#i could have put this on my main but to be real with you: i simply am not gonna put my rpf and incest acc on my main LMAO leave me alone

[gurugirl]

[1] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

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Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 1 Word Count: 8,282

Ch. 1 Warning: smut (not w/Y/n), mention of a funeral, manipulation and coercion, corruption kink, humiliation

. .

The sky was gray, which seemed fitting for the occasion, and a single bell from the watchtower at the kingdom's town center slowly clanged the funeral toll.

It was a sad day for the prosperous kingdom of Thornekeep. The king’s funeral was quite the spectacle. There was not one citizen with a dry eye, for King Augustus Styles was beloved by all. The townsfolk stood along the cobbled road as two steeds pulled the king’s covered coffin to the cathedral for a ceremony that would end the elder King Styles’ reign and make way for the prince to be crowned by birthright.

The young prince was at the front of the procession riding on a lone horse wearing battle armor, along with his father’s shield and sword. No one could read his expression as he kept his eyes on the road ahead toward the cathedral. The people of the monarchy were not so keen on the prince. He was not as warm as his father, and he often ruffled feathers. Some would say he was downright mean. But what could they do? He had been brought up for this very thing. To rule and protect the kingdom and its people. They would have to put their trust in him no matter what.

The ceremony was attended by the royal court, Privy Counsellors, Lord Mayer, Realm High Commissioners as well as the family of the King. Prince Harry Styles sat on the woven red wool chair at the front as the announcement was made by the Council and the accession declaration was called before the Prince stood to receive his crown.

When the ceremony had concluded the old Sovereign’s casket was taken again by steed for the final burial where the whole of the kingdom stood in wait as their new King made his proclamation over the land and the kingdom to the public.

And so it was. The new Sovereign of Thornekeep, King Harry Edward Styles, would rule over the people henceforth.

.           .           .

“Your Majesty, we apologize for the intrusion, but it is time to get to the order of official business.”

“You wouldn’t have to apologize if you weren’t intruding, now would you?” Harry’s groggy voice spoke as he remained sprawled on his back in his warm velvet bed with three naked women lying draped over his limbs still fast asleep and unaware of the two men standing at the King’s chambers door.

“May it please Your Majesty if we return in one half-hour’s time? Our Lord Mayer and the Orders of Council are awaiting you in the Great Hall. This is a very important meeting, Sir.”

Harry knew he had a meeting set up. He knew it was important to keep it and he understood the gravity of it all. But he couldn’t resist when he took three lovely young things with him to his chambers the evening prior and they each let him do as he pleased. He’d just been crowned King for Christ’s sake! He deserved to sew his wild oats before things got heavy and real and it was time to get down to the nitty-gritty of his new stifling responsibilities.

“I will find myself in the Great Hall in one half-hour’s time. No need to return.”

“Yes, Sir. And what should we tell the Lord Mayer of your tardiness?”

“Fuck’s sake! I don’t care! Tell them I’ve got my privy member sallying forth and I’m in the sack with three concubines if you like! The Lord Mayer can wait a half hour. Give him a thumb of brandy. Tha’ should keep him with a smile.”

It was this very attitude that had the folk of Thornekeep nervous. Harry’s proclivity for saying what he pleased with little regard for the people he was saying it to.

The two men bowed their heads and backed out the door, closing it behind them before Harry sat up, pushing the women from him and stretching his arms overhead.

His first full day as King. He’d not looked forward to wearing the crown. But he knew what he needed to do and he had no choice just as the kingdom had no choice but to accept him as he was; full of grit and scandal, haughtiness and ego.

His bare feet landed on the heavy wood floors and he scratched his member before draping a sheet over the naked women in his bed. They’d all had too much to drink and Harry figured they could stay put until he returned. Maybe another round or two would do him some good and sober him up before he kicked them out to get back to their duties. Whatever those were.

He robed himself that morning and even though he’d been offered a personal dresser to assist him, he declined. Harry didn’t like the idea of having a valet in wait unless he was feeling like making them watch him fuck whoever he took in his bed for the night. That could be fun… Harry liked being watched. Maybe he’d reconsider and take a personal assistant after all.

The council and mayor were sitting in their places in the Great Hall when Harry sauntered in, unkempt and smelling of muff. Everyone stood and waited until he took his seat at the head of the long wooden table. Light poured in through the stained-glass panel behind him and everyone awaited the King’s call to order.

“We may begin,” he spoke. And so it started.

It was laid out for Harry the major issues that always needed tackling, allocation for funds and the people of Thornekeep, the Kingdom’s allies, and enemies, projects left undone that were awaiting signatures or provisional work. Then there were the upcoming events and additional contracts that needed sorting.

But there was also the concern of the King’s marital status.

“You’ll need a Queen. Someone to continue the Styles’ lineage for Thornekeep. The people will want to know they are under the rule of a stable Sovereign.”

“What does it matter how the people feel? I can rule without a Queen. I’d rather not be hindered.” Harry waved a hand as he spoke unconcerned.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, how do you expect to have a child out of wedlock?”

The cheeky grin that pulled up on Harry’s face had his advisor suddenly standing to stop the King from answering that question but Harry only laughed and looked at the man. “Sit. Do not interrupt me again. I think Our Lord Mayer would like a lesson in biology and I’m not one to turn down a teaching moment.”

The advisor relented with a sigh (what was he to do? tell the King not to speak?), sat back down and Harry began. “One does not need the burden of wedlock to create offspring. It’s quite simple you see…” All the men knew where this was going as Harry continued. “All I need to do is stick my fiddle within the sweet quim whiskers of a beautiful woman and keep it in until I’ve done my duty. Could take a few rounds to set but I imagine soon enough the woman receiving my bounty will be heavy with child and upon the moment of birth will provide me an heir. No need for a marital contract of any sort.”

The men of the council looked around at one another in near shock at Harry’s dismissal of tradition as the Lord Mayor spoke. “That will not do. It is imperative that you find a Queen, my Lord. You need a woman that will raise said heir in the castle with you, bring them up properly, and teach them our ways. This will be your legacy. You must see that.”

Harry knew of course that his words would fall on deaf ears. He knew he’d have to marry and make a show of it. But he did rather enjoy seeing the looks on the faces of the fancy and feathered men, all tensed with their sleek coverings of velvet and wool and white tights tucked into silk and leather shoes with shiny silver buckles and heels that made them appear taller than they were.

“Fine. I’ll have my selection in a fortnight.”

His selection. As if he were choosing a dish to be served for dinner. But that is how Harry saw it after all. He would have his choice of dishes just as he would have his choice of women. It would be the roasted venison with piping hot potatoes, smothered in butter, and artichokes for his dinner, and for his wife, he’d take the pretty redhead with the plump bottom and big bosom lying in his bed. She had the kind of tummy that would take a child well he figured.

Making his way to his chambers he whistled a tune to himself, his mood not diminished by the news of his new tasks, for he was about to wet his fiddle once again. The redhead did seem quite desirable in that moment. But instead, upon entering his room, the redhead was missing.

The two others were lying on their backs and turned to see the King enter. Sitting up quickly Harry pulled his robe off and shut his door. “Where is the redhead with big breasts?”

“She was gone when I woke, Your Majesty,” the one with dark hair spoke.

“Well, bullocks. Do you know her name?”

Both women shook their heads no. “No, King.”

Harry sighed and continued removing his clothes. Well, if he couldn’t find a wife that night, he’d enjoy what was leftover in his room. He had a fortnight after all. Plenty of time to find someone he could tolerate. He had no intention of selecting anyone from the pool of suitable women the advisors told him about. That was a bore.

“You.” He pointed at the fair-skinned girl. “Sit in that chair and face the bed.”

Harry’s undervest was pulled off and he was left naked as he walked up to the one with dark hair and grinned at her. “You’ll suck my cock while she watches.”

He enjoyed his position of power. Women never told him no. Not when he was a prince and certainly not now as King. He had the young woman take him down her throat and checked in with the fair-skinned girl. “Keep watching. Want to make sure you get a good look at how well she does it. Just like last night. This one knows how to suck.”

Her slick mouth encased his girth and he groaned as he stood at the bed, the girl on her hands and knees taking the King on her tongue and gagging violently around his length.

“Oh, a noise maker!” Harry moaned, “Keep up the good work my little whore…”

The girl sputtered and pushed away from him, gasping as she looked up at him. “I’m not a prostitute! I’m–“

Harry interrupted, balking, “I don’t care. Think of it as a term of endearment. Get back and finish the job. It’s much better when you don’t speak.”

“King… perhaps you could just fuck me? My throat is starting to hurt.” She rounded her eyes at him.

He sighed as if it were an annoyance. “Okay. Turn around, face down.” He looked over at the girl on the chair. “Still watching?”

She nodded. “Yes, King.”

Harry poked himself into the pretty woman and she was already slick for him. He enjoyed a cunt just as much as he enjoyed a mouth and the view he had was rather delightful. He rocked into her and watched as her pussy lips gripped him, her insides coating him with a glisten that smelled like a proper cock wrapper.

His heart began to thud harder as he thrust into the hilt, smacking his hips into her soft round bottom and moaning in gasps as he felt his testicles squeeze and tighten. 

The girl was making her own little grunted noises but Harry wasn’t concerned if she finished or not.

Harry’s breathy moans changed into something deeper and more guttural the closer he got and he began to pound into her harder.

“Ahh! Oh!” She hollered as she was spread open by the King’s large cock.

But before she could even find her end Harry was pulling himself from her and spraying her back with his royal come and moaning in delight at his release.

The girl fell into the bed with a whine and the King noted the one watching was sitting at the edge of her seat with her eyes upon his cock.

“S’nice in’nit?” He turned toward her with his member in his palm. “Clean it off. Let’s make my knob shiny and new again.”

The girl was quick to lean in and take him in her mouth, licking off the slick from the other one who was left unsatisfied on the bed.

And when he’d had quite enough and his prick was deflating he parted from the girl and patted her cheek. “There we are. Off you go. Both of you. I’ve got to find myself a Queen.”

 .           .           .

Y/n had seen the procession with the new King from his father’s funeral at the cathedral. He was a handsome man with a strange emotion set on his face. She couldn’t tell what it was, but sadness, it was not. She’d heard all the talk about him from when he was a Prince. An ass of a man with an ego the size of Rome. And now, worries of the new King’s reckless attitude being trouble for Thornekeep.

No one could know exactly what to make of it. He’d not yet really had a chance to do much of anything. As Prince, he served in the Royal Army. It was said that he led a very strict outfit during times of conflict and was good at negotiation. That he loved confrontation and could coordinate a group of soldiers to be the best and most feared on the lines. But what did that mean for the citizens of his kingdom? The monarchy relied on his strength and wits to lead. While it was a promising thing that he was good at combat and negotiation, what about the finer details of being a sovereign leader? How would the people fare?

 “Right prat our new king. Doesn’t give a shite about us lot. You wait and see. S’gonna fuck the poor til we’re caged up like hogs. I don’t trust ‘im.” Lane was three quarts of beer in and Y/n watched as he guzzled from his tin.

The pair were sitting outside in the cold near the corner of the factory where the middle-income earners worked. Hoping for any scraps they might be willing to part with.

Y/n was a beggar. She would hold out her fabric basket or her satchel and try to look as haggard and tired as she could. But most just sniffed at her and walked past. She was young and while not the picture of health with her greasy hair and bones protruding, she was not fully unhealthy either. Most who gave to the poor were poor themselves. So she tried to look worse off to get anything she could.

A loaf of bread, a small salt fish, and whatever fibrous mash of grains and beans could be spared was allotted to each household weekly. And for Y/n, that was not enough food for her parents, her grandmother, and her three little sisters. She often went without eating and was the only one who could handle the chilled air for hours at a time to beg anyone who would spare a morsel.

Thornekeep was a rich, thriving kingdom but as was the norm for every city, town, and kingdom across the land, poor people did exist. Y/n had heard tales of other kingdoms that never allotted any food to households. And how some didn’t even have a roof over their heads at all. She was told she should be thankful that she wasn’t sleeping on the streets with the rats and their excrement as was common elsewhere.

But she wasn’t thankful. Her lot in life was hell. No one deserved to be treated as she was even if she was given a monthly stipend.

The debutante was held a week after King Harry’s crowning. Of course, Y/n would not attend. She was not of that world nor even close to being in a league where one would want her hand in marriage. What a laugh! Y/n imagined herself being presented among all the young beauties in their fine dresses with jewels and pinned and curled hair. What man would look at her and think he’d offer a proposal?

The young ladies and their mothers were all dressed to the nines. Shoulders held back, hair pinned high, fake smiles plastered on their faces… They were there to show the kingdom they were eligible for marriage and to compete for the king’s eye.

King Harry would be in attendance to select a bride for himself. He seemed to reject the normal route of having a queen selected for him. There were many who were raised up for that very thing and so his choice should have been easy. But he was stubborn. No one was surprised. Every woman presented to him, of those that his court felt would be a good match, he hardly even looked at before rudely sending away. 

Gossip traveled through Thornekeep as the ball was held to show off the citizens’ most beautiful and affluent daughters around. If he didn’t want the perfectly crafted, and trained young women fit to be his wife and queen, then perhaps he’d find one at the ball.

As always, Y/n sat perched near the castle gates holding out a small fabric basket for anyone to give anything and, as always, the scraps she did get were barely fit for filthy stray street dogs. Most of the people on that day were tucked away and out of sight in their covered carriages, horses trotting past, kicking up mud. She was used to being disappointed. Used to being ignored. Used to going hungry at the end of the day.

 "Dungworms, all 'em. Don't care if they dress in linen and fur. They're nothing but beetle-headed rot. Hate all 'em," Lane moaned as a coach passed them by. He threw a vulgar gesture toward them, but only after they were out of sight. It wasn't worth it to get in trouble over.

"S'true. Can't wait for the Spring. At least then we'll have the sun warming us while all the ratbags pretend they're better than us."

They laughed as they looked into the gates that were opening for the carriage. The castle was a majestic landmark. Y/n imagined that inside it was warm with fireplaces in every room and a hot stove in the kitchen that was constantly cooking food for the king and all his staff.

Maybe one day she'd be lucky enough to sneak inside without being caught. She could hide in one of the many rooms and pilfer food little by little and warm her bum at night by one of the fires.

She sighed at the silly dream, as her stomach growled and the gates clanked shut.

 . .

The young women were all pretty enough. Harry was sure any one of them would be a fit. It wasn’t like he needed to do more than fuck the new queen until she was pregnant anyway but still… He found the freshly washed, smooth-skinned, rose and powder-scented young ladies of Thornekeep to all be a bore. And what good was making such a boring selection? Harry wanted people to watch. He wanted to see as all the advisor’s jaws fell to the floor. He wanted to make a scene. None of these fancy-frocked girls would do. He needed something more exciting that would really ruffle everyone’s feathers.

Stepping away from the pomp and circumstance of the ball he stood out on his balcony and watched out over the front of the castle yard with people milling about and stringed music floating up toward him. The gates were open with guards at the stand as new arrivals made their way in but he noticed a small group of peons sitting not far from the wall with their baskets and tins held out hoping for a scrap.

And he had a sudden idea. Using his small telescope he fitted it against his eye and lengthened the eyepiece to get a better look. Among the group of menials was a young woman. She was thin (too thin) and she had a scowl about her face but the thing that really stuck out to him was that she was… pretty. Not pretty in the way that many would notice but with a month or two of larded foods and sugared pastries, she’d be just as pretty as any of the girls in the ballroom. 

Even better, she was of peasant stock and the kingdom would lose their mind over such a pairing. It was perfect. He could simultaneously cause a stir among the lowly proletariats, the middle-class bourgeoisie, and the affluent magnates at the same time. No one would expect it. And no one could stop it.

Harry descended the stairs as everyone in the room had eyes on him. The King easily dodged anyone looking for attention or conversation and pushed through to the front as he exited the castle. His guards followed close behind with Fred, one of his men in waiting, scrambling to catch up with Harry’s long-legged strides. 

“King Styles! Where are you going?”

“Off to meet a young lady who sits opposite the wall. I think I’ve found my Queen.” 

The King’s approach felt like slow motion. Guards surrounded as he sauntered along the path toward the gates and Y/n couldn’t imagine why the King himself would be walking through them and not be driven in a carriage. Mud was kicked up on his fine dressings and shoes but he seemed unbothered by the mess.

“You.” He pointed, his finger (adorned with a heavy gold ring) appearing to be directed right at her. “What’s your name?”

Looking to her left and right she furrowed her brow as she looked back to the young king.

“Can you hear or not? You, the one with the fabric basket, what’s your name?”

Putting her hand over her chest she responded. “Me? Your Highness, forgive m–“

“Said– what’s your name, girl?” He spoke in a clipped, annoyed tone.

He stopped in front of her feet, standing tall over where she sat upon the dirt and brick. “My name is Y/n. Your majesty.” She bowed her head.

“None of that. Up. Stand up.”

She felt his hand groping underneath her armpit as she was pulled upward, clutching onto the empty basket.

"How old are you?"

Y/n looked behind herself toward Lane and then back at the king. "I'm 20, your majesty."

His odd inspection had her feeling a bit miffed. She would have told him to watch his hands and to be gentler but this was the king. She couldn’t have imagined what interest he had in her but when he turned her around and held her out in his arms to view her backside he spoke. “We can work with this. Bit skinny but soon enough she’ll be well fed.”

“Your Highness… sir, the young women in the ballroom are far more… Why you can’t possibly–“ his attendant spoke.

“I can do as I please and I say this is the one, Fred.” The King spoke before he twisted Y/n back around and examined her rag of a dress before speaking. “Bring the coach around. I need to have her come in quietly at the back where the servants enter and then brought up to the Rose Room forthwith. We’ll need a few ladies-in-waiting as well. Do that for me without running your mouth to anyone and I’ll give you the night off.”

She watched with wide eyes, confused as the man called Fred scurried off back to the castle and then turned to look up at the king. “Your Majesty, I don’t understand. What is your business with me? Have I done something wrong?”

“On the contrary. Your luck is about to change. With a little sprucing you’ll be quite darling I think. You’ll live with me in the castle henceforth.”

Her lips parted as she dropped her empty basket and looked down at Lane who was also in shock with his mouth agape at the whole encounter before looking back to the King. “I don’t understand. Why will I live with you? Am I being sequestered or summoned for a servant’s job?”

“Oh no. Nothing like that. In one month’s time you’ll be crowned Queen. You and I will produce an heir to the throne once our nuptials bind us for good. You’ll be given your own room with your own attendants and we’ll fatten you up in no time to prepare you for carrying my offspring.” 

She gasped and felt everything around her spin and spin and spin until all was dark and her mind stopped reaching for answers.

Harry caught her in his arms before she fell to the ground. He wasn’t surprised she fainted, given how malnourished she appeared. A guard and two of his aids helped bring her inside once the carriage arrived and up to the room that would be hers. A down mattress, silk and velvet bedsheets and blankets, a fireplace lit with a pot of warm water on the hearth, and a tray with a bounty of food were all waiting for her.

And if she was shocked by the King’s announcement about her being the Queen then waking up in such a lavish room that smelled of flowers and the smoke of a warm fireplace surely had her confused.

When she sat up, she felt the weight of a goose-down blanket draped over her body heavily. Blinking her eyes she saw a flickering fire and the ornate details of the room she was in.

“Madam…” A woman was suddenly stood at her side with a towel draped over her arm. “The King has requested that you bathe and eat before we bring you to him. Which would you like first?”

She shook her head, unsure of what was going on exactly. “I… is this for me?” She gestured toward the tray of food. Colorful fruits and a loaf of hearty bread caught her eye. She could go for a meal.

“It is. Would you like anything more?”

She quickly slid her legs from under the blanket and stepped toward the tray. The bright red apple beckoned her so she picked it up and took a large bite of the skin and flesh before tearing off some of the bread and stuffing that in her mouth as well.

There were blackberries, pears, bilberries, plums, a bowl of boiled potatoes, and cream. A pitcher of red wine beckoned with a pretty crystal goblet to drink out of. There was a whole smoked and salted fish, a gob of butter, and her favorite, a plum tart.

She’d nearly eaten the whole tray when she realized the woman had filled a tub with warm water and perfumed oil. She sat down the emptied glass feeling buzzed from the wine and stuffed so full that her ribs ached.

The room she was in was easily twice the size of the slum housing her family was given. The room was opulent and lit with fuel sconces and lanterns. A fireplace kept the space warm and the furnishings were a feast for the eyes. She imagined that the porcelain bowl near the tub would pay for a month of food for her family.

"Your bath is ready, madam. If you'd like I can leave you alone while you bathe or I can assist."

Y/n stepped in closer to the bathtub. It was one of those built-in tubs that you stepped down into, not the metal ones you had to climb up in. Her family didn't even have their own tub. It was shared with the men from the workhouse across the way and set at the back of the buildings outside.

But here, the tub was inside in a warm room and there was even a ledge to sit. Privacy. She'd love a little privacy.

"I'll be fine on my own. Thank you."

The woman nodded and left the room after folding a cloth and placing it near the tub. Y/n began to take her clothes off, the dirty rags left in a stinky pile on the wool rug before she dipped a toe into the bath. The water was hot. She could see the steam rising from it as she slowly slunk down inside and settled her bottom into the seat ledge. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the water surround her body and soak away the dirt and grime between all her bits and crevices.

And the scent wafting from the water was glorious. Like a flower with honey and tea caressing her skin. She used the small cloth to wipe herself down and then dunked her head to clean her face. The last time she had a proper bath was over a month prior. Her usual cleanup method consisted of a wetted rag wiped over her privy area and underarms.

But to have a hot bath scented with herbs and flowers by a warm fire in a room decorated with the finest fittings was a dream. A real-life fantasy come true. She couldn't wait to tell Lane about the whole thing. It almost all had her so distracted she'd forgotten the reason why she was there in the first place.

She let her limbs float outward as she closed her eyes and basked in the delicious silence. Everything in her life was chaos and noise and panic. But in that moment, none of that existed. Not until the door of her room was being opened and the young woman who'd filled the tub had returned with heavy material and silky fabrics draped over her arms.

She laid the clothes out on the bed in a row as Y/n watched from her spot in the tub.

"I've an outfit here the King has selected for you. I'll help you put it on once you're ready."

Y/n stretched her neck and peered toward the bed. "The King. Will I be seeing him once I'm dressed?"

"Yes, madam. He would like to see you when you're ready."

The reality of it all was heavy when she was helped from the tub and felt the prick of chills run over her skin. As warm as the fireplace made the room, it was still winter outside and she shivered as she dried her skin.

The young woman helped dress her. Y/n'd never worn such frocks before. It was a complicated task, getting dressed in fine clothing. She lost track of all the layers as she was fitted and the material tied around her and her body tossled. But even she could admit, once all the fabric was put into place and the woman began to fuss with her hair she looked quite captivating.

For a beggar.

She was led through a carpeted hall that seemed to stretch the length of the whole of Thornekeep until they were stopped at a wide doorway that opened up to a pair of mammoth wooden double doors. The young woman glanced back at Y/n before she rapped her knuckles over the heavy door firmly.

The door didn't open right away. Moments went by as Y/n shifted on her feet and the young woman nervously smiled at Y/n.

"I'm Phoebe. Think I forgot to introduce myself," she spoke quietly as she trailed her sight over Y/n's dress. "Hopefully the King is kind to you. He's been… difficult—"

The door was pushed open and a beautiful woman with olive skin stepped past them. "He's all yours," she spoke in a sultry voice that Y/n could only hope to one day mimic.

Phoebe gestured for Y/n to pass through and Y/n stepped into the King's chambers. If she thought her room was spectacular, his was a sickening show of lush wealth and haughty, needless adornments.

She was startled when the king spoke from his lounge. "Come. Sit."

Y/n and Phoebe walked deeper into his room and stepped down into a sunken seating area. Harry sat up straight and motioned toward Phoebe. "Not you. Leave us."

When it was just Y/n and Harry and she'd delicately sat her bottom at the furthest spot from the king she could find, Harry got up and placed himself next to her. "Are you scared of me?" He asked with a bright tone, as if it amused him.

"Your majesty, I don't know how to act. I've never seen such indulgent things in all my life as today."

He nodded and looked her over. "What are you wearing?" He lifted at her skirt and she batted his hand away on instinct.

"Phoebe said you picked it for me."

"Who is Phoebe?"

Y/n blinked and looked toward his chamber doors and back at the king in confusion. "The lady who helped dress me and… She was just here with me. The one you sent away."

"How sweet that you learned her name already. And I didn't pick this for you." He plucked at the fabric. "I asked that you come here in nothing but a robe so I could inspect you."

She scooted away from him, her heart racing at the idea of showing herself to him without clothes. Harry laughed and leaned himself back into the large cushioned seat and draped a leg over his knee as he watched her curiously. "You are scared. Good. You should be. Take off your clothes."

Shaking her head she squished herself as far from him as she could but he simply reached his leg out and hooked his foot under her ankle to pull at her. "Don't do that. Said remove your clothes, girl."

"Yo– your majesty… I don't even know how these were put on. I don't know how. I… I've never…" Her heart was racing and she felt her fingers tremble as he sat and grinned at her like this was a game to him.

"What? You can't remove your coverings because you don't know how? I can deal with a timid vazey, but not a liar. Off with your things."

"No! You're rude! I will not!"

The king scoffed, surprised at her disrespect, as he pushed himself up to stand and stood over his bride-to-be. "I am rude, you'll learn well. But I have needs and you're here to keep them. Look at me when I speak to you."

Hesitantly, Y/n lifted her face upward to look into the eyes of the man who she could hardly believe would be her husband. That part—that didn't feel real. Not at all. It couldn't be.

"Have you ever been touched by a man before?"

She thought she might pass out as her skin heated under the scrutiny of his gaze. "No. Of course, not. I'm unwed."

He laughed. "Plenty of unwed ladies get their fannies fucked and fingered, my poor feather-brained girl. You're a virgin?"

She nodded, keeping silent, though not happy about the insult to her intelligence. Perhaps she wasn't as smart as someone with a royal education but she knew how to read and could do basic math, which was more than almost everyone in her social stratus.

"I see." Harry sighed and reached down to grip her jaw and look her over like she was an animal. "Surprised no one has warmed their member with your quim yet. Rather sickly but you are pretty. Have you ever seen one?"

She gulped loudly. "Seen… seen one? What?"

He clicked his tongue and smirked. "A cock, my dear. Have you seen a cock?"

Y/n, though a virgin, wouldn't call herself a prude. She was used to crash speak and rude men but the king was a shock to her. She never imagined someone with his pedigree could be so filthy. "Yes."

He let go of her jaw, keeping his eyes set on hers as he lifted his brows. "Oh, you have. And did you play with it?"

"No!" Y/n looked down at her lap and inhaled a breath. She couldn't believe the conversation she was having with the king.

She felt his long fingers at her jaw again, forcing her to lift her gaze back up at him. "Don't look away from me when we're talking."

She knocked her head up and down and he dropped his hand away from her.

"Would you like to see mine?"

Her eyes widened and she shot her gaze down toward his crotch and then back up to his face. "No."

He smiled and let out a hearty laugh as he began to unbutton his forest green silk tricot coat. He eyed her, waiting to hear her protest again but when she simply watched him he continued to undo his outer layers until he had access to his breeches and tucked his fingers into the buttons at his front flap. Raising a brow he paused to give her a chance to tell him to stop.

But she only watched, flicking her gaze from his hands up to his face. She wouldn't admit it but she was curious. Scared a little of his demeanor and that he was the sovereign and could do as he pleased with her if he wanted, she still wondered what it might look like.

His pink lips curved upward slowly as he unhooked one button and let the fabric drape dangerously low. "I'm not going to make you suck it or anything. But if you want, I won't deny you your pleasure."

Y/n bristled and blinked her eyes away from him to the edge of the room before looking back up at him. "You're rude."

He smiled sweetly, a handsome dimple dipping into his cheek like he wasn't just about to whip out his big fiddle and show her. "You said that, yes… Keep going? Or stop? Up to you. I've got plenty of others I can show it to. They're all waiting, just hoping you disappoint me. They'd love to be in your shoes right now. Vying to be the next Queen of Thornekeep. If you don't want to be here you may leave and go back to the street. What will it be?"

She inhaled slowly and fought the stinging embarrassment that needled at her insides. She wasn't keen on seeing the king's privy member but his handsome face was alluring and if she said no, would she not be kept as Queen? Did she even want to be Queen of Thornekeep? She could say no and he'd send her back out into the cold with her old brown rags and her fabric begging basket. She'd have quite the tale to tell but that would be it. Everything would go back to how it always was. She'd continue sitting in the street and asking for kindness from strangers who wouldn't even offer her a glance, as the excruciating pain of hunger slowly ate her alive.

"Continue," Y/n spoke as confidently as she was able to. She didn't want that life anymore. Though she had no idea what she was getting herself into with the king, she figured it was better than life as a beggar. Cold, dirty, starved, angry, riddled with pain in her bones like she was an elderly woman… Being fed, bathed in perfumed oils, and dressed in fine silk and wool skirts, inside a warm castle, with a bedroom all her own wasn't just tempting, she wanted it. Even her bed and its heavy down blanket were to die for. Worth the humiliation.

Plus, if she told herself the biggest truth of it all, he was dashing. More than just dashing. He was the most fine-looking man she might have ever laid eyes upon. But she wasn't ready to admit the way his green eyes had her pulse fluttering like a small bird.

Harry reached down to run a finger over her jaw gently while he unplucked the second button from the front flap. "Keep your eyes on mine for a moment."

She tried to wet the dry desert of her throat as she steadied her eyes on him, which turned out to be quite the task when she could see at the limn of her vision his hand working something fleshy just in front of her. His cock was out, she knew that much, but she wanted so badly to take a quick glimpse.

"Mmm��� Your eyes are pretty," he spoke, still moving his hand about. "How many cocks have you seen?"

Blinking her eyes softly she puffed out a shaky lungful of air. "I don't know. The men at the workhouse who use our tub just walk around nude."

"And they never touched you?" His finger felt sweet on her face and for a moment she thought he was a man she could find herself trusting, loving even. Perhaps she was too naive.

She shook her head. "I wouldn't let them."

"They tried?"

"A few."

He clenched his jaw and stretched his neck as he lifted his sight away from hers. She resisted the urge to peek at his crotch even though she could have gotten away with it right then as he wasn't looking at her.

When he returned his gaze down at her he stepped in closer, pushing her legs apart to stand between her feet. He glanced down at himself and moved his hand from her jaw. "Look at your king's cock."

Y/n swallowed hard and blinked as she shifted her stare downward until she saw the big thing in her face, swollen and thick. And long. His big palm was wrapped around the space of him that grew out from a thatch of dark hair.

Now, she'd seen cocks before. Soft ones, hard ones, weird and infected ones… The workmen didn't care who saw when it came to bathtime and some of them even tried to get her to participate if she were anywhere near them. But Harry's was… well, it looked fit for a king she supposed. Maybe all royals had clean, pretty pricks.

"Touch it."

She glanced up at him, struggling to even breathe. Not only was the corset pulled too tight around her ribs, but the king's vulgar words and his cock in her face were making her feel quite fettered and discombobulated. Her chest heaved so hard she was worried she was about to burst the stay lace that held the corset together.

She reached her fingers upward and focused on the very tip of him where there was a small slit that carved outward like it was draped in a blanket made of smooth flesh. The rest of him was a little more crude with veins that ran along the rigid flesh. When she touched the top of it with her fingertip she gasped and pulled her hand away. It was like a warm small naked creature that'd been warmed by the fire for a bit too long.

"He's not going to bite. He might spit at you, though." He laughed. "Touch it. No need to be virtuous with me. You'll have to get used to handling it anyway."

"It's the first I've touched. I… Where should I place my hand?" She was genuinely worried she'd do it wrong, and he was the king so she was cautious.

King Styles reached down to grab at her hand and he spat a big glob of slick from his mouth that pooled into her palm. She winced as he placed her hand on the long shaft of himself, pressing her fingers around his girth and guiding her upward to his smooth tip.

"What do you think? Not bad, right?"

When he let go of her hand she slowly continued smoothing his spit over his flesh and peered closely at the organ. It was a curious thing to touch a penis. She was surprised by how warm it was and the mechanics of how all that worked were still somewhat of a mystery to her. She understood that men used their pricks to stick babies into women and that it hurt and it was disgusting.

"It feels funny. S'really warm."

"Is it?" He smirked down at her as she examined him, her hand still sliding in very stunted strokes up and down. He quite enjoyed the way she looked at it in awe. Of course, the way she was handling him did him no good. That wasn't going to do anything for him but she'd learn soon enough what he liked. Whether she liked it or not.

"How does it feel for you?" Y/n knew enough to know that for men, it felt good and that while what she was doing wasn't sex, it should be favorable for him.

"You'll need teaching but your little hand will never feel quite as nice as your mouth or the warm treasure you're hiding between your legs."

She stopped and frowned at him. "I haven't ever—"

"Yes, we know. You haven't touched a man before. But we'll change all of that, won't we? Keep going with your hand and spit on it."

Sliding her palm over his tacky skin she spat over the spot just above her fist and smeared her saliva upward. "What will I tell my mum and dad? I should tell them where I am and—"

"Oh, girl." He patted her cheek condescendingly. "Let's not talk about mum and dad while you're working my knob. Tomorrow we'll fetch them."

She swallowed and tried to focus but everything was so overwhelming.

"Are we going to have intercourse?" She looked up at him with big pretty eyes.

"Of course we are. How else do you expect to find yourself with child?"

"I don't know… I'm scared to do it. I don't like the idea of it."

Harry pushed her hand away and tucked himself back into his front flap as he sighed. "You're no good at this. And if you don't want to learn how to be good for me then there's no need for you."

He turned to walk away, leaving Y/n sitting on his plush sofa she sat up straight, confused. "Should I… What shall I do?"

Harry pulled his jacket into place and rebuttoned it as he looked at her with an indifferent expression. "Go to your room or stay here. I don't care particularly either way. I was disappointed by you so I'm going to have to call in someone who can please me properly. Someone who can do the things you can't. If you want to stay and watch and learn then so be it."

Y/n stood up quickly and clasped her hands together in front of her hips. "Your majesty, please—"

"My King. You'll address me either as My King or My Lord. Yes?"

She nodded quickly, stepping closer to him. "Yes, my King. I only need a little more time to learn. I promise tomorrow I'll be better for you. I'll do whatever you need. Please don't replace me."

Harry lifted a brow, his still unreadable expression was worrying to Y/n but the way he scraped his eyes down her frame made every inch of her body burn. He wouldn't tell her but he was pleased with her already despite what he'd told her. She was desperate and quite pretty and that was all he required. She played into his rude affront exactly as he hoped and it had her worried he wasn't going to keep her. He had no plans to touch anyone else now that he had his mind made up. She'd do just fine once she learned to be more obedient and malleable.

"We shall see." He flicked a hand in the air and then gestured toward his door. "Off you go. You'll try again to be better tomorrow. You'll have one more chance to prove yourself to me."

She felt defeated. Walking slowly past him she turned to look back once more and watched him step out onto his balcony, the lace curtains blowing in the wind as he moved out of view. Pushing at the heavy wooden door she bit down on her lip to keep herself from crying. She didn't know if she was more upset with herself for not being bolder, or if she was angry at how the king had just treated her so poorly and insulted her. The situation was discouraging but she was determined. She'd dealt with worse, hadn't she?

Phoebe met her outside the doors and walked her back toward her room. Y/n wasn't sure how she was going to work up the courage to be enough for the king. She didn't want him to find another to take her place so she needed to do something. But what?

"Would you like anything, madam?" Phoebe asked.

"Are there books here in the castle? A library?" Perhaps she could read about pleasing a man if such a thing existed.

"Yes. A grand library. I can't read myself. Are you able to?"

Y/n nodded. "I can read, yes. I'd like to see it. Would you show me there?"

. .

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[berrycake99]

AI wasn't created because what it offers "doesn't exist already", most, if not all, very much exists in other forms, it was created to produce it faster. The point is literally for corporations to cut costs and produce cheaper even if shittier, and for lazy people to "bother less" to do something themselves. Don't get me wrong, I'm really not some "old snob", as pro-AI crowd likes to call it. I know that this is how most stuff we use today was also created. But you're not getting the full picture. The full picture is - AI was made to sell you more stuff and rend you more isolated and addicted to it. Just look at all the options it offers - it's not a one-purpose program. It can literally be your therapist, your girlfriend, do work for you, produce art for you... They already started putting prices on it it's not even free anymore already.

People know templates exist, they know art programs exist, they know... But all of technology we had so far still required some work from the user's side. And this is the main problem I have with AI "art" in any form, it's not even like my grandma thinks, that "digiral art is not real" because she doesn't really know how it works, it's not art because you don't produce anything. You don't create anything.

And you know what's really sad? I had many debates with pro-AI people, and their argument is always that the slop AI produces is "good enough" or "they don't see how it's bad". People who don't do art don't value art anymore, in any form. A six finger uneven alien-like mutant "drawing" looks good enough to them. They don't care how it was produced. Art is less and less valued in today's world. People actually care more to get something "faster" and will accept it with less quality.

Not to mention the unethical destruction and absolutely ridiculous waste of environment, again, by choice of "cheaper" .

Nobody cares because people became dulled by fast producing slop content. I can see how AI could be used ethically and be useful in some ways if was done right, unfortunately I don't think it was created for the sake of "advancing humanity" or whatever bullshit they advertise it with.

It was created by, and for capitalism.

I think a lot of what pro-AI people are really wanting is stuff that already exists but they don't know it's out there like

can't format a work email? templates

don't know how to write a resume? templates

writing a thank you card or a condolences card or a wedding invitation? templates templates templates

not sure how to format your citations in MLA or whatever format? citationmachine.net

summary of something you're reading for school/work? cliffnotes.com

recipe based on ingredients in your fridge? whatsintherefrigerator.com

there's a million more like, guys, we don't need AI, we never needed generative AI

[halfway-happyyy]

Achilles' Heel - part I {Frank Castle}

"you are my achilles' heel, the weakness only i can feel" - leith ross

summary: in which of all the lost souls in new york city, an enterprising young woman has the misfortune of patching up The Punisher.

warnings include: mentions of violence, blood, etc. two people who could fill a cargo container five times over with their emotional baggage.

pairing: Frank Castle x female reader (she/her pronouns)

AN: i’m not entirely sure how this idea came to me, but here we are. i don’t claim to know much about sex workers (except that they deserve as much respect and love as anyone else), and like our main girl here, i certainly don’t claim to know much about medical intricacies, so go easy on me. happy reading friends 💖

As the opening notes to Billie Holliday’s P.S. I Love You rose above the muted static of her record player, her eyes fell shut in unconcealed ecstasy. A flash of lightning lit the otherwise caliginous night sky outside her living room window, and it occurred to her then, in the comfort of her own presence, that this was the first Saturday night she’d had off in months. There was a 2009 vintage red on the rack next to her player that she knew would pair excellently with her record, and just as she’d been about to reach for it, her phone rang, shattering her shallow illusion of peace. It briefly crossed her mind to let it ring, but when she saw that it was her friend, she quickly changed her mind. 

“Elena, this had better be good.” 

White noise reverberated on the other end before her friend elicited a hacking, wet cough. “Callie, I need a favour.” 

On account of her friend’s rare use of her real name, she knew immediately that whatever she was about to be asked, was serious. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I was supposed to do a job tonight- some boutique hotel up in hell’s kitchen, and I can barely get out of bed, let alone anything else.” A clap of thunder sounded closely outside, startling her, and the thought of going back out into the torrential downpour of the evening made her stomach churn with dread, but she let Elena continue. “It would mean the world to me if you took the call, Cal. The money’s good- 5 k upfront and he only needs about an hour of your time.” Elena sniffled and added, “It goes without saying but I will happily take the next call you don’t want to do.” 

It was apparent that whatever bug had brought her friend down had to have been a nasty one in order for her to turn down five thousand dollars for an evening.

“You sound like shit, E. Of course I’ll do it.”

She could still hear her friend chanting thankyouthankyouthankyou into the phone when she hung up. She cast a last, longing glance at the bottle in her rack and then begrudgingly went to her bedroom to change. 

Standing poised and slightly drenched in front of the hotel room door an hour later, she reluctantly knocked the way Elena’s text message had instructed and waited. Though the feeling was a rare one - she’d been playing the long game for a while now - apprehension swelled in the pit of her belly, and out of habit, she bent slightly to run a hand over the jagged outline of the knife in her boot; just feeling it was enough to put her nerves at ease for the time being. When her client still hadn’t answered the door, she became concerned that she’d had the wrong room, and just as she was about to double-check her messages, the door swung open. She hesitated a moment before entering, and when her eyes eventually adjusted to the dimly lit room, she noticed a man perched on the edge of the neatly made bed, staring off into the distance as if in a daze, and holding a hand to his side. An undetectable bite of something hung so heavily in the air that she could almost taste the slightly salty brine of it on her tongue. 

The man cleared his throat and rasped, “You Elena?” 

She took a tense breath and shook her head. “Elena was indisposed this evening. I’m Jane.”

She watched the man hang his head and elicit a string of rough curse words.

As the rain dried on her skin, annoyance swirled in her belly. “Excuse me, is there a problem?” 

A bark of laughter erupted from him, humorless and cold. “Yeah, there’s a fuckin’ problem. There was a reason I asked for her specifically.” 

Elena had briefly mentioned something about her client requesting a girl with a medical background, but they had both chalked that up to a kink he probably had. They decided that this was just going to be one of those times where she would have to fake it to make it. 

“Listen, pal, if it’s a nurse thing you’re after, I’m your gal. I’ve got a little paper hat and a stethoscope-

He cleared his throat and glanced up at her, and it was then that she noticed the complete state of disrepair the man was in, and the rest of the words fizzled in her throat. Her stomach plummeted when she realized the source of the metallic tang in the room was blood. His face seemed to have taken the worst of the damage; multiple shallow cuts oozed crimson, and a violet bruise bloomed under an umber eye that would surely take the form of a full-blown shiner in the morning. Her gaze traveled lower, to where his hand held his side, and bile rose in her throat as she noticed blood seeping out from between his fingers.

His voice was hoarse when he murmured, “Yeah kid. It’s a nurse thing I’m after alright.” 

Kid? Who on earth did this man think he was?

Her mouth had become void of moisture at some point, so when she tried to say that perhaps they had better call an ambulance, his face turned up in a scowl. “Beg your pardon?” 

She gestured toward the phone on the desk beside the television. “I don’t see why we can’t call for help…” 

He shook his head adamantly. “Nah. No hospitals, no cops, none'a that shit. You’re here now, and if you’re able, I could really use the help.” 

She could feel the ice-cold blooms of panic taking root in her, and as she glanced back towards the door, the urge to cut and run became all-encompassing. She wrung her hands together, at a complete loss for what to do.

“Look man, if you die on me- if you die here tonight, I’m screwed. Beyond screwed. And this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not exactly qualified to assist you with whatever this,” she gestured vaguely towards him. “Is.” 

His laughter was genuine this time, but it vanished quickly and was replaced with a grimace of sheer pain. “I ain’t dying, kid. Not tonight anyway. And even if I did, I know a couple of okay lawyers that could get you out of a bind no problem,” His gaze found hers again, and the unexpected earnestness in it nearly floored her. “Please.” 

She found herself nodding before she could fully talk herself out of it. “Oh christ, okay. What do you need?” 

He inhaled deeply and gestured with the jut of his chin to a medical kit that lay open on the desk beside the phone. “There’s a needle and some thread in there-

“No,” She shook her head. “No no no. I can’t.” 

He screwed his eyes shut and hissed out another expletive. “No pressure here, but there’s a high chance I’ll bleed out if you don’t and I’d do it myself, but I can’t quite reach it.” 

Despite the chaotic haze of the moment, it all began to make sense. Three years ago, and after a particularly bad year, Elena had quit her job as a charge nurse at Mount Sinai. His earlier statement about asking for her friend specifically chimed like a bell through her muddled mind.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you it was as easy as sewing drapes?” 

Disbelief clouded her features as she shook her head. “No, it would not.” 

She wandered over to the kit and peered in, noticing two spools of black and navy thread. She pulled them both out and asked if he’d had a preference over one, which made him snicker. 

“Black suits me just fine, kid.” 

She got to work threading the needle, and when that was finished, she approached him reluctantly.

“You always carry a medical kit with you?” 

The man tried to manage a shrug. “I’ve found it comes in handy from time to time.” 

She took a steadying breath. “Alright, I’m ready if you are.” 

He reached down to retrieve a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a hearty swig. When he set the bottle back down, he dropped his hand with a wince and proceeded to gingerly pull the t-shirt from his battered body. If she’d thought his face was bad, it was nothing compared to the carnage that littered his chest and abdomen. “Jesus,” She gasped. 

“Yeah well, you should see the other guy.” He managed between gritted teeth. 

He bore the faintly heady scent of gunsmoke and blood, and as she leaned closer to inspect the wound she murmured, “Judging by how this looks, I think the other guy may be dead.” 

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “I think you may be right.”

She quickly passed a square of gauze over the wound, ignoring the pained grunt that fell from the man’s mouth and sighed. “Do I get to know your name for this?” 

“You wanna know my real name? Or should I take a page outta your book and give you a fake one?” 

It was her turn to choke out a breathless laugh. “You sure talk a lot of shit for someone at the mercy of a complete stranger.” 

He hissed as the needle pierced his skin and managed a grunted, “Yeah well, this ain’t my first rodeo.” 

She was entirely unsurprised.

“It’s uh… It’s Frank.” he eventually croaked.

She was quiet as she tried her best to focus on the gruesome task at hand, but the insufficient lighting combined with the calamitous thunder outside made it all a bit harder than it needed to be. “Yeah well Frank, first aid 101 says that you don’t pull the protrusion from the wound until you seek proper medical help.” 

“Fuck,” He seethed when she pricked a particularly sensitive spot. “We got a smartass on our hands, I see. You gonna tell me your real name now?” 

She ignored that completely. “Hey, answer me this: there was no one else in your life that you could have called besides an escort agency to come fix you up?” She found the mere notion of it all inexplicably sad. 

Despite the pain he was in, a smirk ghosted his features. “I only got two people that I would trust my life with, and both of ‘em are uh… what’s the word you used earlier? Indisposed?”

He flinched and swore again.

“They’re indisposed at the moment. Plus, you offer much more of a view to look at than they do.” 

Jesus, the nerve on this guy. 

She gave her head a shake and huffed out an exasperated breath. “Well, I’m sure you’ll regret getting a hold of Elena when this thing heals. I’ve likely maimed you for the rest of your days.” 

“Pfft, have you seen the rest of me, kid? Add it to the pile.”

While she took stock of the rest of him, her gaze drifted to the gold wedding band on a chain around his neck. “Your wife know where you are?” 

Frank stiffened against her, eyes drifting to the ceiling above her head. “Nope.” 

“Lucky lady,” She murmured, as she finished the last stitch and tied off the end of the thread.

She watched Frank’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he uttered, “My wife’s dead.” 

Her eyes fell shut. “I’m so sorry.” 

He offered her a shrug, his face a blank page. “You didn’t know.” 

The room became quiet while she busied herself packing gauze over the wound and placing tape over it to keep it there. She hastily surveyed the rest of the damage that she could see and asked if there were any other problem areas she should know about.

Frank shook his head. “None that require any more of your fancy suture work.” He pulled the blood-stained t-shirt back over his head, shielding the carnage of his toned chest from her, and she ignored the surprising prick of disappointment as a result.

“Can’t imagine you get too many calls like this.” 

She let out a low whistle. “This one was definitely a first.” 

Frank tilted his head to the side, studying her. “I bet you see a lot of shit though, doing what you do.” 

Doing what you do. 

Selling your company, your time, your body for money. 

She stood from the bed then, and turned towards the direction of the washroom, desperately wanting to rid her hands of the sickeningly sticky feeling of his blood on them.

“Not as much shit as you see, doing what you do.” 

She took her time at the sink, methodically scrubbing away the gore under scalding water until it ran clear, and when she entered the room again, Frank had propped himself up against the headboard of the bed and was watching her.

“I meant no disrespect, kid. You gotta do what you gotta do.” 

She rolled her eyes and murmured an acerbic, “How progressive of you.” 

It was hard to miss the mischievous glitter in his eyes when he cocked his head to the side and asked, “Tell me something. You ever have to use that knife in your boot?” 

She couldn’t imagine how he’d known, and she tried in vain to keep her voice neutral when she shrugged and said, “Not yet, but you never know.” 

A smirk lifted his lips skyward as he echoed her words. “You never know.” 

She cleared her throat, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “The guy who did this to you… Is he really dead?” 

A shadow passed over Frank’s face; if she hadn’t been watching him already, she would have missed it entirely.

“Would you believe me if I told you he was better off that way?” 

For some inexplicable reason, she could believe it, but she didn’t need to confirm it because the knowing look on his face told her as much. 

She clocked the watch on the underside of her wrist. Twenty past midnight. Shit.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave, Frank?”

He winced, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Yeah kid, you can tell me your name. And none of that Jane Doe horseshit.” 

She scoffed. “Why? What’s the point?” 

Frank’s gravelly just humor me, was so quiet she almost missed it.

She kicked at a stray pebble on the carpet and sighed in defeat. “It’s Calliope. But I go by Callie.” 

A smile grew on his face that caused a wave of butterflies to take flight in her belly, despite everything.

“Your folks Greek mythology buffs or Springsteen fans?” 

Her eyes widened in genuine shock. “Both, actually.” 

He nodded in satisfaction. “I got one more question for ya.” 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Seems you’re full of those tonight.”

“Why didn’t you just pass yourself off as Elena from the get-go?” 

She cast around for a suitable answer and eventually landed on, “You seem like the kind of guy who values honesty above most things.” 

The tension in the room seemed to reach a fever pitch as Frank’s gaze bore into hers, his expression unreadable. When the silence became too heavy, she broke it by inquiring about her payout.

Frank gestured to the desk beside the television. “It’s in the first drawer there.” 

She followed his instructions and pulled the sizable bundle of cash from it, turning back to him with her head cocked. “Well, I’d say it’s been a pleasure Frank, but I’d be lying.” 

He smiled wryly at her. “Stay safe out there, kid.” 

She hesitated a moment before turning towards the door. Her hand was on the handle when he called her name, and she slowly turned back to him. 

“What happens if I need your help again?” 

She let her mind wander a moment before shrugging. “Just shine your bat signal toward the sky, and I’ll get the hint. See ya around, Frank.”

Once outside in the hallway, she stumbled back against the wall and allowed herself a couple of heaving lungfuls of fresh air. She was moments away from stepping into the elevator when Frank’s wrecked voice caught her attention, and she turned to see him limping toward her, a small piece of paper in his grasp. 

“There’s just no keeping you down, is there?” she couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

He shoved the paper toward her, his face serious. “This is my number. You ever get into trouble, you ever find yourself in a situation, you give me a call.” 

Her eyes widened in mild amusement. “Right, I’ll call you so that you can get yourself into the same situation as tonight. Seems smart.” 

He shook his head. “Look kid, I don’t care if you slam dunk it into the nearest trash can on your way out, just take it.” 

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. She grabbed the piece of paper and backed into it, giving him a small wave. “Bye, Frank.” 

He mirrored her wave. “Take care of yourself, Callie.” 

~

did i originally post this earlier and then come up with a title i liked more? we'll never know. stay tuned for part 2💙

[moistvonlipwig]

🔥do you have any more for the cw's supergirl bc the last one was so so so so funny and real and true

thank youuu i had to think about this one though bc to be honest i saw this ask and the entirety of cw supergirl disappeared from my brain. but now i have remembered things to be salty about. looping in @yourlocalegotisticalqueerishere who also asked. anyway this one is not quite so funny unforchy, it's more morbid as hell?? but um i think the way the show/the superfriends handled the aftermath of crisis is genuinely really disturbing.

@sideguitars and i have talked a lot about this and i touched on it in my fic which everyone should go readies right now :3 but basically. the result of crisis is that everyone in the arrowverse (except a select few people - barry, kara, kate kane, the legends of tomorrow lady i legitimately forgot her name, j'onn, lex, ryan choi, technically the wellses who are stored instead nash (?), jennifer pierce, & lastly lena due to lex's deal with the monitor) dies. and when the world is "reset" j'onn flies around restoring a lot of the main characters' memories but not all of them. in practice, all the shows treat this less like our beloved characters have literally died and been replaced and their replacements have 'our' versions' memories in their heads as well, and much more like restoring memories effectively brings our dead versions back to life. let us proceed with the assumption that this is more or less what is happening, because that is how the shows act.

now there are 2 ways to read the morality of this action of restoring memories, which notably happens multiple times without consent from the person involved. #1 is that the new versions of these characters are people in their own right and deserve to live. through this reading, restoring 'our' versions is a violation of these people, tantamount to murder; it is overwriting their inconvenient experiences with the experiences of people our characters like better. there is no material difference, in this reading, between what j'onn does to the people whose memories he restores and what lena does to eve in s5 when she puts hope in her brain. through this reading, the superfriends are pure villains. you could imagine a superhero movie with this very plot, in fact: a sympathetic supervillain from another universe that got erased trying to replace people from this universe with people from their own.

#2 is that our versions of these characters, for whatever reason, deserve to live more than the new versions (or versions from any other earths). through this reading, it is justifiable to restore people's memories without consent, but anyone who is not restored is effectively being allowed to die, an act of criminal negligence by a band of so-called superheroes. the limits of who gets chosen to have their memories returned then become morbidly fascinating. on supergirl -- which is the only show that crisis really affects at all, frankly (besides arrow i guess but who gives a fuck), so it's kind of the only one where any of this matters -- we know for a fact that j'onn restores alex, nia, brainy, kelly, and clark and probably lois and maybe m'gann also i forget tbh. i think it is reasonable to assume he also restored james. i certainly hope he did! but we know he did not restore, say, cat grant, or andrea rojas, or william dey, or other people outside their immediate circle.

which raises questions like: why kelly? because she is alex's girlfriend of a few months? because she is james's sister? well, what about mama olsen? did they restore her memories? surely not remembering lex luthor torturing her son would change her significantly. what about alex's fake latina ex-girlfriend, maggie sawyer? does she not get her memories back, on account of being merely the ex, not the current girlfriend of supergirl's sister? and so on.

but of course the biggest crime by far is that the superfriends do not know that lex made a deal with the monitor for lena's survival and they believe she perished. and they do nothing to bring her memories back. this is despite the fact that she is unquestionably the number one person affected by the change to the universe. please consider that the biggest change to earth-prime from earth-38 is that lex luthor now never went evil, is friends with the supers, and is still in charge of luthorcorp. obviously this has a trickle-down effect on many people's lives, but i would think it obvious that the person most impacted is his little sister who he abused and manipulated for her entire life (per s4), who was left to deal with the fallout of his going evil and, oh yeah, who recently had to kill him. and now suddenly he is back in her life and has power over her and he remembers every way that she (rightfully) betrayed him. in fact i think it is not at all a stretch to say that lex's primary motivation in how he set up earth-prime was gaining more control over lena (which is why it's interesting and speaks to a lingering ember of humanity and love in lex that he lets her keep her memories at all).

and for some reason none of the superfriends are like. hey maybe lena, our former friend whose last action before her (apparent) death was helping to save three billion people at the superfriends' behest, deserves to live and know the full truth of who her brother is and what their relationship has been. alex even tries to argue that kara shouldn't tell lena about any of their history at all because then lena might be mad at kara for all the lying and that would, you know, suck for kara personally. which, like, i guess kara wanting to tell lena the truth is a step up from that load of horseshit, but again, none of you considered restoring her memories? you're just going to let her stay dead? after alex, j'onn, and kara all agreed in 5x08 that lena was not a lost cause and could still be saved? lmao. okay.

and then once they realize lena has her memories we again have the issue of like. why is it that alex and kara get to have THEIR support systems restored but lena doesn't? again. lena is the one whose life has been MOST overturned by crisis. she is the one currently under her abuser's thumb -- her abuser who is the only one who apparently bothered to consider saving her life, and who is the only non-superfriend she knows who also remembers their previous earth. which, keeping in mind that as far as she knows all the superfriends were down to kill her in 5x08 with a nuclear fucking missile, means that she has literally nowhere safe to go.

like. one of her best and most supportive friends was sam arias. and to be fair s5 seems dead set on pretending sam never existed with the exception of 5x13. but if she wanted to go to sam, it wouldn't be the same sam with knowledge of earth-38. andrea, also, isn't the same andrea. they make it a point to show us she has a different backstory. even lillian isn't the same lillian, and, i mean, lillian was indeed abusive to lena, but earth-38 lillian was more on her side than earth-prime lillian is. lena has literally no one. she has her abusive brother and her former friends who lied to her for years and tried to kill her (as far as she knows) and that's it. but alex gets her girlfriend of a few months back. and kara gets her cousin back. because what kara and alex want matters, and what lena needs does not matter. and then the superfriends are all Shocked and Appalled that lena goes back to lex. which like. i don't love that as a story beat either, but i put it to you: where the fuck else was she supposed to go?

anyway i could rant about this all day long lol but basically it points to how profoundly unconcerned the superfriends were with lena's status as lex's first and primary victim, which really undermines their later claims that they're lena's new and better family. and it also points to how little the show itself cared about the psychology of abuse victims (particularly female ones) that this was never factored into how they wrote the reconciliation between lena & the superfriends. and more broadly the whole thing suggests a frankly eerie self-centeredness on the part of the superfriends that makes all their moral posturing seem hollow. no matter which way you read the morality of restoring people's memories post-crisis, the superfriends (mostly kara, j'onn, and alex tbf) acted callously, selfishly, and without care for the very people they were supposed to protect. and, as always, lena luthor suffered for it.

[suffer1nsappho]

okay my english speaking friends I brought you another portion of thoughts about the translation of pathologic, hope you didn't hate the last one about «gentle hands».

btw this time i've checked all the words in dictionaries to avoid inaccuracies so let's go.

last week I watched my bf playing patho2 and there was this line on day 3 in aspity's hospice, some steppe woman said that:

if we'll translate the line to english literally, that will be "The Kin is a family. We're all children of Bodho. We're all relatives anyway". that made me think about that really interesting decision that the translators of patho2 made.

let's start with the fact that in the context of pathologic "the Kin" and "Уклад" are proper nouns, they refer to the fictional society of the steppe people. in real life these words are used in different meanings.

oxford and cambridge dictionaries provide similar definitions to the word "kin"

so yeah, the word "kin" is mostly about relations, I'd even say about consanguinity. kin are the people you're related to by blood. this version of the name of the steppe people emphasises the idea of their relation.

this is why in english version that woman in the hospice says that. relatives are relatives, The Kin are kin. there are also fictional words "khatange" - the kin, the indivisible whole, where everyone is connected, and "khatanger" - a single member of this indivisible whole.

in russian this society is called "Уклад" (/uklad/). in the context of this line we're talking about, we can't say by analogy with the english version "Уклад - это уклад".

in ozhegov's dictionary (the most popular dictionary of russian language) we can find this definition.

"уклад" is a an established way of life, and I can't find any word in english that means exactly the same. the closest translation I could think of was, as I already mentioned, "a way of life". (if you have any other ideas, welcome to the comment section).

morphologically the word "уклад" has nothing to do with the idea of relation. the root -клад- is used in the verb "класть" - "to put" (i know they look different, it's just russian language)

there are other words with this root or it's other forms.

"укладывать" - to lay (tracks, concrete, smth like that) or style (hair).

"складывать" - to fold (paper, for example) or put (same as "класть")

"клад" - a buried treasure (because someone put it in this place)

so the idea of the root -клад- is giving something a certain shape, placing something in a certain place.

there's a phrase in russian: "так исторически сложилось" - "it happened that way historically". "с-лож-илось" is a past tense form of the verb "с-клад-ываться" (the roots are even more different, but what can I say, it's just russian language)

and this phrase is about that something is usually done in a certain way now because of some historical events in the past. for example, why the hell the words "сложилось" and "складываться" share the same root even though they are spelt completely different? так исторически сложилось.

why do people of the steppe care that much about the mother earth? why do they call each other khatange, think of the kin as of something connected, inseparable? why do herbal brides dance almost naked? так исторически сложилось - it happened that way historically.

this is where we get to the main idea of the word "уклад". "уклад" is something that stays the same and has no intentions to change. of course, it can be changed under some circumstances, but most importantly, "уклад" is a habit that is established in people's lives and minds.

so do the people of the steppe. they care a lot about their traditions, their culture, they speak their native language. it's their уклад жизни - way of life, and they don't want to change it, because they got used to it.

and in fact, I really like both russian and english version. the meanings of the words are completely different, but both of them are correct because they focus on different aspects of steppe life.

[ahollowgrave]

OK SO THE THING IS -- (Its DT spoilers all the way down folks.)

I've talked about Odette and Sphene and The Endless and Living Memory and the Use of Souls before so I'll try not to repeat myself too much. (<- Lying.)

But when we first meet Endless Sphene, Odette is SO curious. She clocks that woman isn't Alive (TM) right away and it's always a little !! when you meet someone who might be like you. You know? That first bit, Odette is so intrigued and welcoming and naive. She's never been the head of a country before, you know? And yeah maybe there is alarm bells, so to speak, at the back of her mind but those are so easy to ignore when you are Lonely in a Very Particular Way.

This doesn't last long !! Honestly, the second regulators and their (their main I suppose) purpose are introduced a wall goes up. Gone are all those warm and curious feelings and whats left is a growing dread.

This is where Odette and Wuk bet heads for the first time. Any other plot and Odette would agree, they should just!! Keep being nice. It's just their way of life, etc etc etc. But this is wrong. This is perverted, this is corrupted, this is aberrant, this is harmful. It needs to be stop.

And it just gets worse from there.

A lot of Prudence covering for Odette. Holding her back like a trembling, neurotic chihuahua from savaging any ankle she can reach. When they defeat Endless Sphene she is simply!!! Sad!!! It's a sad all around!!!

And then.... she's....... back and not dead and actually even more off-putting. And people don't seem toooooo remember??? that she??? died??? Like for real??? We had a whole funeral, Odette had to hold everyone's hand through the funeral rites!!!

AND THEN....... 7.2....

MAN. She's alive, she's been asleep 400 years and the world moved on without -- except it didn't. It had a... version of her. A version she cannot possibly live up too. And 400 years is so long. Idk idk. She's not a living-dead girl but she's close, you know? So again, that sense of "oh you're like me (again)" but it's all a bit tainted now, you know?

They share a feeling of "I am out of step with the world around me and yet I must do my best to keep up."

At first Odette cannot help but stare, she is having a lot of emotions at once, she looks like she's gonna vomit all the time. (Partly because S9 just does that to her but also because... Sphene.) And MAN imagine being Sphene, you've got so much going on an also this weird nun won't stop staring at you. Sphene thinks Odette hates her for a while but eventually...

The coffee scene. I know some people thought it was silly and maybe it was, but that first moment where Odette and Sphene are sitting alone just talking. :pacha: That's when shit settles for them, that's when Odette becomes Sphene's comfort. Where Sphene realizes "Oh, she doesn't hate me..."

Idk idk idk! Odette is slow to build of romantic feelings but at the very least she feels for Sphene. She understands some of the uncomfortableness of Sphene's position, and maybe she can't understand the weight of a crown but she knows the burden of Duty. She is an empathic creature -- how could Death not be? -- she wants Sphene to know she isn't alone, that Odette will help in anyway she can.

ough. anyway... this is very much a ramble but man...

But Pigeon, I hear you cry, what about Odette and Prudence!?

omg first of all thank you for you question!!! This isn't about them.

(But also they are never actually like A Couple they are a very complicated strangers to coworkers to lovers to ????. Prudence tends to be in a lot of off again/on again relationships! Odette is one of the more painful ones, for sure.)

As much as Prudence loves/is obsessed with Odette, she's not a very... good at expressing herself. She's not good at relationships, she's not good at a lot of things. She is insanely jealous of Sphene and Odette - be it endless sphene or evil sphene or living sphene. She wants to be the one on Odette's mind she wants to be the one making Odette look like that. Alas !! She'll be ok.

genuinely abuzz with ideas about sphene and odette but also gotta............ wait a bit.......... see what happens...... you know?

[godisasimp]

VoidSeeker | Herrscher of Dream

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The more I see your work and the more I see of poorly drawn scum villain, the more I'm tempted to do a poorly drawn tgcf 🥺 (I've only just started listening to it and I absolutely love it!!)

I just don't think I'm as funny as both of you and don't know if I could commit to uploading as regularly as you both do.

But oh! I am SO very tempted!! 😭

Working on an adaption of an existing media as a long form project is honestly my strongest recommendation for getting your creative brain going! Of course, there is still planning and hard work that goes into it, but the biggest creative pressures are much lower (And when anxiety brain is quiet, art brain thrives!)

That said, projects like this are a huge commitment, and I'm a bit of a freak case when it comes to the grind. PD-Scumvillian and I both put a lot of work behind the scenes to make it seem as effortless as it is. I'm wholeheartedly giving you my support should you go through with it; feel free to reach out and ask for tips and tricks!

[greyedian]

MAN I'm seriously so sad about season 2. Bc I wish act 2 had the same emotional impact on me as it appears to have on so many others. But rn I'm just somewhere between unable to care and actively annoyed by some of those writing decisions. Seriously the more I think about it the less I like it.

[childofthestone]

thinking abt the veilguard companions and sighing heavily

[fauvester]

tgcf as a long rambling bedtime story shang qinghua tells xuejiao (because story time is one of the few times his little half-demon whelp will cuddle with him) intended to teach a spoiled ass ice prince the value of humility and goodness and dedication to the people. it backfires horrifically because XJ thinks that xie lian is extremely cringe and in true airplane fashion the epic bloodthirsty demon antagonist ends up being a supreme simp househusband. how does this keep happening to SQH

[hecoxthirst]

Thank you so much @punk-gremlin for the tag. For those who don't know how this works, you post the first and last lines of your ten most recent fics (if you have that many fics) 1. Can I guess who kissed me? Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Courtney was the one to bring up the idea for the first time." and "This is the happiest he’s ever been."

2. Alone doesn't suit you Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Ian has been stressing about today since Anthony agreed to meet." and "Anthony nods and places a kiss to Ian’s temple." 3. Sharing bed like little kids Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Sharing a bed with an older version of Anthony feels so odd." and "He wouldn’t want to belong to anyone else." 4. Ivy and forget-me-nots Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Everyone in the world is born with a little bud drawn on their inner wrist." and "Without having to think about it too much, he just does the most natural thing he could do. He kisses his soulmate." 5. Careful what you wish for Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Anthony gradually wakes up." and "Turns out he can get adult Anthony flustered too, after all." 6. No thoughts, head full (of cum) Eddie Clayton/Charlie Ross (Ghostmates) "Charlie is quietly focusing on his work, doing some line art on his new tablet." and "He... has a feeling he’s going to be thinking about this experience for a long time." 7. Good girl Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Ian feels like he’s perfected the fifties housewife look at this point." and "He leans in and connects their lips." 8. Oh let me use you baby, I love you Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "Anthony’s on his bed, hand in his pants, trying to picture touching his girlfriend." and "Whatever is going to happen, he knows they’ll get through it together." 9. A part of me that will never be mine Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "There’s something familiar about this scene." and "So then, why does he desperately wish he could wake up?" 10. What if you closed your eyes Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla (Smosh) "It’s a quiet afternoon, Ian sits on his couch listening to Anthony recount what was going through his mind when they shot the Who Slapped Me video." and "To have Anthony like this, the way he has him now? He’d endure all that and more." I don't know how many people I'm supposed to tag, or who to tag for the matter. I don't know who in this fandom has already done this, but I assume everyone 'cos everyone is just tagging each other lol So I'm gonna throw in a bunch of my friends from my older fandoms! @zeldahime @prewar-james @khazadspoon @feral-teeth @blondeforyou @commander-kiranerys If any of you have already done this or have no interest in doing this feel free to ignore <333 ily guys

[ragnars-tooth]

HII HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

As promised, here are seven wips from the last uhh 3 years I've been writing dragons book fanfic on my silly gay computer. They're a mix of unfinished/abandoned/in-progress-but-not-that-important-rn

There are summaries in square brackets between each separate fic with a quick description of what the fuck is going on, when it's going on (e.g. book number, where appropriate) and main players/relationships. (plus a fun little word-count and look at the last time i touched the file… yeah, fun… whoops). These have been bolded to hopefully make them a bit easier to see while scrolling at high velocity.

All under the cut because it's too long for me to do that to your dashboards 🫡

[Lucy & David, chatting about author photos post-book 4. 475 words. (Oct 2022 💀)]

“Hang on…”

David paused, finger still wedging the spine of the book open. He was staring at the flap of the dust cover, frowning slightly to himself.

“Did you use my student ID for my author photo?”

Lucy leant in closer. College David was a little younger than David Rain – same dark blue eyes, but with a rounder face and hair that hadn’t been bleached white by his time elsewhere. The dusty brown still crept in at the ends of his hair, where it was now stuck to the inside of his collar.

Lucy couldn’t remember how many times she had taken down her copy of The Nutbeast and stared at the little card. It was odd to compare the man who’d lived only in her head for so many years to the one sitting on the edge of her bed.

He looked tired now. In-her-head-David had never been tired.

“It was the only one mum had.” She said.

It was the truth; Liz had run through his entire film collection and hadn’t found a single photo of David’s face. He’d been more of a landscape photographer – lots of buses and bridges that hadn’t consoled her as a child. Well, a younger child.

David cocked his head to one side, looking decidedly distraught. “But it’s awful – that’s not an excuse!”

She glanced back down, as though the image might have twisted into something else in the time she’d released her focus from it.

Nope. Still David, if a little pixelly.

“It looks fine.”

His hair was staticky and spidering out in a mess of flyaways, and David had a slight manic glint to his eyes, grinning in an angular, uncomfortable way. There might have been a stain on his shirt – it was hard to tell.

“It does not.”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow. “And where did you want us to get another? Your return address isn’t even real.”

He flailed the book wildly, “I don’t even have parents! That makes it double your fault for not having a photo of me.” The cover was still propped open an inch or so, the paper caught on his ring. “There has got to be a better one in this house.”

“Can’t fix your face, David. They’re all going to look like that.”

“This is inhumane!” he sputtered.

Despite it all, Lucy found herself smiling.

“We used it at your… not-funeral too.”

“I’m sorry.” David scoffed, eyes very wide. “You used my student identification photo at my funeral?”

“And where were we meant to get another one? You were gone remember? Can’t exactly call ghostbusters and ask them to snap a photo of you.”

David frowned, nose wrinkling at the bridge.

“I don’t think they do that – they bust the ghosts, remember?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “You’re a very annoying ghost. Maybe I should give them a ring regardless.”

-----

[Lucy & David, the audacity that some people have to move on and remodel the kitchen while you’re gone, really. 535 words. (March 2023)]

Irrevocably and stupidly, the only words he can get out of his mouth are:

“You moved the fridge.”

It’s not incorrect – it used to push up against the backdoor, and no amount of goodwill could stop you from nearly decapitating Bonny when he pattered through the cat-flap on short notice.

Now, it’s on the opposite wall – plastered in the same old stickers and fridge magnets reminiscent of days gone by. It’s the same fridge where he used to drink straight from the milk carton and look out over the rockery and crooked garden fence, but it doesn’t face the window anymore. David would have to turn fully around, which rather defeats the purpose.

It’s nothing intelligent, nothing profound – so much, so fucking much, has happened in five years and the only thing he can think about is the fridge, Lucy filling her water in the moonlight, barely tall enough to reach the faucet, and the rattling of the entire house in the winter months, post it notes and postcards and crayon drawings of a clan of squirrels.

There are new drawings now – Alexa’s, he thinks vaguely – but it’s not the same. She holds her markers much tighter.

It shouldn’t be a shock. It’s been so, so long since he was last here, but in the same breath it’s as though David had only closed his eyes for a second to rest, and the house has grown and shifted around him.

He knows that this is how things work, he hadn’t expected or wanted them to dig in their heels and sink into the snow with him. It’s a good thing, he tells himself, that things have changed, but he chokes on the inhale anyway.

He’s been left behind.

Lucy leans into the counter, dragging the cuff of her jumper between her thumb and forefinger. She bites the inside of her cheek the same way she did five years ago, but that’s wrong too.

It’s something in her eyes, something heavy and dark that’s never going away – she’s tired, much more tired than a child has any right being, and it seizes something in his chest.

He did this.

She sighs, moving to play with the collar of the jumper instead.

“Bonny likes to be big now and household fridges aren’t really made to withstand the force of a hundred-pound tiger… it got old real quick.”

David wants to say something, to lapse back into the way things used to be, but his mouth betrays him. He nods instead, and Lucy keeps tugging at the green fabric at her neck. It’s his old geography society jumper, he notices absently. It looks older than he feels, silver lettering faded black and brown, eroded away entirely in places. He hadn’t been to many of the meetings, not after truly being inducted into the Pennykettle’s nonsense, but the dusty smell of the common room and their pilfered coffee machine fills his nose.

It makes him want to gag. Where exactly are those members now? The idea of what will become of them if he fails has the prickle of ice rising just under his skin.

How can things be so much the same and so different all at once?

-----

[Henry & David: excerpt from the wider ‘wouldn’t you be mad as hell if you were a normal guy and found out your birth dad is your landlady’s new boyfriend?’ au, post family dinner explosion/revelation. 703 words. (September 2023)]

“Exiled from my own house.” He muttered darkly.

Henry arched a massive eyebrow. “You don’t pay the rent, boy.”

“I do – that is literally the one thing I do.”

“That’s rough, man.” Tam mumbled, hands weighed down by the tall coffee mug he had pilfered. It tipped dangerously as he raised it to his mouth, threatening to douse them all in yet more sludge. Henry frowned and steadied it with one hand. Tam blinked slowly and reset his angle.

“There’re camping beds under the stairs. You can set yourself up in the living room.” Henry narrowed his eyes at the two of them, “You will not be rumpling my upholstery by sleeping on my sofa.”

Tam hummed, setting his mug down owlishly before slogging out of the kitchen. He looked much more jelly than human, and David had half a mind to go and help him before he gave up on assembling the bed and curled up in a heap on the floor. He wasn’t sure if that had been on Henry Bacon’s extensive list of house rules or not.

“Did you know for long?” Henry asked quietly.

The tone took David off guard, breaking him out of his considerations of how comfortable Henry’s plush carpet was and how likely it was Tam was going to get a good night’s sleep in the inevitability that he collapsed from exhaustion.

“Know what?”

“Don’t be stupid boy.” Henry huffed, his eyes softening more than David had ever seen. It was an odd expression for the hard lines of his face. “How long did you know Arthur was your father?”

He laughed.

Turning his wrist to check the face of his watch he answered,

“Oh, about seven hours.”

“Mm, so ruining dinner was a crime of passion then.”

“Or you could say Arthur ruined dinner twenty-three years ago. Ultra-pre-meditated.”

Henry sighed.

“Don’t start writing crime novels, boy. You’re dreadful.” “It must have been a shock to the system then, you’re not one to get angry.”

David shrugged. It sounded almost like a compliment. Two years ago he would have told you with full certainty that dragons were a fantasy. Now they warmed his tea in the mornings. A lot of things had changed in his life since then.

He shifted his mug between his hands and took another sip. The dregs were starting to cool.

“It would have been better if it had been literally anyone else. Arthur’s been so… kind to me since we met and all this… it’s just-” his nose scrunched, “highly contradictory to everything I thought I knew.”

David’s family had come up in conversation before – once Henry Bacon had hold of a thread he yanked and yanked until it came loose, no matter how many loose teeth he took with it. Perhaps that was why he and Tam got along so well.

It was no secret how David felt about the concept of his father. Henry Bacon had shared enough choice words about the man himself that David had to wonder what calculations were running in the back of his mind. Was he unravelling all of his interactions with Arthur, sliding the threads under a microscope? Was he a good man? Honourable?

David didn’t have the answers to that himself.

He shook his head to clear it.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s barely a father – he wasn’t there to raise me and he certainly wasn’t there when I needed him.” He rolled his mug around to observe the escaped leaves. “I think you did a better job at that.” 

“Arthur’s… a complicated man. I’m sure you two will be able to have a civil conversation once this is all said and done.”

When exactly does this get to be done? He wasn’t sure anyone could tell him that. Not for all Arthur’s understanding of the universe and all its components therein was there an equation he could use to fix this. Replace x and y and find how he had missed this. To be so impossibly close and so far away at the same time. No doubt, he would have invented time travel before he would have noticed what sat right in front of him.   

David hummed into his empty mug.

“Sure.”

-----

[Tam/David, General Pennykettle Clan. David is weird after being resurrected, and everyone has questions about Co:pern:ica. There is another family dinner because those are all I write apparently. Tam and David go for a smoke break. 3067 words. (November 2022)]

“’Not like it can kill me anyway.” He says. “I didn’t eat for four years, it’s not like a bit of smoke will do me in now.”

The silence is suddenly oppressive, and when David looks up the entire damn table is staring at him, slack-jawed. He has missed something.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Four years?” Liz is still holding the plate of roasters, stuck in the motion of sliding more onto her plate with the flat of her knife. There is something akin to real horror in her eyes. 

“I was dead for one, yes.”

She extends the plate to him jerkily. “Then you’d better make up for it now.”

Ah! Yes, the human concept of starvation, he’d forgotten that one. Generally pretty upsetting to the average person – makes sense.

David pushes the plate back her way, gentle not to disturb the roasters as he laughs. They’re the herb covered kind and it would be a dire shame to spill them all over the floor, no matter if Bonny might thank him.

“No, really. I’m fine. Had other things to worry about – slipped my mind if anything.”

Other things, yes… let’s say that, shall we?

Arthur has inclined his head towards him in the way that means he’s grabbed the string of an intriguing theory and intends to tug it until the entire tapestry unravels. He gets that look about him a lot.

David shivers despite the British cold always being abrasively hot to him these days. What an odd image to set him on edge.

“Would you call that typical for the Fain? Not needing to sustain a physical body?”

He rolls the unlit cigarette around between his fingers.

“No,” David hums, “I don’t think it’s a Fain thing, I think it’s a dead thing.”

“But you’re not dead now, are you?” There’s a tension in Zanna’s words that he wasn’t expecting. If he were sentimental he might have called it concern. But he’s not sentimental, he’s Fain – he doesn’t do that anymore.

David shrugs. “Not entirely sure if I count as alive either.”

“You do.” She’s quick – always has been to cut off the things she doesn’t want to hear. Zanna has made it clear enough that she doesn’t like the thought that David Rain was never real, that he was some construct given life. He can’t blame her.  

“Can we not talk about how you’re dead or not dead.” Lucy snaps, her plate clinking a dangerous tone when she slams down her fork. David flinches at the sound. Tam has his eyes on him again. “You’re finally back and I don’t want to think about -” she glares at the fireplace, “-all that. I just want to have dinner again.”

He feels a twinge of the heaviness and lightness of space winking back at him. The same sensation of holding Bergstrom’s pocket watch in his open hand and staring into its face, and all that that entails.

Good, it seems to say to him, you’re not here to be liked.

“’Course. Sorry, Luce.”

She shakes her head, and seems to think better of whatever was on the tip of her tongue. She picks up her fork again and returns her gaze to the plate,

“Whatever, answer Arthur’s physics questions.”

David slides his Yorkshire pudding onto her plate in some semblance of a peace offering. Lucy douses it in gravy and almost smiles at him.

“It’s probably an… Illumination thing, rather than a Fain thing.” He tucks the cigarette into the pocket of his shirt. With the way Arthur has crossed his hands on the tablecloth there is no way David is going to get a smoke break any time soon. “I was in limbo for a long time, but I remember that my parents used to cook.”

Those eyes are all on him again. Even Bonny has plodded back into the living room to stare at him, though he’s probably waiting for one of their entourage to drop a piece of chicken.

The cat glides under the table, and from the sound of pattering paws David can hear him settle in Arthur’s lap. The professor removes a hand from the table to rest in Bonny’s fur. Then his eyes move from the patch of wall over David’s shoulders to his face.

Right. Being stared at. That’s what’s happening.

“Not my parents,” he corrects. “One of me’s parents.” That’s worse.

“The me that does not have this specific earth body, but existed in Co:pern:ica.” Better? “The me that had parents.” Nope, that’s even worse.

No one looks like they know what to say. He can’t blame them. This whole family thing is a mess.

“We do eat.” He settles on, then shoves a piece of parsnip in his mouth for good measure. He is safe for the next five to twelve seconds, if he really pushes it.

They’re curious, but no one wants to touch that mess, so Arthur breaks the quiet of everyone glancing off awkwardly at various décor, grimacing slightly. “You had mentioned that the Fain don’t do many menial tasks unless they’re unavoidable – if you remember it that way, then you’re likely right.”

“Well, I don’t remember it, but based on Co:pern:ica David, I’d say so.“ Good Godith, what was in that fucking wine? “His parents cooked, so they had to eat. Probably...”

The looks return, so he moves on quickly, waving his hands vaguely.

“Multiple timelines,” he says, “There’s several me’s, doing about the same thing now. Several you’s too. I’m just aware of them because of the d- Illumimation thing.”

Why did you say that?? Now they’re going to want to know-

“There’s multiple of us?” Tam looks at him over the rim of his glasses, half-smirking, “What, am I still a journalist?”

“Uhhh…” Well. “Of a sort. It’s hazy, but I think you worked for the media.”

Don’t say he got arrested, don’t say he got arrested, don’t say he got arrested for treason and left for dead, don’t say he used to look at you with admiration in his eyes, and that stupid overgrown haircut, don’t say you were jealous of the way he looked at Rosa, for God’s sake David you can keep your thoughts to yourself you stupid bastard.

“You guys have a media?”

Oh great, you’ve just made him more interested. Good job, jackass!

David tries to make a non-comital sound in the back of his throat. It comes out strangled. Zanna frowns at him as she sips her wine.

“Very… State-operated, if you get my drift.”

Tam, ever the journalist, has just opened his mouth to probe for more answers when Liz cuts him off. She has piled up the empty plates in her quadrant of the table. David hopes it isn’t obvious that he’s floundering, but from the fact that she’s diffusing the situation he has to accept that it probably is.

“Well, don’t leave us hanging – who were the rest of us,” she laughs, “who was I?”

You used to read me to sleep. You painted the walls of my bedroom green when I said the grey made me sad. You were the only person we knew who made things with her hands instead of Imagineering them. You went to the Dead Lands and made life. You were my –

 “You were a potter.”

Tam rolls his eyes,

“God, are we all boring?”

It makes him oddly defensive for some reason.

“Zanna worked at the librarium.”

You know the reason. You knew all of these people in a way they can never know. You’ve loved them every universe you’ve been alive in. You always will. They cannot know that. It would be too hard. It would make you cry, and the Fain don’t cry.

“Librarium?” Arthur asks, Bonny’s round face pouting over the edge of his plate, eyes focused on the sliver of ham across a moat of gravy. It’s safe for now, it’ll take at least another ten minutes for Bonnington to figure out that he can step up onto the table.

“It’s… basically a library, but the books are alive and it’s run by Henry Bacon.”

“Mr Bacon?” Lucy looks frankly appalled at the idea.

“A weird Fain Mr Bacon, yes. I think I – I think the other me was living there.”

“Like when Gwiliana kicked you out.”

David snorts. “Yeah, like the week from hell.”

He shakes his head, re-adjusts course, then looks back to Arthur. “We haven’t had physical books in over a hundred years – the librarium was where they all went, Henry-” he nods to the woman on his right, “-and Zanna kept them in order.”

He sips from his glass.

Probably a bad idea, you’ve been running your mouth all night. Shut up.

“They were bloody tricky bastards.”

Zanna looks at him oddly. Her brows are pinched but she doesn’t seem overtly disgusted with the idea. It’s possibly the first time she has been at least neutral on the discussion of the Fain.

On the discussion of who you are.

“You couldn’t have lived at a library. You would’ve made a pig’s ear of it.” Her voice is not cold – it’s a joke, probably. She thinks it’s funny.

“Oh, I did.” He pauses, tries to recall the details. The librarium is hazy for some reason.

He recalls Rosa and her kicker boots, lying in the grass by the well, firebirds overhead. He remembers being eleven, reading about pianists… then being… twenty? He decides not to poke around too hard in that gap, though its vastness is mildly concerning.

He worries that there is something there that is worse than not knowing.

You felt that way before. When you were first living at the Crescent. You had huge gaps in your childhood. Scattered dates and one or two fixed points. You don’t even know if that was real. You don’t know if you want it to be.

David swallows thickly, “I don’t… actually remember what happened while I was there – while he was there. But he must have been there about ten years – that’s what the memories tell me anyway.”

You wanted me to leave the librarium so I would stop distracting you. You made me daisy chain bracelets and we used to curl up in the hammocks together to read. There wasn’t enough room but I would race you to see who could finish their volume faster. You almost always won, but I paid more attention to the details. I never did understand what was meant to be more or less important – it was in the book, so it had to be relevant, right? Mr Henry said we complimented each other nicely.

David is vaguely aware that he has slipped into a long silence. He watches Tam glance across the table at Zanna. His fingers itch for that cigarette.

“There are two of us left wise guy.” Lucy says, finally pushing her plate away. She hasn’t touched the sprouts. She never does. “What did Arthur and I get up to?”

He pretends to think for a moment, leaning back in his seat. His plate still has a mound of mash and peas. It’ll get cold and start going soggy soon. He hasn’t felt hungry since he died. He’ll still eat it.

David rolls his shoulders.

“Arthur was a physicist – it goes over my head but I think it was something to do with time.” Arthur tips his head not unlike a dog. He would love more details but David isn’t lying when he says he doesn’t get it.

You were my dad. You worked a lot. You did a good enough job when I did see you.

“I think… you had a cool name. It’s on the tip of my tongue”

Lucy snorts. “Boring. Just me left!” She arches a curious eyebrow – the one with the carefully placed slit. “And I better be more interesting.”

This is vague too. She’s young – no, really young – and then she’s… less young? But still a little kid. There’s the same chasm in his memory.

How can I know she’s my sister and have no idea when she was born? How do I have no clue what happened after I left – is it just too close? Do I need to write it down?

At the thought of writing a familiar green snout noses its way into his head. Zookie sits on his desk, looking up at him expectantly. The little dragon taps his pencil on the edge of his pad in a way that betrays some irritation. I can’t believe you’re making me fish through your memories, he’s saying.

Nonetheless, Gadzooks scribbles down his answer, then flips the wire-bound book so David can decipher it.

Angel.

It makes his mouth go dry. What the hell did Lucy have to do with an angel, and why does it make him so uneasy? Zookie shrugs and, as he dissipates like smoke, David takes a long drink.

When he finally has enough sense about him not to melt into the carpet or storm off into the night and never return, he smiles at Lucy.

“You were the most boring child I’d ever met in my life. You liked maths.”

“I still like maths!” Lucy snaps, rolling her eyes. “I’m an engineering student!”

David shrugs, “You literally can’t get more boring, Luce.”

She lobs a pea at him and Liz starts gesturing at the two of them with her ladle. There’s the usual lecture about acting like adults, and how Lucy really should know better by now, but David isn’t listening. His eyes keep drifting to the window, out into the garden. He feels odd, though he can’t place it.

He shakes it off – talking about the Fain, delving into the memories of people who are him but not quite always has him disoriented afterwards – that’s all.

And whatever Gadzooks is on about will either happen or it won’t. He can dwell on it later. For right now, Tam is staring at him over the head of his beer – half empty. That seems a little more pressing than Zookie’s one-word puzzles.

-

“I’m gonna go take that smoke.” David says, already out of his seat by the time Zanna can send him a wayward glance. She still seems uneasy – she sees something in his face that she doesn’t like, her brows furrow further and she returns to her wine.

Liz sighs, but makes no move to stop him. “Just don’t throw the butt in the bushes,” she says, “I don’t want you setting all of Scrubbley on fire.”

“Will do.”

He sends her a mock salute, then dips around the door into the hallway.

Tam is three feet behind him when his hand is on the front door. “Figured you might need a lighter.”

David looks back to him before pushing the door open. “You are a shock Mr Farrell! A poet and a smoker – Liz will never approve.”

He gets a wry smile in response. “You started it – you’re the favourite ‘round here anyway. We can call you a bad influence on me.” He pats his jacket pocket – it’s the one with the tartan print lining that comes through at the hood and the cuffs. “Do you need that light or not?”

David pushes the door the rest of the way open, then stops it open with his weight.

“I think between us we should be able to manage.”

They sit on the brick wall that lines the entire front side of the Crescent. It’s perhaps a little too low even for David, but it beats standing around in the cold air, shifting your weight from foot to foot until the cigarette is biting your fingers.

Tam extracts a beaten-up silver lighter from his pocket, then fiddles with the latch for a moment. The cigarette resting on his lip wobbles as he swears, failing the ignition several times.

“No juice?”

He sighs.

“Not even a spark.”

David shrugs, “’s alright, I do have a back-up for when handsome journalists don’t have a lighter.”

He leans closer into Tam’s space, cupping his hands in a small bowl.

He had done this before – maybe not in this life, but the echoes of the action were strong enough that he could feel the order of operations like a phantom pain.

He felt vaguely that he was cupping his hands more to protect it from the wind than as a necessary motion. It would appear when he closed his eyes and thought it – dreamt it.

He conjured up the image of a small candle flame, the orange hue and white core, flickering slightly but solid enough in shape and colour.

Someone was talking over his shoulder – several someones, whispery and faint on the wind. The main voice was familiar enough – Liz, but not quite. He chooses to ignore the difference.

He feels the bright heat and the wobbling shape, forces it to become real, then David Rain opens his eyes.

It isn’t that impressive for a little light that has completely shattered several laws of physics. It looks more like David is hiding a birthday candle in his palms. A very small, very shit birthday candle. Been there, he thinks.

Tam, however, had clearly not been there. His eyes have gone wide, and the cigarette looks in serious danger of tumbling straight out of his mouth.

“Fuck me.” He mumbles.

“Not right now.” David says, raising his hands to his mouth.

The flame is real enough to catch, and David is soon offering his palms to Tam. He bends his head to accommodate the spark.  

Once the second cigarette is lit, David pulls his hands away from one another, extinguishing the light. Tam takes a drag, still staring wide-eyed over the rims of his glasses.

“Jesus fuck. Have you always been able to do that?”

David laughs. Have I, indeed.

“First time.”

“Christ.”

He takes a drag of the cigarette. Two men puffing smoke on the front door-step of the dragon-potter’s house – it was no wonder that rumours of real, scaly dragons have popped up in the neighbourhood. David imagines there might be more rumours of that calibre soon, but pushes it to the back of his mind.

“You had something to ask me.”

He considers denying it for a moment, then lets it go.

“I did.” Tam says, chewing over the next syllables in his head before he finally lets them loose, “Are you alright?”

-----

[David/Zanna. I hit early series David with the transgenderism beam. Zanna does David’s makeup, she has feelings about it. 1038 words. (31 December 2022… omg happy birthday ‘transes ur gender.docx’)]

It’s a joke.

It’s a joke.

Zanna has joked approximately a thousand times that he has the right face for makeup. That David has nice lashes and deep eyes and a just slightly soft jaw. He is indulging in the joke.

It means absolutely nothing, other than that he has a sense of humour.

In fact, it’s so funny that David is sat stock-still. Committing to the bit and allowing his partner to work her magic is going to make the outcome objectively so much funnier.

It’s a little bit secondary school sleepover – not the type that he’d ever been to, of course, there were a few more dicks and a bit less lip-gloss at those, but the thought remains – David perched on the edge of the bed, Zanna leaning tantalisingly into his space, a look of wicked concentration on her face.

He continues to avoid Zanna’s eyes. If he catches them then he’ll just start laughing, and then Zanna will start laughing, and then they’ll be a mess and the joke won’t get finished. Given the time she’s spent on his eye-shadow, it would be a shame at this point.

Lucy had never really been into makeup, or at least none of the fancy stuff. But she had found the idea of doing him up absolutely hysterical. She’d offered a hundred times but the thought had always struck something deep inside him – annoyance, was it? That she felt like he was a doll to practice on, maybe?

That she would absolutely fuck it up on purpose?

And considering the whole joke is that Zanna’s going to make him look like a girl, what would’ve been the point in fucking it up? They’ve already established that being overly serious is hilarious.

That looking convincingly like a girl when he’s not one is the peak of comedy. 

On the desk over Zanna’s shoulder, Zookie huffs. He twiddles the pencil between his paws, scaley eyebrows drawn together.

He flips the page and looks up at David. Whatever he was hoping to see, he does not, and the dragon shakes his head, tapping the book with some impatience.

Hmph, David thinks, if only you had some way to tell me things that we’ve used a dozen times. Or a language we both speak. What a crying shame.

“Alright?”

“Fine.” His voice is a little rough from disuse and nothing else. They have been sat in silence for quite some time.

“Sure?” a brush flicks around the corners of his eyes, “It’s not getting in your eyes, is it?”

“No.”

She snorts to herself, dropping the brush back into a basket of the bastards.

“You’re being very talkative, darling.”

“Sorry, I forgot I was meant to.”

“Relaxing when other people do your makeup, isn’t it?”

David hummed.

“Becca always falls asleep when I do hers. Nightmare when you’re meant to be going out somewhere.”

“Becca?” He tried to conjure an image of Zanna’s older sister in his mind. The result was a woman who was very much normal. Or at least, not someone who dresses remotely like her sister. “Isn’t your style a little… much for her?”

“Oi! She’s not boring, you know. And anyway, I can tone it down, and I am right now. I wasn’t aware you wanted me to make you a gothic princess, David.”

Oh, that might have been ni- funny, it would have been very funny.

It would have been nice to see himself in so much makeup because it would have enhanced how funny the entire situation was.

Which it is right now – funny.

When he doesn’t answer, Zanna knocks him gently with her elbow.

“I’m joking, you clod. You’ve got a perfectly normal face going on. The old ladies in Sainsbury’s will live.”

The idea of leaving the house like this – whatever this looks like – sends a jolt of ice down his spine. It’s an electric feeling that he doesn’t know how to place. It sits deep in his chest in a way that almost hurts. Somehow he’s not sure that it’s a bad hurt.

He forces himself to laugh, though it comes out a little mechanical. If Zanna notices, she is too busy trying to drag the eyeliner across his face in a straight line to comment.

“What’s the point then? Go big or go home, eh?”

-

“Et, voila! What d’you think?”

He looks himself in the eyes and a jolt of panic runs the entire way through his body.

Oh God.

It’s a thin pane of glass in the Pennykettle’s bathroom, but David is half convinced that if he reaches out, his hand will pass straight through the frame.

That’s not him. It can’t be.  

He watches himself crumple before he feels it happen, and once he cracks, the entire thing goes.

Zanna’s arm wraps around his middle, and she starts to pull him gently away from the mirror. David’s feet are cemented to the tile, they continue to stare over her shoulder at the reflection. They’re not convinced they could look away if they tried, as if some ancient magic has bound them to the spot, encased them in ice.

Their reflection is crying. Zanna brushes a hand through their hair carefully.  

“Hey.” She says softly. “We can take this off, if you want.”

She’s already leaning for the makeup wipes when David’s head shakes.

“It’s not that…” Their voice catches, much smaller than it ever has been before. “It’s not bad.”

Then what is it?

The eyeliner has tracked all the way down to David’s chin now, and Zanna wipes away the offending drop before it can stain their jumper. Only when she blocks the mirror fully from view does David look back to her.

“No?” she asks. She’s whispering, like this moment is something that could be broken by a raised voice. David’s not so sure that’s wrong. They find themself leaning minutely towards Zanna. “Then what is it?”

“That’s me.”

The waves finally crash to shore.

It washes over Zanna quickly, and David watches as the words hit them both full force. Her eyebrows arch, and the whites of her eyes widen around her dark irises. But just as quickly, any surprise is gone.

“Oh.” She whispers. “Oh, love.”

-----

[Tam vs Lucy. After winning at the battle of Isenfier, everyone bickers. Tam suffers. (yoinked from larger wip about the fallout of Isenfier) 576 words (June 2024)]

Tam blinked to clear his head. Right…

“The… cat.”

Lucy frowned in that vicious way that all teen girls seemed inherently skilled at.

“She’s a girl now: keep up, Tam!”

He raised his hands in mock-defence, “Right, sorry. And this girl is… our problem why, exactly?”

Lucy huffed again, as though she thought Tam was being particularly dense. Perhaps he was, but he rather thought he was owed a little more leniency on account of only recently having been un-buried-alive. God forbid he be a little behind on his dragon apocalypse lore.

“She’s one of us. She stays.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and jutted her chin in Tam’s direction indignantly. “There’s room in the car, anyway.” She added, as though that was that.

Tam chose to ignore that this was his car, and that it was rapidly going to become a tight squeeze if they continued to adopt every miscreant they encountered in the West Country. Surely ‘Bella’ had family, somewhere? She hadn’t always been a cat - right? - and therefore didn’t really have to become their problem. Though, undeniably, it was difficult to argue with the rapidly deflating look on her face; if she started to cry Tam wasn’t sure he’d be able to argue. Perhaps someone could lay in the boot if it got too cramped. Maybe Zanna would do him a favour and knock him out before he had to do the tetris-ing himself.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Tam.” Bella said, as if Tam had anything to do with the offer. Lucy gestured wildly and with finality to indicate that everything had, obviously, been sorted.

Zanna and David were exchanging looks to the side. “We’ll discuss this in the morning,” Zanna eventually settled on, “No one’s going back to Scrubbley tonight anyway.”

Lucy started.

“Why not? We have to tell mum that everything’s okay – she needs to know it worked and that the ix are gone and-”

David clapped her on the shoulder, having to look up a little to counteract Lucy’s lankiness.

“It’s fine, squirrel. We’re all going to have a chill evening to cool down from saving the world, and let Liz know over the phone not to expect us back yet-” He pat his chest, where the inner pocket of his jacket sat, and blanched. “With the phone I don’t have anymore… where the hell has that gone?”

David let go of Lucy’s shoulder and began to check the rest of his numerous pockets. It was a bizarre interpretation of the dance Tam’s father had done every few feet when he walked through an airport. After smacking enough of his clothing and finding them bereft of his beaten up mobile, David eventually gave up, slicking a hand through his hair and sending dust and soil through it in dark streaks.

“Well, that’s somewhere. Never mind, I’ll call her at the lodge.”

Tam patted at his own jeans and was, for a moment, fooled by a particularly hard wad of dirt. He was forced to admit that he too had lost his phone. It was going to be a damn pain to replace.

“There’s not going to be any electricity at the BnB. This entire place is shredded.” Tam said, as he certainly didn’t have a phone of his own to offer.

“I’m sure I can figure something out.” David said.

Zanna rolled her eyes.

“Why do I hate the sound of that?”

-----

[Sophie & Zanna, end/post book 2, reflecting on the whole ‘wait is this cheating??’ situation (no it’s not, it’s Zanna having a big gay crush on Sophie that she will never completely recover from/come to terms with). They should’ve made out 😔. 277 words (November 2024)]

“Sorry, I – I didn’t know. About you and David.” Once she’d said it, Zanna wasn’t strictly sure it was true. She’d known David had a girlfriend; she just hadn’t cared. It didn’t seem that David had either. She felt herself flushing at the thought, well aware that she’d been caught in the act.

“No harm no foul.” Sophie said, an easy smile on her cherry pink lips. Her eyes crinkled at the corners – the irises very blue, like syrup dripped through ice. She didn’t seem to care in the slightest that Zanna had been enabling her boyfriend to cheat on her. “I was on my way to break up with him officially and we were pretty much over in October. You’re not on my territory, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sophie’s territory truly hadn’t concerned her at all – clearly – but Zanna still felt offbeat, an uncomfortable sweat building at her forehead. Sophie was far too calm about the entire affair, her straw blonde hair tied back in a ponytail low at the base of her neck, strands tickling her face. She brushed one away with her knuckles and brought her hand back to rest in her coat pocket. There was a security in the way she stood – relaxed, unbeaten by the breeze.

Zanna tucked a loose braid behind her ear, the beads and charms clinking in uneven tones.

“It wasn’t his idea.” She found herself saying regardless, feeling like a child at confession. “I kissed him first.”

Sophie’s eyebrows quirked curiously. Her smile widened, top lip curling away from her teeth. She inclined her head gently. “I would imagine so. He’s dreadfully slow with anything romantic.”

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[perilegs]

ok i might need to force myself to not romance astarion bc i don't want to know what it says about me to turn down karlach, the woman of my dreams, the character made to cater me personally, like, if she was real i'd bring the moon and stars down for the chance to see her smile, she's everything i've hoped for in a rpg companion, what does it say about me if i turn that down for someone like astarion

[todayisafridaynight]

any hopes for kiwami 3? like things u wanna see added or changed stuff like that

if they dont keep kiryu's goofy walk stance and the hoof-like walk sounds i dont wanna play it