#my switch is also not charged and by the time it charges ill have lost interest in whatever i *was* going to play

[night-dark-woods]

ughhh <sound made by a guy (lesbian type) who wanted to spend the next 3hrs playing dress-up in destiny but theres maintenance at 5pm on a sunday so they CANT and there are no other games they want to play that their shit laptop (surface pro 3 from 2016) can play.

[secrelty-z]

My Prince

Synopsis: Eren always takes the lead in bed, why not show him a little gratitude?

Warnings: SMUT, switch!eren (??), oral!m receiving, p in v, use of nickname “princess”, you call eren “my prince” like twice, ?? idk what else to add

AN: this is my first time writing smut idk the rules SO DONT ATTACK ME OKAY. also i have some ideas for part two so if u guys like it i’ll write a part two if you don’t like it ill still write a part two. also i did not read this over.

Requests are open ~

---

You had been teasing Eren all day, slipping in sly comments and casual touches that drove him crazy. This time, you smacked his ass as he walked in front of you.

Eren grumbled, his face flushed with embarrassment, as you grinned at him. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching before turning back to you.

“You’re a damn tease, you know that?”

“Oh, but you tease me so much more,” you replied, slipping away before he could grab you. Eren watched you walk away, winking at him, and nearly lost his mind. He was determined to have you today, one way or another.

~

It was late at night, and all the scouts were asleep. After deciding to take a shower, you let the hot water spill over your body. Stepping out of the shower room, you saw Eren standing outside the door, waiting for you.

“Well well, running around in just a towel, L/N?” he teased.

“Oh, shut up! It’s late at night; everyone’s asleep,” you whisper-yelled, gripping your towel tightly. “Besides, what’re you doing here?” You teased Eren, knowing exactly why he was there. After a day of teasing him, he was ready to get you back. Eren stepped closer, towering over you.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, princess.”

You grip his shirt and pull his face towards your own, “So fix my attitude…” You whisper in his ear and Eren holds back a groan at your words. “Damn, you’re gonna regret that.” Eren grabs your wrist and drags you with him to his room, once he’s there he throws you inside, closed the door and you hear a click as he locks it. “Now you’re all mine.” Eren says as he steps closer to you, his eyes roaming around your body as he sees you clutching onto your towel.

You step towards Eren, “No Eren,” you say as you push him on the bed, “you’re all mine tonight.” Eren lets out a low, involuntary groan as you push him onto the bed, his body tensing up as he lands with a soft thump. He looks up at you, surprise and lust warring in his eyes as he realizes you’re taking charge. A smirk slowly spreads across his face as he realizes that for once, he doesn’t mind being at the mercy of someone else. “Oh really… Princess wants to play, huh?”

“Oh you bet… Now strip for me” You all but command and Eren agrees, “As you wish princess.”

His smile widens, a hint of challenge in his expression as he stand up in-front of you, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. He pulls it up over his head in one smooth motion, revealing his toned, muscular chest and arms to you. Eren grabs your wrist and presses your hand against his chest, his skin hot and smooth under your touch. He can feel your breath fan across his chest, making his pulse quicken, and he chuckles lowly at your reaction. He leans down, bringing his face mere inches from yours, his voice a low, seductive rumble. “You like it, princess? You like seeing what I have to offer?” You drag your nails across Erens abdomen, your nails running over his toned abs, “Yes… and it’s all mine” You say as you push him down on the bed.

“All yours huh? Getting a little cocky there aren’t you?” Eren says as he watches you climb on top of him and straddle his hips. You hand tangling in his hair while your other hand grips his chin forcibly and you make him look up at you. Eren can see a teasing smirk on your lips, the excitement in your eyes fuelling his own desires. He attempts to sit up, but you hold him in place with your hand in his hair and he doesn’t struggle, a hint of excitement and surrender in his eyes.

“Damn… You really are on top tonight, huh?” Eren’s breath hitches as you lean down towards him, your lips so close to his but not quite touching.

“I’m gonna make you cum over and over for me Eren”

“Is that a promise, princess?”

“It’s more than just a promise… ‘my prince.’” Eren hears you using his own nickname for you against him and he shivers slightly at the nickname. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and filled with hunger. His hands move to your hips and he squeezes them. “Do your worst, I’m all yours.” Eren moans into your mouth as you kiss him ferociously, his hands tightening on your hips as he kisses you back with equal fervor. He can feel his body responding to your touch, his desire for you growing hotter and more intense with every passing second. You push Eren down on the bed harshly, and he lets out a gasp of pleasure as you start kissing and marking his neck, his body arching up towards you in response. He closes his eyes, his breath coming out in ragged pants, as you move down his body, leaving a trail of kisses in your wake.

You grip Erens belt harshly and he lets out a low growl. His whole body responding to your touch, his hips bucking involuntarily, “You’re playing dirty princess,” He says looking down at you, eyes dark and hooded. “Just wait and see what I’ll do to you then. Just relax ‘my prince’,” You tease, “Let me make you feel good.”

You take off Erens belt and throw it to the floor, “Damnit Y/N, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.” Eren says as he tries to hold back a groan, “Oh trust me I can see it.” You reply smirking at Eren. He lets out a low, rough chuckle as you smirk at him, his eyes flicking down to his obvious arousal and then back up to your face.

“Yeah, I'll bet you can. You're enjoying this, aren't you? Having me at your mercy like this.”

“Quite the opposite Eren,” You lean down to whisper to him, “I’m here to treat you like royalty” You tease and you unzip his pants. Eren lifts his hips slightly to help you pull off his pants, his body trembling with anticipation. He's nearly panting now, his expression dark and filled with raw need. As you finally undress Eren, you look his expression, he stares at you with anticipation, his hands clutching the sheets under him and you almost laugh at how desperate he looks like this. And you barely even started. You lean your head down and give his dick a nice hard lick, from the base to the tip your tongue flat against him. Eren's breath hitches at the sensation of your tongue on him, a low moan escaping his throat as his hips involuntarily jerk in response. He grips the sheets tighter, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to keep himself under control.

"God damn it, princess. You're going to make this end real quick if you keep that up." You chuckle softly “We’re barely starting Eren~” You say as you move your head back down, using your mouth and your hand. Eren leans his head back against the bed, his breathing erratic and uneven as you continue your movements. His body is tense, his whole being focused on the sensations you're evoking in him.

"Nnngh... damn it. That feels... too good.” Eren gasps as your movements on him become faster and more intense sucking and licking him like he was your own personal lollipop. Eren’s hips occasionally buck into you and he placed one of his hands on your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. “I can't... hold on much longer." Eren says as he pants, you can hear chocked gaps and moans coming from him and you can tell he’s close. You double your efforts and with the final push Eren bucks his hips into your mouth and throws his head back in pleasure, his grip on your hair tightening and you hear him let out a loud moan.

Eren’s breath comes out in ragged pants as he slowly comes down from his high, his eyes lustful as he looks at you. He watches you stand up in front of him his eyes slightly widen as he sees you drop your towel to the floor in front of him and climb onto him again. Eren throws his head back again “Ngh, you’re gonna be the end of me” He whines as he sees your face drawing closer to him, “You better get hard soon Eren.” You tease and Eren’s body is already responding to you. His fingers dig into your skin and he looks up at you. “Oh you don’t need to worry about that Princess. You drive me crazy, I’ll be ready in no time.”

You grip Erens wrist and pin them to bed next to his head. Eren lets out a ragged gasp as you pin his wrists, his body responding to the force of your touch. His eyes are dark and filled with desire as he looks up at you, his breath coming out in ragged pants.

"Fuck... princess. What’s gotten into you? It's driving me crazy." You don’t respond to Eren, instead you kiss his neck leaving marks and bites all over his neck and shoulder, Eren’s body arched up towards you in response and he can feel himself getting hard again just by how rough your being.

You grip Eren’s hair and force his head back to give you more access to his neck and you make your way up. Hiss kiss neck, his jaw, to his mouth as you capture his lips in a fierce kiss biting his lips as he moans into your mouth. His hands slightly resisting against your grip, he can easily get out if he wants you, but he wants to see just how far you can push him over the edge. Indulging in the feeling of having you on top of him for once.

You lean down to his ear as you bite his earlobe, whispering into eren’s ear after, “Tell me what you want me to do my prince” you tease. Eren lets out a low, jagged breath. His body is taut with tension and need, his heart pounding in his chest as he tries to regain control of his thoughts.

"Nnngh... princess. I want... I want you to do anything. Everything. I want you.” Eren all but whined back to you, and you run your hand down his chest dragging your nails along him as you do. You reach down to his member and you feel how his cock his already hard again. “Already hard Eren?~” He whines “You know I am.” He says through gritted teeth, his hands bawling into fists and you can feel his body tensing at your touch. You whisper again “How do you want me?” You ask and Eren almost cums on the spot. “Anyway!” Eren groans just wanting to feel you inside him already.

“Tell me Eren… Do you want me to ride you? Or do you want to use me.” Eren's eyes darkened with desire as you speak to him in such a vulgar way, his mind racing through all the possibilities of how he could use you.

"Nnngh... princess. I want to use you in every way” You giggle at his response, but you’re still not satisfied with his answer. “Tell me Eren. Pick your poison.” Eren's breathing is ragged and uneven as he tries to decide what position he wants you in, his eyes roving over your body as he imagines all the ways he can stuff you full of his cock.

You edge him on further “Well?” Eren's expression darkens even more as he looks up at you, his eyes hungry and possessive as he gazes at your body. He lets out a ragged breath, his muscles tense as he struggles to hold back his need for you.

"On your knees, princess..."

You hold back a whine at his sudden change in demeanour, and you get off of him and into position. Eren looks at you, on your hands and knees in front of him, his hands coming out to grips your hips as he pulls you closer to him. “Don’t hold back Eren.” You almost beg him as he runs his fingers through your folds and he can feel how wet you are. “You asked for it.” He all but growls at you, Eren's hands suddenly grip your hips and flips you onto your back, pinning you down onto the bed with ease. His body hovers over you, his weight pressing down on you in a possessive manner. You giggle at him “What? Change your mind?” You tease. Eren lets out a low, dark chuckle as you mention that he told you to get on your knees, his eyes dark and dangerous.

"Changed my mind. I want to see you laid out beneath me, completely at my mercy princess." You wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face closer to yours, “Well? What are you waiting for?” Eren chuckles at your words and he whispers back to you “I’m waiting to hear you beg.”

Eren sucks in a sharp breath as you wrap your legs around his waist, the feeling of your body pressed against him driving him wild. He looks down at you, his eyes hooded and filled with desire as his fingers dig into your hips. "Damn princess... you're making it really hard for me to hold back."

“That’s because I don’t want you to.” You whisper to him, your voice filled with tease and impatience. Eren's hands slide down your body, caressing every inch with a possessive touch. His lips find your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his breath fans across your ear.

"You're mine, princess. All mine. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it." Eren lets out a ragged moan as he slides into you, his eyes shutting tightly as the feeling of being buried inside you threatens to overwhelm him. His body trembles with the effort to hold himself back, his hands gripping your hips tightly. His head drops down to your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he lets out a ragged breath. His body taut with tension as he holds himself still, his breaths coming out in ragged pants as he tries to regain some semblance of control. His eyes are dark and intense as he looks down at you, a mixture of desire and possession in his gaze.

"God damn it, princess.” Eren thrusts his hips into you, the lewd sounds of your bodies coming together fill the room, and your face gets tinted red at the sounds. You feel yourself twitching around Eren, the way he’s pounding into you and the sounds your hearing from him and from your bodies making you shudder with desire. Eren lets out a moan as he feels you twitching around him, the sensation driving him even closer to the edge. His eyes darken with desire as he looks down at you, his hands gripping your hips even tighter.

“D-damn-“ Eren's words are cut off as he lets out a ragged moan, his body reacting to the sensation of your body around him. He looks down at you as he slowly, slowly, slowly pulls back out of you. He chuckled at your reaction, and he agonizingly slowly, pushes back into you, his eyes dark and intense as he looks down at you. He tries to hold back the ragged moan that threatens to escape his lips, but it comes out anyway as he speaks.

"Nnngh... princess. You feel so damn good. You're mine. All mine."

Eren's grip on your hips tightens even more as he hears you whine at his teasing movements, his eyes darkened with desire and possessiveness. He looks down at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"What's wrong, princess? You want more? You want me to take you harder, faster?" You nod your head feverishly “Yes! Eren please!” Eren lets out a low, groan as you implore him to take you harder and faster, the sound sending a jolt of desire through his body. A devilish smirk crosses his lips as he looks down at you, his eyes dark and intense with want. He pulls back slowly, almost completely out of you. His eyes never leave yours, his gaze burning into you as he hesitates for a moment, savoring the moment before he plunges back in. He moans as he drives himself deep into you, his body tensing with the effort. You almost scream Eren’s name at the harsh thrust and Eren’s eyes darken at your reaction.

A wild, primitive expression taking over his features as he looks down at you. "I warned you, princess," he growls. "You're going to get what you asked for now."

Eren's hands grip your hips so tightly that you know there will be marks tomorrow, his body taut with tension as he sets a fast, intense pace. He leans down and captures your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as he swallows the sounds of your moans. His hips never faltering once as he kisses you with fevour. Your hands reach up to grip his hair tightly, moaning into his mouth as you feel him hitting a certain spot inside of you.

With every rougher, harder roll of his hips, Eren lets out a low, gutteral moan, the sound punctuating his ragged breaths. His body is taut with tension, his muscles straining as he tries to hold back, to prolong this moment as long as possible. But the feeling of your body against his, the sound of your moans, the sight of you writhing beneath him, it's all too much. He is losing control, his body responding to you without thought or reason.

Eren lets out a ragged gasp as he looks down at you, his eyes dark and intense as he speaks in a low, strained voice. “I’m-… I’m so close” He says, in a way questioning if you are too. “Cum for me Eren.” You say, and Eren can’t tell if you’re commanding him or begging him.

His breathing is ragged and uneven, his chest heaving as he struggles to hold on for just a few more seconds. But your words, your voice, it's too much. He can’t hold back any longer. He lets out a ragged gasp as he feels himself reach the edge. Just before he does, he hears you moan loudly as you grip his hair and finish around him, the feeling of your walls twitching and clenching around him makes Eren choke on a moan as he throws his head back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He grips you tightly as he finished from his own release and he collapses on top of you, his hands shaking and his breath uneven.

You your hand still in Eren’s hair as you arch your back slightly still coming down from your high. Eren lets out a groan as you grab his hair, his body still shuddering from the aftershocks of his release. He looks down at you, his eyes burning as he watches your back arch beneath him. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and intense as he gazes at your body beneath him. The look in your eyes matches his own, filled with a primal need and desire. He leans down and captures your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss. Eren leans into the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as he deepens the kiss. His hands roam over your body, touching and caressing every inch of skin he can reach. He pulls you closer, his body pressed against yours as he devours your mouth. His body is still buzzing with the aftershocks of his release, and the feeling of your hands on his skin, your body against his, it’s driving him wild. He can feel himself getting aroused again, and he growls into your mouth as his hips buck involuntarily against you.

You moan as you feel his bucking, his hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he rolls his hips against yours, the need to be close to you, to have you again, driving him wild. “A-agin?”

“Yes. Again” Eren says as he flips you over, his hand pressed against the small of your back as he pushes you down onto the bed. He kneels behind you, his body taut with tension as he gazes down at you, his eyes dark and possessive. He runs his hands down your spine, his touch rough and possessive. He leans down, his body pressed against yours as he whispers in your ear.

"So eager for me, princess."

… part two? 🙈

[steddieunderdogfics]

Not sure if it’s too late to suggest fics for the Color Monday Challenge, but I’ve got three.

Blinking red light by cuips_not_cute (Alternating POV; S4). Eddie is facing a massive trial for murder charges, and his lawyer seems to think it’s a lost cause. Steve comes up with an idea to create an alibi that no one in small town Indiana will be able to refute. Yep! It’s a series of sex tapes faked to look like Steve and Eddie have been sleeping together for two years before the murders. Each chapter is typically one to two tapings. It’s very explicit and heavy on the angst! This fic is ongoing and updating regularly.

Three Days on the Red Planet by CaptainHoney. It’s the Mechanic Eddie and Car Guy Steve on Mars. How cool is that?? Steve keeps finding reasons to break his speeder bike so that mechanic Eddie can fix it. It was so unique I haven’t seen a lot of sci-fi Steddie. This is a complete fic.

A Tarnished Copper Boy by PaperBackRibs (Eddie POV). This is my favorite on-going fic right now, although I’m pretty sure the author has said it’s finished. Season 4 Steve is stuck in a time-loop, falling through Eddie’s ceiling at random (yet sequential) points in time, starting with season 1 Eddie. After Dustin explains the Butterfly Effect in the first loop, Steve’s so anxious about ruining the future that he and Eddie decide it’s best if he never talks about it or leaves the trailer. The amount of time Steve spends with Eddie before he blips from existence is extremely inconsistent, leading to angst, whump, and a slow burn. (This could also be used for the Time-Loop theme weekend)

blinking red light by cuips_not_cute

@cuips-not-cute

Rating: Explicit

69,120 words, 6/20 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Sex Tapes, Fuck Or Die, or like...fuck or go to jail for One housand Years, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Spit Kink, Kissing, Making Out, Steve Harrington's Soft Dom Awakening, Soft Dom Steve Harrington, pleasure dom steve harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Sub Eddie Munson, Bottom Eddie Munson, Top Steve Harrington, but also...they switch!, Bottom Steve Harrington, Top Eddie Munson, First Time Bottoming, First Time, Virgin Eddie Munson, Friends to Lovers, but it takes them a reallyy long time to get to that second part, Eddie's facing jail and Steve's like hey we should fuck, to Eddie's utter dismay, Bisexual Steve HarringtonGay Eddie Munson, Lingerie, Blow Jobs, Anal Fisting, the softest gooiest fisting you ever did read, Rimming, Dry Humping, Recreational Drug Use, Edging, Bondage, Safeword Use, Dom Drop, Sub Drop, they get it together i promise, Impact Play, steve being fascinated by eddie's actual ass, Prostate Massage, Drunk Sex, Drunk Kissing, Angst with a Happy Ending, but oh boy is there angst, Wrestling, and with that comes ill-timed boners, orgasms as a negotiation tool, despite being the lamest guy around steve actually has some game, Kink Discovery, Hair-pulling, Praise Kink, Service Top Steve Harrington, Multiple Orgasms, Friends With Benefits, kindaaaa, they are definitely friends who fuck each other but there's some twists, Spanking, sweat kink, idiots to lovers, Mutual Pining, Wet & Messy, Hand & Finger Kink, Sex Toys, Ass Play, Miscommunication, Felching

Summary:

A sex tape is…crazy. It’s totally crazy. It wouldn’t work, and it's worse than any of Steve’s other ideas because…well, because Steve is straight. And hopeful. And stupid. It wouldn’t work. “No way,” Eddie says. “I’m not gonna make a fucking sex tape.” Steve leans down, gets in his face. Eddie’s breath hitches. “Why not?” Steve asks. “You scared?” In the months following Vecna's death, Eddie is facing triple murder charges and a lifetime in jail. With Dr. Owens gone off the grid and a town that hates him, that plea deal his lawyer offers him is looking pretty sweet. Enter Steve Harrington, who is having none of that.

Three Days on The Red Planet by CaptainHoney

@grandmastattoo

Rating: Explicit

10,872 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: Creator chose not to use

Tags: Space Western AU, Sci Fi AU, Western AU, what if stranger things but on mars, literally a bog standard steddie fic but they're on mars, eddie has a mechanical arm, the upside down monsters are all aliens, enemies to lvoers speedrun, eddie thinks it's enemies to lovers but it's actually dumbass4dumbass, non-detailed mentions of medical procedures, injury description, references to blood and gore, this is all reasonably gentle but there's Past Trauma, tommy H the experimental town bicycle that you are, brief mentions of past underage sex, Open Ending, sci fi in the classic tradition in that I made a bunch of stuff up, written with the wikipedia page for Mars open and unperused, completely innaccurate space science, anti-capitalist and anti-colonial themes because fuck the man, implied childhood neglect, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Virgin Eddie Munson, Intercrurual Sex, lots of spit and crass talk, 60s pop culture references because Mars is behind the times, wayne is supportive but very annoying about it, Southern Eddie Munson, they have mcdonalds on mars for some reason but it sucks very much, borderline orgasmic fig eating experience, cyborg eddie kinda, a lot of lotion used as lube but at least their dick skins will be soft, Unprotected Sex, the inherent tragedy of being the only gay man on mars

Summary:

"A hiss as the speeder’s roof lifts and oh, Eddie knows this asshole. Rich boy, pretty as sin, heir to his daddy’s Earth imports business. Papa Harrington has the kind of monopoly there ought to be sanctions against, has his fist around the throats of most of New Indiana. And now here’s the prodigal son, slumming it in the dust of the Munson front yard. A man might get ideas with a thing like that, the kind involving ransoms and the wrong end of a raygun."

Thanks for the recs!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks!

[raving-raven-writing]

Recom Headcanons

So, some of this is from my mind, but some of these headcanons I'm sure are based off others' headcanons I've seen. Also, some of these headcanons may actually be written in terms of some of my fics that I have written for Avatar. Particularly if you have read my story Lost and Found or any of my Recom Smut series. @hellpmeimobsessed You asked me to tag you, so here you go! Warning: Some of these headcanons may contain mention of past abuse/past child abuse/past sexual abuse, and may also contain content in terms of what the character enjoys in the bedroom Brown: -Was SAed when he was younger -Loves karaoke, even though he might be a bit tone deaf -Enjoys cuddling naked with his partner -Did modelling for a brief period of time before he decided to join the marines Fike: -....I got nothing for him, sorry. No hate to him, just don't have any at the moment.

Ja: -Was raised by his grandparents -Seeing the EMTs work on his grandma sparked his interest in wanting to become a medic -A sensitive soul, rather quiet and reserved -Enjoys movies, most genres except for horror; is a bit of a baby when it comes to the scary movies -Has minimal sexual experience compared to some of the others; but has always wanted to titty f**k his partner -Him, Prager, and Lopez are close

Lopez: -Is a masochist and will openly admit to it -Comes from a large family, a middle child of five. Very close with all of them. -Has problems with authority figures, always having to hold his tongue so he doesn't get himself into trouble -Very protective to those he loves or is loyal to -A rather horny drunk...this may or may not be how he and Ja got it on Mansk: -Has a light sensitivity, hence the sunglasses all the time. But also uses the sunglasses as a layer of protection of being perceived by others -Sits somewhere on the autism spectrum but was never diagnosed, comes across as just being "socially awkward" -Gives off the "strong and silent type" vibe -Was sexually abused by his uncle as a child well up until his late teen years -Definitely a mama's boy - The younger of two kids. Has an older sister named Nora -Turned to cooking as a way to cope with his trauma--found he had a gift for it and just kept at it. But also enjoys making others feel good by being able to give them a good meal

Prager: -Is a pothead -Grew up with alcoholic/drug addict parents, but was eventually fostered by an old teacher who took him under their wing -Likes most types of card games and board games -Stress cleans -Enjoys rollerblading and skateboarding -Easy going/go with the flow type of person--both in day to day things and in bed Quaritch: -Grew up on a farm -Raised by an abusive/alcoholic father and a mother that fell ill when he was in his teens -The oldest of three children---lost connection with his siblings when he left to join the military -His relationship with Paz started as her simply flirting with him based on a dare, but eventually turned into a fling as Miles was impressed by her boldness -Smokes when stressed but turns to alcohol as a bad coping mechanism if given the opportunity -Enjoys camping and hiking and being able to be out in nature so he can reflect upon life and to be able to get more in touch with his emotions -Likes to take charge in bed, but Paz is able to persuade him into being a sub in some situations Wainfleet -Has a bit of a crush on the Colonel. He thinks it isn't obvious, but some of the others see it -Is a switch in the bedroom. But prefers to be the sub when he is with his girlfriend, Mina. -Makes jokes constantly despite the fact that he struggles with his mental health--saw being the funny man as a way to make others like him -A middle child of three; has an older brother who is also in the military, but joined the Army branch, and a younger sister, who died when he was about thirteen -Grew up on a farm, although not many people know this -Grew up being rather sensitive and a "cry baby" as his brother dubbed him. Was a big mama's boy and her death damn near broke him -Smokes when stressed

Walker: -Likes to scrapbook in her spare time -Her and Z-Dog have flings with one another, but neither of them would label themselves as an "item" -Likes to sit down with a good book on a stormy day and curl up by the fire with some comforting snacks Warren: -Gives off the "strong and silent type" vibe -Has a crush on Mansk (initially unrequited?) -Is gay, but no one knows this (at first) -Is very much a wallflower, people forget he is there sometimes -In sexual relations, is very straightforward and a take charge type of guy--but makes sure that he is never rough with his partner

Z-Dog: -Grew up in a house full of men. Her mother left when she was young, so she just had her dad and her three brothers -Was very much a tomboy before realizing that she liked girls more then she liked men -Her father was a mechanic so she knows her way around a car -Enjoys physical sports like boxing and kickboxing -Chews gum as a way to manage her anxiety as well as to curb any emotional eating Zhang: -Is one of the three "strong and silent types" (with Warren and Mansk being the other two) -Rarely smiles -Enjoys shibari (Japanese rope bondage) and 69ing -Looks mean since he has a "resting bitch face" but can be quite gentle and doting with his partner -Joined the marines as a way to rebel against his parents since they wanted him to become a doctor or lawyer or engineer.

That's all I got for now. Might eventually develop some headcanons for Fike and might add on to what I have here. Hope you enjoyed reading!

[ygsunflower]

I know I’m not the first one to notice this, but Carina is a lot more laidback with Maya- She’s comfortable with letting Maya speak for her both in serious (at her visa interview) and non-serious (here at the bar letting Maya order her white wine) situations, or at least allowing Maya to take charge first.

At first I did not like this character “change” at all and I blamed it on the inconsistent writings on Carina’s character between when she first appeared on Grey’s Anatomy and when she moved to Station 19. However, as we see her appearing more on both Station 19 and Grey’s (only occasionally), and as she started to have more storylines apart from Maya and their relationship, I kinda appreciate her different personalities (for lack of a better word).

When Carina DeLuca was first introduced on Grey’s, she was this straightforward, no-filter fireball of a sexy Italian goddess. She was extremely confident and firm about her profession and her sexuality. Yet she has a soft spot for her brother. And we also see her almost losing her usual confidence and fieriness in front her father. She was never afraid to speak her mind, but when she was with her father, and later on her mentally-illed brother, she almost became too scared to speak up and be firm with them. I’m not a mental health expert/psychologist, but from what I saw, Carina has the tendency to shrink her ego and be extra soft to those she loves. I don’t think it’s uncommon for people, but it’s just a more obvious trait for her. Anyways, this is the justification I made to understand Carina’s different personalities with Maya and everyone else.

She loves Maya deeply, so she feels comfortable enough to shrink her ego. It’s not about Maya dominating her in the relationship, but more so about Carina feeling safe to let Maya take care of her and she doesn’t feel like she has to constantly putting her feet down and be firm. But I cannot draw this conclusion until the S6b of Station 19 and Grey’s S19b. Before this two half seasons, we did not see much of her as her independent self. But now we get to see her having her own storylines. The abortion clinic storyline and her running this trauma here on Grey’s showed us the good-old confident Dr. DeLuca is still very much present.

Her scenes in 6x07 of Station 19 even proved my previous point on her trusting her loved ones to make the call for them- once she got yelled by an obviously unstable Maya, she no longer considered this Maya her safe place. She immediately switched to her stern doctor voice to Maya and took back her trust in Maya to make any decisions. Carina did not back down as her last resort to try saving her wife from essentially killing herself.

In terms of her fun and almost rambunctious side of personalities, even though we don’t see her as excited Dr. Orgasm again (wasted potentials if you ask me, both the actual research topic and her overall mannerism during that storyline were gold), we still have the fake abortion clinic comedy and her scenes with Vic and Dr. Lewis are always fun. Her comedic side now is just toned down which I can accept. (Props to Stefania, I love her little physical comedy acting for Carina.)

That to be said, her personality trait of being extremely soft around her loved ones also made it easy for her to get walked-over by her loved ones… Both her father and Maya, as much as I hate putting Maya next to Carina’s dad, they abused and took advantage of Carina’s love and softness around them when they were in a mental health crisis (a longggg crisis). Her love to them made her tongue-tied in front of them and almost turned her into a slight pushover… And that’s why this second half of S6b has been great for Carina’s character- A slow burn Marina recovering road allows us to see Carina realizing the downside of her “weakened heart” around those she loves. After repeatedly getting hurt by her loved ones, Carina is finally burned out this time. She lost her strengths to pick herself up from the pain caused by her loved ones and keep loving them. She is so hurt that she’s scared of not surviving the next pain. She still wants Maya and she is still hopelessly in love with her but she needs Maya to win her back despite her instincts to forgive her again and again. She needs to see Maya’s changes to regain the courage to comfortably let go of her rationale to love Maya fearlessly again. What makes it worthy for Carina is that this time her love is changing, for the better. Maya is healing and she apologized to Carina. And the difference between Maya and Carina’s dad is that Maya now listens to Carina and respects her needs. Despite their downs and heartaches, Carina is still able to feel safe enough to spill all her fears to Maya.

This long rant is just to say that with the past few episodes of Grey’s and Station 19, we finally get a holistic understanding of the character Carina DeLuca. Rather than inconsistent writings, with simultaneous appearances of both Dr. Carina DeLuca and loving wife Carina DeLuca on 19 and Grey’s, her different personalities are explained and demonstrated well. These seemly contradicting personalities now make her more human and endearing.

[oxbowridgehq]

If I’m honest, it’s like the older I get, Feels like I’m more of a mess, Tear my heart out my chest.

STATS.

NAME: Olivia Walker GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis woman & she/her AGE: 33 OCCUPATION: Owner of Wild Horses AFFILIATIONS: Walker FACECLAIMS: Phoebe Tonkin

ABOUT.

TW cancer, death, miscarriage, blood

It happened suddenly and yet slowly, the demise of the branch of Walker she belonged to. Her father was the eldest of two, history and legacy told all of them he would be in charge one day. From the moment she was born, Olivia felt it, the steady hand of a ruler that came from him. Not that she cared, it took decades before she saw it, all they had and mostly, all they lost.

Growing up on the ranch was never a burden to her, even when her small hands were put to work. Logan was the eldest but they had some unspoken agreement, that one day this would be hers. Olivia was the one who loved it the most. She learned to ride a horse before a bicycle, knew how to rope before writing. Among all of them, she was the best with the animals but the horses had her heart. She would spend whole days away, with her horse, riding and exploring. The competitions were just for show, the kind of thing one did when they were good like she once was. The ribbons, medals and trophies only serves to establish the Walker more, show everyone else how better they were, how this place belonged to them. All that mattered to her was that she got to be with Elsie, her mare.

Olivia’s life was perfect until it wasn’t anymore. When she was 10, her mother was diagnosed with cancer. The illness was fast and nasty, within months she was gone. Death was something she was familiar with, living on a ranch came with its fair share of it. And while they were all significant for little Olivia, once it came for her mother, she realized she knew nothing about death at all, had never experience grief before. And not long after, their family switched houses with her uncle’s. Maybe it was for the best, the mansion they lived in suddenly feeling so empty without her mother. But it was the first sign of the trouble to come, the first home they lost but not the last. Four years after that, they were chased away from the ranch altogether, not long after her grandfather’s funeral. The heaviness in her chest never entirely easer after that, it was something she carried with herself. By leaving the ranch, or rather being forced off it, Olivia also had to leave Elsie behind. Even coming back to see the mare was frowned upon, both by her father and uncle. The ranch sold Elsie, and Olivia never rode again.

Being considered an outcast among the Walker, Olivia rebelled and did everything she could to go against what she had been taught, not that the feud between the Walker and Byrne ever really affected her. She was friendly with them before and once her world was tore apart, they became a constant in her world. Being in the same grade as the twins, the three of them became thick as thieves and before anyone knew it, Liam and her were dating. He was her first everything; first boyfriend, first kiss, first love. They would be on and off at first, always ending back together. By the time high school was over, they were together for good. Things were great for a while until they weren’t anymore. Her first missed period went unnoticed but not the second. Nineteen and pregnant, she had no idea what to do. It scared her, that this could be the end of her relationship. For weeks she hid it from everyone until she realized not having this child was not an option. She decided to tell Liam but her body had other plans and Logan found her sobbing on the floor, heavily bleeding. It was his idea to put her on a Greyhound bus overnight, so that she could rest at their aunt’s in Los Angeles. After all, their mother’s sister was her godmother and would know what to do in such a case.

No one but her brother and her aunt knows what happened or why she suddenly left town, without saying goodbye to anyone. No one but them knew why she changed her number or why she even left in the first place. Olivia wasn’t thinking straight, but this new grief was one she wanted to spare others, one she didn’t know if she could share. When she came back five years later, nothing was the same. She helped her father at the bar while Logan was deployed, their family broken up once more. She was made co-owner before the lung cancer that took her father, almost a year ago. Logan was back then, and together they took care of John while he wasted away. She never cared much for what she considered the family politics, the old grudges being held between her father and uncle. What she cared about was the abandonment when they disagreed and when David showed up to the funeral, she barely spoke to him. He hadn’t come when they needed him and his presence now was not one she wanted nor needed. When Sawyer called her with the news of the accident, and the strong request from Cooper that she and Logan involved themselves in the family affairs, she didn’t care. But family still meant something and still, she showed up.

CONNECTIONS.

LIAM BYRNE - You hate yourself for what you’re doing, for how much you still need them. The night your father died, you showed up at their doors and didn’t leave until morning. Since then, you’ve made it an habit to seek comfort in their arms, always keeping it casual, as if the two of you didn’t have the past you do, as if you were still not loving them as much as you did back then.

SAWYER WALKER - You never got along much with Bethany but Sawyer was a different story. Growing up, everyone always mistook you for siblings, rarely seen without the other when you could. Even after you were chased off, they didn’t gave you the same silent treatment as the others and you’ve remained close to this day.

[thebookbin]

Five Days at Memorial: Life and Death in a Storm-Ravaged Hospital

Sheri Fink

Publisher: Crown Publishing (Penguin Random House) Genre: nonfiction, history, journalism Year: 2013

Wow, what a read.

As a Houstonian who lived through both Katrina and Harvey, the devastation of hurricanes and flooding is not lost on me. I spent days ruminating over this book, and I still feel conflicted about it. While the investigation and reporting of events inside the hospital are some of the most profound words journalism has ever produced, the Part II "aftermath" section is riddled with the author's biases, especially in a religious sense.

For those not in the know: this book follows the events at Memorial Baptist Hospital in New Orleans during and after Hurricane Katrina, in which 45 people died at the hospital and where one doctor and two nurses were charged with accusations of euthanasia. While the investigation of what went on at Memorial is poignant and powerful, Fink's insistence on framing this entire debate on personal responsibility, while simultaneously letting a corporation she acknowledges as corrupt in passing off the hook is infuriating. Fink describes in detail and had access to Tenet's (the parent corporation of the hospital) emails where they actively chose not to send aid to the doctors at their own hospital, and yet focuses all her vitriol on the nurses and doctors trapped there with no water, no electricity, limited resources, and dying patients. This is where I believe Fink's personal religion colors this book to an unacceptable degree that makes this work unworthy of the Pulitzer Prize it won. Sheri Fink's disdain for certain topics shines through every snide remark disguised as journalism. She clearly does not agree philosophically with euthanasia. Fink is obviously religious, as she is incapable of removing her biases from her supposed "objective reporting" leads to targeted questions that clearly are intended to discredit the opinions she clearly disagrees with, "Could the societal embrace of suicide for terminally ill or disabled people lead to those groups feeling more worthless, devalued, and abandoned? Would it discount the meaning to be had from family reconnections, insights, forms of spiritual enrichment, and personal growth that may accompany death's approach?" This quote comes from a passage where Fink is discussing and "airing the debate" of assisted suicide. She seems to have no problems with Jehovah's Witnesses exorcising their rights to refuse treatment, but holds a palpable and sharp distaste for those who want the power to choose the time and place of their passing and be able to pass along painlessly. Even the veneer of her journalism can't hide her pompous disdain for the idea. While I personally don't know enough about medically assisted suicide to have an informed opinion, I have compassion for people who may be considering this route, and am curious enough about the debate to hear arguments and considerations from all sides. But Fink's biases are so strong I found myself siding in opposition to her, just to spite her obvious attempts to sway my opinion. Towards the end of the book it gets worse. She describes a doctor who went to jail for facilitating a physician assisted suicide of a terminally ill patient in the 90s, and then switches to the perspective of an investigator who, upon reading a newspaper "what she read, made her cry." She only shows the emotions of the people who's perspective she agrees with, and somehow that perspective never points any blame at any corporation, government, or system that failed and always on individual people's actions.

Fink also seems to completely disregard class consciousness until it serves her. She has no intellectual curiosity on how or why class affected Katrina outcomes, unless it's to be condescending to her target: Dr. Anna Pou. This ends up reading as absurd, when a billion dollar hospital group was responsible for lack of preparation before, ignoring federal regulations and warnings about their storm-readiness and Fink reports all of this like it's an afterthought. Ah yes, the entire system failed, the government failed to intervene and when they finally did their efforts were so disorganized they actively hindered rescue operations, but let's not look any closer there, we definitely can't investigate corporate malpractice, or even the possibility of personal responsibility for those in charge of the situation—no. We only care about personal responsibility of those not in charge. It's this hyper-individualistic stance that confirmed for me that this book is religious in nature. She hyper-fixates on Dr. Pou's wealth, while barely mentioning the two middle-class nurses charged alongside her unless it's a brief mention of how they struggled financially after their respective arrests. Fink seems desperate to frame this novel as taking down the Big Guy, but instead of doing the more interesting and admittedly harder work of investigating the Big Guy, she chooses a single doctor as the figurehead of the worlds problems and dresses her up as the boogeyman while allowing the actual menacing entity responsible for this tragedy continue to exist unexamined.

Overall, I would say my feelings towards this book are... conflicted. I do think that documenting what went on is important, as is the discussion of euthanasia, medical standards and how they might shift in disasters, and the philosophical and ethical questions of practicing medicine in extenuating circumstances. I just firmly believe this book fails to achieve that to any meaningful degree, and instead reads as a religious manifesto on the sanctity of life, an attempt to take on the Man that was misaimed in a way that lets actual corrupt power fester unchecked.

storygraph | bookshop.org | local houston

★★★ don't read this unless you want to be angry

[cakesexuality]

Lupron update at 3 months

So, the first few days after I started in September, nothing happened

After that, my boobs were sore for a few days when my estrogen spiked (switching from the sports bras I normally wear to t-shirt bras helped bc it took off the pressure while still supporting, and I used ice packs sometimes)

After that, I bled for few days when my estrogen tanked (this was lighter than an actual period but not as light as just spotting)

Around this time, my skin was starting to look better -- my chin, cheeks, and jaw weren't as pimply and my forehead and nose weren't as flaky

However, my skin problems ended up returning

These last 5 years, my approach was to be antiseptic, drying, etc. bc that's what had worked until then for my acne, and it wasn't making my new skin problems (2017-now) worse but it wasn't making them better

Realising that endo isn't just high estrogen but also inflammation, I decided in the last few weeks to try going a different route with my skincare

But also I have no idea what I'm doing!! A lot of the info I'm seeing about endo is related to pain relief and/or fertility so I don't see a ton of discussion about how this affects skin in a way that's useful for me

I recently bought a trial kit for ELF Pure Skin (which is their hypoallergenic line, the kit has a mini cleanser, mini toner, and mini moisturiser), introducing one item at a time, and things already started getting better after just a few uses of only the cleanser

That's not to say I'm not getting new acne, and my nose and forehead are still flaky, but the new pimples are very small compared to what I've been getting until now, and bumps that I've had on my jaw for over a month suddenly stopped peeling and being itchy and then suddenly went flat (still some post-inflammatory hyperpigmentation there that needs to fade)

I've been doing patch tests on my belly (my chest is broken out in hives rn and I'm afraid of the bandages getting caught on my clothes if I use my legs or arms) of various toiletries I have, and so far I've had one body wash that made me itchy, and then a toothpaste that made me itchy AND get hives that then bled when I cleaned them??? I haven't done any more of these tests for the past few days to give my skin a break (it's been itchy and peeling and hyperpigmented from the bandages bc I'm a delicate flower, and I'm not allergic to the adhesive, my skin was just being gently torn off 🙃) but I had no problems with the cleansers and moisturizers that I patch tested, plus 2 of 3 body washes and 1 of 2 toothpastes turned out fine

I recently talked to my dietician, and I don't think we discussed my skin at that appointment, but I had been telling her about my Lupron and the struggle to get coverage for Norlutate, and she suggested seeing if the price or the insurance coverage would change if I got norethindrone from a compounding pharmacy instead of my normal one

I also talked to my new GP who referred me to a new allergist (the one I saw in October is... a whole story), encouraged me to discuss my skin with my gynecologist, and muttered "Why isn't that covered? That's actually bullshit" to herself while trying to find something in the ODB formulary. She gave me oral doxycycline (which I'm waiting to start until I see more of how the Pure Skin is going), since topical antibiotics didn't work, she wants to avoid retinoids, and any hormone-related therapies she wants my gynecologist to be in charge of.

I still haven't been able to hear back from my gynecologist about if my illness from the last couple months could be related to Lupron (understandable, it's just her and the receptionist, so voicemails can get forgotten and notes can get lost, and I'm not that sick anymore so I'm not in a rush rn), but the pharmacist I talked to said it's unlikely since the depot still releases at the same rate even at a higher dose, and I'll be back at the gynecologist's office in less than a month for my next injection so I'll ask her about it then

I'm thinking about seeing if there's some sort of consent form I can fill out to let my specialists talk directly to each other bc my uterine pain finally returned when I was in Montréal a month ago (I specifically remember waking up in the hotel one of the mornings and my friend asking what I wanted to do and I was like "Well I wanna walk around bc my uterus hurts and walking helps") and my eye also started flaring in Montréal, so I wonder if there's any sort of connection there

And I noticed the other night that the dark stripe I had under my belly button from being on Depo-Provera is now gone!! EDIT: I checked again a few hours after originally publishing this post and the stripe is actually still there, but it's very faint so it's hard to see in certain lighting

[reinemichele]

Okay SO, obviously, they were in the groveling phase when I last reblogged this— trying to balance how much info I put about where I live on here, but for my mom's boss to have driven down here at 7:30am, she would've had to been awake at 4-5 in the morning, read the email, freak tf out, rearrange her entire schedule for the day, tell her own bosses about the Lost Valuable Employee Crisis, formulate a Get Valuable Employee Back plan, shower/eat breakfast, and then drive nearly 2 hours to be down here to grovel . Which, my mom ignored her texts and calls, so all of that effort and stress was for nothing <3

But the groveling phase didn't last long, so soon they were driving all the way down here to go into the places my mom gets referrals from & be like "😔🙏🏻 Unfortunately, [my mom] isn't working with us anymore, but we wanted to let you know you can still count on us for hospice service."

And it really <3 really <3 made them very angry <3 when each time, the employees at said places would be like "Um, okay. I was only using you guys because [my mom] was working there. I'm going to switch to where ever she goes next." <3333

After THAT, they tried talking shit about my mom to these people, saying that she "never worked" and "didn't care" about them or their patients. Which is really really funny, because this kind of behavior is EXACTLY why I went out of my way to include in her resignation letter that

She spent 3 years working 24/7, nights and weekends and holidays

SPECIFICALLY because no one else would answer the phone, or the triage after-hours/weekends nurses would straight up Refuse to drive down to provide care

All of that overtime work was never compensated for

When she tried to address these issues, she was rebuffed or ignored, with phone calls and texts and emails pointedly left on read

And obviously this was never compensated monetarily or even acknowledged in praise or appreciation, but that's clearly not the point; the point is the lack of compassion or care in a company dedicated to hospice. It's appalling, and not at all what anyone who's either terminally ill or loves someone who is, should experience during these painful moments.

And it's not like including this in the letter has any bearing on anything, it's basically anecdotal hearsay. But I wanted it written out explicitly— in as diplomatic a way as possible— that they're all selfish pieces of shit, and when they have to file bankruptcy before the inevitable collapse of the company, they'll have their greed and inhumanity to thank for it.

Anyway, they were able to recover all the files on my mom's old work phone; I knew they'd be able to, and that some of the files like photos/contacts were stored in the company's cloud anyway, but I wanted to make it a bit more of a pain in the ass for them to do 🥰 (and obviously I backed up/exported the contacts & any texts my mom deemed useful, first)

So, an employee there who Didn't like my mom; we'll call her RE because there's another person who might be relevant whose name also starts with R, was given my mom's old phone, and is basically in charge of answering all calls that are for my mom and hounding the people, asking what they wanted with her and why they want her, specifically. "What's so good about [my mom]??? Why are you trying to find her after she left [company]???"

It's . Literally sooo juvenile and pathetic and transparent. The unadulterated resentment, and jealousy my aunts have directed towards my mom since they were in middle school. And it's sad, as in pathetic (again), because the answer is so simple and, in my eyes, easy to execute.

You just have to be kind and compassionate and treat people like they're a Person. I'm not saying sacrifice your mental health for an emotionally taxing job, or going above and beyond. But you can't talk to people like they're a Number, you know? A little bit goes a long way, especially considering the kind of shame and fear people feel about the topic of hospice. Offering some kind of personal anecdote (IE mentioning that my mom had her own mom on hospice) helps people feel more comfortable and like they're not being judged. You don't want to be on the phone with someone who's explaining a DNR with the kind of detached cheerfulness of a target employee.

And on the side of referral sources (nursing homes, doctor offices, hospitals, etc), they all refuse to use anyone besides my mom because they Know she'll stop at nothing to make sure someone's needs are met. No matter the circumstance, distance, time of day, behavioral issues/family members from hell, etc, my mom ensures that people are comfortable, reassured, have what they need, and any issues that crop up are resolved. I wish this was the standard for healthcare, but it's unfortunately not, and people know that they can rely on my mom to take care of their patients.

So it's not even necessarily that my mom's reputation is "air tight" or that people have her back, it's that her strength of character is undeniable. You can claim she "doesn't work" or whatever, but you'll just get hit with examples of her sitting with families for 5+ hours until the funeral home got there, or delivering supplies at 2 in the morning, or giving people equipment/mobility aids for free, etc etc. I understand that profit-driven assholes can't understand this, but people who actually give a shit about their patients pay attention to which people have a sincere heart.

I don't want to put too much detail out there bc this company has a history of vindictively going after employees who quit & went somewhere else (even tho non-competes are NOT LEGAL HERE 🗣️🗣️🗣️) like suing & harassing them at work . But I just had a great time helping my mom write her ❌📃

[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ��we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

[cryzono]

my beloveds mikan and miu for the analysis please?

The fundamental thing about Mikan's character is how much she cares about everybody around her, particularly those in her class. I think that's what makes her dramatic shift in personality so striking, because up until that point she was one of the most compassionate, kind, and helpful people in the cast. Its what makes her such good foils to characters like hiyoko, who is purposefully mean, and ibuki, who often accidentally says things that come across as mean even though she doesn't mean to. Plus, i think her dynamic with Fuyuhiko is interesting, because they sort of do the inverse of each other arc wise in chapter three. She starts it kind and healthy, he starts unhealthy and hostile. Then, as the chapter progresses, they switch places. She even enters the hospital once he leaves it, and it's really emphasized by them being the main two people hajime has access to in the chapter. I think there's unexplored potential there for how their characters compare and contrast to each other, especially if you consider Fuyuhiko to be in the 'taka' role of surviving the 2nd blackened and mikan to be in the 'celestia' role as the third blackened and those two are DEFINITE foils. I think since hiyoko is meant to directly parallel Fuyuhiko and mikan is meant to foil Hiyoko there are definitely interesting conversations to be had there. actually to be frank i think mikan contrasts against EVERYBODY in chapter 3 exceedingly well and my controversial hot take is that thats one of the reasons its? not as bad as people think it is? idk i actually quite like chapter 3 and the despair disease and that the three affected by it were all people afflicted with mikans faults (though she didnt really become a lair until after she was infected). it gets a bad rep but i do think theres a lot of interesting stuff going on theere. one thing im noticing as im typing this is that im saying a lot of other characters names and i also talked about other characters when i brough up akane and i think thats something thats really cool about sdr2. the characters are all so interwoven and balanced with how they work that you sort of HAVE to in order to talk about just what exaclty makes them so great.

Ill try to keep miu a bit more brief, mostly because once again im currently in my refresher stage for v3 but also bc i talked about mikan for like a million years there oops akjslkjfkfdsj. Miu's obsession with lost time and due to sleep and disability are things that really speak to me and elements of her character that id really like to explore more thoroughly. I think miu is sort of shaped by that drive, that confident bravado front that she puts on a way to keep herself charging forward even when her nervous personality is trying to hold her back. she wants to defy her limits, to exceed her boundaries in all ways possible, and thats what motivates her and causes her to do the things she does

[floralquafloral]

Watch out it's random splatoon headcanon time again

I was thinking about splatting and respawning recently, and @acid-hues used no less than Three looking emojis when I asked if anyone would want to hear my thoughts about how that stuff works, so here goes. Warning for potentially fatal quantities of pseudoscience, since I'm not a biologist or a chemist, just a goober who likes the squid game too much ;P

1. What is splatting?

Splatting is a reflex in inklings and octarians that occurs when they're been critically injured. It allows the cephalopod to escape and recover from a potentially fatal situation, effectively unharmed. Almost all of their body mass is liquefied to ink in a similar process to squid-form transformation, but it's all lost, resulting in the characteristic splatter. The only remaining structure is the "squid soul", which isn't actually a soul so much as a balloon-like vessel that can (under the right conditions) develop into a whole inkling body again.

2. What is a squid soul?

Squid souls aren't actually incorporeal souls, they're just very complicated (and lightweight) biological structures that contain all the mechanisms and information necessary to create an inkling body. Kind of analogous to an egg: given food and time, an egg can turn into a whole animal. Squid souls are just a great deal more precise, in that they generate an inkling body almost exactly as it was before, including the brain and all the inkling's memories and such. The squid soul itself, like an egg, isn't really comparable to an actual inkling - the soul can't talk, or eat, or think. The squid soul doesn't have a brain, and it only has just enough nervous system to seek out a location where it can respawn into a proper body. It uses a rudimentary form of the same senses that allow for the Turf Map. Because the squid soul isn't conscious, getting splatted kind of just feels like a very violent form of teleportation.

More information on the processes & technology behind respawning under the readmore :)

3. How does a squid soul respawn?

Squid souls can only develop into a proper inkling body if they can access two things: A bunch of biomass, and a bunch of electricity. Biomass is necessary because almost all of the inkling's original body has been exploded all over the place, so you need a bunch of stuff to make a new one. A large enough well of pure ink can contain all the necessary material for a body, but most respawn tech uses solutions of ink with other useful things dissolved into it. Respawning from a well of pure ink doesn't feel very good. Pure ink doesn't contain a very good amount of vitamins, iron, etc., so the new body will probably have less of that stuff in it than the old one.

Electricity is necessary to separate different compounds out of the ink, and to provide the energy required for some of the chemical reactions that need to take place - you can't just mush a bunch of ink together and get a body out of it.

4. What could prevent a successful respawn?

This part is pure headcanon, since there's nothing from the base game that relates to this, as far as I'm aware.

Some sources of injury won't trigger the splat reflex; the most common example is prolonged exposure to small amounts of water. Getting caught in heavy rain for hours can dissolve the body without ever triggering the splat reflex, so you just... don't come back.

Old age or severe illness can inhibit the reflex as well. If a young and healthy squid gets hit by a bus, they will explode and come back at the nearest respawn point. If someone whose splat reflex isn't working gets hit by a bus, then they just get run over, which very bad. Alternatively, in some cases the splat reflex could fail to generate a squid soul, so you'd just explode and not get to respawn, which would be exceedingly terrible.

For the kind of squid who would sign up for Turf Wars, there's basically no chance of this stuff happening, but there are still mandatory physicals before you can sign up for a Turf War just to make sure.

Lastly, of course, if someone gets splatted too far away from a viable respawn point, the squid soul will expire after only a few minutes.

5. What kind of tech allows for a respawn?

There are four different places you can respawn in-game: In the online battle maps (5.1), in the Octarian domes (5.3), in the Deepsea Metro's test stations (5.4), and from a Grizzco Tank (5.5). There's also presumably some way to respawn if you just, like, fall out of a tree and get splatted in the public park or something (5.2). There's also the floating respawn-thingies from the Splatoon 3 trailer, but since I don't know how they work in-game yet I don't have anything to make headcanons around. 🤷‍♀️

5.1. Turf War respawn pads: They're cheap to make, they work quickly, and they can handle dozens of squids getting splatted during a single 3-minute battle with no need for oversight during the game. It's worth remembering that the squid soul isn't sapient, it has no regards for the rules of a Turf War - so what prevents someone on Yellow Team from respawning at Purple's base? The answer is that, under most circumstances, the biomass requirement for a respawn can only be met with ink that matches your colour. Different colours of ink have different chemical compositions, so a squid soul that's seeking out a viable location to create a yellow squid won't be able to sense the purple respawn pad as a viable location.

The limitation of the Turf War pad is that they're not perfectly reliable. Occasionally it just won't appear as a viable respawn location to a squid soul, so someone will end up respawning outside the battle, which forfeits them from the match. (i'm only including this because i'm proud of coming up with an in-universe explanation for disconnects)

5.2. City respawn pads: Outside of inksports, it's still a good idea to have respawn pads all over the place so that if someone gets splatted they have somewhere to respawn. City pads, unlike Turf War pads, are designed to be 100% reliable and work for any ink color. Their natural drawback is that they require constant oversight. "Respawn operator" is a job you can have in most major population centers, that mostly involves sitting around, making sure nothing looks broken, and greeting anyone who shows up at the pad.

Getting splatted outside a battle isn't especially common (splatting someone outside a battle is a pretty serious no-no), so any given pad in the city will usually only get 1-2 respawns a day, if any at all. When someone shows up, the operator is supposed to write down their name, the time they respawned, and the reason they got splatted. If it was because of something legally messy like a road accident, they'll have more work to do to get that sorted out. If it was because of a Turf War pad failure, they'll contact the Judds to get that cleared up. If you were with someone when you got splatted, it's common courtesy to send a text or call once you respawn so they don't have to worry; since you won't have your phone with you when you respawn that's something the operator is also supposed to help with. Respawn operators are pretty helpful in general - if you tell them "I don't know how to get back to my house from here", they can usually give you a map or directions or something.

To allow for anyone to respawn at a City pad, they're filled with a very bright and saturated brown ink solution. This colour is unique in that basically any other ink colour can change into it very easily; if you get splatted while you've got red ink, you'll show up at the city pad with brown ink. This is why bright brown ink isn't frequently used for inksports (definitely not because the developers didn't want it to look like they're using poop for turf wars).

5.3. Octarian Checkpoints: As electricity is a precious and scarce resource for Octarians, their respawn pads are designed to use as little of it as possible. An Inkopolis respawn pad has a current running through it constantly, which combined with the large amount of ink, allows squid souls to perceive it as a viable respawn location. In contrast, Octarian checkpoints don't offer any ink or electricity when inactive. They only switch on when a nearby Octarian soldier gets splatted, using a signal transmitted by the Octarian's equipment. When they turn on, they temporarily fill with ink and run an electrical current, allowing the soldier's octo soul to make its way over and respawn before the checkpoint shuts down again.

The signal receiver of the checkpoints has a vulnerability that allows it to be overridden, which will fill it with any colour of ink solution and render it unable to receive power-on signals. The Hero Tanks worn by Agents 3 and 4 do this automatically when the agents get close to a checkpoint - this is why they're black before an agent gets close, then change to match their ink colour. However, once the checkpoint is overridden, it still doesn't provide electricity, and in fact can't be activated at all. The Hero Tank allows them to be used regardless by putting an electrical charge into the squid soul itself, so that it only needs the well of ink solution. It can only store up to three respawns worth of charge, though. If an agent gets splatted while the battery is empty, they're toast.

Octarians, of course, can't respawn at a checkpoint that's been overridden, not only because it won't power on but also because it doesn't match their ink colour anymore. Only one checkpoint will receive the power-on signal when an Octarian gets splatted, so when an overridden checkpoint is the one that receives the signal, there will be nowhere on the base for the Octarian to respawn. Instead, they'll end up in another dome, or in a civilian respawn pad. The agents aren't murderers, okay?

5.4: Deepsea Metro Test Station Checkpoints: The testing stations in the Deepsea Metro are adapted from Octarian checkpoints, but with some tweaks to reflect the different priorities of Kamabo Co. as opposed to the Octarian military. Metro checkpoints have their remote-activation functionality stripped out, and instead permanently activate once the test subject reaches them, filling with ink solution and receiving a constant electrical current. They probably still have the same vulnerability as the Octarian checkpoints, but Agent 8's has no means of exploiting it, and no reason to anyways - the checkpoints are already configured to match her colour, since they're there for the express purpose of respawning test subjects.

Because Metro checkpoints always match Agent 8's ink colour, the sanitized octarians in the test courses have nowhere they can respawn. Instead, they are simply replaced as needed.

5.5: Grizzco Tanks: I'll be honest, I can't come up with any good explanations for this one. The way it traps the squid soul inside it probably has to do with the same interference that blocks the Turf Map, but the explanation for why you have to shoot it to activate a respawn is beyond me. The best I can do is list what can be ruled out:

It's not because it's using the ink from the shot for mass. If the Grizzco tank itself doesn't contain enough ink for a respawn, then there's no way a single Inkbrush swing would output enough to make up the difference.

It's not using the kinetic energy from the shot to trigger some sort of chemical reaction. Getting hit by a Steelhead bomb or a Flyfish missile don't revive the player, even though they surely have more kinetic energy than something like a Bloblobber bubble, which can.

The weapons themselves aren't providing an electrical charge. If Grizzco could modify a Splattershot to output enough electricity to enable a respawn, then the tank would be capable of doing that itself without needing to be shot.

Whatever it is, it's probably not very good for you long-term to respawn like that. Grizzco just gives off those vibes, like working there is totally gonna mess up your health when you're older.

[sdvvillagers]

Fic - Gus

Word Count: 4,475

Summary: Gus has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Notes:  Thank you to @purpleandgreen13​ (purpleandgreen on AO3) for coming up with this prompt, it was such a fun and inspiring one to work with!  You’re the best! ^.^

From the moment Gus woke up, he should have known that today was going to be an awful day.  Water dripped from the ceiling of his room, plopping onto his forehead and waking him with a start.  The rainstorm forecasted for the day had begun, revealing a leak in the roof that Gus hadn’t known was there until the rain unceremoniously woke him from his slumber.  After clambering out of bed in shock and confusion, Gus wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked upward as another drop of rain landed right in his eye.

“Son of a-,” Gus mumbled, giving himself a wide berth from the bed to avoid getting wet any further.

His sheets had already soaked up some of the moisture, but the last thing he needed was a soaking wet mattress.  Gus rushed to the storage room to grab an empty bucket to collect as much rain water as he could until Robin could come by to fix his roof.  Hopefully it wouldn’t be long or else he’d be back and forth all day dumping the bucket.  It was expected to rain heavily all day long.

The next sign that Gus’ day would be terrible arrived only moments later when Gus stepped on a small puddle of water that had dripped onto the floor, causing him to lose his balance and fall backward.  He slammed his back hard against the footboard of his bed, causing him to yelp out in pain.  His already bad back was now throbbing in pain.  Wincing, Gus rose from the floor and hobbled across the room to at least change out of his wet pajamas and into something warm and dry.

Upon opening his closet, Gus reached for a plain t-shirt and his favorite orange jacket.  It wasn’t until the jacket was on and he reached down to zip it up that he noticed the huge rip in the sleeve of his jacket.  It was likely Emily could mend it for him, but it was another rough blow to his already awful morning.  Gus elected for one of his lesser preferred jackets instead.

Being awake far earlier than he was used to, Gus shuffled out of his room into the kitchen of the saloon.  Usually he wouldn’t wake up until almost lunch time due to being up late every night for his business, but with the rain waking him up so early, he figured he would at least fix himself a meal.  It wasn’t often he ate breakfast anyway, so treating himself to a complete breakfast and a glass of homemade orange juice seemed a decent enough consolation prize.  Robin’s shop wouldn’t even open for another twenty minutes anyway.

Gus stepped into the walk-in refrigerator in the kitchen and began pulling the ingredients he needed to make his breakfast.  Once he had everything in-hand, he turned to leave and heard a high-pitched squeak.  For a moment, it sounded like a mouse.  It was enough of a distraction for Gus to momentarily forget where he was or what he was doing and the armful of ingredients he was carrying fell to the floor as Gus accidentally dropped them.  The squeak, it turned out, came from a squeaky floorboard he had stepped on and wasn’t a rodent at all.  Gus almost wished it was, at least it would have justified his flustered response.  Instead, all he was left with was no ingredients for breakfast and a huge mess to clean while his back was out of sorts.

It took over a half hour for Gus to completely clean up the spill, the cracked eggs seeped down into every crevice and cranny of the walk-in fridge.  Not to mention, it was a very chilly ordeal to clean a mess inside of such a cold space.  Gus had lost all track of time while he was cleaning the mess in the fridge and all thoughts of calling Robin to repair his roof had left his mind until the job was done.  By the time he realized it, he glanced at the clock and saw that she’d been open for fifteen minutes already.  He hoped he wasn’t too late.

“Hello there, you’ve reached the Bennetts!” Demetrius’ voice answered cheerfully when Gus finally picked up the phone to call.

“Hey Demetrius, I’m in a bit of a bind,” Gus began, getting right to his point.  There was no time for pleasantries today.  “The roof of the saloon is leaking.  Right over my bed, actually.  Any chance Robin can head out here and fix it?  I’ve got a bucket under there right now until she can make it.”

“Oh no, I wish I could say she could but she’s actually out of the house right now,” Demetrius answered apologetically.  “Her parents called her first thing this morning, her father is ill and she needed to head out to help her mother.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Gus replied sincerely.  As unfortunate as his situation was, he really was sorry to hear that there were health issues in Robin’s family.  It was a situation where Gus couldn’t in all conscience be mad at Robin for being unavailable despite his desperation.

Once he hung up with Demetrius, Gus heaved a long, heavy sigh.  Someone in town had to be able to help him, there was no way he could put it off.  There weren’t many other people in town Gus could think to ask, but he started at the top of the list and worked his way down.  Sebastian seemed like a decent possibility given that his mother was the very woman Gus needed for the job, but Seb made it quite clear that he had nothing to do with her work at all.  Shane was next on the list, he was actually quite the handyman, but the call went straight to voicemail.  Gus had to assume he was working at Joja today and had his phone silenced.  Alex at the very least was strong, but as Gus suspected he had no knowledge of how to fix a leaky roof.  Gus was even desperate enough to call Lewis who had been the town’s handyman before he was mayor, but of course his old age made him too hesitant to help Gus out.  Not that Gus could blame him, of course, but it was maddening how limited his options were.  He’d have to call a company in Grampleton or even in the city which would end up costing him at least triple what Robin would charge.

One very expensive phone call later, Gus managed to get an appointment with a roofer from Grampleton for 4:00pm , right when the dinner rush would be starting.  As anticipated, the flat fee was already more expensive, plus additional fees for travel and late notice.  Until they arrived, Gus would have to keep shuffling buckets around to catch as much water as he could.

By the time the roofer was sorted, Gus realized that there wasn’t much time left until the saloon opened at noon for lunch.  Having dropped a substantial amount of ingredients earlier in the morning, Gus knew a trip to Pierre’s was necessary.  It wasn’t far to Pierre’s store but in this rainstorm, Gus knew he’d need every protection even for such a short walk.  After another trip to his room for his raincoat, rain boots, and umbrella, Gus was ready to face the elements.  With his back still aching, Gus crossed town square slowly and carefully towards Pierre’s shop.  The last thing he needed was to try and rush to get out of the rain and fall once more.  He chuckled to himself at the thought that Doctor Harvey would commend him for choosing safety first.

The trip to Pierre’s was just as frustrating as the rest of his morning had been.  It took him quite some time just to get out of his wet rain gear and Pierre snapped at him for leaving a puddle by the entrance even though it wasn’t exactly something he could help in a rainstorm.  Pierre’s selection wasn’t great either, he was out of stock on a few ingredients that Gus needed so Gus would have to tweak his menu slightly to accommodate.  He knew he would get an earful that night when Shane couldn’t order pepper poppers.  When Gus went to checkout, he realized he’d forgotten his money at home in his rush and had to practically beg Pierre to let him pay at a later time without having to go all the way back for his money.  It wasn’t until he started to remind Pierre of his own ongoing tab at the saloon, within earshot of Caroline, that Pierre quickly shushed him and agreed that Gus could stop by the following day to pay for the groceries.

The short walk home was plagued with its own difficulties.  Gus had three bags of groceries and with one hand holding his umbrella, the other had to carry three full shopping bags while trying to keep them dry under the umbrella.  By the time he arrived back at the saloon, his hand was aching from carrying the weight of the groceries which had gotten slightly wet despite his best efforts.  Even Gus himself had gotten wet, the jacket he’d put on that morning had a drenched collar and water had gotten into his rain boots and soaked his socks through.  Another change of clothes for the day.

Lunch prep went fine enough other than a small slice of a finger while chopping onions.  On any other day Gus would consider it a terrible misfortune but today, it was nothing compared to everything else that had happened so far.  It wasn’t serious enough to warrant a visit to Doctor Harvey, thank goodness.  Nothing a bandage couldn’t fix.  It did make the rest of his lunch prep awkward and it certainly hurt, but the pain at least distracted him a bit from his aching back.

Because of the rain, the lunch “rush” wasn’t exactly a rush at all, which was fine with Gus on a day like today.  Only a few people stopped by for lunch, mostly to-go orders.  Ordinarily he’d feel bored with nothing to do or worried by a lack of paying customers, but he welcomed the chance to take a break after his busy morning.  His back was still aching from his fall and his finger throbbed uncomfortably under its bandage.  The worst he could say about the lunch crowd was that any time a customer entered the saloon, it meant drying the rain puddles left behind in their wake once they left.  Of course there was also the constant back and forth from the bar to his room to switch out buckets, a task he had to do almost every thirty minutes.

At 3:30 he could hear the door of the saloon open while he was in his bedroom, switching out yet another bucket under the leaky roof.  By now his back was on fire from the constant back and forth, lifting heavy buckets, and mopping up the puddles of water in his room and at the entrance of the saloon.  When he heard the door open, he heaved a sigh of relief knowing that help was on the way.  It was no doubt Emily arriving for her evening shift.  Gus was hoping she could take on a bit of the work tonight to give him some reprieve.  If he could manage to only get away with cooking for the night, he’d be happy.  Yet when Gus reentered the saloon, he was surprised to find Haley standing near the doorway looking around for him.

“Oh, there you are!” Haley huffed, sounding incredibly impatient and irritated.  “Honestly, we thought you were dead, you haven’t answered your phone all day.”

While Haley stood in the entrance, arms folded in annoyance, Gus rushed over to his phone to see what was the matter.  He didn’t have a cell phone as he’d never really had a need for one so he relied on a landline at the bar for any of his phone calls.  Gus groaned when he noticed he hadn’t properly set the handset back down on the charging dock and it had run out of battery.

“Geez, kid, I’m sorry,” Gus sighed, setting the phone back on the dock to start charging.  Haley huffed impatiently in response.

“I had to head all the way over here in the pouring rain just to tell you that Emily can’t come in tonight, she’s sick,” Haley went on, arms still folded angrily.  “First she’s got me running over here for her, then off to Pierre’s to pick up a few things, then over to the clinic for some medicine.  Ugh, this is the worst day ever.”

Gus had to try very hard not to burst out laughing at this response, if Haley’d known the kind of day he was having, she certainly wouldn’t consider a few errands ‘the worst day ever’.  Instead Gus swallowed the urge to rant and smiled kindly in return.  Kind smiles were his specialty, after all.

“Sorry to hear Emily’s sick,” Gus remarked in concern.  “Need me to send you with any hot soup?  Ginger ale?”

“We got it covered,” Haley replied.  “I’m just gonna stock up on cans of soup at Pierre’s, it’s fine.”

Gus cringed knowing that his employee was sick at home and would be having canned soup as her meal, it was something that he would go out of his way to stop if it were any other day.  But between the roof repairs, working solo for the night, and the numerous aches and pains he was experiencing, he begrudgingly accepted that canned soup would have to do.  Maybe on another day he would have to make it up to Emily some other way.

“Tell Emily I hope she feels better soon but that she shouldn’t worry,” Gus went on, his kind smile still plastered onto his face.  “I can handle things here.”

Haley left with a brief wave leaving Gus to sigh heavily the moment she was gone.  He didn’t entirely believe that he could handle things on his own, but there wasn’t much of a choice.  Business still had to continue with or without help.

4:00 came and went with no sign of the roofers.  Gus was getting anxious awaiting their arrival, hoping they wouldn’t cancel on him.  The buckets were filling up quickly as the rain poured down and now he was emptying full, heavy buckets every twenty minutes.  It didn’t help that by 4:00, customers were already starting to pile in.  While the lunch rush was light from people wanting to avoid being out in the rain, it seemed there was the opposite sentiment at dinnertime.  Maybe everyone was sick of being cooped up at home, maybe they didn’t feel like cooking, maybe they liked the ambience of dining in a cozy saloon during a rainstorm.  Either way, business started to pick up quickly and Gus had to strategize every minute to make sure no time, energy, or effort was wasted.  He’d find himself taking orders one minute, slicing vegetables another, running to the back to empty and replace a bucket, then back to refill a drink, then off to the burners to cook a meal, all while coping with a bandaged finger and injured back.  It was chaos.  He’d long since stopped trying to squeeze drying the floor into the mix, instead he setup his wet floor sign and hoped for the best.

Just before 6:30, Gus could hear a clang outside followed by the sound of loud thuds overhead.  The roofers must have arrived and already set to work.  The activity on the roof caused many of the patrons to stare up at the ceiling in annoyance, it certainly wasn’t the most pleasant sound and a lot of the louder thuds and clangs were drowning out the jukebox.  Gus could already see on the faces of his patrons that they were irritated and for that matter, he was irritated as well.  Of course the work had to be done, but it was hard to focus with so many distractions.  He found himself getting side-tracked in the middle of what he was doing and as a result, the orders were coming out more slowly.  This was only causing further irritation among the bar patrons.  Thankfully everyone seemed to realize many of the disadvantages Gus was working with between a bandaged finger, no extra employee to help, and a loud series of bangs outside beyond his control so no one ever complained to him.  Still, he could sense the overall tension in the room and it only added pressure to an already stressful day.  Luckily when Gus broke the news to Shane that pepper poppers weren’t an option, Shane opened his mouth to whine but stopped upon seeing the look on Gus’ face.  Though Gus was ordinarily relaxed and downright jolly, he was sure that today his bad day was reflected in his mood.

It was only a half hour or so later that the doors of the saloon opened and in walked two men Gus had never seen before, absolutely drenched.  It must be the roofers.  Their entrance alone brought a massive puddle at the doorstep of the saloon and as they walked across the room, they left a trail of rainwater in their wake.  Gus would be lucky if no one slipped and fell and slapped him with a lawsuit.

“Well we did a temporary fix for now to stop the leaking, but we’ll have to come back when it’s dry to fix it properly,” one of the men explained.  “Though truth be told, that roof’s definitely seen better days.  How old is it?”

“32 years?” Gus answered uncertainly, screwing up his face in thought to try and recall how old the roof could be.

“I guessed as much,” the other man replied.  “We can fix your roof, but your best bet will just be to replace it.”

Gus’ stomach clenched at this news.  Of course.  Of course on one of the worst days he’s had, he now had to face the prospect of replacing the roof of the saloon.  Even at Robin’s rate it would still be a costly project.  Gus shook his head wearily and looked up to the roofers, not even trying to attempt his usual smile any longer.

“Well thanks for patching it up for the time being,” Gus sighed.  “How much do I owe ya?”

“We’ll mail you the bill in three to five business days,” the first man answered.  A bill that would no doubt include the travel surcharge as well as a late notice surcharge all to do a very temporary patch job.

When the roofers left, Gus stared down at the massive puddle of water in the middle of the saloon and spaced out for a moment, disconnecting entirely from everything going on around him.  The day started poorly enough, but it never let up.  It was the kind of day that beats you down until you just want to call it quits and crawl back into bed to start fresh in the morning.  Gus didn’t often have bad days and when he did, his general optimism was enough to make the best of it.  Today, there was nothing at all to make the best of, no silver lining he could find and no positive twist he could spin.  Today was horrible.  It only got worse when he snapped out of his brief moment of calm to the smell of smoke.  The arrival of the roofers had snatched Gus’ attention from the fish he was cooking on the stove and now the filet was smoking in the pan, most definitely burnt by this point.  Gus rushed to turn the burner off and removed the fish from the heat in a panic.  Just when he felt seconds away from a total breakdown, he could hear a soft, gentle voice to his right.

“Gus… are you okay?”

Doctor Harvey tilted his head with an expression of concern, clearly noticing Gus’ flustered state.  As usual whenever Gus was going through personal problems or having a rough day, he attempted to suck it up and put on a warm, welcoming face for his patrons.  Many of them came to the saloon for an escape from their own problems, they certainly didn’t need to contend with his.  But the moment Gus even tried to plaster a smile onto his face, he could feel his shoulders shaking as a swell of emotion took over.  He was moments away from bursting into tears.

“I…” Gus began in a shaky voice, still grasping at the chance that he could play it off but ultimately failing.  “No… no, I’m not.”

Harvey very suddenly looked on high alert and his friendly concern became far more serious.

“Are you in need of immediate medical attention?” Harvey asked suddenly, already rising from his barstool.  As awful as his day had been, Gus couldn’t help but chuckle at Harvey’s reaction.  He couldn’t explain why, but it was amusing how quickly Harvey was ready to jump into action if needed.

“No, no, nothing like that, Doctor H,” Gus replied, shaking his head.  “Just a bad day.  I won’t bend your ear, I’ll… I’ll handle it.  Sorry for burning your fish, I’ll get started on another one right away.”

Before Gus could even turn around, however, he noticed Harvey shake his head vigorously and pull out the barstool next to him.  Though Harvey was often quiet and reserved, preferring to keep to himself whenever he was at the saloon, in this moment he smiled a kind and welcoming smile as he patted the seat next to him.

“That won’t be necessary,” Harvey replied.  “I can’t in good conscience contribute to your hectic night tonight.  If you’d like to join me and talk about it you’re more than welcome to or you can take a seat behind the bar to unwind for a bit.  Either way, you need a break.  Doctor’s orders.”

It was strange how quickly all eyes in the saloon were on Gus the moment he stepped away from the bar, walked around the counter, and took a seat on the barstool beside Harvey.  Everyone had only ever seen him behind the bar taking orders, filling drinks, or preparing food.  Gus couldn’t recall a time he sat on the customer’s side of the bar during business hours and clearly no one else could either.  A collective silence filled the room and no one even tried to hide their stares.  Once Gus was seated next to Harvey, it was surprisingly Shane who spoke up first.

“You doin’ alright there, Gus?” Shane asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Just need a breather,” Gus replied as calmly as he was capable of.  Clearly it wasn’t that calmly, though, because now all the patrons in the saloon looked just as concerned as Harvey had moments earlier.

“Is everything okay?” Marnie asked from the back of the saloon.

“Gus, what’s wrong?” Leah asked, dropping the sketch she was working on to step closer to the bar.

“Lookin’ a little pale there, Gussy, you’re scarin’ me,” Pam remarked, worry lining her face as she stared at Gus.

It seemed all of the attention in the saloon was on Gus at the moment and he wasn’t sure whether that was making this whole ordeal better or worse than it had been.  Gus wasn’t used to the spotlight on him, he was used to being the one shining the spotlight on others, encouraging them to open up and talk about whatever they needed to talk about.  Whether it was gushing over good news, venting over a rough day, or asking for advice from a friend, Gus was always there to support his patrons.  It was odd to have the tables flipped and be the one in need of support.

“Nothin’, nothin’, it’s just… it’s just a rough day,” Gus tried to explain, but no one was buying it.

“Take a load off, Gus,” Marnie offered, pulling her chair out to give Gus a more comfortable seat than a barstool.

“I’ll grab some ice water, you should stay hydrated,” Harvey remarked, already heading to the back of the bar to prepare a glass.

“Want something to eat?” Pierre offered, bringing his plate of fried calamari over.  “I’ve only had a few, you can take the rest.”

Leah hadn’t said another word, she had already started drying the large puddle in the middle of the saloon with towels she had found behind the bar.  Within minutes, Gus was seated in one chair with his feet propped up on another, ice water and food on the table next to him, in the middle of a newly dried saloon.  His patrons surrounded him, close enough to show their support but not so close that it was suffocating, and all looked at him expectantly.

“What else do you need?” Pam asked, rolling up her sleeves as though prepared to get to work on something, she just didn’t know what.

“I’d like to take a look at that bandaged finger,” Harvey pointed out, glancing at Gus’ injured hand.

“Who were those men that showed up outta nowhere?” Shane asked, glancing towards the door.  “Did they say or do anything to you?  I swear to Yoba if they did, I’ll…” Shane trailed off when he caught sight of a disapproving look from Marnie, but Gus caught Shane’s hands ball up aggressively into fists.

“I’m fine, really, I already feel so much better just to have all of your support,” Gus answered honestly.  “Those were just roofers here to look at a leak in the roof, it’s fine.  Really.  It was just one of those days where everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong but putting it all into perspective, it’s not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.”

It was true, Gus was already feeling better just in the few short minutes that had passed.  Moments earlier he had been on the verge of a breakdown but it was incredible how quickly that changed just from receiving the love and support of his community.  It was always Gus who was the one providing support, providing help, providing a shoulder to cry on.  He’d never needed the same in return until now but seeing how his patrons responded in his moment of need was overwhelming.  It warmed his heart to know that if he ever truly needed anyone, they would all be there for him, ready to help and support him.  They proved it tonight.  Today may have been one of the worst days Gus had had in quite some time, but tonight somehow proved in an odd and unexpected way to be one of the best.

[pillage-and-lute]

In All that I Have Done

Sad. I recommend listening to Arvo P ärt’s Spiegel im Spiegel while reading. Very, very sad, cannot stress this enough. Non-explicit major character death. (Happens of old age but still)

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More than forty years after the fall of Cintra one Professor Pankratz put down his pen. In the last ten years his hands had lost some of their surety, but his quill didn’t shake when he put it down. 

He ran one hand down his face. His beard had started going silver just after he’d adopted the style, but both it and his hair were now fully steel grey, with not even a hint of their former color. He adjusted his spectacles, tweaked the fashionable, but less than flamboyant hem of his doublet, and began to read what he’d written.

The last will and testament of Professor Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. 

I am writing this, sure and sound of mind, if not of body, in the event of my death. For many years I had a living, de facto will, that is, who ever found me dead by the roadside could loot my body for what they wished. As I got older and my body forced my errant heart to settle down I realized that this could no longer be the case. I fear I have put this off much too long, but happily, it seems I was not too late.

To my remaining family, my baby brother Alfons and his wife Iwona, I leave the rights to my songs and other works, and the royalties to them. Have fun. Alfons, Iwona is a beautiful woman and I would have wooed her, but that you were so in love I couldn’t bring myself to steal her away. I write this with a chuckle, Iwona my dear, because if you’ll remember we met first, and I introduced you to my brother only after you’d hit me in the head with a frying pan for flirting. 

I have also set up a trust, a portion of the royalties will be funneled into it for your son, Mikolaj, although he is a strapping young man who may never need it because he is a fine craftsman, as these spectacles he made me can attest. With luck he may spend it on marriage, should he ever woo that baker lad who made those charming blackberry tarts.

To the grandson of my friend Priscilla, Gaj. You have just been born and are a wonder beyond belief. Your parents are lovely people and you are lucky to have them. They should feel lucky to read this since I fear I shall be long dead before you learn your letters. However; there are times I wish I had fathered children. There are also times I remember what those who do go through and am thankful I did not, but you are a miracle. In the hope that you are given the very best of education, I have put in a word with the university. Should you choose, you will have the best schooling the Continent can offer, free of charge, with the compliments of Oxenfurt. Just, when you are someday a raging young student, sloppy drunk on a night out, think of me, if you can think at all. 

As I have of late stayed in quarters provided for me by the university and their gracious staff, I shall relinquish it all in return, as well as whatever items are held within not listed here. There shall be money in the vase by the fireplace for my funeral, as well as a generous tip for the maids, who have been wonderful and kind to an often forgetful and frail old man who is too much in his feelings.

My wardrobe I leave to whoever wants it, apart from my best blue doublet. (The sky blue one, which brings out my eyes) I should hope to be buried in it.

And finally, to my dearest and truest friend, Geralt of Rivia I leave a note, a song, and a gift.

Jaskier once again scrubbed his hand over his face. His study held a chill, despite the fine summer day, or perhaps it was just him. He got cold so easily these days. His breath rattled a little as he took a deep breath and hauled himself out of his comfortable chair. Melitele’s great gorgeous thighs, but his knees ached today. Jaskier paused at the mirror to tease his hair into place, advancing years never having divested him of his style. He flashed a wink into the mirror and shoveled a little coal into the small fireplace. 

He settled again at his desk, a different paper in hand, separate from the will, and began to look it over. This letter held none of the fine penmanship of the other, instead the letters were blocky and easy to read, better for the eyes that may have gained much in a mutation but skipped lightly over letters and switched them about.

My dear Geralt, it read. In all that I have done, I have had but one masterpiece. Critics may disagree on my greatest work, but I know it exactly, and have since the day of it’s birth. My opus was not Toss a Coin, or even the rehabilitation of yours- and all witchers- reputations. My masterpiece was my relationship with you, a wonderful and awful secret masterpiece of the heart, mind, and soul.

I know you do not dally about with words, but lest you misunderstand this last, most important of missives, we must discuss them. The word awful is now so said as to mean the same as terrible, but this cannot be true at all. Terrible is that which inspires terror or creates fear. Awful, or aweful, if you will, is to inspire awe. To be full of it. Sometimes that awe is fearful, sometimes reverential, perhaps a condemnation and sometimes a blessing. You, my friend, inspire awe. And in me you inspired something much greater than that. In all my years, which are so few compared to yours, nothing has so inspired love in me, as you. It has been my life’s greatest blessing.

When this letter comes to you, regardless of how it comes, it means I am gone from this world. I fear it shall indeed be soon, but I do not fear death. Weep not for me, my friend, instead let me bury in this parchment what there is left for me to say.

More than forty years ago I asked you to come away with me. All these decades later I still dream that you would, yet, I understand why you did not, and why you pushed me away. I offered you my heart that day, but it was the heart of a being you would watch wither away, as I’ll admit I have done. You could not be my forever, knowing that I cannot also be yours. There is no apology, no tears, no explanation needed there. 

Indeed, even for casting me away I need no words, and you have always had few to give, my friend. You didn’t keep me away for long, after all. I am like a magnet, drawn to you. Even now I feel your pull, like the tide to the gentle lady moon, but I cannot follow. 

After the mountain we met up again and again, our lives orbiting eachvother like planets, but we never clung so close as those first twenty years. That is the fault of Dame Time, a tricky mistress, as she collected her dues for twenty years of hard travel and ill care on my body.

I wish I could have given you more of my years. I find I am angry, and yet not so. At once, I could have had more time beside you, had somehow things been otherwise, but I know I had more time with you than might have been, perhaps more than I could reasonably expect. Someone, some goddess, or Life, Time, Destiny, or Fate, gave me enough time to finish the masterpiece that is my love for you, and that is enough.

You read here the ramblings of an old man, but I shall burden you with a few more sentences. 

You may recognize the case to which this letter is attached. Inside is my lute, as given to me by Filavandrel. I wish you to have it. I know you have never been musically inclined, but to me this instrument means so much more than music. This is the physical being of us, and all that may entail. I hope that you keep it, and treasure it how you will. If ever there comes such a person that you wish to play it, for whatever reason, gift it to them, but I beg you, tell them to whom it belonged, and how it came to belong to you. 

And finally, I leave you with a few unsung verses that I feel someone ought to read.

To the edge of the world May this letter be born That it comfort and heals you Although it brings you to mourn

I wrote every song And traveled along For my faith in a witcher and my friend before all

I hope you be blessed and continue your quest To be a friend of humanity As I go to rest

That's our epic tale My champion prevailed Defeated every villain And continues the tale

Toss a coin to my witcher, O valley of plenty...

love, Jaskier.

Professor Pankratz carefully rolled up the parchment and slipped inside a waterproofed tube, tying it with a blue ribbon that would likely only be lost in the parcel’s travels. He did it anyway, then he trailed his fingers over the finest instrument he’d ever played. Hand tremors meant it had sat silent for many months, but he plucked a few, slightly out of tune strings in a familiar tune. Then he put Filavandrel’s lute away, slipping the note in it’s packaging into the outer pocket of the case.

There was a funny feeling, he felt as he sat back in his large desk chair, to completing your greatest work, but he knew at least one being would remember it forever. He took off his spectacles and leaned back in his chair, the fire in the grate convincing him to doze. His eyes slid shut, and Jaskier greeted eternity with open arms.

[lorei-writes]

Radio Call

Nobunaga x MC Angst

Written for: Dice be Nice Event Request: @mineko811​​ Roll: Nobunaga + Post-Apocalypse AU + “Of course. I know you, after all.”

Well, the dice wasn’t too nice this time around, it appears. I think that there’s only one other combination that gave me an idea for angst, haha ^^”

Content Warnings: implied major character death, death, minor character death, corpses, the apocalypse, deadly illness

It was not quite like anything they pictured it to be. There were no bombs, no metal shells, no ashes and rampant military threats, no eclipse – and of all things unexpected, sun rose just as it did on any other day. The beginning of it was not defined, shifting and presenting itself as any hardship to overcome, humans growing stronger together to push through it with mutual support. The beginning was loud, full of inspirational chatter and wishful remarks. And the end? The end was silent, all sounds having already died.

It was not quite like anything they pictured it to be. There were no bombs, no metal shells, no ashes and rampant military threats, no eclipse – and of all things unexpected, sun rose just as it did on any other day. The beginning of it was not defined, shifting and presenting itself as any hardship to overcome, humans growing stronger together to push through it with mutual support. The beginning was loud, full of inspirational chatter and wishful remarks. And the end? The end was silent, all sounds having already died.

His heels digging into the ground, Nobunaga pushed onto the door with his shoulder, wood refusing to move by as much as an inch. A grunt leaving his lips, he took a couple steps back, fully intending to charge and break through the obstacle with brute force... “It’s no use.” Her voice cut. His fists clenched, Nobunaga turned around to face her, sunken eyes staring at him blankly. Combing her hair back with her hand, Mai sighed, defeat having seemingly settled within her form as she held back a cough. “You’ll only hurt yourself. We should look for a house to spend the night in.” “Judging by the medical tents around, they could have stored the medicine he –” “Power has been out for ages. Even if there was any left, it deteriorated.” Mai stepped forward, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t infect anymore. We should focus on heading south to rejoin with the group who sent that radio call. That’s our only chance,” she added in a low voice, turning her gaze away.

The end was silent – and yet, it wasn’t universal. Not at first.

A stone shattered the window pane, dull thud signalling the end of its fall. Careful as not to get hurt by the shards, Mai looked back at Nobunaga one last time and pushed herself up to enter the house. “Is anybody in here?!” she shouted, already knowing the reply. Her lips pressed into a thin line, she moved deeper inside, floorboards creaking with each of her steps. The corridor stretched long before her, filled with stench she had far too many chances to familiarise herself with. Hair standing on the back of her neck, she pushed the inevitable away in time, her feet directing her towards the kitchen, pictures of the residents of the house staring at her from the walls.

A discarded pot sitting on top of the burner, the contents of it having already rotten away; a puddle of black slime-like substance pooling around the fridge in a protective manner; an empty cat bowl still waiting around to be filled – and a few dozen other little things, all too common for her to notice them anymore.  Numb, Mai reached to open the cabinets, stories upon stories of plates staring at her from above. Was there any use for such a number of them in this world? She left them behind, closing the doors as to open new ones – her face lit up. Something beat behind her ribs, her hands trembling upon finding a sort of treasure chest: hard sugar candy. With near-religious piety, trembling fingers unwrapped one silver wrapper, soon pushing the contents into her mouth. Mai gasped, pushing the rest of them into her backpack.

The scouting was successful, the ground floor having gifted her a single new needle, few bundles of thread, sterile gauze, disinfectant, batteries and enough canned food to fill their stomachs for the night. Unwilling, she turned her eyes towards the staircase. The smell was obvious, although she still had to check… Partially for herself, partially for the corpses she was sure to find lying in beds.

The end wasn’t universal. The rich bought medicine and hid themselves – and they were safe, safe for the longest time while the rest… The rest succumbed to the illness and met their end. The rich were safe! The rich were safe until the illness changed. And then… Then the medicine did not work anymore – and this was something their walls could not defend them against.

Spoons clattered against the inside of the cans, fire burning in the fireplace for the first time in months, flames consuming the chair legs. A silver wrapper glimmered in the dim light, discarded over the floor. His back resting against the wall, Nobunaga stared at the ceiling, her head lying in his lap. “How many, fireball?” he asked, stroking her hair tenderly. “Four. Rather fresh too, at least compared to the previous town. They might have heard the same radio call and were preparing to set off… I can’t understand why else they wouldn’t eat the candy.” Nobunaga hummed in agreement.

“I think we should ration it, though,” Mai yawned after a moment. “I thought it was already agreed on. You didn’t trust me enough not to mention this?” he joked, rough thumb brushing against her cheek. “Of course. I know you, after all,” she laughed, her eyelids growing heavy. “I think you should sleep. I’ll join you soon enough.” Mai did not reply.

The end was silent, save for a few voices calling from a different world.

Nobunaga put the batteries inside of the radio. One hand covering her ear, he reached into the pocket on the inside of his coat, his nails grazing against a tape.  Deftly, he pushed it inside the compartment, one he never spoke much about – it would be a shame to reveal a secret of this kind, much more so after his friends put so much effort into…

Track 1. Mitsuhide’s voice called quietly from the machine. “Is anybody in there?” Loss of signal. “My group is heading south. We are planning to organise at the second passing point. Is anybody still alive?”

Track 2. Masamune joined. “We need water, but we can go on with what we have. We found the medicine.” “A new group jo –” Signal got lost, cutting Mitsuhide off.

Track 3.

“Ieyasu Tokugawa here. We are approaching the first passing point.”

Track 4. Mitsunari.

“An infected camp found between first and second passing point. We are moving our settlement to the very border. We are fine. Keep –” The recording cut off. White noise. With trembling fingers, Nobunaga pressed forward.

Track 6. Hideyoshi.

“I hope you never had to discover this tape, Mai. If you did… I hope you’re well.” Coughing. “Mitsunari did a great job with the radio… So I really hope…”

Track 7. White noise.

Track 8. White noise.

Track 9. White noise.

Track 10. Mitsuhide.

“I hope this tape made it to you safely, Nobunaga. We shall meet again when the last wave is over.”

Holding back a cough, Nobunaga switched the radio to receiving.

Silence.

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx​, @cottonfluffballofdoom, @ozziegrl71,  If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me.  If you don’t want to be tagged anymore - please, do not feel bad about it, just say so :)

[prorevenge]

Cousin tries to steal my mother's inheritance

The whole story was a few years ago and is very convoluted. In order not to write a novel here, I try to keep things clear and as short as possible. If some things are incomprehensible, I am happy to submit updates upon request.

Yes, we were too trustworthy and in retrospect we should have done more earlier.

The story begins in the early 90s when my parents got divorced. My mother had been given custody of me and my older sister by the court. We moved into my maternal grandmother's house. The house was built by my grandfather in the 50's and had never been renovated. There were 2 apartments in the house. One apartment on the ground floor and one on the 1st floor. My grandma lived in the lower apartment. But even though it was actually too small for a woman with 2 teenage children in the upper apartment, my mother initially wanted us to see the house as 2 separate households. It took my grandma some time to convince my mother to consider the house as a whole as not my grandmothers, but ours.

My mother and grandma decided not only to renovate the house, but also to refurbish it. But before that could happen, something important had to be clarified.

Because my grandfather had built the house and he died without writing his last will, the house was not legally owned by my grandmother at the time, but belonged in part to my mother and her sister (let's call her Estelle)

My grandma bought Estelles share.

The 40-year-old stove heating was replaced by a floor heating that was modern at the time, windows were renewed, old pipes and cables were replaced and much more. My mother put all of the money my father gave her after the divorce into the house. Among other things, she paid off an old loan that was still on the house.

In order not to repeat my grandfather's mistake, the three made a will. The share in the house that belongs to my grandmother should go to my mother after her death, as she lived in the house and contributed significantly to its value through her investment. Estelle should get a large amount of money and everything else my grandma owns should be divided equally between the two.

Fast forward to 2015. My mother had retired and took care 24/7 of her mother, who is suffering from dementia. The alternative of putting my grandma in a nursing home was out of the question for us. As long as it was somehow possible, my mother wanted my grandma to stay in the house that she built with her husband and that she called home. I haven't lived in the house for a long time, but I still visited whenever I could to relieve my mother of work. But these opportunities are few and far between, as I live and work around 2 hours away by car. So I was all the more pleased that my mother got help with housework for a few hours a week. This domestic help (let's call her Nadine) is the girlfriend of Estelles son Tim.

When Tim was a Teenager he had fallen out with his father and most of our family had very few contacts with him. He showed up once a year, called on our grandmas’ birthday and on Christmas. For over 20 years, he was, besides these 3 occasions, basically nonexistent.

Nadine works full time in a nursing home. After having been in the hospital for a few days, my grandma was supposed to be in that very nursing home for a while. The insurance companies offer this option so that caregiving relatives should be able to recover for a few days themselves and my mother really needed the break.

But my mother was not granted this break. On the second day, in her demented confusion, she crawled under her room neighbor's bed and did not let the nursing staff lure her out from under it. Nadine then called Tim, who came by. While playing hide and seek, my grandma was slightly injured and was taken back to the hospital. After that, she refused to go back to the nursing home, and my mother gave in and took her home.

In the next few months, it was 2016 then, Tim appeared once a week to, as he said, “take care of grandma”. This “taking care” consisted of going to Grandma, who was sitting in her TV chair, holding her hand, asking if everything was okay and driving off 15 minutes later.

At this point I would like to emphasize again that my mother has basically sacrificed herself since 2011 to look after her mother in need of care. She never moved more than 50 meters from my grandma without someone to take her place. Both my grandmother's doctor and the official auditors in charge of the nursing service had certified my mother that my grandmother was doing great under her supervision.

Estelle's birthday was in March. My mother told me later that Estelle had advised her in a conversation that she should put some money aside for the time when Grandma is no longer there.

Nadine celebrated his birthday in July. Since my grandmother was again spending a few days in short-term care at that time so that my mother could recover a little, Tim offered to pick up grandma for the party.

And in August the mood changed.

Estelle expressed concern that my grandma's confusion was really dementia and instead suggested that grandma was in her condition because of poor care from my mother. Tim was increasingly aggressive towards my mother. In a conversation I insisted on participate, he accused my mother of embezzling my grandmother's money and evading taxes. And although I am a peace-loving person, I lost my composure a little and I was only a blink away from beating him.

After we calmed down again, I suggested that instead of just coming by for 15 minutes a week and spreading accusations, he should really take care of Grandma and look after her for a week at a time.

He agreed.

Two weeks later, Tim and Tim's brother appeared with his family and picked up Grandma for a visit to a fair.

When they came back they told my mother that they had ordered a new TV chair for Grandma and that my mother should pay for it with her money. The reason was that my mother “lived rent-free in Grandma's house” and practically doesn’t do anything. Since my grandmother was so “gracious to take in a mother and her two children” she was entitled to the money, my mother supposedly saved on rent.

A few weeks later my mother had an appointment and asked Estelle to take care of Grandma during that time. When she came back there was also a note on the table. Estelle had taken grandma with her to look after her. First a week to try out.

The joy that my mother had about the free time she gained quickly vanished when it turned out two days later that Estelle took the opportunity to go to her bank with my grandmother to revoke my mother the right to access my grandmother's account. We only found out about it by accident.

A few days later Estelle appeared accompanied by Tim, his two siblings and their families and got clothes, jewelry and everything valuable that my grandmother owned. They said that my grandma wanted to stay with Estelle now because she couldn't stand my mother anymore.

The mood between my mother and grandma had deteriorated noticeably in the months since the first stay at the nursing home. At first, we assumed that the dementia was getting worse.

A few days later, 9 people came to my mother's home. Including my grandmother, Estelle, Tim, Ts. siblings and their family. When my mother was about to let 2 visitors out of the door, one of the group stormed through the open front door, pushing my mother and sister aside and demanding that they leave the (lower) apartment immediately. They supposedly had no right to be there and are only allowed to stay in the upper apartment.

A neighbor saw the incident and called the police. The group convinced the police that my mother actually lived in the apartment upstairs and had no right to be downstairs. To this day I still don't understand why the policeman accepted it that way. In any case, he asked my mother to leave the lower apartment until the matter was legally clarified. The police then disappeared. The group then took the opportunity to exchange the lock and searched the apartment for incriminating material that they could use against my mother. Unsurprisingly, they didn't find anything. My mother hadn't done anything wrong.

The day after, my mother went to see a lawyer to give her access to the home again. After a week back and forth, my relatives agreed to let my mother back into the apartment.

They cleared the furniture out of the apartment beforehand, because they thought it belonged to my grandmother, and switched back to the old locks.

Since they were 9 again and my mother had a nervous breakdown from the whole affair anyway and was on the verge of the 2nd, I wanted to receive the key in her place. However, they insisted that my mother personally collect the key.

Since I could already imagine why my relatives insisted of being in a group of 9 to give the key to a 70 year old woman personally, I had an idea. I picked up my smartphone in a clearly visible position and activated the recording function.

As I expected, most of them noticed my cell phone and remained silent. All except my grandma. Although she could hardly see anything, she recognized me and wanted to talk to me. She accused me and my mother of plotting against her. That she always supported me and she couldn't understand how we could do that to her. It broke my heart to hear what monsters my mother and I had become in her mind. But I knew that this was the dementia talking. I listened patiently and tried to explain what she had misunderstood, but I also knew that she had sunk too far in her illness to convince her of the truth.

One of the allegations in that conversation was that my mother and I wanted her out of the house. As already written that was not the case. But I have to be grateful today that my grandma said that. Estelle was sitting next to her at the time and reflexively replied "It wasn't him, the others."

At the time, I was too fixated on my grandma that I hadn't even noticed. Fortunately, I had my phone in my hand the whole time. When I listened to the conversation a while later, it finally clicked and I could slap myself today for not noticing it earlier:

Since the incident at the nursing home, the mood between my mother and grandma had deteriorated noticeably. We had blamed it on dementia, but now it was clear to us that in her condition between dementia and the strong painkillers she was taking, my relatives had talked her into believing some conspiracy against her.

My mother then applied for guardianship for my grandma. In Germany it is regulated in such a way that it is first checked whether the care is necessary. That was a relatively straightforward matter.

Then a judge has to check whether there is a possibility that a relative will take over the guardianship. This test was an on-site appointment at Estelle

As I could deduct from the court papers, the judge was of the opinion relatively quickly that family-internal guardianship was not possible. The decisive factor was apparently, among other things, the aggressive behavior of my relatives towards my mother, whereby the judge was almost injured with a burning cigarette.

Mrs. G. was declared to be my grandmother's guardian. A few weeks after Mrs. G. took over her job, she paid my mother a visit.

Ms. G. said that she was amazed when she met my mother for the first time. After all, she wasn't the hell spawn my relatives described her. We learned that Estelle's family had apparently spread wild rumors about my mother in town. We also learned that apparently my grandmother's set up a new will.

Since my mother lives in a small town, it didn't take long to find out that Tim was named the sole heir in the new will. Nadine had said the same to a friend and if you know someone who knows someone…. Small town.

My grandma died in July 2017. Shortly afterwards, I drove to the court to deposit my grandma's will there so that it could take effect. The lady there said there would already be another recent will. I still insisted on depositing the old one.

The will was opened a few weeks later. We saw for the first time what we are dealing with.

The new will was drawn up by a notary which is normally better than a handwritten will from over 20 years ago. In the will, Tim is established as the sole heir with Estelle in the 2nd position (in the event that Tim would have died before my grandmother). Not a word about the fact that part of my mother's house already belonged to her, instead she was only given a right to live in the upper apartment. But the real shock came when we saw the date. The will was written in July 2016. On the day when Tim and Estelle had so generously agreed to pick up Grandma from the nursing home. When they were still trying to pretend everything was fine and their “only concern was Grandma's well-being”.

I made an appointment with an inheritance lawyer. The lawyer first wanted to convince my mother to only sue for her legal inheritance claim and to otherwise accept the will. Challenging a notarial will is one of the most difficult cases you can try in German courts and it takes a lot of evidence to do that.

My time to shine. It took me almost an hour to convince the lawyer that my grandma had dementia and that the new will is therefore invalid. Doctor's reports that certify dementia back in 2011. The report for the guardianship. Every minute I presented her with new documents and in the end she is ready to go into battle with us.

So the matter goes to court, which means that the lawyers write letters back and forth. In one of the letters, Tim's lawyer mentions that there is an assessment from a doctor A. that clearly confirms that my grandma did not have dementia. That would contradict the evidence I submitted to my lawyer. So the court commissioned a new, independent expert assessment.

Although I had a lot of evidence and the behavior of my grandmother was always a clear sign of dementia for me, we waited a little nervously for the assessment.

We receive the assessment and what can I say, I haven't read anything so beautiful and sad at the same time for a long time. It is sad because the expert quotes from many reports that describe what my grandma was going through after she was brought to Estelles house. Nice because the appraiser completely dismantled the other side's argument. For every argument that the other side has come up with by then, the appraiser has evidence to invalidate it. Most impressive is the fact that the alleged report by Doctor A. is completely worthless to the other side. On the contrary, the doctor was so incompetent that he accidentally not only failed to refute my grandmother's dementia, he even confirmed it.

So there is a court date. The appraiser, Doctor A. and the notary who wrote the will are present.

A. is given the opportunity to defend his "report" before the judge. And he only makes it worse. It is going too far to explain that now. In any case, A. made it clear to the judge that he had no idea how to carry out the test.

Then it's the notary's turn. When he testified, it turns out that there were 2 appointments with him and my grandma. And in their attempt to look particularly good in front of the judge, Estelle and Tim admit that they were both present at both appointments. Not only that, apparently the conversation and further coordination between the notary and my grandmother went completely through Estelle’s hands.

The trial ends and my mother's lawyer is overjoyed. She explains to me that if there were any doubts that the new will does not reflect the will of my grandma, these are finally resolved by the statement of the notary.

A few days later, the judge gives the verdict and it's even better than expected.

The house was awarded to my mother.

Tim is no longer entitled to even one cent from my grandma's inheritance.

All claims that Estelle could still make against my mother, i.e. both the stated sum of money from the old will and possible claims under the law, are offset against what was in his possession at the time of my grandma's death. So she has some old furniture, clothes, some jewelry, etc. And what it looks like so far, that means that's all she can hope for.

tl;dr My cousin tried to cheat my mother out of her inheritance. Didn't work out for him in the end.

(source) story by (/u/Sam_Ronin)