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punkshort · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter warnings: smut (m masturbation), language

Chapter Three

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

You were nervous about the office dynamic once you broke up with Justin. That following Monday, you walked into the department and risked a glance over to his desk. He was hunched over his keyboard, burying himself in some report, looking mildly panicked. You frowned as you made your way to your chair and slunk down, punching in your password while you waited for your computer to boot up.

Colleen popped up quietly behind you.

"Sooooo? How was camping?” she whispered with a huge grin on her face. "Tell me all the details!”

She propped herself against the edge of your desk, trying not to draw Justin’s attention.

“I broke up with him,” you whispered back, eyes wide. You needed to tell someone, your nerves were on fire. You knew you shouldn’t have told the queen of gossip, but people would have figured it out soon enough. Colleen’s jaw dropped.

"What?! Why?” she whispered back, but louder than the first time. You put a finger up to your lips, indicating she was being too loud.

"I don’t know, I just don’t feel the same way he does. He’s a sweet guy, but there’s no spark. I didn’t want to lead him on,” you told her, and turned back to your computer, opening your email program.

“Well, your timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I don’t think he’s got the time to be upset over it. He came in this morning to an email from Joel, with Heather cc’d, wanting a full breakdown on the 401K contributions for the past 6 months. Apparently, he caught some discrepancy, and he wants answers first thing this morning,” she said, raising her head a few inches to glance over the top of your cubical wall in his direction. “He must be shitting his pants; Joel never contacts any of us directly. I don’t think he even knows most of our names.”

You felt guilty as relief flooded through you. At least there was a distraction from the elephant in the room.

About an hour later, Heather came to collect Justin. He followed her out of the room with a folder tucked under his arm and nervously running a hand through his hair. As he walked by your desk, he gave you a tight-lipped smile, which you returned. At least he wasn’t the type of guy to be an asshole about being dumped.

It had been three hours since Justin and Heather left for their meeting. At this point, his absence was painfully obvious to the whole room, and everybody had given up on trying to be discreet.

The whole department had rolled their desk chairs out to the openings of their respective cubes so they could all see one another as they gossiped and speculated wildly. All except for you. You tried your best to stay out of it, but you kept overhearing everyone’s chatter, and it was incredibly distracting.

“They couldn’t possibly still be talking about a minor discrepancy, could they?” one person asked.

“No way, something happened by now. Oh my God, what if he was stealing from our 401Ks? I read a newspaper article about someone doing that last week!”

“Oh come on, Justin wouldn’t do that,” Colleen chimed in. “I bet they finished up their meeting a long time ago, and he and Heather are in her office doing a deeper dive into the numbers together.”

Everyone went quiet for half a second when the electronic beeping of the door keypad caught the attention of the room. Chairs were hurriedly being pushed back up against desks, and fingers furiously typed, trying to log back into computers that had been long asleep during the gossip.

Heather walked into the hushed room with an empty banker’s box in her hands and headed straight for Justin’s desk. She set it down on his chair and turned to address the room openly.

"Hey guys, I’m sorry I didn’t have the time to call a formal meeting, but I wanted to tell you all personally before the email from HR comes out... Justin quit this morning.” She paused when a couple of people quietly gasped and exchanged looks. “Now I know we are going to have some big shoes to fill, I may call upon some of you to help and do some overtime until we can find a suitable candidate to take his position. As always, if any of you want to recommend anyone you know, my door is always open. But for now, we will just have to make do. Does anyone have any questions? You know I like to be transparent with you.”

Heather glanced around the room of stunned faces. Everyone was wondering the same question, but nobody had the nerve to ask it, until Debbie spoke up from behind you.

"Why did he quit? Was it Joel?” She was standing outside her cube, frowning with her arms crossed, no doubt feeling some residual anger from when Cheryl quit just a few short months ago. Your boss sighed, and slowly nodded.

"Yes. Well, yes and no. Joel really grilled him in that meeting this morning, it went a full hour. I did everything I could to take some of the heat, but Joel was just dialed in on Justin today, I don’t know what got into him. He had a million questions, one after another, and it eventually got to a point where he was outright questioning Justin’s job performance and skillset. It finally got to be too much for him, and Justin announced he was quitting.” Heather paused for a moment and looked around the room at the team. She turned and pulled Justin’s chair from his desk, moving the empty box to the floor. She sat down, looking as if she was exhausted from just recounting the events from the meeting. She rubbed her pointer and middle fingers against her temples for a moment, and then continued.

“Joel didn’t say anything wrong; this is his company, and he has every right to ask those questions… he just has such a harsh way of addressing things. It is a lot to handle. I managed to grab Justin at the elevators and took him back to my office for a while. I tried to convince him to stay but he just wouldn’t hear it, he had his mind made up. I’m sorry guys, I really tried. I know this will put a burden on some of you, I will do my best to fill the position as soon as I can.”

The keypad that operated the door started chiming, and in walked Mike from the mailroom. He had his head down, looking at the pile of mail in his cart, bopping along to the music feeding through his CD player and into his headphones, oblivious to the awkwardness in the room. He stopped at your desk like usual and dropped a big stack of envelopes in your inbox, gave you a quick smile, and turned to leave.

Heather quietly began filling the box with Justin’s personal effects, looking like she desperately needed a cigarette or a coffee break. Or both.

You exchanged a quick glance with Colleen, one that said ‘we are definitely going to talk more about this when she leaves’. Then you noticed the envelope at the very top of your mail pile: Sullivan Agency, LLC.

Your heart thudded in your chest. It was a strange feeling – your body was waging a war within you: relief vs fear. Relief that you didn’t have to pay Mr. Sullivan’s balance out of your paycheck, but fear that you would now have to go to Joel’s office as he requested and tell him about the check.

You shakily opened the envelope and sure enough, as promised, was a check for the full balance due on his account.

You stood up, feeling slightly lightheaded as you made your way over to Heather. She jumped slightly when you quietly said her name.

"I just got the check from Mr. Sullivan. What should I do? Should I just email Joel and tell him it came, or do we really have to go to his office?”

You prayed she would tell you to just email him, but unfortunately, she said “We should tell him in person, I don’t want to make him even more mad.” She stopped organizing Justin’s picture frames and buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to collect herself. She raised her head up, clasped her hands in front of her mouth in thought, then turned in the chair towards you.

“I really hate to ask you this… do you mind going up to his office by yourself? He’s had enough of me today, and quite frankly I’ve had enough of him, too. He seemed to take a liking to you, it won’t be that bad, it'll be quick.”

She looked at you hopefully, desperately, eyes begging, but followed up with “If you are really uncomfortable, I can go with you, it’s just...” her gaze drifted back to Justin’s desk, and the enormity of just how much work this put on her plate was likely hitting home. Updating a job description, meeting with HR, creating the job posting, screening applicants… the list went on.

You shook your head, always the people pleaser you said, “I got it, don’t worry, I will go up there right now and just get it over with."

You gave her a small smile as relief flooded her face. Heather asked if you were sure, and you promised her you were. Before your resolve broke, you turned on your heel and left, heading towards the elevator.

The moment the elevator opened and you stepped out onto the 10th floor, your heart lept into your throat. The nerves were finally catching up with you. You looked up and saw a small desk situated between two closed doors. Behind the desk sat a kindly looking older woman. She had hair so grey that it looked almost blue, and it was woven on top of her head into a conical shape. She looked up at you through her plastic pink framed glasses, which were adorned with a chain that wrapped around the back of her neck so she wouldn’t lose them. She smiled at you warmly, her bright pink lipstick somewhat smudged on her front tooth and beckoned you over. Your eyes flicked to her name plate - Ruby Potter - as you returned her smile and walked over.

“Hi there, dear, who are you here to see?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Miller," you said without thinking. Ruby chuckled.

"Dear, they are both ‘Mr. Miller’. Which one?”

"J-Joel, I’m here to see Joel. I have a check for him," you stuttered, your cheeks warming from embarrassment.

She picked up her phone and punched one of the buttons on her speed dial, lazily lifting the headset to her ear.

"You have an accountant here to see you,” she said. She had forgotten to ask your name. You tried to mouth it to her, but she waved you away, as if she did this all the time. You couldn’t hear the words on the other end of the phone, but you could hear the tone – it was sharp and aggravated. Ruby seemed unphased. Once the other end of the line went silent, Ruby said “So do you want me to send her in, or not?” She nodded with whatever Joel said in response and hung up the phone.

“Go right on in, dear. His office is that one.” She languidly pointed to her right, your left, and then turned her attention back to her computer. You took a moment to appreciate the elderly woman’s ease. She clearly dealt with Joel’s wrath countless times, yet she was completely collected. In fact, she sat before you, well past her retirement years, working directly for the man himself without a care in the world.

That gave you a small confidence boost. If Ruby could handle Joel, so could you. Afterall, it’s just words. You had a job to do, you did nothing wrong, you are here because he requested it.

You approached Joel’s office door and gently gave it three quiet knocks. You waited until you heard his acknowledgement to enter. You twisted the doorknob, opened the door just enough so you could squeeze through, and shut it behind you.

Shit, maybe you should have left it cracked. Too late now.

Your eyes locked onto the back of his tall, broad frame as he stood facing away from you, one of his arms resting above his head against the window. He was overlooking the city through the floor length windows as he finished up a call on his cell phone.

You had no idea what he said on the phone, you were far more distracted with how large and strong his shoulders looked in his white button-down shirt. Your gaze slowly traveled down, taking in his dark grey dress pants and noticing how generously they hugged his backside. You only wished he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows like before - you wanted to see his muscles twitching under that tanned skin again. You watched in a daze as he lifted his arm from the window and ran his long fingers through his dark curls, wrapping up the phone call.

Get it together, what is wrong with you??

He pushed a button on his cell and began speaking without even turning around.

"What do you need now? I already told you-“ Joel swiveled around to see you standing before him, eyes wide, nervously clutching the envelope in your hands from Mr. Sullivan. He stopped short when he realized you weren’t Heather, and his expression softened a fraction. You must have surprised him, because before he could catch himself, he was raking his eyes up and down your entire frame, sending a shiver up the back of your spine. You were grateful you happened to wear your most flattering light blue sundress today. You thought this morning when you put it on that it would give you the confidence to get through seeing Justin at work for the first time since your break up. You never thought you would need that confidence for this moment.

You meekly cleared your throat.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. You wanted me to tell you when Mr. Sullivan’s check came…” you trailed off, your cheeks feeling warm under his intense gaze. You needed to look somewhere else. You glanced down at the now crumpled envelope in your hand and stretched out your arm to eagerly show him your prize. You were at least 10 feet away from him, barely inside his office at all. It looked ridiculous; he obviously couldn’t take it from you at this range.

He nodded, pursing his lips, and then showed mercy on you when he finally looked away to take the few short strides back to his desk chair. He sat down, glancing back up at you expectantly from across the room.

"Sit.” he ordered, motioning towards one of the two chairs placed in front of his desk.

You responded to his command quickly, and you thought you saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it disappeared too fast for you to be sure. You sat down in one of the chairs, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you waited while he scrolled through his emails, looking bored. Looking down at the envelope in your hands, you gently fingered the edges in order to focus your energy somewhere. Why did he want you to sit? This should have been a quick conversation.

Joel cleared his throat, and keeping his eyes on the computer monitor, he began to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt. First the left sleeve, then the right, taking his time. He began to methodically roll his left sleeve up, up, up all the way to his elbow, before he leisurely did the same to the right sleeve. You didn’t realize your eyes had snapped up when you saw him begin to uncuff his sleeves, so by the time he finished, you had barely blinked and your lips were slightly parted, breath ever so slightly quickening as he finished his task. You didn’t notice your reaction, but out of the corner of his eye, Joel certainly did. He fought to contain the confident smirk that threatened to spill across his face.

He was right, you had been checking him out in that meeting.

“Give it to me,” he said, turning his probing gaze towards you once again. You looked into his dark, beautiful eyes for a moment, not sure what he meant. Then it came to you. The check.

Wordlessly, you outstretched your hand once again to hand him the envelope. Without breaking eye contact, Joel reached out and took the envelope from your grasp, but in the process grazed two long fingers gently against the back of your hand, sending sparks through your entire body at the contact. You gasped softly, and clamped your mouth shut. You dropped your gaze, embarrassed, while you waited for him to open the envelope and hopefully dismiss you. The tension was too intense, you needed this to end.

Joel didn’t seem to mind the tension in the room, or even notice it for that matter. He slowly opened the envelope and pulled out the check within. He took note of the amount as a small yellow post-it fell out. You hadn’t seen that before in your rush to get up to his office, you had no idea what it said.

Joel picked it up and read it thoughtfully to himself. When he didn’t say anything after a minute, you finally spoke.

"What does it say?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper.

He swallowed before bringing his heated gaze back up to you.

"It says: Thank you for showing me such kindness during my time of need. I’m sorry for the late payment. It won’t happen again.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap, a small smile threatening to tug at your lips.

“You were right this time, but don’t be naïve. Not everyone is always tellin’ you the truth,” he warned, sliding the check and post-it note back into the envelope. You nodded in agreement, still sheepishly looking down at your hands.

Joel gazed at the top of your head as you stared at your lap. He didn't want the conversation to end.

"You’re doin’ a good job," he told you, pausing to reflect for a moment. "Thank you for making that connection with my client. I’m not good at all that. Talkin’ about their personal stuff. That’s more Tommy’s side of things.” He reached across his desk and held out the envelope for you to take back.

You looked up at his outstretched hand, and careful to avoid touching him again, took it.

"Thank you, Mr. Miller,” you replied softly, and stood up from your seat.

You gave Joel a quick smile and turned to head towards the door. Halfway to the exit, you stopped and turned back around, finding Joel’s eyes had yet to leave your body.

“I bet you would be good at it," you said, then your eyes widened as you realized how that sounded. “I-I mean, talking to the clients, learning about them, their personal lives…” you rambled as heat spread across your cheeks.

He stared at you for an awkward moment, considering your words.

“Well, I should be getting back to work,” you said, hitching your thumb to the door behind you, but before you could turn away, Joel stopped you.

"Thanks, sweetheart, maybe I’ll try it sometime,” he said, his expression softer.

You nodded and forced yourself to look away from the uncharacteristically relaxed features on his face. You turned to leave the room, but the door suddenly swung open. You nearly lost your balance, but a strong arm shot out to catch you.

“Jesus, Tommy, would ya watch it?” Joel growled from behind his desk, his expression leaving no traces of the softness you had just witnessed.

“Sorry darlin’, didn’t know my brother had anyone in here.” Tommy eyed you up appreciatively and grinned. “I don’t believe we formally met, I’m Tommy,” he stuck out his hand, which you quickly shook and gave him a polite smile, telling him your name.

You hastily made your exit, squeaking out an excuse about work, and shut the door.

“Do ya ever knock?” Joel seethed, but Tommy was too busy staring at the closed door, still thinking about the way your ass looked in your blue dress.

“I’m happy for you, Joel,” Tommy said, ignoring his question, and strolled over to a small cluster of framed pictures on the wall that haven’t been updated since they started the business. He leaned in to examine them more closely. “You need to be gettin’ back out there. I won't even give you any shit for dippin’ your pen in the company ink, like you did to me.”

“The hell you on about?” Joel replied, taking the opportunity to adjust himself under his desk while Tommy’s back was still turned. The way you were blushing and squirming in his office had a bigger effect on him than he thought. And you hadn’t even been trying. Not like him, rolling up his sleeves on purpose to see your reaction. He shuddered to think what it would be like if you actually tried to seduce him. He would be a puddle on the floor.

“Nothin’ was goin’ on, she just brought me a check.” Joel stood and walked around the front of his desk, leaning up against the edge of it, arms crossed and surveying the back of Tommy’s head.

Tommy chuckled, still examining the photos.

“Yeah, right. She was blushin’ like a whore in church when she left. Ya know, you should really get some new pictures in here. Did ya know you still got this old picture of the bunch of us at that rodeo? It’s got Amy in it.”

Joel sucked in air through his clenched teeth, the rest of his hard on instantly disappearing at the mention of her name.

“Sorry, Joel. It’s been so long, we still ain’t allowed to talk about it?” Tommy walked over behind Joel’s desk and flopped down in his chair, which made Joel have to turn around and sit in the same chair you had just occupied moments before.

“What’s there left to talk about?” Joel sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Do you still talk to her? Keep in touch?” Tommy asked, fiddling with a pen on the desk.

“No.” Joel responded harshly. “Why would I? Last I heard, she’s been shacked up with that prick somewhere in the Midwest.”

“It’s been five years, and I still haven’t seen ya go out on a date, coffee, nothin’. Why are you doin’ this to yourself?”

Joel shook his head and stood up, already missing the warmth your body left in the chair.

“I’m just busy, Tommy. Haven’t met anyone worth chasin’," he replied, grabbing a pen and pad of paper from his desk.

“Well, that little lady that just left is well worth chasin’, if you ask me.” Tommy stood up too, and joined Joel as they headed out of the office to the conference room for their next meeting.

“Nobody was askin’, just drop it.” Joel couldn’t have Tommy egging him on, it was already difficult enough to keep his mind off you.

Joel hardly heard a word all throughout their meeting with the Marketing department. He vaguely remembered the head of the department nervously working through a technical error on his presentation, which made IT have to get involved. But Joel barely noticed. All he could think about was you.

You: in that thin, blue dress. He remembered how your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and how you bit down on your lower lip when you tried to hold back a smile. He thought about how soft your skin felt when he gently grazed it with his fingers. How your knees pressed together as you squirmed in your seat, waiting for him to turn his attention to you. But you had no idea that his attention was always on you, even when you weren’t around. It was all consuming, at times overwhelming, the way he constantly recalled images of you in his mind.

Joel was relieved when the IT department could not fix the technical error, and the meeting had to be rescheduled. Everyone in the room held their breath, Tommy included, for Joel’s inevitable outburst, but surprisingly none came.

“Check with Ruby and put it on my schedule,” Joel said, collecting his things and leaving the room.

Tommy stayed behind to chat with the head of Marketing while Joel made a beeline for his office. He shut the door quickly behind him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he leaned his head back on the door.

What was going on with him? Why couldn’t he get you out of his head?

This was Tommy’s fault, had to be. He kept bringing you up and forcing these thoughts into his head.

But it wasn’t Tommy’s fault when his cock jumped after he touched your hand and heard you gasp.

Fuck. This had to stop. He rubbed his hands over his face roughly, then something Tommy said came back to him. It had been a long time since he was with Amy. Tommy was right, he hadn’t been on any dates, he was just sexually frustrated. It was building up, and he needed a release. That would clear his head.

Joel turned and headed towards his private bathroom, which was just a small pocket door in the wall, hardly visible when you first walked in. He went in and locked the door behind him. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already throbbing from the past hour of torture his thoughts have led him on.

Joel gripped the base firmly in his fist, and he squeezed his eyes shut, dreaming of you wearing that dress in his office. This time, when you squeezed your knees together, he imagined you were trying to create some friction to relieve the wet heat between your legs. You were just as turned on as he was in his fantasy. Joel lazily ran his hand up and down his cock, as his imagination kept carrying him away.

He wondered what kind of panties you were wearing under that dress. Maybe they were lace, or a thong. Maybe you weren’t wearing any at all. There we go.

He started running his hand up and down his shaft faster, his breath quickening as his fantasy took hold.

Now he was bunching your dress up around your hips, hitching your leg around his waist as he grabbed onto the back of your neck, bringing you closer so he could suck on the pulse point in your throat, making you moan his name. He pushed you on top of his desk, and you let yourself fall backwards, recklessly shoving papers and files off his desk.

He could feel his release bubbling to the surface now, as his movements became more frantic, and his other hand grasped the towel bar next to the sink for leverage.

Now Joel saw you bouncing on his cock, still wearing that pretty little dress, but your tits were spilled over the top. He pulled one nipple into his mouth, making you cry out and bounce faster, while his fingers brushed gently against the other one. You grabbed the sides of his face and dragged his mouth up to yours, hovering over each other’s mouths, gasping, but still not touching, as you bounced faster, faster, faster…

Joel groaned and desperately reached out to grab a tissue from the box next to the sink, right in time to catch his thick ropes of come. His hips gently thrusted forward as he came down from his high, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut.

He opened his eyes as his breathing returned to normal, glancing around the room to steady himself. He looked down, grateful he didn’t make a mess on his dress pants. He cleaned himself up, flushed the tissue down the toilet, tucked himself back into his pants and went to wash his hands.

He cupped some water from the sink and rinsed his face. Drying himself with the towel, he looked up at the mirror and saw a dirty, old man, who had just jerked off to the thoughts of a much younger employee. The shame was setting in now.

I hope you enjoyed it, you dirty fuck. She would never give you the real thing.

Joel dried his hands, and left the bathroom, feeling guilty, but couldn’t deny he had a much clearer head.

He didn’t see you for at least a full week. That whole week, he felt like himself again. He could see clearly; his thoughts weren’t all jumbled up and he was back to barking orders to his teams on jobsites.

He just needed to jerk off. That’s all it was. No big deal.

Early one morning before most of the employees started their work day, he made his way down to Heather’s office on the 6th floor. She had left him a voicemail saying that the company was being audited, and she needed to speak with him right away. This would require a lot of work from her department, and she needed him to approve the overtime, especially since he scared off your pretty little boyfriend, the department remained shorthanded. He walked off the elevator with his hands shoved in his pockets, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. It was quickly becoming his new look, just in case he ran into you.

He turned the corner towards Heather’s office but stopped short when he heard you laughing. He peered around a corner and saw you with some co-workers in the break room.

He was frozen to the ground, taking in your beautiful smile and laugh as you tried not to spill the coffee in your hand. You were wearing a knee-length flowy black skirt, with a V-neck light purple blouse. When you bent over to laugh again, he saw a glimpse of your tits bouncing under your shirt. He held his breath for a moment, trying to will himself forward, when you suddenly looked over and met his gaze.

Your friends didn’t notice him standing there, and you didn’t say anything. You just ran your eyes up and down his body, pausing on his exposed forearms. You gave him a shy smile and a little wave. Before he realized it, he was slowly lifting his hand up in return.

He was fucked.

Chapter Four

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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geometricgiovanni · 9 months ago

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YOU ARE NOW A PRETTY PRINCESS! ✨

This blog contains references to threats and violence. You have been warned.

(hey guys cool sexy man here to tell you first half is in-character, second half under cut is out-of-character)

HELLO! I MADE THIS ACCOUNT OUT OF SPITE OF THAT DISGUSTING THING THAT PLAGUES THIS GOD-FORSAKEN SITE!

NO, DON'T ASK ME ABOUT IT. IF YOU DO, I WILL CRUSH YOU! LETHALLY. You will feel pain. also he blocked me on all 8 of my accounts so um, y'know........

ASK ME THINGS! ASK ME TO DESCRIBE IN EXCRUCIATING DETAIL ASPECTS OF MY LIFE! ASK ME TO DO OBSCURE ACTIVIES THAT WOULD SEVER MY LIMBS IF I HAD ANY!

So here's some info in a similar format to my other blog, some things, such as boundaries, will be copied and pasted:

Blog Information✨

This is an ask/rp blog for Jeremy from regretevator, specifically the Jeremy referenced in @displ3azant. I might use this blog to more freely talk about my specific headcanons about characters from the perspective of an outsider, so that account is likely the only specific one referenced on this blog.

Jeremy in this blog uses he/any!

MAIN TAGS:

#geometric asks - Asks

#geometric posts - Non-ask related posts/reblogs

#ooc - Out-of-character post

BLOG OWNER 🔥

Hello! I am Hex! Yes, you will see me talking to myself! No, do not comment on it. Please refer to me using he/him or it/its pronouns.

My other accounts are: @hexexists - my main blog, if you receive notifications from this account, please know it is just me! @hexational - my regretevator blog @displ3azant - afformentioned Unpleasant rp blog

I'll try to respond to most asks with a drawing of some variety, and if it's something I can use to reveal little ass-shit and bull-dumps about my version of Jeremy.

Please note, however, I am not just one singular guy but also a senior who should really be spending his free time studying, so sometimes I will just give a text response.

Also to note: I am 17 years old, therefore a minor! Even if I was not a minor, I am still not comfortable with weird shit! Keep it in your fucking pants, asshole! Apologies if I sound rude, but holy shit the only blog gets SO many weird asks! I will just be blocking and ignoring any freaky anons, apologies if you are my friend trying to mess with me, but I genuinely cannot take any more risks.

Boundaries ✨

Shipping content: Shipping content is okay, but I don't care much for romance personally and so will likely not play much into it. Please don't push anything, I guess, and nothing that promotes proshipping or any kind of literally illegal pairing. If you dislike any direction taken ship-wise for this blog, then block me and move on with your day.

NSFW content: NSFW CONTENT IS NOT ALLOWED. I am a minor. Thx. Also, "suggestive" jokes are very selectively okay. Basically, if it makes me uncomfortable or is literally disgusting, it will be ignored and likely deleted, and I will probably make fun of you.

Roleplaying: I am totally okay with roleplaying and sending/responding to asks in character!

(ps: i'm also happy to rp with other regretevator ocs too, i think those r super duper cool)

That's all, really.

your mortal enemy,

-Hex

#regretevator jeremy #ask blog #ask/rp blog #regretevator ask blog #regretevator #geometric asks #geometric posts #ooc

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neuroticbookworm · 11 months ago

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Another Thai BL, another Asian parent-child conflict that enrages the audience and yet, is extremely nuanced. I’m gonna try and speak on it as an Asian kid who grew up in the East, but currently lives in the West, carrying complicated feelings on the Asian parenting I received.

I’m seeing a good discourse in the tags from @lurkingshan, @respectthepetty, @bengiyo, @heretherebedork and @williamrikers, among others, on the hypocrisy of a dad who hit his son in anger and is now lecturing him on the importance of controlling one’s actions when angry. I agree with everyone that the dad is being a hypocritical piece of shit. But I do not think that this is a failure in the writing of the show. Quite the opposite, actually. Because of how Ten responds and acts in the face of this hypocrisy.

Ten comes across as belligerent and confrontational in every interaction he has had with his dad, but it is never uncalled for, and he never seeks it out himself. He tries to stay out of his dad and his stepmom/his dad’s girlfriend’s way as much as possible, and only responds in a defensive manner when provoked. And in today’s episode, he even kept himself open enough in the conversation with his dad, despite his anger, to concede and accept a very good point when raised. Ten understands his dad’s hypocrisy but refuses to stoop to the same level of pettiness because he knows being a good partner and a good friend is more important than being right. This is a mark of excellent writing, in my opinion. The main character is fiercely loyal to his partner and his friends and does not let his baggage with his dad cloud his course of action.

I also see calls for an apology from the dad already brewing in the fandom. And I understand the instinct to want that. It is always so satisfying when mistreated children finally get the apology that’s been long overdue. But it’s rarely this simple in an Asian household. Times are changing faster than most people can in a lifetime, and there are systemic, cultural flaws in how an Asian society understands and teaches parenting. And if we factor in the social, economic, religious lines that heavily influence how an Asian person forms their social circle, it would’ve left these parents with little to no peers who can tell them what they’re doing is wrong. Parents striking their kids is clearly considered evil nowadays, but only a few years ago, it would’ve been a perfectly acceptable response to control a bratty child, on and off screen (and it still is in some Asian cultures).

Now, NONE of what I said above is an excuse to write off the behavior of Ten’s dad as acceptable, just because it’s very Asian. As an Asian who grew up in the East, the demand for an apology does not particularly resonate with me, because Ten and his dad both know that their problems are not gonna go away as soon as Ten’s dad apologizes. Because:

If Ten starts demanding an apology for every shitty thing his dad has ever done, where should he stop? Should he demand an apology for the time his dad probably struck him as a kid when he was trying to get him to memorize multiplication tables, as is wont of every Asian parent ever (it is such an ubiquitous experience to Asian kids everywhere that there are reels with millions of views on IG, referencing this experience. Does this mean every Asian parent is evil and must be put on trial by their kids? Holy moly, think of all the money therapists would make if every Asian kid in the world decided to call out their parents on their shit. Entire economies would crumble to dust from the sudden disruption in cashflow.)

Is an apology going to comfort Ten? Asian parenting warps the sense of self of both the parents and the kids, because of the levels of abject sacrifice involved in it. It is extremely possible that Ten’s dad had worked day and night to provide well for his family, for his son, before Ten’s mom fell ill. It’s the same choice he made for his wife, but in this case, it paid off, because now Ten is financially well taken care of, and he is privileged enough to pursue a career in medicine. If Ten demands an apology from his dad for not being there when his mom was dying, do we know for sure that when he gets that apology, his mind won’t conflate the sacrifices his dad made for him, thus making him feel guilty for forcing someone who clearly cared about him enough to work hard for him, into defeat (look at this rich soup of Asian parenting misery, yum yum yum. I know it’s delicious because I’m paying my therapist weekly to make the broth less spicy).

The dialogue in the show whenever Ten’s mom is brought up and discussed is always very carefully worded:

Not “because you did not act”, but “because you took so long to act”. Looks like Ten’s dad made a choice that ultimately did not pay off. He cared, and he wanted to do something to save his wife, but whatever he chose to do ultimately did not help. And now she is dead and he has managed to not help and comfort his wife in her final days AND unwittingly traumatize his son with his absence. The show has painted this storyline with enough nuance that I don’t believe we are meant to read Ten’s dad as a simple villain, but rather a father who does care but has made some serious mistakes. This situation is so emotionally complicated and realistically, it’s gonna take years for both of them to find a middle ground. Ten is gonna have to grow up and make a few mistakes of his own in life to develop proper empathy for his dad, and that’s gonna put a couple things into perspective for him (I’m not saying Ten is bound to make mistakes because he is bad. He is going to because shit happens in life and human beings always do better in hindsight than in the moment). And the dad is gonna have to grow old and let his aging body humble him a little and shrink his ego enough to see that he had failed his son by not being emotionally available to deal with their trauma, together.

I’ve been watching Kim’s Convenience, a Canadian sitcom that follows a Korean-Canadian family and their shenanigans. I’m only on S04E02, but there is a father-son conflict at the centre of this show that is still not directly addressed by both the dad and the son. It’s been years (almost a decade, I think) since the son has been driven out of his home by his dad for a dumb mistake he made as a teen. And the way the show works on it is so infuriating, because it is so Asian. It is rarely addressed aloud in the presence of the dad or the son, lest it leads to anger and screaming and storming off. The path to reconciliation is built with mom calling her son for help to fix something in their home because his dad is too stubborn to ask for it. With the son visiting the hospital when the dad had to undergo surgery, and having their first real conversation in years which the dad forgets after waking up from the influence of pain drugs. With the daughter’s old phone passed down to the dad with her brother’s number on it, which leads to them texting each other. It is all extra frustrating for me because I’m extremely straightforward in my conversations with my parents. I do not like ambiguous endings to verbal conflicts because they are a ticking time bomb and I do not have the capacity to forget its existence and let it tick away in the background. But, I understand it when my friends, and Asian characters in TV shows, don’t want to force things out in the open if it can be swept under the rug for the time being, because peace of mind in Asian households is fleeting and you would be wise to take what you get.

Good TV shows can best serve their audience when they serve their characters, and stay true to the experiences of the people they are trying to represent. My teen ass was regularly shocked, appalled and intrigued by the sexual liberation promised by Western media I consumed while I was in school and college. I was surrounded by a sexually repressed society that was convinced that the only moral way to enjoy pleasure was after marriage with your partner. And very predictably, this means a lot of dead bedrooms, unhappy marriages and kids growing up with no real understanding of what romantic love looks like. I would’ve never had the courage to move my entire life to the West, if the Western media I watched had not represented its people in all their messy, horny glory, albeit with a rose-tinted lens on gender, race and sexuality.

Some Asian parents in media need to fall at the feet of their children and apologize. I remember being absolutely fucking enraged while @lurkingshan and I watched Double Savage at the behest of our friend @waitmyturtles, and in the finale, Korn was the one who fell at the feet of his absolute piece of shit of a dad to apologize for FUCKING NOTHING. And after Shan and I were done surviving that show, I remember telling my friends that most Asian media does not have strong writing whenever Asian children need to defy their shitty parents and come to terms with their destructive parenting, because chances are, most Asian creators would not have successfully done it. Hence, intergenerational trauma (gasp! It’s all connected!).

So. I would never demand to see Ten’s dad apologize to him to consider Cooking Crush a successful show, because that is not the cultural context this story operates in. Would I enjoy it if he does? Hell yes. Would I be mad if he does not? No, because Ten is proving him wrong time and again, and that’s a constant reminder from the narrative of who is in the right.

#cooking crush #cooking crush meta #off jumpol #gun atthaphan #tenprem #thai bl

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freddie-77-ao3 · 6 months ago

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sup yall we're vibing here

anyway. hey, my name's freddie, and i'm finally trying to write an actual intro/master post which... we'll see how this goes.

important stuff is highlighted in orange.

so, basic stuff:

as I said, my name's freddie. he/him pronouns. i'm a college student (majoring in accounting, might add a psych minor). not gonna say which college but i'm currently in california.

i've been on tumblr since 2019 i think? not under this account, this started as a fandom account and then spiralled out of control... really fast. um, my regular tumblr which i've not actually opened in ages is @chronicchthonic14 so. yeah.

not particularly relevant to this blog, but i might mention it at some point so, i have autism and adhd. and some other things but. like. that list is very long and those are the two most relevant because i promise if i come off wrong/mean, i didn't mean to, i just forget to make my words normal. but. those are the two most referenced. if for whatever reason someone wants to know more or has questions you can send an ask ig?

i'm scottish, born there. moved to US when I was four. finishing uni and moving back.

some quick warnings

this blog definitely contains cursing/vulgar language, whatever you want to call it, so if you're not comfortable with that, probably not the blog for you, as i don't tag cursing or anything for you to filter out.

if, for whatever reason, if i ever reblog something that contains a slur (against racial minorities, queer people, anything) i will ABSOLUTELY tag that though.

also if anyone has any trigger warnings they think any content needs, please let me know-- asks, dms, comments, reblogs

the cursing thing also applies for sort of dirty jokes? think that only applies to like. two posts and very not explicit. those aren't currently tagged but if they get any more explicit they certainly will be.

queer identity because the explicit reminded me, i'm asexual, and probably straight. maybe bi? dunno, don't particularly care. and i'm trans. ftm. this isn't the blog i talk about that on usually though, unless it relates to a specific ask or a fandom thing.

which, getting into what this blog is for because i can't think of anything else i need to add here (guys let me know if i forgot important stuff, please, i'm an idiot!!! i will forget the important stuff and write random shit instead!! i've already deleted three tangents from this!!)

sooooo

fandoms!! ones i write and/or post about or will potentially post about

percy jackson extending to hoo, toa, tkc (definitely post way less about this), mcga (again, way less). haven't read TSATS or COTG yet, but spoilers are fine. i post way more about minor characters. write fanfiction for and have some posted (both on here and ao3) and a bunch of snippets.

dcu-- films, comics, animated shows, all of it. personally, my favorites are young justice (the comics, not show version), new teen titans, and batman inc (batgirls, nightwing, and red robin esp). late 90s yj run is my favorite, and i loved the DCeased event. favorite batman comic is definitely court of owls run. no fanfics posted, but some on docs.

mcu-- way less so, but have a stucky oneshot. slowly making my way through in timeline order.

throne of glass. i'm an aedion and chaol apologizer because they do a bunch of dumb shit but then WHO DOESN'T in this series. fanfics in doc, not posted.

this would go on for ages if i listed everything so instead, here's an ask i answered on my fandoms/genres and everything. feel free to send me asks about anyone. if you send me something about radium girls i may cry though (tears of joy) so there's your advanced warning.

main things you'll see on my blog are incorrect quotes, snippets, and the occasional fic

this^^

my... idk, contact policy? seriously what do i word this

asks are always open, anon is on.

if you send hate... whatever. i'll probably delete it.

unless i find it funny. then I'll post it. there's really little you could say to me that would hurt.

when i say asks are always open, you can drop anything you want.

literally anything

you need to vent? want advice? want to request headcanons? request a fic? give me a prompt? ask random things about me? something else I've forgotten? go right ahead

if you want to ask me to update my fics? go right ahead. sometimes i forget i didn't post something.

send as many asks as you want, i don't care if it might be spam

i can't promise i'll respond to asks in a timely manner, sometimes i open my inbox and forget they exist for months, i'm sorry. if it's something you really want answered you can send another one

dm's are alright? if you want to be friends or something, go right ahead.

anyone can reblog any of my posts/comment/heart, i don't care. you want to heart 50 things in a row? i adore you. if i had kids, you would get my firstborn

if we're mutuals you can ask for my insta/give me yours.

now, other accounts:

anyway, i think that's it?

#intro post #introductory post #pinned intro #pinned post #blog intro

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calicohyde · 11 months ago

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Lady In Red: Chapter One of Curse The Messenger Draft 1.4

I reached a follower milestone hosted a poll about what I should do to celebrate, and you all voted that I should publicly post this chapter of Curse The Messenger! I'm posting this here as well as on AO3. If you prefer to read it there, click here. Listen to this WIP's playlist while you read!

Chapter Summary:

Eddie Alfaro is dissatisfied with her job as a clairvoyant private investigator. The community of witches that makes up her clientele are prejudiced against her for her gift of Seeing, and the cases are always inconsequential and boring anyway. Infidelity, stolen heirlooms, that kind of thing. On top of that she's struggling with survivor's guilt, grief, and alcoholism, and she thinks her sibling is starting to get sick of her shit.

Then a gorgeous, elegant stranger shows up on Eddie's door and offers her an interesting case - a murder with no body. The woman says the case is Eddie's to solve, provided Eddie can figure her out first.

ENTICEMENT TAGS: Horror, Detective Noir, Urban Fantasy, Modern with Magic, Murder Mystery, Suspense, Surrealism, Character(s) of Color, Queer Character(s), Autistic Character(s), Nonbinary Character(s), Neopronouns, 1990s, Private Investigators, Romance, First Meetings, Butch/Femme

CONTENT WARNINGS: Body Horror, Sleep Paralysis, Possession, Unreality, Blood, Alcohol Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Smoking

All nights are dark, and a fair few are stormy too. On those nights, the trees lining the streets shake in vengeful winds. Water comes down sideways. It could soak a loyal guard cat through all the way down past its thick undercoat. It would have to swim through the intersections.

Human beings don't mind the wet so much, though. No city truly sleeps, and Cane Street still enjoys a sluggish cacophony of visitors even late on a night like this. The chatter of people - and of the things besides people that hover around them - rises above the din of the rain pattering down on the striped awnings. The soft, desaturated glow of decorative string lights in the shallow darkness casts ill-fitting halos over the heads of smoking diner patrons. Lightning snaps bright across the dark sky, forcing any wandering shadows back into place beneath their casters.

On the residential streets, the noise from the commercial block is muffled but still present under the rain. It's darker here too. There's less light pollution of course, but that's not the only thing keeping the night black. Shadows would be wise to stick a little closer when walking here. The cats watch from the trees and the quiet apartment buildings, ready to catch anything that makes itself a little too interesting.

The houses are dark for the night and just shy of uniform, each with brick porches and wrought iron banisters. But every now and then there is one that has the air of witchery about it. Lots of people have power, though there aren't many with enough to do anything with. That's luckier than not.

Barely audible to a particularly sensitive ear is the click click click of someone in heels coming nearer and nearer. Most nights, there isn't anyone there. The gutters are full with rushing water and the stench of stirred up sewage, and beady little eyes. Some of them are just rats.

There is a two family home on the corner of Seventh and Spring, right across the street from a hole in the wall bar that would never let itself be seen closed. The house is exactly the same as every other in the neighborhood - when observed with only five senses.

The pillars are square and brick. The wrought iron railing along the concrete porch steps is the same boring twists as all the others. It has two dark wood front doors, both with even darker curtains covering their thin windows. The birch tree in the yard is ostensibly for shade, but was more likely planted for the benefit of the property value.

The only thing that separates the house that two eyes can see is the lively honeysuckle vine crawling its way up the right side, the buds reading out into the cramped alley in between this house and the next. Currently, it's wilting pathetically under the onslaught of rain. Fragrant crushed petals litter the alley gravel. What makes it special is that it blooms all year round, heedless of the seasons. Rumor among the local coven says that the residents of the building were given the plant by their absent father when he left them.

Rumors are loathsome as a rule. That one is in especially poor taste.

On this particular dark and stormy night, a long-haired person in an ankle length beige skirt comes out of the right side door of the house, crying softly enough not to be heard in the rain. Another person comes out after them - Fred, the elder of the siblings that live here. Xe's dressed in xyr typical ensemble: a fitted suit in some pale color, the exact shade obscured by the darkness of the hour and the ugly yellow of the porch light.

If an observer could look with more than two eyes - as more than one might like to think can do - the house is a stinking, glowing locus of magic. The two people on the porch stand out from it with their own auras of power.

Fred gives the impression of the palest of purples, like the honeysuckle flowers growing unnaturally in xyr yard. The other person isn't as powerful as Fred, but still of note. Their metaphysical shade matches their skirt, a pleasant light tan. The two auras interact strangely with the glaring overhead porch light. Occasionally the thing flickers, throwing their faces into drastically alternating shadows and relief.

Eventually, Fred claps a hand on the stranger's shoulder, ever more personable than xyr sister. Xe steers them toward the steps. The beige person doesn't have an umbrella with them, and yet they don't seem to get wet as they walk out from underneath Fred's porch and into the downpour. Fred does not watch them go.

Inside is dry and warm, but not much quieter. The windows are open to let in the noise and the washed-clean air. The spicy, earthy scent of burned sage almost covers up the smell of grease and salt from Chinese food take-out. Eddie sits cross legged on top of the work desk.

The desk is an imposing piece of work that was given to them by their papá before he left. Unlike the bit about the honeysuckle, that's a fact. It looks just like him too - hard, brown, and square. It's more than a decade old now and it shows; it's covered in scuffs and scratches and condensation rings. There are noodles on top now too, because Eddie still can't use chopsticks for shit.

The strap of Eddie's black coveralls falls down over one of her slouched shoulders. Her thick brown hair is dry and tangled, just beginning to curl over the collar of her white t-shirt. She'll be taking to it with a pair of kitchen shears some time soon.

Eddie's aura is stronger than her sibling's. That means she's more powerful than Fred, but for unfortunates who have to perceive it, that's no blessing. Eddie's presence is angry and sour, dull even despite its strength. It's the same bloody piss shade of brown as the whisky she's gulping down in between bites of lo mein.

"'Watchtower,'" she slurs derisively, continuing on from some age old argument that deserved Fred walking out on it. Her voice is thick, both with drink and with scorn. "What are we watching, anyway? Not shit. We're a joke."

"Don't say that," Fred says quietly. Xe could stand to be a little less feather light on xyr sister, but xe won't be. Not tonight. Tonight xe will fall on her cool and gentle, like the rain as it slows.

"It's not like anyone ever asks us to do anything important," Eddie insists. "And even if they ever did it's not like we could do it. We should just give up." Before Eddie finishes speaking, her sibling is already shaking xyr head.

"Eddie," xe sighs. Xyr voice is half scolding and half preternaturally patient. It's impossible to say how xe does this. "What we do is important to our clients. We help people."

Eddie only laughs, meanly, and drinks.

The siblings sit in silence for long minutes, until all the food has been eaten and the candles have all gone out. Then Fred rises and wrestles the booze away from xyr sister. The painful routine about to unfold is familiar to them both.

Fred tugs at Eddie's shoulder, Eddie grumbling in drunken recalcitrance and refusing to stand until Fred gives up and drags her bodily off of the desk by force. Papers rustle as they're crushed and ripped under Eddie's ass. There's the dull clink of hard plastic falling to the wood floor. The siblings put all their glass away a long time ago.

Fred all but carries Eddie from the right side of the house, the headquarters of Watchtower Investigations. Past the organized chaos of crystals and candles and dubiously legal photographs, through the door with the frosted window, and across the hall to the left side apartment where they live. Fred drags Eddie through there too, and then dumps her into her bed. Xe doesn't let her see xem flinch when she turns away from xyr attempt to kiss her forehead.

It may take hours for Eddie to sink into sleep, or it may take minutes. Inebriation can make telling the difference a little difficult. The drink makes her limbs heavy and keeps her tears at bay, never mind if she might like to cry them or not. She can hardly remember what that feels like by now, after so many years of falling to bed from Fred's arms just like this. Although as drunk as she is, she can hardly remember much else either.

When at last Eddie does sleep, the sky is still dark but now clear.

The moon and the light pollution in the city together are easy to see by, even in the dirty back alleys. She can navigate them without much trouble, each one familiar to her from all her time spent here during the days. She creeps past the cracked open back door of a bar. The lights from inside fall half across her face, the smell of booze and the smoke of cigarettes gusting over her like the bar is breathing.

She expects a rancor of cheerful voices with an undercurrent of tinny rock music. Instead there is silence, heavy to near painfulness in her ears. She wants to pause in the doorway and stare, to take a moment to reconcile the sight with the lack of sound, but her gaze and her body continue on as if she is not their pilot.

Her dirty blonde hair falls into her face and she blows it away with a puff out the side of her mouth. Her hands are full with her camera in one hand and the pocket knife her girlfriend gave her in the other. Her glasses slip down her sweaty nose, and she can't push those up either. Luckily her frames are large enough that she can still see through them, for now.

Finally, a lone noise comes to her ears from up ahead. It's the muffled splat of something wet landing onto the gravel of the alley below it. It's not loud; it must have fallen - or been dropped - from a short distance.

Her heart picks up speed. She hadn't noticed it was already racing, but now it pounds painfully against her sternum, impossible to ignore. Her grip tightens on her camera, her shaking finger hovering preemptively over the shutter button as if it's the trigger of a gun.

If she's right she'll finally be able to prove it, get someone to take her seriously and do something. But if she's right - and she knows she is - that means she's in more danger than she's ever been in before, and that's not saying a little. She should turn and run. She should go back home, or even better she should go to someone else's place. Maybe she could move into Bacchanalia for a while.

But she's never been known for that kind of caution. She's wise in other ways. She takes quiet steps closer.

She's woefully, sickeningly unprepared, she realizes all of a sudden. She has all the knowledge she could possibly have (and knowledge is power; she truly believes that). Her confidence in her evidence is unflinching. When she set out tonight, she knew the pocket knife she wields now wasn't much as far as weapons but it was more than she'd usually carry and it made her feel safer. It made her feel like she could be more of a threat, if she needed to be. But now she can only feel the sucking lack of power in herself. There's a sense of absence there, an unfamiliar helplessness crawling up and down her spine chillingly. It nauseates her, like the slow slimy touch of a giant slug.

At this moment, she is only exactly as she seems. Something about that just doesn't feel right.

Still, she continues forward. She's desperate at this point to turn back. The urge wells up behind her eyes like unshed tears. No part of her pays her feelings any mind. (That, at least, is not so unusual.)

Shaking, she flattens herself against the brick to her side as the building comes to an end at a corner. She takes a deep breath that serves only to make her panic worse, sucking in the scent of damp earth and bar trash and blood, thick and tangy metallic in the air. It's more blood, she's certain - despite the ease with which she recognizes the smell - than she has ever encountered before.

The rough brick of the wall scratches against her cheek. She tightens her grip again on her pocket knife, regardless of her lack of faith in it. She raises her camera with her other hand, pointed toward the other side of the alley, the open corner, the wet redness in the dirt oozing closer to her…

It's still dark, but the darkness is impenetrable. It doesn't matter that Eddie can't see; there are no true surroundings here, no details to parse, nothing more to know than the existence of herself. There is only the weakness of her body, the numbing pain in her wrists, her cold sweat, the chill of the tile flooring against her back through the sheer fabric of her dress. The smell of blood remains.

Eddie raises her arms with great effort. They feel so heavy, and they shake. Her biceps feel the burn of the exertion within seconds, but she doesn't drop her hands. Working past the fatigue, she closes her hands around her own throat. It's hard to get a grip, her hands slippery and slick with warm wetness.

"Please," she begs aloud. Her voice comes out wrong, but familiar. A little higher, a little sweeter, softer, happier. The voice of a distant memory, a voice from her childhood. She wants so badly to take comfort from it. She wants so badly for things to go differently this time.

She tightens her grip.

"My baby, my sweet girl, please, let me live."

Eddie starts to cry, and it's such a fucking relief. Her tears are warm and salty when they fall over her lips. Her stomach roils with nauseous fear and guilt, but part of her has already accepted her fate. Part of her wants it. She continues to beg herself for her life, but she smiles her forgiveness all the while.

Her neck begins to bruise. Eddie feels the almost satisfying give under her hands and the crushing pain in her throat together. Still she squeezes down, her nails digging in to keep her grip, scraping away furrows of skin. Her voice is unaffected somehow, still light, still cheerful and gentle and kind. She gives herself no mercy, until finally she stops breathing and she is at last silenced.

Her body dies and goes stiff and cold, but Eddie remains aware. The stillness of her heart and her lungs fills her with a terror that grows inside her like the opening of a terrible maw. She wishes she could just give into it, let it swallow her up whole and crush her down into nothing. She's already dead, really, so why should she want so desperately to breathe? But she does, clinging to the facsimile of life she still has.

There is movement in the deep darkness. She sees it from the corner of her eye, but she can't turn to look closer. Dead bodies don't move. A whimper builds behind her teeth, but she doesn't have the breath to give it voice. Even if she did, she couldn't open her mouth enough to let it out. The only thing she can do is wait, and hope - that she'll be able to breathe soon, and that whatever the thing is won't make her stop again.

The thing gets close enough to see, resolving itself out of the darkness into her father. He stands over Eddie in the outfit she last saw him in. A brown tweed duster, the same style of overwear that Fred now favors, a denim shirt buttoned all the way up, thin dark brown scarf, pants and a belt and boots that match it. Apá always liked to look just so. Fuck, she misses him so much. She's glad to see him, even though she's dead and he's looking down at her like he might look at any other corpse he stumbled upon in the dark.

"Why did you do that?" he asks eventually. His tone is mild, curious, as familiar and nostalgic as the other voice that came out of her own wretched mouth as she killed herself. He sighs deeply. Eddie's crushed throat and her chest are tight and hot with the need to copy him. To breathe. "Tell me that, querida. Why would you kill your own mother?"

Eddie knows she's dreaming now. She's had this one before. She needs to wake up so that she can breathe. She needs to breathe if she wants to wake up.

If.

She could always just stay here. Maybe it would be just for a minute, but dreams always feel longer than they really are. It might even feel like forever. She could stay here with Apá. He's staring down at her with disappointment and disgust, but at least he's here.

He's wearing his dumb overthought outfit and his stubble is salted and Eddie would bet he probably smells like palo santo and fresh tobacco like he always did before. Eddie can't smell him, and she won't even if she stays, because she can't breathe. But even though her chest is painfully tight and Apá obviously hates her, she can think of worse ways to die.

More importantly, she can think of plenty worse ways to keep on living.

It doesn't matter what she wants, either way. Not in this and not in anything else either. She dies at the whim of her dreams, and she lives on the say of whatever wakes her.

Eddie wakes up.

Her eyes are closed and the darkness and her father are the only reality, and then her eyes are open and she's staring up at the plaster ceiling of her bedroom. She still can't move and she still can't breathe, but she can feel the breeze coming in from her open window tickle over her exposed face and arms. She can hear the patter of the rain. Her sheer curtains billow.

Something moves in the shadows.

Eddie stares hard into the dark, her heart racing and making her need for air even more urgent.

She sees dark hair and two dark eyes, a frown, the suggestion of broad shoulders covered in tweed.

Apá. Still glaring down at her. He mutters but Eddie can't understand what he's saying no matter how hard she strains her hearing. She tries to reach out for him, but her arms refuse to so much as twitch.

Before Eddie's tired eyes, Apá starts to melt. The lighter tones of his skin drip down onto the deep darkness of his clothing. The shadow of his hair ruins the lines of his features. The shine of his eyes in the moonlight snuffs out and his height decreases in a lopsided rush that disappears into the negative space of Eddie's unlit bedroom floor.

Eddie gasps into full wakefulness when the specter of her father is completely gone. She breathes in deep - both the air and the rush of becoming aware of her power again. The late summer air is wet and cool in her lungs; her magic feels heavy and warm like an internal weighted blanket. It would be pleasant, but Eddie can only think about Apá and how he's gone again. That hurts more than getting her throat crushed with no contest.

The nightmare is awful and familiar. It's been a recurring punishment for Eddie ever since Apá disappeared for the last time of many, nearly twelve years ago now. Eddie loses him all over again almost every night and it never hurts any less. It happens so often she might even have been able to get used to it, pain and all, if she could ever be positive he isn't really there. She can't be sure he doesn't blame her too, that he doesn't choose to leave her again and again and again.

The other parts, the sneaking around in the alley to take pictures of something dangerous and bloody… Well, that could just as easily be some random nightmare her brain decided to make up to torment her with as it could be a real premonition. They're tough to tell apart. Most of the time these days, Eddie doesn't even bother to try.

What does it matter, anyway? The nightmare she woke up to is just as real and true and any premonition, if maybe not quite as literal. And there's not a damn thing Eddie can do about either of them. There never has been, and there never will be.

When her chest has stopped heaving, and the tears she cried in her sleep have dried, Eddie rolls over towards her bedside table. Her hair falls into her face, dark brown like it's supposed to be. She pulls open the little drawer roughly and tugs out her dream journal and a pen. She ignores the crumpled pages that fall out, uncaring. There's a lamp on the table but Eddie doesn't turn in on to write, scribbling haphazardly across a page that looks like it's probably blank. She opens her hands and lets the book and pen drop to the floor when she's done, and flops onto her back.

It's supposed to help. Writing it down. Fuck knows how. But it's a habit now.

Eddie lies in bed and stares up at her ceiling. The off-white plaster looks the same now as it had minutes ago when Eddie woke up paralyzed and could only see the rest of her room by straining her peripheral vision. It's gray in the silvery moonlight. The ghostly shadows of her curtains dance across her blanket covered legs when the wind gusts them around.

Eddie holds her breath for as long as she can. Nothing steps forward out of the dim.

The fatigue and painful tightness in the chest when suffocating feels a little bit like a heart attack, Eddie muses idly. Once a client's husband had one while they were working his case. The case had only been to find the guy's long lost auntie or something, completely unrelated to his husband. But Eddie had the privilege to die with him anyway.

The bruising of her throat, her windpipe getting crushed, that could be likened to being hanged. Someone that used to go to the bar across the street had done themselves in that way once. They hadn't been working a case for them, hadn't been introduced as far as Eddie remembers, might not have even ever seen each other in passing. But still, Eddie got to die with them.

The light in the room changes slowly as the night and its storm both come to end and the sun begins the arduous process of rising. The early morning sounds of the city come in through the window with the summer breeze now. The chirping of the early birds is loud and sharp, each tweet stabbing into Eddie's ears like an ice pick. She grits her teeth and rolls away from the window, thinking hard about how badly she wants them to shut up. Maybe if she can just be annoyed enough everything will stop.

There's a prickle on the back of her neck, the feeling of being watched. She ignores it. It could be a holdover from the dream. Or maybe she has a stalker. Who gives a shit.

Soon enough, Fred gets up. Eddie listens to xem going through xyr morning routine from underneath her slightly musty pillow, held tight over her ear. She needs to do laundry soon. She needed to do laundry a week ago.

Fred sings in the shower. Eddie's throat goes tight again, her eyes hot, but no more tears come out. She can't cry when she's awake. Her grief is reserved for strangers.

She's so fucking proud and grateful that Fred can be happy. She's also wretchedly jealous. Resentful. She can't help but want that for herself, and she hates Fred every now and then for having it when she can't. She makes herself sick.

The drawers open and close in Fred's room down the hall as xe gets dressed. The creaky floorboard in the hall whines as Fred passes Eddie's room to go make breakfast for both of them. In short order, the smells of coffee and breakfast sausage join the smoke of Fred's first cigarette of the day.

Get out of bed now , Eddie tells herself. She doesn't move. Her body is so heavy and distant. It feels just as beyond her control now as it does during any premonition or nightmare, except that right now there's no reason for it. She should be able to just get the fuck out of bed . She scolds herself that Fred will want her to get out of bed on her own like a goddamn grown up for once.

Then again, Fred would probably have a better morning if xe didn't have to deal with Eddie at all, in bed or out of it.

Get out of bed , Eddie thinks, fiercer and more frustrated with every repetition. Get up. Get the fuck up. Get up. But she never manages to move.

"Eddie?" Fred asks softly from the doorway. Eddie hadn't noticed her door open, too busy trying to get herself to function. "Are you awake yet, cariño?"

Eddie wants to answer because Fred deserves to be treated nicely, but she also wants Fred to just leave her alone. She ends up splitting the difference and just grunting at xem. Fred sighs deeply, and Eddie seethes. She's not sure if she's angry at Fred or at herself. Probably both.

"C'mon, hermanita," Fred says, xyr voice growing closer as xe comes inside the room. The closer xe comes the tighter Eddie's shoulders coil, until the tension starts to hurt her neck. She dreads Fred reaching her bed without her moving and then having to tell Fred she won't get up today. Either Fred will accept that with a disappointed sight and leave her here, or xe'll insist Eddie get up. Both are equally as terrible as each other.

Eddie continues to demand of herself to get up , to fucking move , frantically now, inside her head. Still nothing happens. Fred's weight settles on the bed at Eddie's side and xyr hand cups her shoulder. Xyr touch is gentle and warm and could easily be comforting, if Eddie wasn't so fucked up that she can only feel one thing - or nothing at all or, sometimes, on bad days, some inexplicable twisted combination of the two.

"Come on, Eddie, get up," Fred says, shaking her gently. Eddie grits her teeth. If a simple urging could do it, Eddie would have been up hours ago. It's not that easy. There's no reason it should be any harder, but still it's just not that easy. She wants to shrug her sibling's grip off, but she can't even do that. She just lies still in her unwashed sheets and bears it.

"Okay," Fred sighs, and Eddie's dread builds. Now is the moment. Either Fred will leave her here all day and continue on living life without her, or xe will make her get up and she'll be forced to listlessly go through the motions of the minimum eight to ten hours before she can come back here to her stale and lonely room.

Apparently, today it's going to be the latter option. Fred tugs the pillow out of Eddie's clinging hands. Xe ignores Eddie's childish whine. Xe tosses the thing down to the foot of the bed so that Eddie would have to sit up to get it back, if she wants it badly enough. Then xe goes back to Eddie's shoulder, xyr touch much less gentle now, not intended for comfort at all. Fred pulls Eddie over onto her back, and then when she doesn't move from there except to turn her face away from xem, xe stands and looks down at her with xyr hands on xyr hips.

Eddie knows Fred probably isn't judging her, or at least not in the way she fears, but since she's not looking at xyr face she can't know for sure. She's too much of a coward to take the risk and double check.

Eddie listens as Fred moves around her bed. Xyr tread is as light as always on the hardwood floors, but the buckles on xyr boots jingle flatly with each step. Fred is like some kind of punk rock souvenir bell. Ting-ting -socialism is cool- ting .

Fred's hand circles around one of Eddie's ankles.

"You know I'll do it, Ed," xe says, and xe's not lying. Fred definitely will drag Eddie bodily out of this bed, and Eddie knows it from extensive past experience. Some days a little tussle between siblings in the morning gets the blood pumping and the rest of the requisite eight to ten hours end up with buttery yellow stripes of happiness coming in like sunlight through the broken drawn blinds of Eddie's faulty brain. Some days it's just another layer of shit on top of the festering pile that Eddie is already buried under.

Eddie tries to convince herself one more time to save them both the humiliation and frustration and just get up on her own. She can even feel the potential energy build up in her extremities; she's right on the cusp of moving, maybe, any second now. But the energy only continues to build up until Eddie feels like she's vibrating with it and her half-desperate half-hateful thoughts go buzzing around her head like angry flies.

"Okay," Fred repeats, xyr voice soft and sad. Then xe pulls.

It takes long unhappy moments to get Eddie upright. Fred does most of the work. In the case of standing on your own two feet, it's not the thought that counts at all. Fred is breathing a little heavily and xyr hair is messed up by the time Eddie is upright and standing on her own power.

Eddie mostly just wants to go right back to bed, or to melt into the floor like Apá did - or her dream of him, but who can tell the difference. The thought triggers a surge of guilt, and it compounds with the shame, making Eddie feel heavier and weaker and heavier and weaker.

Turns out she was right. Fred would have absolutely had a much better morning if not for Eddie.

"C'mon, I made breakfast," Fred tells her as xe turns to leave the room. They both know Eddie already knows that, from hearing and smelling it and from the routine. Fred always breakfast or else nobody will and the two of them will have to subsist on cigarettes and booze, respectively. Fred likes to take care of xyr body, aside from xyr one vice, and so xe makes breakfast. Xe makes enough for Eddie every time out of the goodness of xyr heart.

Eddie vacillates sluggishly between the call of food and coffee and the warmth of her bed before finally following her sibling into the kitchen. She'd love to collapse onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, but they're too high and she's too short, so instead she has to boost herself up with a foot on the rung between the legs. It's more effort than it should be, but she does like that she can swing her feet like a kid once she's up there.

Fred has already eaten, xyr lone dish already rinsed and sitting in the sink. Xe stands between the back counter and the bar, facing Eddie as she serves herself some eggs on autopilot. They're probably cold by now, and eggs aren't her favorite thing to begin with, but she puts some into her mouth with her fingers anyway. She chews perfunctorily and swallows it down. For a moment she has the uncharitable urge to open her mouth and make a show of proving to Fred that she ate it.

Unaware of Eddie's boorish attitude, Fred makes a face at her table manners. Xe fishes a fork out of the drawer and slides it across the bar to rest at Eddie's elbow. Eddie leaves it where it is and pointedly licks grease off of her fingers. She'll live, fine, but she's not going to be polite about it. Fred sighs through xyr nose, on part exasperated and one part amused. Eddie will take one part over none.

"Jay's case won't be too difficult," Fred says. Xe slips a cigarette out of xyr shiny case and lights it up with xyr zippo lighter. Eddie picks at her food in silence, waiting for the dark and spicy scent of clove smoke to reach her across the breakfast bar. It's the same scent that used to cling to Apá's coat. Same brand and all.

Fred flips the zippo open and closed as xe takes a long, long drag. That particular lighter was a gift from Apá the last time they saw him. Fred likes to say it was for xyr nineteenth birthday, because that was the closest occasion. Eddie closes her eyes and breathes in the smell, remembering.

"Yet another stolen heirloom," Eddie mutters over her cold eggs, referring to the case in question. Jay was here last night. Eddie knows she probably made a shit first impression, though she doesn't remember it clearly. It was past dinnertime and she was well on her way to hosed in preparation for bed. "Riveting stuff. Real important."

Fred takes another long, long drag before speaking, visibly gathering xyr patience. Eddie wonders when that resource will finally run out.

"The diamond isn't just an heirloom, Eddie," xe says once xe has taken the cigarette out from between xyr lips, leaning over the breakfast bar to emphasize xemself. "It's part of an active spell. If some blockhead secular swiped it looking for a payday it could be dangerous."

Eddie doesn't answer. She knows the diamond they've been hired to track down came out of a blessing box passed down to Jay by a great great great grandmother, and that it'll have the family's magic all over it. It could react badly to being separated from the other components of the spell.

She also knows that they're Jay's last resort. Jay didn't say so, but Eddie doesn't need to hear it said to know it. Jay isn't a Clairvoyant, like the two of them are, so there's no way they were a first or second, third, or fourth choice. Eddie doesn't begrudge people their hesitance though. She'd avoid her too, if she could.

"Look, hermanita," Fred says, mostly sympathetic this time, though Eddie doesn't doubt it's at least half put-on. "We've got that little diamond Scrying ball now. I can probably just use like to find like, and you won't need to use your gift at all for this one."

Eddie laughs, bitter and sharp. It stings in her throat, like whisky coming back up.

"You and I both know Seeing isn't a gift," she counters, her mouth twisted up into a painfully wry approximation of a smile. Her dreams from the night well up behind her eyes like her mind is a backed up garbage disposal. Whoever that blonde was is probably dead by now, and all Eddie feels about it is one part gladness that she wasn't there long enough to know and one part resentment over how she has nothing to do with anything in Eddie's life and Eddie still had to feel her terror anyway. "And I don't use it. It uses me. Whether anyone needs it to or not."

Fred just sucks down the rest of xyr cigarette, looking like xe might cry when Eddie pushes aside the rest of the cold eggs and pours herself a glass of red wine instead.

It could be worse, Eddie reasons to herself as she takes a generous gulp. At least this is made of fruit.

Eddie finishes her 'breakfast' at a leisurely pace while Fred lights up another clove. Xe is always getting onto Eddie for her drinking, as if xyr vice isn't just as bad for xem. But Eddie supposes that's what older siblings are for, if you don't have parents to do the job. After the wine is gone and the last wisps of smoke are lingering near the ceiling, it's time to get to work.

The office is just next door. There are two doors out front, one to the office and one to their home, as well as one between the two inside. The door windows are frosted and tinted slightly purple, the color of Clairvoyance. At least they get to be pretty. Both office doors have the business stuck on with vinyl in the window in a compressed serif font. Watchtower Private Investigations, named so after the height of the building, unusual for the street. The hinges and the wood floor both whine in complaint at Eddie's rough treatment of them as she makes her way inside before Fred.

The office is a hodgepodge of the usual administrative office stuff and the more esoteric detritus of witchcraft. The desk is covered with meticulously labeled manila folders, though some of them have been crumpled or strewn across the floor due to Eddie's flawed dismount last night. The bookshelves are filled half with shiny paperbacks on business, finance, and law, and half with yellowed old tomes on dream-working and potion-making. There's an altar set up on cloth on top of the filing cabinet.

Eddie crosses the space, avoiding looking at the files she ruined so diligently that she steps on a few. The windows at the back of the room are still cracked open. The air in here is perpetually hazy from the smoke of Fred's cigarettes and all the incense they burn. Fragrant dust swirls around in the sunbeams from the tobacco stained glass. It's probably beautiful, in its way.

Eddie yanks the curtains closed, blocking out the light. Her head hurts enough already, and she forgot her sunglasses downstairs and across the hall.

Fred sighs through xyr nose at Eddie's heelish behavior, clicking xyr tongue in disapproval at the files on the floor. Xe visibly debates stooping to pick them up, before sighing one more time and turning away from the whole sorry scene. Xyr shoulders are strong, nearly as broad as Apá's, but they droop under xyr neatly pressed seafoam green jacket. Xe sighs so much, Eddie thinks, because she makes it harder for xem to breathe than even all that tar can manage.

While Fred's back is turned, Eddie picks up the files. She does her best to smooth out the ones her ass tore up last night, and the ones she stepped on just now. She doesn't have much luck, but then again she never really does. Except maybe with the ladies.

The wingback chair at Apá's desk is ratty and faded, but still imposing. It's one of Eddie's few joys in life to sit in it and feel it at her back, making her a little bit bigger in her britches. If she wore britches. Whatever the hell britches are. It used to be a deep, velvety blood red, but that was before Eddie was even born. Now, it's a patchy burnt orange with blooms of light mauve where the friction is highest and the pile has worn down to pale threads. The thing is sturdy, though. Sturdier than the fucking floor, apparently, since unlike the floor it doesn't creak a bit when Eddie drops herself into like ice into a glass.

The top drawer on the left has a bottle of Jack in it. Eddie's fingers alight on the drawer's handle, dancing along to the tune the whisky sings from inside. The tinkle of piano keys, of ice in a lowball, promising to bounce anything and everything else at the door. Or at least to charge it a few details to get in.

"Don't," Fred murmurs, across the room and with xyr back still turned. "At least help me with this spell first before you start."

Eddie leaves her hand on the drawer, ornery. I've already started , she thinks of saying. Or maybe, You're not my parent . But she's been childish enough for the first few hours of the day. She curls her hand into a fist, and then she tucks it under her knee.

Fred eventually joins Eddie at Apá's desk, xyr arms full with the paraphernalia of xyr intentions. A small crystal ball, a stand for it, the Scrying board, a cup full of colored chalk, a box of incense cones, and a ceramic tray to burn them on. Eddie clears the center of the desk for xem, files on either side. One of those is probably Jay's. No doubt she'll have to dig it out in a minute.

Fred sets up the Scrying altar in the center of the desk to xyr specifications. Fred's power and process is as much a mystery to Eddie as Eddie's is to Fred. Not that Eddie really has much of a process to understand.

"Like to like," Fred explains idly as xe marks symbols onto the wood of the Scrying board with the chalk. Xe came up with the symbols xemself, sigils to make the ordeal of connecting to the crystals easier, and to help xem actually do what they intend. Even with the help, often Fred still ends up connecting to something that doesn't help them. Xe has near-equal chances here to find Jay's diamond as to end up spiritually trapped in a Shane Company warehouse.

Fred's own diamond is modest, as far as crystal balls go. Just barely big enough to fill the palm of Fred's hand, smoothed into a perfect sphere but otherwise uncut. It glitters with yellow-golden flecks and black impurities, but besides those it's clearer and more reflective inside than quartz is.

Eddie lights the frankincense while Fred sets the ball into its stand. The earthy, spicy-sweet scent surrounds them quickly. Elecampane would be better for this, but it's rare and expensive and often faked. Its only use is for Clairvoyance, after all. Anyone seeking it out is probably better off with the dud. Frankincense is a good enough substitute, magically speaking. And it even smells similar, too.

Fred shoos Eddie out of the wingback chair when the set up is done, and Eddie reluctantly cedes it to xem. Xe contorts xemself into a cross-legged position in it, and then stares into xyr diamond ball intently.

To Eddie, nothing seems to happen. Not outside of Fred, anyway.

It's always a little bit scary to see Fred scry. Xe seems to disappear entirely from xemself, leaving xyr empty body behind. Xyr pupils dilate like xe've done a line. Xyr irises take on an oily purplish sheen, the something else that is controlling the operation showing through. The incense smoke curls around xem like a pet snake, overeager for affection - or for a meal.

Out loud, Fred intones, "West. Dark. Familiar."

Fred's voice is low and quiet, with an inflection that makes xem sound inhuman, but other than that it's as familiar as always. It reminds Eddie of both of their parents; the steadiness of their father, the sweetness of their mother, and the underlying croak they all have from smoking like chimneys.

Eddie writes down the insight, and then the only thing she can do is wait for the crystals to release Fred back into the living world. She leaves Fred at Apá's desk to go collect an Ensure from the minifridge, as well as the communal emergency office back and zippo. It's less because Fred will need these things in a hurry so Eddie had better have them ready, and more so that she can spend less time looking at Fred's blank, reflective eyes and the lack of a person behind them.

That's Eddie's big sibling, her protector, the person who practically raised her, and her only friend, crowded out of xyr own body and replaced with an unfeeling object. Fred is one of the lucky ones, the luckiest in the Alfaro family. Scrying is the least horrible form of Clairvoyance, and one of the safest. It's almost certain that Fred will be able to settle back into xemself with only a few tiny diamond stones to pass at worst. But the risk is never zero.

Crystals grow, after all. Some of them faster than others.

This time, as all the times before, Fred resurfaces. Xyr eyes melt into their natural dark brown and xe blinks back to awareness. Eddie lets out the breath she was holding and collapses into the wooden chair on the other side of the desk that they have for clients. She leans over the desk to offer Fred the Ensure, and then sets it down within xyr reach when Fred seems to be still too out of it to take it from her. Eddie lights a cigarette for xem next. She takes the first drag for herself.

Her hands are shaking. This shit is almost more frightening than it already would be because Fred never seems scared at all. Like it's nothing to xem if xe comes back to her or doesn't.

The scent of burning tobacco revives Fred the rest of the way. Xe gestures greedily for the cigarette first, and Eddie readily hands it over. Only after several fortifying puffs does Fred crack the seal on the Ensure. Xe takes carefully paced, delicate little sips, though Eddie knows xe'd rather gulp it down. The two of them learned that lesson the hard way when they first started this business out - with Fred on xyr knees in the bathroom and Eddie holding xyr long hair back.

Finally, Fred takes a deep breath and asks hoarsely, "Did I find it? Felt like I found it."

"Seems like you did, yeah," Eddie confirms. She slips a second cigarette out of the emergency pack and lights it for herself. She doesn't usually prefer cloves, but she needs to settle her nerves. "You said something about West? Here, I wrote it down."

Fred waves away the notepad Eddie holds out, instead beginning to ruffle sluggishly through the files on the desk. There are dozens. They don't exactly have an organizational system in here, and it's been a full decade now of accumulating them. They get pretty decent work, considering. Eddie hadn't really thought it would work, when they'd started. It had all been Fred's idea, hairbrained, and Eddie had just gone along with it because she couldn't think of anything better.

"Aha!" Fred exclaims when xe finds Jay's file, becoming more and more like xyr lively self the longer xe goes about with xyr head clear of stones. The file isn't one of the ones Eddie ruined last night, though it does have what looks like a coffee ring on one corner. That could have been either of them.

"I assume you don't remember any of what Jay said when they were here," Fred mutters as xe flips over their standard intake sheet to get to the handwritten details underneath. Eddie's stomach clenches. She wishes she could argue.

"I didn't know they were coming," she defends herself weakly.

"No," Fred agrees softly. "I know. I'm sorry." Silently, and without looking at her, xe hands Eddie the intake sheet for her to look over.

Eddie does remember most of this information; Jay's name, the date they took the case, a description of the missing diamond, bare-bones estimated timeline of the theft, how much they're charging. She stares down at the page unseeingly anyway and lets Fred hog the more interesting details. It's not really Eddie's job to come up with suspects anyway - at least not when she hasn't Seen them. She just follows whoever Fred tells her to.

"I'm thinking the niece's boyfriend," Fred says eventually, breaking a silence between them that isn't exactly uncomfortable. Eddie makes a vague noise of agreement. She doesn't remember anything about the niece's boyfriend. Fred highlights something in xyr notes, and then passes them across the desk to Eddie.

Turns out he's a college student who has been dating Jay's niece - who lives with Jay over the summers - for the last three months since the spring semester ended. A secular too, just like Fred had posited at breakfast, who likely would have no idea that the diamond in question is more than just a very expensive rock. He lives to the west from here, and from the diamond's home, in Little Italy.

"Yeah, I like him for it," Eddie agrees around the filter. "Surveillance beat?"

"Ugh," Fred groans, but xe nods. "No job right?" Eddie nods. According to the background they have, the only thing Boyfriend does all week is visit Jay's niece and effusively compliment Jay's cooking.

"A daytime stakeout," Eddie says, in unison with Fred. The siblings smile at each other briefly. They've always had something of a penchant for being on the same wavelength like that. Apá's absence, Eddie's drinking and pessimism, and Fred's apparent ability to just move on from anything may all be doing their damndest to push Fred and Eddie apart, and maybe some days it seems like they'll get their way. But sometimes, they're still the same as they were as kids. Jinxing each other, practically reading each other's minds.

"That's tomorrow," Fred says. Xe turns xyr attention back to Jay's file, shuffling the pages to xyr liking before reaching for a drawer. Eddie tenses. Fred already knows the booze is there, as evidenced from xyr admonishment earlier, but knowing that doesn't stop Eddie from feeling like she'll get in trouble if Fred sees it there.

Luckily, Fred doesn't go for that drawer. The legal pad xe needs is in the drawer above that, and xyr favorite clicky pen is in the top drawer on the other side. When xe has what xe needs, xe starts writing up the mid-investigation report for Jay. Xe delicately picks out straight, even capitals that nearly look typed, remarkably quickly for how neat they are.

Eddie leaves xem to it. She's not great with the customer-facing end of things. A little too negative, a little too blunt, acerbic. A little too to-the-point as well. Their clients want to think every case is complicated. They want to be reassured and validated in addition to having their mysteries solved. Eddie would just as soon write one sentence and be done with it, and then they'd probably lose the case because it wouldn't look like enough work to pay them for.

Eddie much prefers doing the books. She likes numbers because you don't have to interpret them. There's no nicer way to put them. They mean what they mean.

When the report is written, and the budget is calculated, the siblings make up a surveillance itinerary for tomorrow. They'll start early in the morning to make sure they don't miss him if he does go out, and take set shifts to piss or pick up food. They're already familiar with the area, so they don't have to get to know the streets and landmarks in person this time. The nearest convenience store is marked out on Fred's roughly sketched map, the best exit routes highlighted.

Jay's case is the only one Watchtower Investigations has open at the moment, so here is where the siblings separate. For Fred, the workday is done. Xe leaves the building out the front. Xe has enough friends and acquaintances that xe can meet up with someone any time.

Eddie could call it quits too, if she wanted, and she's doing so in all but name. Her mood has improved enough since the morning that she doesn't immediately want to go back to bed and pretend to never have been born, so instead she pilfers one of Fred's post-Scrying Ensures from the minifridge to serve as her lunch. Then she contorts herself into a catlike curled up position in the wingback chair. She opens the middle drawer but instead of the bottle of Jack, she pulls a battered romance novel out from underneath it.

The air from outside the still open window behind her smells green and fresh after last night's rain. There is no breeze, there never is in the summers, but the storm cooled it down enough for the humidity trapped amid the crowded city buildings to not feel so oppressive.

Afternoon sunshine drips sluggishly over Eddie's shoulder like honey, spilling gold over the book as Eddie finds her place by the page number she memorized last time she put it down. It's from Mrs. Zilbersetein, a secular from two houses down, given as part of her payment to them for the pictures of her ex-husband and his mistress that she used in her divorce. The pages are soft and thin from wear, showing how much she'd loved the book before Eddie. The cover is illustrated with a voluptuous blonde ingenue in a red dress and an imposing man with a fedora and a handgun.

Eddie makes it through two chapters and one sex scene before there's a knock at the outer door.

Eddie considers not answering; Jay is paying them well so they don't need to cram in as much work as they can at the moment. But curiosity gets the best of her, despite her general distaste for the kind of work Watchtower usually ends up doing. So, she leaves her steamy book open and upside down in the seat of the wingback and goes to see who's there.

When she swings the door open, Eddie comes face to face with an impressive set of cleavage clad in what could easily be the very same red dress from the illustrated cover she'd just put down. She stares for a moment, briefly mesmerized by the shiny liquid-like fabric draped artfully over smooth dark skin, before blinking herself back to reality and relegating her gaze up to the woman's face.

Her features are just as elegant and striking as her attire. She has a heart shaped face, near-black dark brown eyes, and loosely curled cherry red hair. Her lip color matches her dress and her hair, and her skin glows in the slowly reddening sunlight. Beyond the sight of two eyes, she looks to be secular. The concurrence of exceptionalism and mundanity is dissonant to the third. If Eddie keeps looking so closely, her headache will come back with a vengeance.

"Uh," says Eddie eloquently. "I, uh. I think you have the wrong place. Ma'am."

The woman - the lady, really; the way she's dressed surely she can't be called anything else - doesn't smile, but Eddie thinks she catches a dimple crease her cheek on one side before it's gone again.

"Watchtower Investigations? Miss Alfaro, I presume," she asks. Her voice sounds like one that could be heard at a vintage speakeasy, crooning sad slow jazz tunes to an audience of pipe smoking men in pinstripe suits.

"Yes- Sorry," Eddie says. She steps aside and holds the door for the lady like a gentleman, feeling very nearly as out of touch with herself as she ever has during a premonition. Her body takes her through the steps of this interaction as it should be, without pausing for her to think about it first.

"Don't worry yourself, doll," says the Lady in Red. "I'm overdressed, I know. I usually am." She adjusts the sheer, glittering shawl fathered at her elbows and steps past Eddie into the house. She smells, somewhat unexpectedly, like leather.

Eddie leads the Lady in Red up to the office, holding open the door with the frosted window for her too. She has the half-hysterical urge to pull out her chair as well, but there's no table to pull it from. She sits in the wooden chair in front of the desk and crosses her long legs, a high slit in her dress parting around her thigh. Eddie takes the wingback, stuffing the romance book uncomfortably between her ass and the back rather than reveal it.

"What can I- What can we do for you, Miss…?" Eddie asks leadingly. The Lady's dimple comes back, and this time it stays. Eddie tries to to feel too proud of herself, just for a little politeness. True it's not a skill of hers, and she usually doesn't even bother to try, but still.

"Miz," the Lady corrects smoothly. "Jessica. And I want you to solve a murder."

Eddie's breath catches in her throat and she swallows it down with difficulty, conflicted. The cases they usually take are… not thrilling, to say the least. But murder is maybe a bit too thrilling. Especially when taking into account that Watchtower has only ever dealt with background checks, theft, spell sourcing, and infidelity. They've never even handled a missing person.

"That's not really in our wheelhouse," Eddie admits, as gently as she can. "The police really would b-"

"Oh, I've already tried the pigs," Ms. Jessica interrupts. The disdain in her voice is palpable. Eddie can't blame her. After all, Jessica is visibly not a person cops traditionally 'protect and serve'. Eddie herself isn't one of those either. They usually take murder pretty seriously in most cases though - provided that it's not one of their own murders, and that there's someone left behind who cares enough to report it in the first place.

"I know it can seem like it's taking a long time," Eddie tries again. Jessica's foot twitches irritably, the champagne colored pump on it catching the now purplish light of the approaching dusk in the window behind Eddie.

"No," says Jessica, simple and firm, and Eddie shuts up. "They told me they're not investigating. They don't believe me."

If Eddie's interest wasn't piqued before, it certainly is now. She turns aside her reservations regarding Watchtower's qualifications - or lack thereof - and leans forward over Apá's desk to listen more intently.

"There's no body?" Jessica shakes her head. Her foot stops kicking; she must be relieved to truly have Eddie's attention. It seems likely now that, like everyone else who comes, she's here as a last resort.

"I don't think there could have been much of one left, to be honest with you," she says. Her voice is lower now, a little scratched up, but she doesn't waver. "There was a lot of-" She chokes, and for the first time looks away from Eddie. Her gaze seems to catch on the altar on top of the filing cabinet and Eddie wonders if she'll latch on to the easy subject change it might offer.

Watchtower gets very few secular clients. They're in the phone book, sure, but their business comes almost entirely from word of mouth, and witches and seculars don't tend to cross paths more than incidentally. Eddie has to wonder if that altar is something Jessica was expecting to see. Does she know what they are, or is she even now assuming they're some kind of new age hippies?

In the end, Jessica doesn't take the out, though she doesn't finish what she was going to say either. She concludes definitively, "She's dead. I know she's dead."

Jessica's eyes meet Eddie's across Apá's desk, and instantly Eddie knows Jessica has to be right. In the depths of her brown eyes, Eddie recognizes the same feeling she had when she knew Apá wouldn't be coming back this time. It's the same feeling clients have in their eyes when they already know their spouse is cheating on them, or that their trusted friend has robbed them. Intuition, maybe. Or the brief, terrible omniscience that comes from grief.

Sometimes Fred and Eddie's job is not so much to find out what happened, but why .

"I know this isn't what you usually do," Jessica adds eventually. "But my- Maddie. Maddie Ward. She deserves at least some kind of justice. I had to try. Will you consider it?"

Eddie shouldn't. She shouldn't full stop, but she especially shouldn't decide to take a client without Fred's input.

"Of course," she says.

Eddie forgot to grab a fresh intake sheet from the filing cabinet on her way to the desk when she first let Jessica in (along with the travel pack of tissues Fred always offers to a new client), but she's not willing to backtrack across the room and look foolish or bumbling in front of this elegant lady. Not to mention if she gets up there's a chance the book she's all but sitting on will be exposed. In lieu of that, Eddie drags over the nearest casefile, flips it open, and poises herself to write on the back of the topmost paper, whatever it is.

"You got a last name, Ms. Jessica?" she prompts, looking intently at her own hand wrapped around Fred's favorite fountain pen. Her name, her number. These are professional necessities. Eddie has no ulterior motives, no need for Jessica's information beyond the purposes of solving her case. More to the point, Jessica is out of Eddie's league - and probably playing a different game altogether anyway.

Jessica gathers herself, mentally and physically, and rises gracefully from the very ungraceful chair she's been occupying these last long moments of the day. Her shadow casts itself around the room in fractals not unlike any of Fred's crystals, or like the ambiguous movement of something unknown beneath rippling water. She sees herself to the door while Eddie is still mesmerized.

"Let's see if you can find that out yourself," she challenges over her bare shoulder. "Consider it an interview." Her enigmatic smile seems to imply that the interview could be for the job, or maybe for something a little more personal if Eddie performs well enough.

"Call me when you find me," Jessica says as she slips out the door. Her silhouette pauses behind the frosted window, flutters its long fingers in a coy little wave, and then fades away with the hollow clip of high heels on hardwood.

I will accept constructive criticism on this chapter from mutuals. More in this Universe: Cat's Eye View | Feline Retribution | Beer, Brandy, Belladonna

Taglist: @girlfriendsofthegalaxy @haectemporasunt @jezifster @blackhannetandco @fearofahumanplanet @littlehastyhoneydew @rainbowabomination @antihell @isherwoodj @marrowwife @ashen-crest @wildswrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer @garthcelyn @muddshadow @cohldhands @unrealistic-android @glam-pir @outpost51 @mrbexwrites @vacantgodling @blind-the-winds

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damnfandomproblems · 3 months ago

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OP of 763565544500854784

Won't be replying again but since people seem to think I'm a radfem over this one I will be explaining the content of my ask once and then ignoring all further discussion.

No, I do not think all woman in fandom who like men over women are pick mes or have internalized misogyny or whatever insults you want to throw at me and I also do not believe it's wrong to like mostly males. Most of my favorite characters of all time are guys. Probably a 7:3 ratio there if we're being real and most of women on that list are based on old nostalgia from when I was a kid and probably wouldn't be my favorites now. No I will not be providing a list because if people have decided I'm a radfem based on one ask I am not coming off anon or leaving identifying information behind I'm not stupid. I'm not risking somebody cross referencing my shit to send anon hate.

The big titty gf is not literal about what I'm referencing, it's a reference to "big titty goth gf" jokes and the smurfette trope, where a piece of media would have a single girl character who's primary personality trait is "girl." if for kids and "girl who breasts boobily down the stairs" if for adults. Because one of the common defenses towards hating on woman characters is that they don't have a personality beyond those two traits. They're just love interests an author can't bring themself to flesh out beyond "In love with guy character." It was not meant to shame people with big tits or act like big tits are explicitly sexual traits and if the nature of that was so unclear that you've decided I'm a radfem then you're engaging in the same piss on pour reading comprehension you think I did when I read the submission given I literally use it as a hypothetical that other people are using to refer to why the don't like the characters (she has big boobs and is meant to be sexy eye candy and that's it) and not why I wouldn't like a character.

What I am saying, in plain text as possible in response to the op, is that when we see people who only like white characters (or white passing), and act like all dark skinned poc are awful or boring, we call them racist. If we see people who exclusively ship M/F ships and minimize M/M or F/F pairings and cry "why can't they just be friends", we call them homophobic. When we see people shitting on gender headcanons and misgendering canonically trans characters, we call them transphobic.

So then why is it suddenly not sexist to call all female characters boring or uninteresting when the only trait they share is "girl"?

[In before "But you're still not reading the submission right" the submission is specifically saying that you're not solving real world woman issues by telling fans they're misogynistic. This is true. It's not going to make right wing politicians retract the abortion ban overnight or fix wage gaps or any other real world issues. Fandom is not activism and at the end of the day you're not going to change the world by being inclusive in fanfiction and nobody is going to care if the most active spokesperson for women's rights in the world only reads and writes slash fanfiction when it comes to the real world good she's doing. Same as reading and consuming darkfic does not make you an advocate for awful things happening to people or normalize it. You're not responsible for fixing all the woes of modern media with the fanfiction you're writing late at night getting home from work/school.

But it is still annoying when you come across your millionth post that is tagged "female character name here bashing" or "anti-female character name" or a fic that ignores the girls because they're so "uninteresting" to the author. You're still annoying even if no harm is being done and you can do real world, tangible good and still have sexist opinions on media. Nobody is calling you a bad person for it they're just telling you that before you decide every women in every media ever is uninteresting maybe look at yourself and try to figure out why you think that and understand why if you find even the most compelling fictional women boring, people are going to start assuming there might be some sexist biases here.]

Posting as a response to a previous ask.

#fandom problem 5961 #response to previous problem #response to previous ask #mod sf

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kharmii · 7 months ago

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not sure if you have noticed but there is someone in the submas tag whacking the beehive with some mean sounding posts and honestly I think it's hilarious and I'm all in for it.

The fandom bullies need to be pushed off their high horses and brought back to reality that they are just some rude bullies on the internet harrassing people for having a different opinion on fictional characters

And honestly the person is also right: they are frustrated because Ingo in LA took a lot of the shine off the original cast of the game. It is a tragedy he's there but it's also a shame the other cast gets sidelined so much.

And the fandom makes it difficult for others to enjoy the content. It's basically that bird meme with the crow being submas fandom being so obnoxious and loud the other part of the LA fandom gets totally overshadowed.

And I say this as a submas fan. I love the twins a lot. But the fandom is on the brink of becoming unbearable. At least the loud annoying obnoxious part, I actually think the "unpopular" side is much more calm, chill and friendly. And much less in your face.

The fandom needs to get down off their high horse and become a more calm fandom again.

I didn't get along with either side of the fandom, and truth be told, I think a lot of them are the same group of cowards and hypocrites playing politics. This fandom is smaller than I thought. Recently, someone on the crazytrain tag inadvertently let me in on the spice Twitter of one of the very first antis who blocked me. The twitter has 'Proshitters DNI' on their pinned post, (hurr durr durr, get it? Pro SHITTERS. How cleever..) and yet the whole blog is full of fat furries with top surgery scars. FOR SURE that person has a blankshipping side blog FOR SURE.

Side note: I'm into men, but Rule 63 isn't bad if the female version is hot. There's nothing grosser, however, than seeing a male character made into a fat gross furry with top surgery scars and a vagina. IDC about your trans representation. That's GROSS. IDG why trans is such a prevalent social contagion when it's represented in a way that makes me throw up in my mouth a lil like, ..ew..ew..ew..ew..EWWW!!1!1 Why would you wreck him like that?!

Nobody on earth wants to see that shit unless they are into that specific fetish. I doubt even trans males want to see that shit. Hey, you want to be a real male, right? That's the ideal right? Then represent yourself as an actual male and not a gross looking morbidly obese mutilated biological female with a rank dog's head. Fandom is supposed to be escapism, so spare me your harsh, repulsive reality.

Anyway, not only does that person have a side blog, but I'll bet they were on the blankshipping tag putting the most stupid of stupidest head canons out there, like 'RICH WIDOW OMEGAVERSE INGO, YO!!' Where Omega Ingo is yeeted to Hisui, and everybody assumes his alpha (his own brother) is dead because his werewolf bite mark is fading. Everybody in Hisui is pressuring him into choosing a new mate so he can crank out a litter of ass-puppies from his bunge-womb and save Hisuian society from a population crash (Omegaverse totally isn't dog-fucking, but like all the terminology is dog-related).

Almost everybody in the blankshipping tag was into Omegaverse or general werewolf bullshit, so don't even act like you don't know what I'm referencing unless you joined this fandom last week. Other than that, it was annoying when people would use their autism to be obnoxiously antisocial (I only want 'likes' or conversations in tags), or like when people had an issue with me reposting slim beautiful bishounen twins from Asian artists off Pixiv or Twitter. People have been doing that since Tumblr began, -there are entire blogs devoted to it- and yet it only became a problem when I started doing it.

*checks* I think I found the blog this ask was referencing. It's a fun blog because it gets people talking. That and Emmet month has the fanart picking up. My drafts are packed. There's a lot I disagree with though, like how Ingo overshadows the other characters and makes them less relevant. Actually, people being into the Train Twins might make the PLA characters MORE relevant. PLA might have been a forgettable game to some people, but love for submas angst made the other characters grow on them.

Also, they complain that the PLA tags on AO3 are either full of Train Clown fics or Volo x underaged Akari. In the absence of the twins, Volo x Akari would be the ONLY thing you'd see on AO3. You'd probably see even less of the other characters. The Volo betrayal might be the most interesting part of the game for most people. -So many people got taken in by how he pretended to be your friend, tried to get Giratina to kill you, then made you feel sorry for him at the end.

That last part was a guess, btw. I've read very little of both Submas and Volo fan fiction on AO3 outside of the specific ships I'm into, and I've read very little of those too. Most fan fiction comes across as dismal and unpleasant, so I make sure not to read it. That's the responsible thing to do. If you read something in a description you don't like, then don't read it. IE: Not once have I ever clicked on an Omegaverse after holding the bridge of my nose and reading the description of what it is. It's still fun to take the piss though, like....hey maybe people would write more Adaman x Irida -or- Commander Kamado x Beni if there wasn't so much RICH WIDOW INGO MAKES A NEST TO PLANT HIS ASS-PUPPIES INTO11!!1!!!

Art credit: ばた@bataabiiru Twitter.

#send troll prompts #blankshipping #submas #subway bosses #transtrender #volo #commander kamado #beni #ask me about my million stupid bj aus #at least it's not omegaverse #fandumb fail #TWINSTWINSTWINSTWINS #the god emperor of....you know #cyllene #sneasler #alolan vulpix

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little-laurance · 11 months ago

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hi it is me owner of confessmau. im here to make a confession to you.

honestly i assumed the post being referenced was kim is an enabler pt 2 from the aphverse-confessions account. it's like 5 or so paragraphs dragging kim specifically for the zane shit and it's the only confession ive seen that does anything close to openly demonizing kim. i vagued it in the tags bc i also wrote kim is an enabler pt 2.

in retrospect it prolly wasn't refrencing my post since im not a laur/dante/travis stan (its hard to tell the confession is like 90% strawmen) so apologies for any grief! you are very slay i adore your writings!!

@confessmau To be completely honest with you, it could be either of our posts on the topic. I feel fairly confident that the person who sent in that confession had already vagued me in a previous post regarding their adoration for Kim and the misogyny in all Kim haters. However it is entirely possible it was the enabler Kim pt 2 post that they were referencing in their confession. Could have been (most likely) both.

Either way I think my points still stand. No need to apologize for grief!! I posted my initial Kim post and I assumed the confession was about me! I'm no innocent party in the Kim Wars (TM).

I only wish that people leave the confessor alone. It's very clear to me that they are just upset about seemingly needless slander for a character they just can't understand people hating. I think they are going about this in the wrong way, but I don't think they are deserving of hate or anything akin to it.

This fandom needs to start getting comfortable with people having different opinions and interpretations of characters. It's frustrating to have to say this to the confessor since they have rather hypocritically accused Laurance stans of blowing up at the mention of disliking him while blowong up at the idea of ppl hating Kim. But I digress. We as a fandom really need to let go of our 8-12 year old angry selfs and just learn to get along. We all love these shitty characters in half-assed stories. Let's focus on what we have in common.

#also thank u for saying u like my writings!!#it is amazing what the mind can do when it desperately needs sleep haha #aphmau #aphblr #aphverse #mystreet #laurance #mcd #minecraft diaries #laurance zvahl #kim aphmau #aphmau kim #also saying all this knowing u are a Laurance hater #and I presume you have picked up I am a Laurance stan #and we can shake hands and live in peace abt it

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walker-extended-universe · 10 months ago

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Knock on my Door and I Will Answer

Relationship(s): Kai & Tom Davidson

Tags/Warnings: Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Gaslighting, Secrets, Understanding, Episode: s01e13 Let Him Hang, Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence

Summary: What if Tom came to Kai for help after he escaped the barn? An AU in which Tom actually has to deal with his injuries following Shane's torture session

Written for @febuwhump prompt 15: "Who did this to you?"

A/N: The dynamic between these two makes my brain go brrrrrr so forgive me if I fall down a crazy fic rabbithole with them

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

-------

Kai was usually up late doing laundry or working on a tailoring project. It was rare of anyone to bother him after sundown, most people preferring beer and bread to his tea and noodles at this hour.

Still, he was not surprised by the knock on his door. Sometimes people just needed a hot meal and Kai was happy to give out a bowl or two, free of charge. Setting aside the shirt he was mending, Kai answered the door. “What can I- Tom?”

The sheriff was standing on his doorstep, swaying with exhaustion (and possibly blood loss). “Kai,” he croaked. “I need- I need-”

“Come in. Quickly.” Kai took his arm and guided him to sit on the table. “Who did this to you?” he asked, cutting away Tom’s bloody shirt to see the damage better.

“My brother,” Tom slurred. “Gus- Gus came but Shane shot him. I-I ran when Gus shot back. I-I ran….”

“It’s okay.” Kai filled a bowl with water and took some spare strips of fabric to use for cleaning. “Most people would’ve done the same.”

“‘M not most people. I’m the sheriff. I gotta… I gotta be better…” Tom swayed and Kai barely caught him.

“Take it easy,” he soothed. “I need to finish cleaning you. Once I do that, I’ll let you lay down so I can tend to your back, alright?”

Tom grunted but didn’t fight against Kai’s ministrations. Once the blood was cleaned away, Kai set to work bandaging the cuts. Tom’s front wasn’t too bad, mostly bruises. But the back…..

“Traitor” was carved into his back along with other deep cuts. “You said your brother did this to you?”

“We don’ get along,” Tom muttered.He hissed as Kai started stitching him up.

“I’m sorry,” Kai said. “I just need to stitch these cuts. I’ll try to be quick.”

Tom grunted but otherwise let him work. Kai knew it had to hurt, so he tried to work quickly. There was only so quickly a man could stitch up a wound like this.

“Do you think you can make it to the hotel?” Kai asked when he was done.

“Uh, yeah,” Tom said. “Might- Might need help though.”

“I’ll go with you,” Kai offered. He found a clean shirt for Tom to wear and helped him to his feet. “Just lean on me.”

The walk took longer than it should have; thankfully, no one was out and about to see them. Kai knew Tom wouldn’t want to cause a panic. Not yet, anyway.

By the time they made it to Hagan’s, Tom was fully leaning on him, barely shuffling his feet. Kai pushed the door open and dragged Tom into the lobby. Just as he was debating how to get Tom up the stairs, Kate came down them.

“Kai, what- What the hell happened?!” She rushed down the rest of the steps.

“Tom was attacked; he’s in bad shape,” Kai explained. “I patched him up as best I could but he’s not doing too well.”

“Who did this?” Kate asked, looking over the fallen sheriff.

“He said it was his brother.”

“Shane?” Kate’s eyes flicked to him. “The one who brought the Tong in here? The one who might have killed Abby’s husband?”

“I don’t know of any other brothers he has.”

“Right, right… Well, where’s Shane now?”

“Barn,” Tom said suddenly. “I- I left him in the barn. With Gus….”

“Shit.” Kate stood up. “Let’s get him to bed. I’ll- I’ll get Hoyt and we’ll go check on Gus. If Shane did this….” SHe shook her head and got on Tom’s other side to carry him up.

Once Tom was in bed, Kate left Kai in charge of his care. “I’ll be back as soon as we get Gus,” she promised.

“Be careful,” Kai warned. “Tom made it sound like there was a shootout.”

She nodded. “Don’t worry, I’m always careful.”

And then, they were alone.

Kai gently put Tom on his stomach so that his wounds could breathe. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised Tom. “We’ll make sure Shane gets justice.”

Tom groaned. “‘S not over…. ‘S never over… Always something….”

“I know, I know. But we’ll be here to help,” Kai promised. He would be there to help, at least. He knew Kate and the others didn’t necessarily trust Tom; sometimes he didn't either. But Kai could tell he cared for Independence as much of the rest of them.

Tom hummed. “You’re…. You’re a good one, Kai. You know that?”

“I try to be.”

“You are. Better’n me….”

Kai sighed. “Get some sleep, Tom. You’ll need your strength.”

—-----------

As the sun rose over Independence, Abigail, Kate, and Hoyt came back to town. Abby had Gus on her horse and brought him to the hotel so Kai could tend to him. Like Tom said, he’d been shot, but he was still alive. Barely.

Shane was not so lucky. He’d also been shot, but more fatally. He was found a ways away from the barn, but it seemed to line up with Tom’s story about a shootout. Kai heard Abby asking a lot of questions, trying to put the whole story together, but he blocked it out in the interest of keeping Gus alive. They’d never know the whole story otherwise.

Once he was taken care of, Kai slunk away to check in on Tom. When he entered the sheriff’s bedroom, he saw Tom was sitting up.

“Sheriff, how are you? Do you need something?”

“I think you can call me by my name after what you did for me,” Tom muttered. “I could use a drink.”

He nodded and poured a glass of whiskey. “We found Gus and your brother,” he said. “Gus is alive, but just barely. Shane is… He’s dead. I’m sorry.”

Tom nodded and sipped his glass slowly. “Is Gus…. Is he awake?”

“He’s recovering. In the meantime…. People have questions about what happened out there.”

Tom finished his drink. “I suspected by brother was hiding out on my family’s property out here. I went to confront him, and he got the better of me. He tried to kill me. Then Gus arrived. I tried to tell him what was going on but Shane- Shane shot him. Gus shot back and I managed to get out. I don’t really know what happened after that.”

He was lying. Or, at least, he wasn’t telling the whole truth. Kai could tell. The way Tom wouldn’t look at him, the calm way he recounted the story…. It was almost too perfect.

But Kai had seen what Shane did to Tom. He couldn’t blame the man for needing to bend the truth a bit. “It sounds like Shane got what was coming to him.”

Tom nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

Kai took the glass from his hands and guided him to lie down. “Let me check your wounds. I may need to change the dressings.”

Tom hummed and let him work. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything.”

“Of course, Tom.”

—-----------

Gus woke up a few hours later, with a slightly different story to tell. “I went to the barn to confront Tom but- He was tied up by his brother. Shane was doing…something to him. I couldn’t tell what. Then they started yelling about the other person being the killer and Shane shot at me. We went back and forth for a few shots before I went down. Somehow, Tom got loose and he helped me to my feet. After that… Something hit me and I went down again.”

“Sounds a little different than what Tom said,” Abigail muttered.

“It sounds like everything happened really fast,” Kai countered. “It’s possible for people to remember events a little differently than each other when no one really knows what’s going on. And it sounds like Tom was already in a lot of pain when it happened. Maybe he just…forgot some details.”

“You may be right but-”

“He is,” Kate said. “That’s why we always tried to have multiple accounts at Pinkerton’s. It was the only way to get the real story.”

“And the only other witness is dead,” Hoyt muttered.

Good riddance, Kai thought. Anyone who was willing to get into bed with the Tong the way Shane was wasn’t worth defending.

“You were already thinking Tom was innocent, Abby,” Gus said. “It looks like you may have been right. I thought Tom was trying to protect his brother- and maybe he was- but Shane got what was coming to him in the end.”

Abby nodded. “I suppose. Just… Not how I imagined it happening.”

“Justice rarely plays out the way we want,” Kate lamented.

“But we give it a go anyway.”

Kai turned around to see Tom standing in the doorway. “What are you doing up? You should be resting-”

“I’m fine, Kai. Looks like Gus is too. Maybe you oughta open a doctor’s office next.” Tom walked closer and put a hand on Kai’s shoulder. “I think we’ve all had an eventful day. Drinks are on me tonight.”

“Now that’s the best thought you’ve had since you became sheriff!” Hoyt said, already heading for the bar downstairs. Kate rolled her eyes but followed him, with Abby close behind.

“I think I’ll have to bow out of the festivities tonight,” Augustus said.

“You should too, Tom,” Kai said, guiding him back out of Gus’ room toward his own.

Tom sighed. “You might be right. I’m sure Kate will keep track of the tab for me though.”

They were silent for the rest of the way back to Tom’s room. “What you said in there,” Tom started once they were alone, “when Abby was questioning my story… Thank you.”

Kai shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first man I met that was condemned for remembering things differently than the popular story.”

Tom gripped his shoulder. “I mean it, Kai. Thank you.”

Kai could see it in Tom’s eyes. He knew. He knew that Kai knew. And that was okay. “Like I said, not my first time helping a friend.”

Tom nodded. “I’m glad to have you as a friend. I hope… that we become better friends.”

Kai hoped that too.

#febuwhump #walker: independence #walker: independence fic #torture tw #death tw #my writing #my fic

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yujeong · 1 year ago

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Fanfic Writing - New Year's Resolutions

Hey fellow fic writers <3 I know it's still not the end of the year, but it's December and I'm impatient, so I would like to share with you my writing plans for 2024 and ask you to do so too, if you want to. My Ao3 for convenience is Yuujeong, where you can check out all the things I'll be referencing below. So, in my case, I *hope* that in 2024, I will be able to: - write at least one more chapter for "Little House on the Hill" (I make no promises though, I've kind of moved on from that fic, even though it holds such a special place in my heart) - write and post the third installment of my "Heroes and Villains" series (I have neglected this one for months but I hadn't figured out this fic completely up until last month, when the full picture of it came to me and I managed to get unstuck. Hopefully, next year you'll be reading it) - finish and post the sequel to "Broken Vows" (istg I haven't forgotten it, on the contrary, it haunts my dreams, it's just such a tricky little shit that I ended up asking for help about it. It'll be in such capable hands now, and I hope people will enjoy reading it) - continue my Kim&Pete fic series (the second installment won't be too difficult to write - she says, as if she doesn't need at least a month for a fic to be written and edited before posting - but the one after that will be multi-chaptered and looong, so I'll need time and a lot of effort to pull it off. 2024 *will* see this series written and concluded though, I swear) - ARMPETE!! (I have a fic I've been meaning to work on for months now and it'll probably end up not being multi-chaptered as I intended at first. Unfortunately the inspiration for more than that has run out BUT I will enrich the fandom with this rarepair or so help me-) - write at least one BostonNick fic (there's one that's the most likely to be written, which is about Boston getting a haircut and I think it's cute and would love to explore the idea. Also, a Nick character study fic because my boy deserves the world) - write smut! Yep, in 2024 we're getting horny baby (prepare for some VP somno shenanigans, because there's not nearly enough of it in the fandom and that's a huge shame) - participate in at least one fandom event (the kpts Big Bang, while stressful for multiple reasons, was incredibly fun and I would love to do something like that again - same goes for things like Secret Santa events which are cool too) - try writing fics for some of my other favorite shows besides kpts (kpts was unique in the way only TMNT has been for me before, which was it giving me so many brainworms I needed to express my self artistically in the only way I was capable. In 2024, I would like to revisit some of my favorite shows and figure out if the same can happen with them too) I probably have more to share but I'll leave it here. Now, for the tags, I'd love to see the plans of @wisteria-daydreamer @wretchedamaranth @xxhappy-chickenxx @coleslaww @raksh-writes @mightymightygnomepriest @lu-sn @suzteel @fleet-off @justanothervariant @theoldastronomer @dual-desires @emberfaye @tsttoain @thisautistic and ALL the other people who are escaping my mind rn but their works are equally important! Please, if you want to share your writing plans, do so and tag me, I'd love to see them <3

#decided to make a post like this because I really want us all to talk about what we're planning writing-wise #I find it exciting and super interesting #sorry to those who have never interacted with me but still got tagged I come in peace #I'm just interested to know what beautiful stories you will be preparing and posting next year <3 #fanfic writing #ask game

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hismercytomyjustice · 6 months ago

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This is kind of sneak peek related for my BG3 fic? Idk. I just started thinking about how I’m trying to write it and Gale and Astarion in particular and it spiraled a lot a little out of control.

Warning for minor (I think?) spoilers in future Ancient Books and Horror Stories chapters. Mainly for chapters 9 and 12-14. I don’t think it’ll actually spoil anything since I’m referencing a lot of in game events, but wanted to tag just in case. There are also a lot of in game spoilers mentioned too, all the way through Act 3.

I’m just having so much fun writing it and started having a lot of feelings and I’m trying to rein in my unhinged TL;DR replies to comments on my fic, so…

If you’re interested, buckle up because it’s gonna be a bit of a long ride!

_(┐「ε:)_

I am super hype for the upcoming chapter of my BG3 fic. It’s…ah…a little more reminiscent of chapter five in tone/content but I’m really proud of it. (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

Why am I the most proud of my fucked up chapters??? Maybe because they’ve been the most challenging to write? Idk. I’ve always really wanted to write something dark/horror adjacent and damn if this BG3 fic hasn’t let me explore that so much.

Ever since I wrote that BG3 dead dove oneshot I’ve been really interested in exploring writing darker topics where most of the violence/fucked up shit happens off screen but in a tangible way? Idk. Not all of it will happen off screen and there will be plenty of TWs but like…really getting to dive deep into exploring horror/trauma via the impact it has on someone rather than just describing fucked up scenes in detail..? Idk. Is that better or worse?

I don’t want to write fucked up shit for the sake of writing fucked up shit. I want it to mean something and I think that’s what I’m doing.

It’s kind of funny, I got stuck for like a month or two while trying to write chapter thirteen because I just didn’t feel like I was doing a good enough job delving into why Astarion is so afraid of Cazador. Like yeah I know a lot of folks when you finally meet him have said he’s almost underwhelming, like they expected a big bad but then he’s almost underwhelming when you finally meet him. He’s this boogeyman haunting Astarion for the entire game up to that point. But I really like how they approach his character.

Like, yeah he was just another high elf that was turned into a vamp a couple centuries ago. Just like Astarion. And then you find out the shit his former master did to him and it’s just like… sweet wounded jesus that was fucked up.

The number of times I’ve read and reread this Reddit post about him is…not small.

But like, Cazador reached out to a former friend while he was a spawn and Vellioth drained them dry, making him watch as he killed them. And when he eventually rebelled against Vellioth, he was IMPALED FOR ELEVEN YEARS for it.

The parallels are so intense. The isolation, the insane punishment. It left me wondering if Cazador thinks he’s “nicer” than his former master or if he just has more of a “refined” technique. It left me wondering, what’s worse, being buried alive for a year or being impaled for eleven years? And I decided BOTH ARE FUCKING TERRIBLE. I mean obviously, but still.

We only know Cazador was physically tortured for that long. There are no indications he was starved or socially isolated or any of that. We don’t know if it ultimately broke him. Whereas when Astarion was entombed, it seems he was subjected to isolation, sensory deprivation, starvation, etc and we KNOW it broke him because he literally says as much.

You find out through his storyline that he’s constantly afraid, never feels like he’s in control or has an actual choice, doesn’t know who he even is, and is most terrified of being alone and remaining a slave. He wants revenge even more than he wants freedom and, to me at least, that’s because the thought of freedom is so alien to him it doesn’t even really feel attainable. He wants it desperately, but it feels like he thinks he’s more likely to find revenge than to ever be truly free. And yet he spends SO MUCH TIME trying to help others break their chains. Like if he can’t do it, he’s damn well going to make sure others can. And it makes my heart break for him every time.

And the parallels between his and Cazador’s stories… I think Cazador has always had an evil streak. There’s always been something wrong with him. Hinted at by the description for Rhapsody, his dagger. We don’t find out if this is before or after he became a spawn, but it sounds like before to me:

“Cazador's love of poetry arose after he read one on the naked stomach of a dead child in his homeland. The child was hung from the lowest branch of a tree. Cazador read the poem, and looked at the child, and he knew that here was the artform for him.”

And yet if the story of BG3 had taken place a few centuries earlier, would Tav and co be helping him defeat Vellioth? Would he be slowly opening up about all the horrible things that happened to him? Could he have been saved from becoming the next abuser in the cycle?

Personally I don’t think the vampirism and torture are all that made him who he is. I think there was already a hint of that beforehand, or maybe nurtured into being by the fact he seems to come from a series of vampires. I think it definitely led him down a darker path than he might have taken otherwise, but it also doesn’t diminish the horrible shit that happened to him and that he didn’t deserve because no one deserved that.

There’s an implication in the game that all vampires are evil, but we know that isn’t true because look at Astarion and his siblings. They may have questionable morals, but they don’t immediately turn into crazed serial killers after Cazador dies. And we see how devastated Astarion was when he realized all the victims he brought to Cazador were left caged for centuries. He remembers Sebastian’s name for fuck’s sake. I don’t think that’s just because he was one of his first because he says he recognizes many of the people in the dungeon.

When I first found out I could make Astarion a Vampire Ascendant I was on board with the idea. But the more I got to know Astarion, the more I realized that wasn’t what he ultimately wanted. No shade to anyone going the Ascended route, but I think him staying a spawn is more in line with who he actually wants to be rather than who he thinks he wants to be. He values the safety being Ascended could bring him and longs for the power and sense of normalcy it could provide after 200 years without the sun and surviving on blood. But I don’t think he actually wants it. He thanks you for saving him from himself when you stop the ritual.

That’s one of the best things about the BG3 game. Each character has a path leading them to what they THINK they want and those endings still satisfy them in various ways, but then there’s the alternative of giving them what they ACTUALLY want.

Gale THINKS he wants to be a god, but if he ascends everyone in his life mourns him. Lae’zel THINKS she wants to ascend, but only until she realizes she’s been lied to her entire life. Shadowheart THINKS she wants to be a Dark Justicier, but she’ll renounce Shar if presented with the reality of who she actually is. Wyll THINKS he wants to kill Karlach, but only until he realizes he’s been lied to about who she is.

Tbh with Wyll I feel like he builds Karlach up in his head to be a stand-in for Mizora and so all his righteous hurt fury is channeled into taking her out. And then he finds out she isn’t and the wind immediately goes out of his sails.

I mean obvs play the game however you like, it’s just a game after all. But I feel like the writers and all are pretty clear about what the “good” vs “bad” endings are. It just depends on who you’re playing and how you want to play in a way that’s true to your character!

BUT YEAH. All this is to say, I wound up in a major state of analysis paralysis with writing Cazador because I wanted to write him the way Astarion sees him. Terrifying, evil, soul-crushing, an unstoppable force, etc. I also wanted to be true to his character, but without going headlong into Saw territory because I didn’t want to destroy all of Astarion’s growth so far in my fic because it is already more than long enough lol. So it’s been a really difficult balance but I think I’ve finally nailed it as best I can. No one’s really gonna see that until chapter 12-14 (SORRY), but I’m pretty happy with the results and I hope other folks feel the same way. lol chapter 14 maaaay be the one that broke me a little while writing it… But like I said before, maybe I was just feeling particularly sensitive while writing it!

It wasn’t until I was rereading/doing a very light edit pass on chapter nine that I was like “wait one goddamn second, I’m pretty happy with how I wrote Cazador here so maybe I CAN defeat chapter thirteen…”

Getting to explore Gale’s relationship with Mystra has also been really interesting. I’ve really wanted to delve into why she’s so fucking terrible for him and why he shouldn’t be within ten million miles of her. I still haven’t saved Minsc yet in game, but I’ve seen the dialogue option for him where he talks about hiding young male magic users from Mystra and damn if that didn’t bring some clarity to my portrayal of her.

I’m writing her and Gale’s relationship as him having been all in, this is the love of my life, future goddess wife guy Gale. But then Mystra is just…kind of there. She might have a fondness of some kind for Gale, but it’s not the Great Love™ he wants and deserves. I think he convinces himself into thinking it is, but it’s not and it’s obvious by how quick she is to sever all ties with him until she realizes she might can use him to destroy the Absolute. I think it’s super telling too that she only helps him with the orb BECAUSE she wants an ace in the hole and SHE KNOWS Gale would do anything for her. Or he used to at any rate. It’s not until you get him away from his groomer/abuser that he realizes “hey, maybe my relationship with Mystra was a little toxic and maybe I shouldn’t blow myself up just because she asked.”

I think it’s super telling in the game too that, if he does detonate the orb, the game is fucking over and YOU DID NOT WIN. So even though she says “hey former babe, could you kill yourself to maybe save me the trouble of dealing with the Absolute,” and you might even think “why would she suggest this if it wouldn’t work,” SHE COULD NOT BE MORE WRONG. And now you have an exploded wizard on your hands and everyone is dead.

And like…it’s also really telling that she could’ve helped him stave off the orb earlier but didn’t and was willing to risk him randomly exploding somewhere else and causing all kinds of unspeakable damage in the process. Like, ma’am you are a stone cold bitch huh?

And like, if you get the cut scene with Gale actually talking to her, to me it comes across as just super fucking condescending? Like watching that scene it was just like…damn how did he think she ever like liked him back??? But Gale is a hopeless foolish romantic so of course he couldn’t see all the red flags through his rose tinted glasses. And she has had her eye on him since he was EIGHT YEARS OLD. Bruh is OBSESSED with the Weave and the literal embodiment of it comes along offering him free candy from the back of a white van??? And like what are his parents supposed to do or say? Or his teachers? “No, don’t go with the literal goddess trying to lure you away”? Sounds like a one way trip to fucked around and found out-ville, upsetting someone as powerful as Mystra.

So yeah, I’m trying to write Gale as slowly coming to realize their relationship wasn’t perfect and she took advantage of him in so many fucked up ways. And I’ve also heavily drawn inspiration from that letter Elminster sends if he ascends talking about how fucking awful it is that Gale left his humanity behind. It’s like he died, but he’s still there, the new god of ambition. I mean you’d think folks would be like “hell yeah, my homie ascended to godhood” but they aren’t. Everyone in his life before (his mom, Tara, Elminster, hell maybe even Mystra) are just so fucking sad/devastated about it.

Something I think a lot about when writing Gale and Astarion is that Gale’s humanity is what everyone seems to love so much about him. At the surface level and deep down he is inherently a GOOD PERSON who is trying to do GOOD THINGS. Yeah, boy has an ambitious streak the size of Texas, but I think he truly believes ascending to godhood will make him able to be a GOOD god who will genuinely help people. Strongly reminds me of this post:

But time and time again in BG3 we see the gods DON’T tend to help anyone. They’re fickle and have their own agendas and you better fucking hope what you want aligns with what they want because otherwise you are FUCKED. (Seriously if that whole dynamic of gods appeals to you, do yourself a favor and check out The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner because FUCK it is one of the best series out there, especially if you like Greek mythology and all which the series draws from and parallels in a lot of ways).

Shar done kidnapped Shadowheart and turned her into her own Winter Soldier. Mystra abandoned Gale and then asked him to pretty please kill himself. Vlaakith has brainwashed all the Githyanki into doing her bidding and kills anyone who defies her. Etc, etc, etc.

Idk I feel like Gale is one of the most ALIVE people in the party, barring except Halsin. He takes such joy in all the mundanities of life and constantly seeks to spread that cheer around. Man is a Grade A Yapper who could probably easily nail the job interview for Waterdeep tour guide and exponentially increase tourism spending with the infectiousness of his love of the city. He loves poetry and good food and books and magic and wants nothing more than to share those things with anyone he comes across.

Meanwhile Astarion feels like he’s coming back to life after a two hundred year coma and is desperate to experience everything that’s been denied him for two centuries. He drinks himself silly on blood, he marvels at the sun, he too loves to yap at anything that sits still long enough. He wants to embrace his “humanity” with open arms and struggles to learn how to do it, often accidentally overindulging in the process. He is FREE (sort of) and damn if he’s not gonna experience everything he possibly can.

It’s not originally the dynamic I wanted to explore between the two of them. Tbh I don’t know if it was even in my radar. I just really, really wanted to write a oneshot of them nerding out over books together because they’re always tent neighbors and one of their main idle animations is them reading. READING WHAT?! I HAVE TO KNOW. I think other characters have that idle animation too, but it’s like…why are you two always tent besties??? You seem like you’d drive each other nuts AND YET YOU KEEP CAMPING NEXT TO EACH OTHER. I also saw a joke post about what Astarion was always reading on Reddit and most of the suggestions were like trashy magazines and that kind of thing, which I thought was funny. But it gave me brain worms because I was like “that’s clearly a big ass book, what the fuck is he reading” and…yeah that oneshot spiraled out of fucking control so hard *gestures helplessly to 80k words and growing fanfic*.

I like to think Astarion is helping Gale reconnect with his “humanity” because he’s witnessing all these “first time” experiences through Astarion’s eyes and it’s giving him a newfound appreciation for them. I like to think he’s spent so much time trying to be the perfect companion for Mystra that he’s forgotten the simpler joys in life and what it means to be mortal and alive and living in the moment.

Then I just really wanted to explore the dynamic of how do these two polar opposites meet in the middle. What do they have in common. What draws them to one another. How can they bring out the best in each other. How can I do that as in character as possible. How can they help each other through their biggest in game story arcs (Astarion defeating Cazador and Gale accepting his relationship with Mystra is over and he doesn’t need to become a god). They’re both so fucking ambitious too. Astarion craves power for the purpose of safety. Gale craves power because he feels he has a great destiny and wants to help others and “im different. and better. maybe even better than the gods.”

I consider them foils for one another too. Astarion shows Gale what can happen if ambition is unchecked and how it can ruin a person who has even the best of intentions. Meanwhile Gale shows Astarion he can trust others and he doesn’t need to become all powerful to be safe and loved. He tempers that all-consuming fear Astarion struggles under the weight of and helps him more safely explore what it means to be free and to love and be loved.

I’m also trying to make Astarion a foil for Mystra. He’s no esoteric god with unfathomable motives. He’s sarcastic and blunt and so very real and present in a way she never was (in my headcanon anyway). He sees Gale for who he is and doesn’t just pick and choose the pieces of him that are convenient or match his own wants and needs. He wants THE WHOLE PACKAGE and Gale better give it to him or he’s gonna snark and brutal honesty him to death.

Wow this got a bit sappy, huh?

lol. I just was having a lot of feelings and wanted to get them out somewhere. Kudos to you if you made it this far through my rambling!

#hismercy’s musings #sneak peek #ancient books and horror stories #bloodweave #my fics #my writing #bg3 game thoughts #I too am a Grade A Yapper #gale of waterdeep #astarion #cazador szarr #bg3

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