but a moment in your life you once lived through.

that’s beautiful, isn’t it?

unfortunately, emotion provides both a living fantasy and the potential for agony. life is not sweet, nor innocent. it is what you make of it.

it is what your mind is forced to make of it.

and as much as one wishes they were as coddled and loved as they were children, life beyond those years is lonely, difficult and more than you were ever capable of.

were you weak? perhaps.

but maybe people aren’t built for life. we’re all weak.

and realistically, if you are unable to clamber over one obstacle after another -established by those before you- you’re doomed to fall behind.

that will hurt. you will hurt unforgivably because self-worth is no longer a beautiful gift of internal discovery and love but another way to be measured and downsized externally. a practice that leads to hatred. a desire to die.

that’s really where it all began for you. a romantic, a poet at heart, living inside your own, kinder world. that is until reality knocked on your door, invited itself in, just to set the entire thing on fire and leave you as vulnerable as the day you were born.

you aren’t allowed to hide. it comes looking for you eventually.

your stance on life hasn’t changed, afterall, you’ve spent nights mourning over how much it can hurt to live. to fall asleep exhausted with yourself, only to wake up and do it all over again. what you do know, however, is that droning, lonely feeling isn’t there right now. that ongoing, battering ruckus inside your head has ceased. tooru, the strange magician, has left you thoughtless and a little dumb.

you like being this stupid. for once, there’s nothing intrusive prodding the inside of your head.

it’s frightfully quiet, actually. you don’t know what you’re feeling right now. how much time has passed since he’d made that awful joke?

his gaze is on your lingering contact, before lightly pulling you closer, twisting his wrist down so you’re holding hands. your gaze moves to the bankside. you feel comforted. maybe it isn’t death, maybe all you want is a hand to hold.

probably not. that is a stupid, sappy thought. you’re still fanatic about ending your life.

you were so close to doing it, without even really understanding what you were doing. the canal scenery is overpowering, numbing, if you will. without oikawa tooru, you may well have kissed those fishs’ fluorescent scales with your own two lips, as cold as ice with some unfortunate early-morning runner discovering you by twilight.

“we can do that.” he hesitates. “if i’m honest, i would have been pretty scared to jump.”

“yet you still offered?”

tooru hums merrily in confirmation.

“why?”

“because you’re cute.”

you can’t believe your own ears.

“what? seriously?”

“yeah. originally, i wanted your number but things took a small turn.”

you burst out in gutteral laughter, free hand back onto the railing for support. for a moment, you look at him, shaking your head in utter amazement.

“you’re a piece of work, tooru, you know?”

“yeah, i know.”

he smiles back at you. the shadows cast by the setting sun only make him all the more enigmatic.

now that you think about it, you can’t figure this guy out at all. it’s like staring at a wordless piece of paper and trying to find something legible.

“how do you know i won’t come back and repeat all of this tomorrow?”

tooru tilts his head ever so slightly, observing you. his eyes flutter down to your lips, speaking like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“because you told me your name.”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

“well, now that i know that, you’re no longer just a beautiful stranger.”

you understood now. he hadn’t just offered you his life, he’d offered you him. by living on, you’d accepted graciously. he knows that if you visit the canal side again, you’ll only remember this moment.

a bad moment that he, in all his glory, turned into a good one. the day you two first met.

oh, clever boy. he saved you.

though you must say, oikawa tooru, you’re very much mistaken.

you are the beautiful stranger.

a tear runs down your cheek, a little warmer than you could’ve expected.

one turns into two, slipping more and more. eventually, you’re standing over the canal, hand in hand with oikawa tooru, sobbing quietly as the water runs peacefully below the both of you.