#shes very silly to me i like to rotate her in my mind

[aberrirovat]

lesbian pride flag version under the cut because every time i enter the saw tag i get hit with lesbian amanda posts

[lystring]

im in love with my new character for the dnd game i joined the other day, i hate that I can't make her in bg3 because there's no tabaxis in game 😿

[osamucide]

BSD COFFEE ORDERS! ⊹

inspired by this post by @alyszuha! I thought it was so silly and as a former barista it sparked my imagination lol. very little context for these

DAZAI is a sweet coffee drinker. I think he secretly wishes he could be a black coffee fan but he can hardly get it down without four plus pumps of butter pecan syrup and an absurd amount of sugar. probably an iced latte regular. oat milk.

ATSUSHI doesn’t mind black coffee but everything tastes good when you grew up in poverty. he prefers it iced with yummy sweet cream cold foam on top, though.

KUNIKIDA is a plain black light roast truther. doesn’t care if it tastes like shit. he’d spike it with coke and gasoline if it meant it’d help him get through dealing with Dazai everyday.

RANPO would do ungodly things for a caramel frappe. extra whipped cream and caramel drizzle, please.

YOSANO is another black coffee drinker, but I think she’s a little picky about it. loves a good medium roast.

KYOUKA, I think, has residual paranoia from Kouyou telling her coffee would stunt her growth like Chuuya so she’s a tea drinker. sweet green tea, hot or iced, is her go to.

KENJI loves matcha! it’s so earthy and reminds him of home. hot or iced, maybe with some strawberry flavoring.

FUKUZAWA is the reason Ranpo fiends for caramel fraps. he probably gets it with an absurd amount of caffeine, though. I’m talking like, six shots of espresso.

TANIZAKI regularly rotates between vanilla lattes, chai teas, and green teas.

NAOMI gets whatever Tanizaki’s getting.

CHUUYA drinks hot salted caramel lattes pretty much exclusively.

AKUTAGAWA drinks a plain, scalding hot Americano because he thinks it makes him look hard. in reality, he thinks they’re kinda gross so he dumps assloads of sugar in them.

TACHIHARA loves a good chai latte, especially if it’s extra spicy, ya know? something about spicy chai. prefers it hot.

GIN strawberry Italian soda drinker is real to me.

HIGUCHI got put onto to strawberry Italian sodas by Gin. I think, after a while though, she starts to try out different flavors and comes to prefer peach.

MORI doesn’t go to cafes. he has a Keurig in his office and has Hirotsu buy him those huge boxes of donut shoppe/breakfast roast by the tens. stacks them up stupidly. straight black. no less than five cups a day.

ODA seems like he’d be a redeye drinker. silky espresso + a nice medium roast? he loves it.

ANGO drinks a cappuccino, probably with only the finest espresso, too.

POE is a cold brew drinker. I think he probably plays around with flavors and splashes of different types of cream; he really likes a vanilla and caramel cold brew with a splash of whole milk.

FYODOR drinks Raf coffee! it’s a Russian classic from the 90s (the origins are neat and I actually think they’re pretty yummy)

NIKOLAI absolutely drinks tuxedo mochas. wants them disgustingly sweet. all that sugar and caffeine is probably why he’s bouncing off the damn walls all the time.

SIGMA probably drank Raf coffee and mochas for a while because of his colleagues. when he starts branching out on his own, though, he discovers he really likes fruity lattes. blueberry, strawberry, or blackberry flavoring is at the top of his list.

TETCHOU would drink what I would call a mocha for lack of a better term, I guess? but he more or less just gets chocolate syrup dumped directly into black coffee.

JOUNO pumpkin spice latte enjoyer is canon Asagiri told me so. I don’t think he’s too picky about coffee, though (unless it’s Tetchou’s ghastly combination).

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 14

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

at last (i see the light) by @theroyalsavage

Of a tower, a missing prince with the sun in his hair and the ability to heal with a touch, and a terrible-dangerous-very-bad bandit who’s never been all that good at being very bad, dangerous, or terrible. An AU based off of Disney’s Tangled.

IVE BEEN W A I T I N G FOR A SOLANGELO TANGLED AU OMG. and this ATE. was so fucking good. obviously bc its theroyalsavage but still omg. sorry for harrassing u btw. but i LOVE this. nico as flynn pov and just fucking reluctantly smitten from the beginning.....oh i know that's right

2. a letter to the moon (it is not brighter than you) by @theroyalsavage

When his kingdom is plagued by a series of unsolvable murders, Prince Will Solace must confront several things: tragedy, helplessness, and the dizzy-sweet inevitability of falling in love.

is this, like the author's note indicates, reminiscent of bbc merlin? yes. and so i LOVE. rivals to friends to lovers my BELOVED. royalty aus my BELOVED. and honestly yall should be supporting my royalsavage agenda purely by her titles like LOOK at these. my heart hurts like

3. In the darkest grays by @izlaria

[The sun bursts, clouds break.] Nico di Angelo loves in color. This is something that Will Solace has always known.

hi. i am obsessed w this fic. a nico character atudy that is disguised as will character study that IS a will character study........something something they are braided strings of fate something something....also! sally jackson my love!! she is everything to me and of COURSE she would show up here!! i am also obsessed w longtime pining will like is it even a solangelo fic if will has not been in the trenches since he was ten years old

4. eudaimonia by @forochel

Nico watched Percy wave his arms excitedly at Annabeth and breathed through the habitual twisting of his stomach. For a moment, he thought of walking over to them - ever the masochist, he thought wryly to himself - but then Annabeth threw her head back in a laugh, and Nico dismissed the thought. There would be another time and another place. ** Diverges SLIGHTLY from canon in that Nico does not confess to Percy right off the bat - he gets the chance to heal, find himself and a place to stand in camp, and form friendships. Also, attempts to fix the whole Solangelo shoehorning thing.

AUTHOR IF YOU ARE STILL ACTIVE. FOROCHEL IF YOU SEE THIS. I AM BEGGING. KNEES ON THE GROUND HANDS CLASPED ROSARY CHOKING LIKE A NOOSE. PLEASE. PLEASE UPDATE THIS SERIES IM BEGGING. I KNOW IT IS UNGRATEFUL BUT 20K IS NOT ENOUGH. THIS IS N I C O S VOICE. LIKE ACTUALLY. dude it KILLS me this is HIM 😭😭😭 i cannot get over how wonderful this is and how FRESH....like this came out right after boo! it was fresh in ur mind!! and you went CRAZY like this is SO SO GOOD!! this fic is CONSTANTLY rotating in my mind and i am constantly thinking about the path it carved.....hve never gotten over it ever

5. Baby Satyrs and Charming Boyfriends by @biancadiangeno / @fiestiest

Nico di Angelo had absolutely no idea how babysitting works, and Will Solace was having way too much fun teasing him to actually help out.

this fic is so silly and fun. i love it!! and the ending made me giggle will needed that humbling

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[fireflyinks]

hi🥰 can u write something about hamzah taking readers weed virginity and she greens out/passes out and hamzah takes care of her?

dream blunt rotation

stoner!hamzah x reader

a/n : WAIT THIS IS SO CUTE OMG OKAY, excuse this if it’s like not accurate to what weed is like, IM TRYING MY BEST. also this is NOT PROOF READ because i am LAZY so please don’t flame me

contains : use of weed, very brief vomitting (WARNING FOR EMETOPHOBIA), fluff, cuteness, lowkey casual dominance, munchies 😛😛😛

—

I watched as Hamzah brought his blunt back and fourth from his lips and back. Laying in his arms, I tried not to scrunch my nose at the smell. I had never tried weed, and though Hamzah and I had been dating for a while now, I was not anything close to a fan of the smell. I could tell Hamzah was accustomed to it.

He must’ve noticed that I was staring at him, since he raised his eyebrows curiously at me, and I quickly focused my gaze at the ceiling fan.

“What are (water) you looking at, baby?” He questioned with a grin on his face.

I shook my head, he knew what I was looking at. I was sure Hamzah could tell I was curious about trying weed, but I was far too scared to ask or toy with it without any help.

“Do you wanna try?” He added, moving the blunt towards me.

I paused for a moment, trying to decide if I was really about to do this. I hadn’t done anything like this before. Hell, I’d barely ever gotten drunk. My whole I’d been told that drugs and alcohol was bad, and yet my boyfriend was dangling a blunt in front of my face.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, I can tell your curious though.”

Hamzah was somewhat different when he was high. It made him calmer, less on edge, and not so socially awkward. It was nice seeing him in such a relaxed state, and I couldn’t help but wonder how it would make me act.

I finally grabbed the blunt from him gently. Staring at it for a few moments, I fumbled with it between my fingers. I could say all day that I was going to get high, the problem was acting doing it.

“Can you help me?” I asked shyly, my cheeks heating. Hamzah nodded, taking the blunt back and carefully moving them towards my lips.

“It might hurt at first, that’s just because you’re not used to it. Just suck it in, hold it for a couple seconds, and then breathe it out.”

I nodded, and I watched as he moved it closer to me. It was such an intimate feeling, laying on him as he placed something so tainted, something I’d been warned about my entire life, between my lips.

I did as he had instructed me, sucking it in, holding it, and breathing out, but I managed to sneak a coughing fit in towards the end. Hamzah rubbed my back as a sat up, and after a few moments, I leaned back again.

“How do you feel?” He asked, taking a hit of the blunt.

I thought for a moment. It was a lot different than I had expected, but I was willing to try the foreign feeling again.

“I wanna try again.” I stated, and he moved the joint towards me once again.

This time I just barely coughed, and I smiled triumphantly afterwards.

“There you go.” Hamzah encouraged, waiting a few moments until I nodded and he put the blunt between my lips once more.

I didn’t cough at all this time. Looking up at Hamzah, I watched as he smiled down at me.

“See, it’s not too bad, right?”

I nodded, “It doesn’t hurt as bad now.”

“If you start feeling sick, tell me, okay?”

I hummed in agreement. Hamzah took another hit, and then let me take another as well. The feeling was foreign, almost like I was floating, almost like I weighed nothing, but it was a good feeling. I giggled at every stupid joke Hamzah would make, which wasn’t too different than how I was sober.

I was glad that out of all people I could’ve experienced this with, it was Hamzah. He’d run his fingers through my hair as I rambled on about anything and everything that came to mind. Hamzah was extra silly too, joking that this was his “dream blunt rotation”.

These good feelings only lasted a couple minutes, until my sixth hit, in which I began to feel extremely nauseous.

I tried to sit up, but the floaty feeling was still there. “Hamzah?” I said, trying not to panic.

“Hm?” He said. I could tell he was out of it.

“I feel really sick,”

Hamzah immediately stood up, guiding me to the bathroom. I was glad he held my arm as we walked, because the floaty feeling didn’t go away as I moved, matter of fact, it got worse.

Once we’d reached the small bathroom, I kneeled in front of the toilet, and immediately started vomitting. Hamzah held my hair back,

My cheeked flushed as I realized he was seeing me in such a vulnerable state. Hamzah and I had been dating for a while now, but I’d never been sick in front of him. He didn’t seem to mind though, and if he did I couldn’t have noticed since I was a bit preoccupied.

Once I was done, he helped me up slowly and lead me back to the bed.

“D’you feel better?” He asked, placing me on his lap and stroking my hair.

“Yeah, I’m sorry-“

Hamzah shook his head, kissing my lips gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for, I should be the one apologizing, I shouldn’t have let you do that much on your first time.”

I shrugged, “It’s okay, I promise.”

Hamzah was always very comforting towards me, but this was a new side of him I hadn’t seen yet. Almost protective, and I couldn’t say I didn’t like it.

“Are you hungry?”

I thought for a moment. Now that I was thinking about it, I was extremely hungry. I had always heard of the cravings that came with smoking weed, but I hadn’t expected it to be this intense.

Nodding, I watched as Hamzah picked up his phone.

“I’ll order something, what do you want?”

“Everything?”

Hamzah laughed, continuing to play with my hair with one hand while typing on his phone with another.

“What about pizza?”

I nodded vigorously, “Pizza sounds so good.”

Hamzah smiled at me, stroking my cheek.

The room fell silent for a moment, as he typed away ordering the pizza and spent a moment admiring him.

Hamzah set his phone down, “It’s ordered.”

I smiled, “Thank you, Hamzah.”

He shrugged, “It’s just pizza, baby-“

“No, I mean for taking care of me, and letting me try this.”

“Oh,” he looked down, avoiding my eyes. Hamzah enjoyed praise, but always became flustered when it was given to him, “it’s no problem, the least I could do.”

I smiled, kissing him softly. His thumb continued to stroke my cheek, while his other explored my thigh. He touched me with so much fragility, as if I was made of glass and could shatter at any amount of pressure.

My eyes began to grow heavy after I pulled away. I knew I probably shouldn’t fall asleep now, since it was only 6:27 pm and if I wanted any chance of falling asleep tonight, I needed to stay up.

“Are you sleepy?” Hamzah asked, looking at me with so much affection, my heart felt as if it might burst.

“Yeah,” I fought a yawn.

Hamzah guided me to lay on his chest, “I’ll wake you up when the food gets here.”

I slowly nodded, closing my eyes. Hamzah’s careful fingers ran through my hair, soothing me to sleep.

[spaceagebachelormann]

zigmar i come to you humbly on this fine evening with the simple request that you give me some sort of might duck sustenance por favor and muchas gracias

they can be incoherent and stupid and goofy and silly to the max i just need to rotate this little kids like rotisserie chickens in my mind (esp fulton portman and julie)

random miscellaneous tmd thoughts !

✧ warnings: some of them may be ooc ngl

✧ additional info: u got it pookums 😈😈😈🙏 also these can be read as either platonic or romantic (not luis)

✧ m.list — nav.

♡ charlie conway !

the most insane taste in music literally ever

bro goes from madonna to death metal SO FAST

but ngl his playlist is always the best and he always gets to play music whenever u go anywhere

but oh my god he’d love pierce the veil in present day

HES ALSO LIKE SOMEHOW AMAZING AT MATH. but he cannot do science for literal shit

also his clothing style changes js like his music taste

will literally be kurt cobain one day and morrissey the next (hed hate morrissey though)

♡ adam banks !

every team sleepover/event/literally anything could js be a spontaneous hangout is always at his house

it’s because he’s rich and his house is huge as fuck and he has every board game known to man

just do not play uno because a fight always breaks out (charlie is always part of it)

he’s always the one who ends the fight also

he has this very calming presence that’s so nice to be around and him js talking to whoever got into a fight immediately helps calm them down

also weirdly good at comforting in the middle of the night but never during the day??

♡ lester averman !

he would watch full house religiously prove me wrong

his favourite character is obviously joey because they are one in the same

everyone on the team and their mother has been forced to watch full house while he’s been at their house/vice versa

he can also cook like. decently well !! it’s not something he’d prefer to do but he will for his friends if they’re tired or smth

♡ fulton reed !

this little shit

he is so unbelievably competitive over the smallest things it’s actually insane

typa guy to race u to see who can get to one side of the room first and start genuinely tweaking if he doesn’t win

at sleepovers he refuses to fall asleep first even if it’s just by a few minutes

he could be dead to the world but still have his eyes open cause he refuses to let u win (unless ur his s/o cause he might consider it that way)

♡ connie moreau !

she is definitely a theatre kid idc

her favourite musicals are probably grease, hairspray and heathers

she likes female main characters!!

everytime she gets into a new fandom she immediately starts thinking abt what it’d be like a musical and probably wanted to be a composer at some point

would 100% beg to use the aux on a road trip and then blast hamilton loud as balls

she wholeheartedly believes six is a top tier musical and she will DIE on this hill

(fun fact i’ve met andrea macasaet <3)

♡ guy germaine !

modern day guy would’ve loved basic white girl music

“life is too short to pretend to hate taylor swift” —him

also 100% a britney spears girlie. and nsync and every stereotypical white girl artist

but i wholeheartedly believe britney would be his favourite and he has her whole discography on cassette, cd, vinyl, u name it he has a britney spears collection

also his ass is NOT straight 💀 i’ve never met a straight man who listens to britney spears

♡ julie gaffney !

lowkey a regina george multitude if she wasn’t kinda. yk. a bad person

she’s a mix of cher and regina

everyone at the fancy ass boarding school literally loves her because she’s calm, smart pretty nice etc etc she’s just a really great person to be around

shes that one student who has every assignment finisher a week early, all a’s and 100% in every subject WITHOUT being mean abt it!!

her ass is friends with the whole student population and knows every well and knows all the drama but won’t tell everyone if she thinks it’s too personal (it’s it’s random petty nonsense she tells the team)

♡ ken wu !

secretly rlly good friends with julie but nobody knows even though they do not try to hide it at all

literally wander the halls talking abt whatever just for everyone to be like “y’all are friends???”

also this man secretly loves lana del rey

him and julie will sit on his bedroom floor and literally tell him the most insane and jaw dropping gossip she heard that day while lana is playing in the background

everytime someone asks his favourite lana song he says grandfather please stand on the shoulders of my father while he’s deep-sea fishing on did you know that there’s a tunnel under ocean blvd to fuck with them

♡ dean portman !

is actually very very good at math!!

he was a tutor for the 9th/10th graders for a bit to get volunteer hours and also cause he just likes doing math

you’d expect it to be like doing homework with ur dad and the poor kid is in tears while deans like “WHATS NINE. TIMES TWO.” but he’s actually surprisingly patient

if he’s explained something a few times and they still don’t get it he’ll just try it a different way until they get it and work them through the problem

has rlly strong relationships with the 9th and 10th graders cause of this and is essentially their older brother figure

the amount of 14/15 year olds that he’s given relationship advice too is insane (id be one of the 14 year olds probably)

♡ luis mendoza !

his type is secretly quiet girls cause he finds them rlly interesting and likes the thought of them being happy around him but quiet around everyone else

he’s like yes girl be urself with me

it all stemmed from the girl he liked in 8th grade who helped pick up his pencils when she accidentally knocked his pencil case out of his hand (she was a quiet nerdy girl)

like a whole year later and he’s still trying to rizz her up 💀

he’s one of those guys who takes forever to lose feelings

the girl is actually good friends with him btw

♡ dwayne robertson !

i feel like he is fucking AMAZING at baking

his icon is dolly parton and he heard berry pie so he immediately learned how to bake

if someone he knows has a birthday he either bakes the birthday cake or brings them something he made depending on how close he is with them

and holy shit it’s the most amazing thing u will ever taste and nothing will ever compare

yes he’s one of those guys who will go on an 18 minute tangent on how amazing dolly parton is if someone talks shit about her (same i love dolly)

[mixelation]

oh yeah while i'm here. speed run au thoughts ->

so i do like the idea of this being the one AU where tori comes clean about the reincarnation thing (i feel like this also has to happen in async, but probably very late in the game). however also i cannot see her doing this without having first solidified a LOT of trust

so what could catalyze her deciding this reveal is a good idea...? the idea i have been rotating is:

i don't think orochimaru cares too much when she just up and disappears. however he might suddenly care a whole lot if she reappears hanging around the hokage. that is HIS pet fuuinjutsu master in training, not yours!!!!

some sort of Situation happens where he grabs her and brings her back to oto. tori you silly child this where you belong

tori gets upset because she LIKED not being in oto and also she's pretty sure it looks suspicious af she's just with orochimaru again. like PROBABLY the conclusion here is that she went on purpose. and now she's mad because this ruins being able to go back

wrong!! minato shows up and is like hi guys!!! don't mind me just here on my legal right to kill orochimaru <3

so he kills oro, grabs tori, and goes home. what an exciting day

minato: hey, why are you crying? are you hurt? did you want to say bye to someone? tori: did you come to save ME 🥺🥺

and like. minato didn't kill orochimaru for tori per se, but he needed to do something about him anyway. this just sort of sealed the deal + gave him a reason to act

tori voices the fear that he thought she was a traitor. however this did not occur to minato even once because even if orochiamru is a master manipulator...... minato is a better manipulator for this sort of thing. obviously tori would not betray him and his wonderful family?

i think i would probably have it as a plot element that someone (shikaku?) keeps pushing minato to let someone do a mindwalk on tori. this is less because he thinks she's super devious and more because mindwalks can pull up forgotten memories + let an adult analyze a child's memories, so tori's brain is probably full of details on oto she can't actually articulate even if she's cooperative in being interviewed

so this Incident is also a catalyst for shikaku brining the mindwalk idea up AGAIN and minato is like "tori i think this would be a good idea. i promise it won't hurt or get you in trouble" and tori is like. my GOD you could not handle what's in my mind, and does a Reveal

i think minato is secretly revealed because tori has wormed her way far enough into his heart that he's starting to consider that this is actually an insane way to treat a child. however it's fine she's secret been a grown up this whole time

[15-lizards]

Ok so i know you did wedding fashions for most of the regions of westeros already but what about the other ones like the north and the vale or the islands. Also the crownlands could be interesting because its a mishmash of westerlands/stormlands/reach/targs and also just plain opulence because royal weddings!!! (Lowkey asking about all these as reference for the multiple ocs rotating in my head at all times. Im a SUCKER for wedding scenes)

Let the wedding bells ring

Northern brides in Kokoshniks are very serious business to me. I like to think they’re leftovers of a pre-heraldic time, when the north was more tribal and clan focused. Certain shapes of the headdress and the size signal what your status is, and the types of jewels inlaid in them and embroidery done is indicative of what part of the north a woman hails from. This heralding of what family you came from carried over into the modern era, becoming more elaborate and taking on different shapes as noble houses began to appear and shaped their own identities separate from that of their original clan. Loose, heavy, long sleeved gowns are traditional bridal wear as well, from a time where a woman might be married in winter, and it became an old wives tale that a northern woman who marries without the traditional garments will freeze to death before the wedding.

Marriage is when a girl becomes a woman, so in my mind in the Vale, a brides wedding day is when she starts to cover her hair. Bc covering your hair from the winds of the Vale is for noble wives who have duties to attend to and no time to fuss over trivial things. Letting your hair down and be tangled and caught is for silly little girls who don’t have any responsibilities. Essentially a rite of passage. I also think that a leftover from when the Vale was only made up of mountain clans is the gifting of a fur to the bride that the groom hunted himself. It used to mean that the man could provide for his new wife but now it’s an old tradition where a man may or may not hunt the animal himself. And it’s another tradition for the woman to use the fur in her bridal gown and for a swaddle for her future children

Marriage for an iron islander woman is particularly important because it’s one of the few instances where she can wear bright colors and pretty things without being ridiculed. She’ll wear her house colors instead of her husbands bc her fathers pride comes first ofc. A bride and her female relatives will probably make their jewelry for the wedding, protecting the bride with prayers to the drowned god carved into beads and bracelets. And any metal she might wear comes from her fathers stash, anything he paid the iron price for and wants to show off on his daughter. It’s part of her dowry too, so for a man to give away a particularly flashy piece of loot is considered very rich behavior

And ofc Kings Landing is a conglomerate of basically everything. Obviously westerlands style is currently the most popular and influential, but there are still fashions from all over the seven kingdoms and beyond being incorporated into weddings. What a woman wears all depends on her age, her homeland, whether or not she adheres to traditions, how modest she is, how rich she is, etc etc etc you get the gist. But rest assured it’s usually going to be over the top

[atinylittlepain]

Apothecary Chapter Eight

joel miller x witchy!reader

series masterlist

Samhain is here, and for the first time in a while, she has people to share it with.

word count: 5.2K

warnings | 18+ smut, angst, discussions of grief, spooky-ooky action

a/n | it's here! hands down this has been my favorite chapter to write so far. i would love to hear what you think as always, my inbox is open <3

..............................

Summer has been laid to rest under the whispered chill of fall. The mountains are burned up all orange and yellow, leaves fit to fall in the soon-to-come snap of frost. But for now, as October comes to an end, the days are still tinged with warmth while the nights shiver in the suggestion of the oncoming winter, and Halloween is just around the corner. 

Joel had thought it silly, if not downright stupid, when he and Ellie first came to Jackson, all the holidays upheld and celebrated in town. But this year, as the annual fall dance comes closer, he’s hard pressed to be bothered by it with his woman flitting around him, obvious in her excited anticipation.

“Oh, Joel, before you go I have something to give you.” 

“This– this is a rusty nail.” She just smiles, curling her fingers under his palm to close his hand over the, quite literally, rusty nail she just gave him.

“Just, humor me, alright? It’s a tradition, for protection. I gave one to Ellie too. Just keep it in your pocket for the next few days.” By now, he’s realized that sometimes it’s easier to just go along with what she tells him, no questions asked, so he nods, pocketing the nail with a smile that he hopes looks grateful. He can also tell that she’s nervous, and he’d bet that it’s because he’s started picking up patrol shifts again, leaving early this morning to meet Tommy at the gate. So if him having an old nail in his pocket is going to make her feel even a little better, he’s happy to oblige her request. 

“Thank you, darlin. I’ll see you tonight, ok?” One kiss, a second, and a third, before he finally tears himself away from her, slipping out the front door and into the cool morning air. 

“Morning, trouble.”

Mrrp

Stevie is quick to fall into stride alongside him, something he’s still getting used to on the mornings he has patrol, her watchful eyes seeing him out of the gate.

“I see you’ve still got a second shadow following you.” Tommy grins at him as he approaches, eyes glancing down to Stevie who lets out another meow, sitting down rather primly and looking between the two brothers. 

“She ain’t–”

“Coming, yeah, you say that everytime, Joel. I’m pretty sure I could figure out that a cat ain’t coming on patrol by myself though.”

Mrrrrp

Tommy gives the cat in question a disbelieving look, eyebrows raised as he looks back up at Joel who can’t help the smug grin tugging at his lips. Tommy lets out a huff, shaking his head.

“Y’all are so fucking weird. Let’s go before the cat starts talking, goddamn.”

…

For the first time in a while, things feel simple, maybe even good. She’s hesitant to let her mind settle on good for fear of jinxing it all, but at the very least, things are really, really not bad. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that Samhain is only a few days away. 

It’s the busiest time of year for her, in more ways than one. With the impending chill, more and more people around town are coming down with head colds and whatever else they might pick up in close quarters, a neverending rotation of sniffles and coughs that she’s been tending to while also trying to get ready for the sabbat. While she’s always kept the traditions alive for herself, this year is different, this year she gets to share it with people for the first time in ages, and she might be going just a bit overboard because of it. 

Truly, she’s been pulling out all the stops this week. Rosemary and wild rose wreaths for protection through the transition from light to dark, soul cakes for breakfast studded with dried fruit just like her mom would make, and a fresh batch of candles ready to light her altar through the three nights of the pagan new year. 

While Joel seems content to let her whirl around him in preparation, Ellie has enthusiastically taken part, listening intently to her explanations of all the rituals and traditions and helping out in the kitchen and in the shop when she can. She can’t help but be reminded of herself as a kid, her mom sharing with her all these things she now gets to share with Ellie.

“So, no bonfire?”

“Sorry, kid, not in this world. It’s just not safe anymore. But we can get the fireplace going and that’ll work just as well.” Though there’s still a slight disappointed slump to her shoulders, Ellie nods, her fingers continuing deft work on another wreath, perched on a stool at the butcher block in the back of the shop.

“You’re getting better at that than me, Ellie. Could I take that one to Maura? I was gonna check in on her this afternoon and I’d like to bring her something.” 

“Yeah, for sure. Is she, like, doing ok?” Her own hands still where she had been pruning back some errant leaves, turning to fully look at Ellie with a sigh.

“I think so, yeah. I know Matthew hasn’t given her any more trouble, probably too embarrassed to try. And I think she’s settling in well to her new place.”

“What about Mason?” She swallows the thick heat in her throat at Ellie’s question, schooling her face in something she hopes looks like indifference. 

“What about him?” 

“I don’t know. For a guy who seems to enjoy causing a lot of fucking problems it’s kinda weird how quiet he is all of a sudden.” She knows the truth that Ellie’s words hold all too well, and had been thinking about this herself for a while now. She hadn’t seen or heard from Mason since what happened at the town hall, and to her knowledge, no one else had either, keeping to himself and his shifts. And while she’d like to just forget about him, his bitter words and blatant violence toward her are hard to shake from her mind.

“Let’s just take a win where we can get one, huh, kid? I don’t– don’t even wanna think about that man so long as I don’t have to.” Ellie seems to accept her reply with a slightly distracted hum, holding up the wreath she just finished with a satisfied smirk.

“Fuck yeah. Am I good, or am I good? I mean, c’mon.” It might be silly, but she feels pride unfurling in her chest watching Ellie. No one else has ever been so interested in what she does, and it feels like a relief she didn’t know she was craving to get to share this all with her.

“Pretty damn good, kid. Thanks for helping me out.”

…

He gets back to town spooked, just a little. It isn’t like anything absolutely dire had happened, though it could have turned rotten real quick. He and Tommy had split off early in the day to circle the dam and meet back up somewhere in the middle. It had been a quiet morning, the woods wrapped in a faint mist, leaves falling like rain, when he heard a low, warbling groan from deeper in the trees. It was obvious to him that it wasn’t an infected, the sound had been so different from anything he’d heard before, and he couldn’t help but dismount and inch into the underbrush, trying to catch sight of what had made a noise like that. 

A grizzly, that’s what had made the sound, brown fur matted over a hulking body that rose all of eight feet in the air when it stood up on its haunches and snarled at Joel. He was stunned still where he stood by the sight, gun uselessly cocked against an animal that could have killed him in one powerful swipe. And for a moment, it had seemed like that’s exactly what was about to happen, the bear letting out a rumbling roar, jowls warbling with the sound. But then, and it’s going to sound strange, the animal had paused, and had tilted its head at Joel like it was considering him, before slumping back down onto all fours, letting out a snuff that sounded like a conclusion, and trundling right past him further into the thickening forest. 

The whole ride back to town, he can’t help but thumb the corroded nail sitting in his jacket pocket, a jilted energy running circuits in his veins. But the hitch in his chest is smoothed out when he does get home, opening the front door to warmth and the smell of food, something savory mingling with the scent of apples cooking. And the sight of her, comfortably moving around the kitchen, something in the oven and a large pot bubbling on the stove, has his heart kicking up in an entirely different way. 

“I can feel you staring, Miller.” She glances at him over her shoulder, a crooked smile as she gives the pot a few stirs before turning and padding over to him where he’s leaning against the doorframe, her palm sliding from his chest to curl behind his neck as she leans in for a kiss. He reckons that this won’t ever get old for him, the apparent ease they move with together, how he can reach out and she’ll reach right back. She gives him a quirked look when she pulls away, brows furrowed.

“You alright?” She can clock him like no other. Sometimes it seems like she knows what he’s feeling before he even does, and if she hadn’t insisted that she most definitely can’t read minds, he would have guessed that she could.

“Mmhmm, just tired. Glad to be home.” Though her brows stay just slightly pinched, she seems to accept his excuse, a quick rub of her palm over her chest before she pulls away to check on whatever she has cooking. 

“Is Ellie around?” 

“At movie night with Dina. They’re playing Hocus Pocus from what I heard.” 

“Got enough of that at home, don’t we?” She scoffs, elbowing him lightly where he’s sidled up behind her. 

“Rude, and to think I was making you dinner.” She cranes her neck to look at him over her shoulder, hands finding his on her waist and tangling their fingers together as she scrunches her nose at him. He opens his mouth to say something smart back to her, but his eyes catch on the spoon stirring itself in the pot, drawing her attention back to the stove as well.

“Oops, got a little distracted.” Yeah, he still hasn’t gotten used to her getting distracted.

Dinner is warm and rich and near coma-inducing, both of them sitting back with contented sighs at the dining table, the sun long set, windows going purple and hazy in the glow of the kitchen lights. 

“Was Ellie supposed to be home for dinner?” Her brow furrows at his question, head tilted in confusion.

“No, I told you she’s at movie night. Why do you ask?” 

“You set an extra place, I just assumed–”

“Oh, no, that’s not– it’s another tradition. You set a place for the people you love who have passed on. Most folks just do it for the three days starting on Halloween. But we always started leaving a plate out a day early, don’t ask me why, it was just the way my mom did it.” It’s clear to him that she’s being careful about what she says, and how she says it. She’s been careful about explaining the holiday, and he can understand why. She had told him that this time of year is marked most by communion with and remembrance of the dead, a subject they’ve been skirting around ever since that night when she tried to talk to him about Sarah, and he bolted like a spooked horse. 

“Is that who you set the place for now? Your mom?” Her smile tempers, eyes rounding with a familiar sadness as she nods.

“Yeah, other family too. And I have to admit, I know it’s not my place, but I’ve been thinking about– about Sarah as well.” It’s a leap for her to make, he knows it, and he’s willing to make it with her, reaching his hand across the table to rest over the top of hers, puzzle pieces fitting together in a shared silence. 

“Thank you for thinking of her, darlin.” Another nod and a small smile. 

“Could I– can I share something with you? And maybe you could help me with it?” 

…

“So that’s what all this is for?” 

“What’d you think it was for?” 

“Honestly, I stopped asking questions about things like this a while ago. Just assumed whatever this was, you had some sort of plan for it.” She has to let out a huff of a laugh at his clearly truthful answer, shaking her head before focusing back on the items spread over the desktop of her bureau.

“Well, I do have a plan, and it’s called an altar. It’s a space made to honor the departed, and to keep them a little closer to us.” She’s already laid out candles, dried leaves, and small wreaths of herbs on the desk, now pulling open one of the bureau’s drawers to get out a worn, weathered photo, tenderly unfolding it. Holding it out so Joel can see, a small sound of recognition rumbles in his chest.

“Is that you?” His finger just hovers over the face of the girl in the photo.

“Mmhmm, and that’s my mom, and my grandmother. I must have been twelve, maybe thirteen, when this was taken.” When she glances at him, something like wonder is laced in his expression, lips parted in a slight smile as he continues to study the picture. Clearing her throat, and her mind, she tucks the photo in amongst the altar before looking at him again.

“It’s nice to include pieces of them, if you have any. I was wondering, um– I mean I don’t know if you’d even want to– but if you have anything of Sarah’s, I was wondering if you’d like to add a piece of her to it?” The words feel thick and clunky coming out, regret an almost instant aftertaste at the way his face falls. But then he surprises her, clearing his throat and nodding before silently unfastening his watch and placing it on the altar, a tap of his fingers to the face of it before he takes a step back. 

“And it’s just for the next three days, right?” Worry is pinching his brow, eyes swimming, and she doesn’t resist the urge to reach for him, a hand on his cheek and one right over his heart.

“That’s right. It just lets them know that we’re thinking about them a little more than usual, that’s all. And then we go back to carrying them with us however we can.” He gives her a short nod, tears like silver in his eyes as he rests his hand over hers on his chest, his other palm coming to cup her cheek.

“She would’ve liked you, y’know.” It’s so unexpected, her breath catches in her throat at his words. 

“You think so?” 

“I think you two would’ve got on like a house on fire. Probably would’ve ganged up on me too, though you and Ellie already do that I suppose.” The warbly sound of her own laugh makes her realize that she’s started crying too, the soft sweep of his thumb brushing away a few stray tears.

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but my mom would’ve hated you.” The spluttering laugh he lets out sends her into a huffed spiral of her own, quiet grins between the two of them.

“Would’ve hated me, huh?”

“Mmhmm, nothing personal though. She just believed that women should never get tied down to a man for long.” He hums at that, both of them holding back another laugh through their tears.

“And what do you believe, darlin?” 

“I believe that you are the one exception to that rule, Joel Miller.” 

…

Seeing as the last town dance he went to ended with him busting his knuckles open on a man’s face, Joel isn’t exactly raring to go to this one. But hers and Ellie’s shared excitement is more than making up for his own disinterest. 

“Look, old man, Stevie and I match.” Ellie jumps off the last two steps of the porch, Stevie letting out a distressed mewl from her place in her arms at the sudden movement. 

“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny.” Ellie’s got on black jeans, a black sweater, and a black headband with two triangular scraps of fabric attached to look like cat ears, cradling Stevie in her arms as the finishing touch to her makeshift costume. 

“What’re you supposed to be? A lumberjack with anger issues?” He huffs at her rather sharp question, glancing down at his flannel, the same flannel he wears at least twice a week these days.

“Sure, let’s go with that, kid.” 

“You two ready?” Her voice pulls his attention away from Ellie’s smug grin, and when he catches sight of her, his mind goes so hazy he can’t be bothered to pick his jaw up off the ground.

“That hat is fucking wicked.” He doesn’t even have half a mind to scold Ellie for her language, too busy taking in the sight of his woman. She’s wearing the same mismatched sneakers she’s always got on, her bare shins peeking out beneath the hem of her black dress. A very nicely-fitting black dress at that, long-sleeved, with a deep neckline he can’t seem to take his eyes away from. It’s too good, the hat sitting atop her head, the pointed top and the wide brim an almost cartoonish calling-card, and the grin on her face as she stands before him tells him that she knows it too. 

“Well?” She holds out her arms, a little flare in her wrists as she looks at him, and all he can do is let out a disbelieving laugh. 

“Where the hell did you get a hat like that?” She pinches the brim between her fingers, giving him a wink.

“Found it in the attic of my old house when I first moved in. Been saving it for a special occasion. You like?” He pulls her in for a kiss, all crooked from their mirrored grins.

“Ugh, c’mon, Stevie. Let’s go before they inflict any more damage to our eyeballs.” She pulls away with a laugh at Ellie’s very vocal dismay, taking Joel’s hand in hers with a light squeeze. 

“Sorry, kid. No more eyeball damage, I promise. Let’s get a move on.” 

Once again, the dining hall has been fitted out for the dance, tables pushed aside to clear the floor and a ragtag band putting out half-decent music. But this time is different too. This time, he’s got an easy arm wrapped around his woman’s waist, holding onto her in a crowd that no longer stares and whispers, but welcomes with easy smiles and talk. Everyone is in some sort of attempted costume, and he catches sight of Tommy making his way toward them through the crowd, an old cowboy hat on his head and a bandana tied around his neck.

“What’re you supposed to be, brother? A slightly less pissed off version of yourself?” While he grunts at his brother’s teasing, she laughs easily, happy to pick up the social slack where Joel refuses to engage.

“Happy Halloween, Tommy. I saw Maria and your boy out front. I can’t believe how big he’s gotten, gonna be quite the little heartbreaker in a few years.” The clear pride in Tommy’s smile sets warmth spreading in Joel’s chest. It’s been a surprising bright spot for him, watching his brother step into fatherhood. Not that he’d ever tell Tommy, but it’s a good look on him.

“He’s something else, ain’t he? Not gonna be able to keep up with him at the rate he’s growing. But anyways, just wanted to come say howdy. Y’all enjoy yourselves, alright?” With a brisk clap to Joel’s shoulder, Tommy is moving back through the crowd, lobbing easy greetings to folks left and right. 

“Alright, my angry lumberjack, are you gonna ask me to dance or what?” 

“You heard that, huh? Don’t even know how the kid knows what a lumberjack is.” Her smile is easy, humor crinkling her eyes as she looks at him.

“Mmhmm, but for the record, you make a very cute, angry lumberjack.” What he does next surprises even him, taking her hand and leading her into the throng of swaying couples on the dance floor with a confidence he hasn’t felt in decades. The band is playing a slower song, light threadings of a guitar and the old piano, a sweet suggestion to pull her close, one arm hooked around her waist, his other tucked between their chests where their hands are tangled together. Judging by the widening of her eyes, lips parted in a crooked smile, she hadn’t been expecting that at all.

“You’ve been holding out on me if you’ve been able to dance this nicely this whole time, Miller.” He can feel himself going a bit sheepish under her praise, eyes turned down as he leads them in a simple string of steps. 

“Haven’t danced in a long time, darlin.” They fall into an easy silence, the music and din of the hall lulling them into the movement. Though everything comes crashing to a jilted stop, music fizzling out under the sudden scuffle in the crowd. It’s instinct, the way his arm tightens around her, keeping her close as he cranes his neck to see where the raised voices are coming from, his stomach dropping when he lays eyes on who it is.

He can’t hear what’s being said, but judging by the steely look on Tommy’s face and the hazy sneer on Mason’s, it’s nothing friendly. And through the crowd, Mason’s bloodshot eyes land on him first, before sliding over to her, a grin smearing across his face that Joel would like nothing more than to smack clean off him. But Tommy is quick to take Mason out of the hall with a harsh grip on his shoulder, gone as soon as he appeared, though the damage has already been done judging by the slack frown on her face.

“Joel, can we go, please?” His chest tightens at the way her voice has flattened, the quiet question slipped from her downturned mouth, eyes stuck where Mason had been standing. 

“Yeah, darlin, we’ll go home. Lemme find Ellie and let her know, alright?” 

He keeps her hand in his the whole walk home, not letting go until they’re in their bedroom and she’s sitting down on the edge of the bed, a deep furrow between her brows.

“God, I feel so stupid for letting that affect me like I did. I’m sorry, Joel. We were having a good time and I– I ruined it.” He sits down as close to her as he can, tucking her under his arm and dropping a kiss to the top of her head, her hat discarded on the floor.

“Didn’t ruin a thing, darlin. I’m just sorry that pathetic bastard came around at all.” He can tell that she’s working through it in her mind, somewhere between the past and the present, lips slightly pursed and eyes focused on her hands in her lap, but she doesn’t get stuck on it, a long exhale bringing her back to him, tilting her head to look at him with a suggestion of a smile. She doesn’t say anything, slipping out of his hold like liquid and padding quietly over to her bureau where the altar is set up. It’s grace embodied, the way she leans over one of the unlit candles, pursing her lips and exhaling like you would to extinguish a flame, though instead the wick smokes and crackles into a bright blaze. 

“Well now you’re just showing off.” A shrug and a laugh from her as she lights the other candles with the one she just lit, the altar being cast in a warm and pulsing glow. 

…

Maybe she had been showing off, just a little, drinking in the way his eyes widen and don’t pull away from her for even a second as she turns back to him and extends her hand.

“Would you mind finishing that dance with me?” The light in the bedroom is dim, just a lamp and the candles casting a haze of warmth across the room, but she can still see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he stands up and slides his hand into hers.

There’s no music, but they don’t need it, finding an easy sway in their close tangle. She rests her cheek at his shoulder, nose brushing along the juncture of his neck, breathing him in, feeling his hands splayed across her back, the insistent pump of his heart, stronger than anything she’s ever heard before. 

“Think you mentioned something a while ago about dancing naked.” She can hear the smug crook of his smile in his words, making her laugh as she pulls back to look at him.

“Hmm, yeah, I just said that to seduce you.” He chuckles at the smarmy waggle of her eyebrows, pulling her tighter against him.

“Didn’t have to do that, darlin. Reckon I was gone for you from day one.” The kiss they slip into is more like a shared sigh, swallowing each other’s relief, muscles slackening under wandering hands. They move with patience, like time has stopped with the slow trails of fingers, the languid press of lips. A shiver runs through her when he tugs the zipper of her dress down, sliding the fabric down her arms, letting it pool around her still socked feet. She wants skin against skin, stepping closer to him as she slips her fingers through the buttons of his shirt, tugging it off his shoulders as soon as she can, leaving his torso warm and bare for her to press against, mouths open and receiving whatever the other is willing to give.

And all of a sudden that tender patience snaps into a snarling desperation, Joel’s hands a searing grip on her hips, keeping her close as he ducks his head down to mouth at the tops of her breasts, only giving her enough space to slip out of her bra before he’s dipping back down and taking one of her nipples into the heat of his mouth, teeth a dizzying graze. They’ve had slow and sweet, and this isn’t that, her back pressing up against one of the bedroom walls as he cages her in, warm and trembling breaths fanning over her skin as she tugs open his belt and rucks his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his flushed cock, resting heavy and heated against her thigh. 

When they first came together, it had been all questions, all Can I? Like this? Is that good? Are you? But they no longer need words now, communicating in the hungry sweep of palms and the flicker of darkened eyes. He hitches her knee against his hip, opening her up to him, his cock an aching drag through her cunt before he presses into her, pleasure tinged with the throbbing stretch of him. 

Her back slides up the wall with each thrust of his hips, his hand cradling the back of her head to keep her from thumping her skull. It’s all harsh breaths and broken grunts, her eyes scrunching shut only for Joel to coax her gaze back with a gentle let me see you, darlin– look at me, baby, eyes on me, that’s it. He presses his forehead to hers, holding her steady through every hard press of his hips, his cock grazing so deep it’s all she can do to let out a quiet whimper of his name. 

“I know, darlin– fuck, I know– always so good, huh? Lemme have it, honey, just like this.” He knows her almost too well by now, when to pull back, to slow down, to draw it out, and when to give her more, to press her over the edge, to twist up her pleasure only to unravel it. His hips still against hers when she comes, a deep grind inside of her that draws out her high, spasming around him as she digs her nails into his shoulders. Slackening in his arms, her mind cuts through the haze, confusion settling in when she realizes he still hasn’t moved, his forehead pressed to her sternum.

“Are you– did you–”

“Fuck, darlin, I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking and I– Jesus christ.” He pulls out with a shuddering breath, and that’s when she notices it, the warm trickle of him making her knees go weak. Joel, meanwhile, seems to be in perfect remorse, muttering a string of apologies, his hands hovering at her waist like he’s afraid to touch her. Finally, she cuts off his rambling, her palm cupping his jaw to get him to focus on her.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. You seriously think I don’t know how to take care of something like this? Honestly, I’m a little offended.” His face goes completely slack at her words, a disbelieving laugh coming out on a long exhale. 

“I– you– goddamn. God fucking damn, think I almost had a heart attack.” His words come out on another laugh, hands framing her face as he lands a hard kiss to her forehead, making her chuckle at his reaction. 

“No heart attacks on my watch, Miller. I love you too much to let that happen.” This kiss lands a bit lower, a smacking press of his lips to hers before he pulls away with a sheepish smile.

“Love you, darlin. Let’s, uh, let’s get you cleaned up.”

…

It’s much later in the night when she untangles herself from his embrace, successfully slipping out of bed without waking him. Grabbing the blanket Joel had kicked off in his sleep and wrapping herself up in it, she quietly pads downstairs and out onto the back porch. 

“Hey, little miss, did you and Ellie have fun?” Stevie is happy to jump into her lap where she has sat down on the porch steps, a content purr thrumming as she nuzzles against her palm. A moment, that’s all she wanted, to think about the people she’s lost in the cool closeness of the night. But she and Stevie aren’t alone, not anymore. Something like family, something a little magic.

...............................

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[magellanicclouds]

Halo - An Essay: regarding waste management systems and devices for MJOLNIR armoured Spartans It has been a hectic sort of few weeks. Between work and getting sick again (for the fourth time already this year thanks to my crewmates who can't remember it's their duty to stay home when they're ill) I've been on the outs. I haven't had the energy for much, but I'm usually a pretty active person, so this has kind of made me loopy? Which feels like as good a time as any to talk at length about the concept of catheterizing Spartans for waste management in MJOLNIR.

Let me explain.

This Silly Post crossed my dash recently and I fully understand it is meant as lighthearted fun - we have fun here. But it also dragged out some strong thoughts I've had haunting in the back of my mind about this for years because I'm super normal about Halo, and have time on my hands and the right amount of sleep deprivation and medication on board. So I wrote 3500 words about it. And about Karen Traviss, who is pretty knotted up in this conversation, since she's the one who decided to start it back in 2011.

To preface, I'm not an expert, but I have worked in emergency medicine for 25 years, and been a fan of Halo for almost as long. I've had more of a lukewarm relationship with it the last decade or so if I'm being honest, but it will always have a home in my heart; I just think letting it under my skin like that in the first place may have made me feral and prone to biting. Thankfully, I can always happily rotate Fred in my mind until the heat-death of the universe, so that's nice. Anyway, full disclosure: the essay below contains discussion about medical devices, physical trauma, and I am sharing quite a lot of personal negativity about the Kilo-5 trilogy and Karen Traviss. That said, if you'd like to sit in on the length of what I'm about to yell into the sky about all this, you can find it under the cut. I love you.

Welcome to my dissertation.

Section 1 - The Relevant Background:

Equipping Spartans with urinary catheters weeded itself into the Halo universe in the 2011 book Halo: Glasslands, during a conversation between Spartan II Naomi-010 and ODST Mal Geffen. Glasslands was the first in Karen Traviss's Kilo-5 trilogy, and she is both the originator of this, and the only official Halo author or source to have used catheters specifically since. Some context: I don't personally like these books, or their author, or even her reasoning for why she chose to add this. My personal preference doesn't make something 'bad', and I'm not out to hurt any feelings. Kilo-5 isn't a total wash for me, there are some characters and ideas that I'd of otherwise loved to have seen explored through the lens of a different author, but these books felt smothered under Traviss's habit of always injecting her very loud personal voice into the narrative fabric. I think this is something that's fine to do in an original series, but doesn't really belong in an established third party IP. She bangs on about so much of her own narrow worldview and self-assured prejudices across the trilogy that still discussing them today creates division in the fandom, and sadly did a lot of lasting damage to a couple characters. But for the topic here, the dialogue that started all this cath chat came from Naomi-010, having idle conversation with Mal who asks her about bathroom breaks. “I’m catheterized. Another reason why that machine has to be so precisely calibrated. This suit plugs into me in a lot of places.” 'The Machine' she's referring to is a Brokkr assembly, which was introduced to the lore as a large mechanical armature used to get Spartans in and out of MJOLNIR. You can see them in action in cinematics from Halo 4 (+Spartan Ops) and 5.

One single mention, and it was big news. Traviss was naturally interviewed about it because of course she was - people can't help themselves but forget an entire novel and tunnel vision on 'but how pee pee?', and her answer has always irritated me. It's not in what she says, so much as what 'what she says' means in her voice. Traviss didn't answer it directly, but instead talked about how she likes to get into character's heads by addressing the mundane necessity of things that often go overlooked to expand a sense of familiarity with the character and their world. Sounds super reasonable, I know, but don't give her too much credit - that's not a quote. It's just me paraphrasing and honestly I was pretty generous in my wording. Probably because I agree! What bugs me about it, is if you've ever read literally any interview with her, or her personal musings about her writing process, you know there's a bit of an 'honesty' issue there. She's somebody who feels perfectly comfortable ignoring established character voices, traits, or histories to satisfy whatever roles she's reinvented for them, and too many others wind up as mouthpieces. How much are you really challenging yourself in finding characters' voices when most of them are just yours? And the part about familiarity with their world? I giggled a little. She doesn't care about their world, or their aesthetics, or their technology, or their medicine. Because she didn't care about Halo while writing these, and she's not vague about admitting that. It's a matter of pride for her to purposefully refuse to research those things, in the same way she disregarded Star Wars and Gears of War - she doesn't consider the effort to be a valuable part of her process. So instead she'll skim the foundation, gather some recognizable names, pick her targets, and trusts that her personal experiences combined with an outsider perspective will generate better content to seamlessly overwrite what existed. Cool, Karen. Annoying, but why bring all that up? We're here to talk about catheters, right? Well, the fandom for the most part begin and end their assessment of the dialogue at urinary catheters, but the whole quote implies so much more than that - "This suit plugs into me in a lot of places." We're not just dealing with a cath, but apparently with multiple additional external-to-invasive connections. Reader, this dialogue is a plinth to Traviss's bizarre refusal to research not only the franchises she's contracted to write in, but also just into the basic function and hazards of existing concepts that she wants to introduce, and all because she's convinced herself she's done learning about the world. Choosing to ignore the creative freedom of limitless potential in a future of technology that would be basically magic to us today, and instead degrade 529 years of advancement is certainly a take, but it's even more ridiculous to do it with a subject (The Spartan Programme) that is considered to be the peak of advancement in that future's setting. That's clownery, just like her alleged commitment to adjusting her perspective to suit a universe's world.

I want to close out this section with a question: Why is it that writers in the Halo space - both fan and official - cling so tightly to current-day modern concepts as if they'd still be perfectly relevant in 500+ years? Music, for example, apparently suffered a multi-century stagnation in lots of published and fanmade Halo media. Though my partner made a strong counterpoint about this to be fair: we still listen to music composed by Mozart. So there's an argument to be made there. Medicine though. There is way less latitude to embrace the classics there. It's been shown across several games, novels, and films to be sufficiently advanced well beyond anything we're currently capable of or even understand, so why undermine that and choose to drag it centuries backward? For clarity, I am not talking about what might be standard in the public or private sectors, nor the enduring things that'd be used by the public and military alike, like sterile dressings, syringes, supplemental oxygen equipment. Those are the Basics and they will be relevant to us indefinitely. But I'm talking about the UNSC. I'm talking about ONI R&D. I'm talking about Section Three. Retrograding tech and failing to address a necessity that applies to every living person in the Super Soldier Wizardry department makes my mouth flatten into a tight little line.

Section Two - Caths, and why this whole thing got written:

Indwelling urinary catheters, both urethral and suprapubic. There's a laundry list of problems here, but I've distilled it down to the three biggest when suggesting they'd have any safe practical application in Spartans: Care. Activity. Damage. There is unreasonable expectations of care and maintenance for caths with regards to people who can be on operations isolated for months at a time with no support of any kind and are often limited to carrying only what can be kept on their person. The level of extreme physical activity Spartans engage in on any perfectly normal day whether deployed or not is unfit for the stability and safety of a cath. And damage; obvious enough, but with this one I'll be taking a huge emphasis on concussive forces - explosions. Something Spartans are subjected to a lot. I'll be using the height of modern-day catheter quality as a baseline for this, since that's what Traviss felt was sufficient. Regarding Urethral vs Suprapubic, Traviss doesn't specify by name, but Naomi's comment in full reads to me that she's only catheterized temporarily while armoured, hence the assembly needing to be so finely calibrated. Foley caths are temporary urethral caths that would only supplement the urinary process while a person was armoured. Suprapubic caths however are surgically placed devices. They do need routine tube replacement to keep them clean, but unlike the Foley that just serves as an aide measure for an otherwise fully functioning bladder, suprapubic caths are usually placed in people with congenital bladder disfunction, or who've suffered injury or disease that left the bladder in poor health or failure. This type of access will always require a tube in place and this would be the exclusive method of urination - in or out of armour. My Big Three Concerns fit both types similarly, though there is some additional risks associated with urethral caths that I'll cover.

Care: Caring for an invasive cath is a not insignificant effort. They're prone to blockage, kinking, and bacterial growth. They're so frequently responsible for UTIs and kidney stones that these complications are just considered the Standard Fair for having a cath. Their need to be frequently replaced because of their penchant for bacterial growth is the kicker here - whole floral colonies sprout up in caths and can eek their way out into the body through compromised tissue and wreck havoc. They have no self-cleaning mechanism, and steadily deteriorate. Changing and replacing an indwelling cath is a procedure that requires additional supplies that'd have to be carried, and needs to be done in a practiced and clean setting; preferably medical. Granted, there are people who manage the removal and insertion of their own caths at home, but they still need to ensure a clean and safe environment while they do this. A Spartan could never be guaranteed that, nor would it even be wise to consider the vulnerability of removing so much armour to handle it. Modern day caths are recommended to be replaced every 30 days or so, with some models able to be in place for a few months at a time, but that's with constant daily care and cleaning; something that'd be unreasonable for a Spartan to maintain while entrenched who knows where for who knows how long, and without access to replacement medical supplies. Those endurance times between replacements are geared for the average public person who leads an average public life and care for their cath as directed and don't get into fist fights with Sangheili. Needless to say, the endurance time for the same device in a Spartan who leads a wildly different lifestyle probably cuts those times down to a third.

Activity: Modern day caths are designed to offer people the most utility and versatility possible. Both models are available for people who are bed-bound or have extremely limited mobility, as well as for those who are mobile, independent, and live out average lives. With regards to the latter, suprapubics are somewhat more common, if for no other reason than to reduce the Foley's higher risks of induction injury, but modern urethral caths also allow for regular movement and activity with a more reduced chance of becoming dislodged or damaged than they would have had a couple decades ago. But when I say regular activity, I mean going on a walk. Shopping for groceries. Doing basic house chores. Even light exercise and sexual activity can be managed with physician advisement and the appropriate precautions taken. Anytime a Spartan was fielded they'd have to be all the more overly-cautious about Movements Outside of Their Control during confrontations, maneuvers, ambush, environmental or vehicular incidents. Even when things go well there'd be too much risk involved. That said, traumatic decatheterizations happen more frequently than anyone would like, and I'm talking about regular old Joe Everybody. I respond to no less than a dozen of these incidents a year. Both types of catheter are held in place by a bulb balloon that's inflated from a port with around 10-30ccs of saline after the tube enters the bladder (30ccs would be more appropriate for better security of the line). Before removing a cath, the saline is removed to deflate the balloon and the tube is guided out - with a Foley cath, that means being guided out of the urethra. When a Foley cath is traumatically removed, the saline filled balloon - which is like five times wider in diameter than the average 6mm urethra - does a pretty devastating amount of damage on it's way out, penis or vagina; though a penile urethra has significantly more length to damage, and the penile meatus very typically is torn. These incidents run high risk of bladder hematoma as well, which requires urgent surgical intervention. The very worst traumatic decatheterizations I've responded to were all penile and had trauma to external tissue. Ever microwaved a hotdog a little too long?

Damage: How often are Spartans subjected to explosive and other concussive forces? Silly question - answer: a lot and often and unavoidable. And we know they still feel the powerful feedback. Despite shields and dampeners and a self-moderating gel layer, strong inertial forces are still felt through the suits. Across multiple novels we're given details about near misses and blasts, accelerated or uncontrolled falls, rattling their teeth, hampering their vision, hearing, or balance; they've been rendered unconscious and suffered internal injuries. The fact that most of these events don't flat out kill them is a credit to their armour and augmentations. For reference - when a person experiences explosive or concussive force from a distance enough to avoid separation of limbs, bisection, etc, the totality of their injuries can't and won't be seen externally. How they present on the outside is just the tippy tip of the iceburg - it's what's happened to them internally that you need to be concerned about. Cracked or fractured bones, torn musculature, arterial shearing, hollow organ rupture, cardiac and brain tissue bleed, to name some common ones, and this kind of trauma extends to all implanted devices as well. For example, rods and nails and other structural aids or replacements are much more resilient than your organic tissues, and can dislodge when tissues tear or rupture, damaging anything in their way like shrapnel. The fragile little balloon of a catheter will shatter when subjected to even relatively minor explosive force, so to even consider for a moment that this would be a viable piece of equipment for people intended to routinely be involved in explosive environments is beyond willful negligence. That there wouldn't be a better solution to the question of waste management - a necessity for literally all human people who make up the entirety of the Spartan branch, with the infinite funding of ONI R&D seems so stupid to me that I… well, that I wrote this. Because, friends - participating in active warfare is not cath-safe. The kinds of physical demands and forces on Spartan bodies are not cath-safe. The risks will never outweigh the benefits to this. Even while sealed in powered armour and a skinsuit tech layer, the very thought of Section Three engineers or Halsey or anyone involved in the development of MJOLNIR dismissing the glaring obvious failure of Spartans having any kind of externalized invasive devices is so unreasonably negligent that it could only be the brainchild of an author who's convinced that these characters are all actually just psuedo-intelligent government boogiemen who aren't as capable as they claim to be. But No. They are that capable, and they are that intelligent and the fact that they have a bottomless budget and deeply flexible ethics is literally what makes them so dangerous.

So if we have to address this, how do we do it? Apparently there was always an official answer for this. Former Franchise Development Director, creator of the Master Chief**, and extremely racist asshole Frank O'Connor weighed in on this in the same interview, where he almost immediate rejected and denied Traviss's catheterization claim and says that 'this sort of stuff' was the kind of thing he and the other creative heads at Bungie/343i talked and planned about all the time. So how does this work then, because we're invested now. According to 'ol Frankie's elegant input: they just pee freely into the suit. That's it. For clarity, he's talking about the skinsuit and not the MJOLNIR interior proper. He goes on to say that connectivity between body and MJOLNIR at all levels is fully noninvasive, but precise, and that it doesn't matter what kind of body output a Spartan introduces into the suit interior, because a hygienic valve system (??) will scrub it continually and collect all matter for recycling and reintroduction via capillary action powered by movement. It's not clear in what layers or intermediaries these mechanisms occupy, he doesn't break it down more than that. But that's the answer, and it did exist back when Traviss was penning Kilo-5.

Is this answer better than haphazardly plugging extension cords from actual organ systems into MJOLNIR interior? Yes. Like, leagues better by comparison, but also I still think it sucks. To me anyway. It's flat out gross as hell, which definitely fits the personal brand of a man who proudly overfed his cat and called himself "Stinkles", but also it just doesn't strike me as the kind of design strategy ONI would pursue for any of their assets. Beside it just being 100% torn from Dune's stillsuits, it's also missing that special brand of proprietary Section Three je ne sais quoi. There's layers upon layers of too-specialized equipment installed into these people for everything else, why skip this? A body function that should have been Point 3 on a 50 point list of 'stuff to manage'. Also though? It's a lot of freedom. This is just another easy opportunity to add yet another layer of dependence. Spartans are expensive equipment. It doesn't do to give them any fewer reasons to think they can ever walk away.

So anyway, I figured I'd take a crack at it. I came up with this while editing the last two paragraphs: [Waste management] - a fully internalized collection and processing device - lets say a cybernetic implantation - that entirely replaces the bladder. It has bio-organic lumens that interconnect it to the GI and Hepatic organs. The implant assists in accelerating the processing of gathering and refining waste materials with the help of nanobots that identify and redirect waste along the lumens of each system, plus they keep the implant clean and free of bad flora. All twice-processed waste gets refined a lot quicker and any water by-product of the process is refined and redistributed back to the organs along the lumens. None of the refined water is removed from the body for drinking, because that's an unnecessary step; it's already inside. (Drinking water would be the responsibility of a suit system more likely - like, sweat leeching in the skinsuit; refine, filtrate, purify, collect into a reservoir, and jettison the excess sodium. ) There is no 'extraction of other viable nutrient' from the remainder, it's been twice identified as waste. It gets catabolized and consumed by the nanobots as a fuel source, and no externalized waste is created at all while the Spartan is geared up. The implant doesn't always run like this - it only engages this way when the Spartan is wearing MJOLNIR, and when they're not, it just works like an out-of-the-box bladder. The intermittence of usage lets the organic organs truck along as usual, preventing risk of atrophy, and the Spartan can just use a bathroom like everyone else. I'm not a bioengineer, but I do like sci fi and I think all that sounds like something that'd be possible in this sandbox. And that's the real fun of it, isn't it? There's no way anyone today can anticipate what sort of gadgetry might be available 500+ years from now, especially in a fictional universe that includes military tech hybridized with reverse engineered alien tech.

I think it's fascinating when writers and artists shake loose and really grab the reins, and I love seeing the fruit of that labour in this particular tumblr community so often. We're not a huge Halo circle, but we're a passionate one, and if this essay leaves you with nothing else, I hope it will at least remind you to Go For It when you're writing your next fic or drawing your next piece, or composing, or sewing, or printing, or anything!

In Conclusion: Rest easy, friends.

Despite Traviss's word and even books that went to print, the official canon is that Spartans are not catheterized. If that's a bummer for anyone, canon can't stop you from writing whatever you want, but I do hope maybe you'll remember my reasoning for why it might not be the best idea? At least not for armoured Spartans. A Spartan, but they're laid up in hospital? Any non-Spartan personnel? Maybe you're writing in the public sector, a colony world or vessel? Sure - I'll bet caths are still plenty widely used. Why not? They're a blissfully simple and useful effective piece of equipment. It's just all about adjusting and adapting for practicality. Medical science, like any technology, adapts and evolves infinitely as we learn and discover new things. Treatments or drug algorithms I'd of used just last year have already undergone changes, and protocols are amended constantly. It's why a person 'practices' medicine; why a scientist is always a student. If questions like this or similar really need answering in your next work, remember: Give yourself the credit you deserve, and embrace the spirit of invention. Let my Cyber Bladder, by Sparklets be the candle in the window for you!

You may all retrieve your keys from the bowl and unsilence your phones. Stay safe and please text me when you get home. Thank you. ' u ' **Addendum: Former Bungie Creative Art Director Marcus Lehto is in fact the person who is most associated with the creation of the Master Chief.**

[ihearthes]

Christmas Thyme part 1

Author: @ihearthes

Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (1st person)

Rating: Smut (NSFW, 18+ Only)

Word Count: 2665

‘Tis a week before Christmas, and just as I am preparing to twist the “Open” sign to its “Closed” side, the bell over the door jingles. Inwardly, I groan. Outwardly, I paste on my brightest smile as I pivot towards my (hopefully) final customer of a very long, very exhausting day. 

I freeze. 

Because standing there in the doorway of my boutique is Harry Styles. THE Harry Styles. You know. As It Was. Watermelon Sugar. Sex on a stick. That last one isn’t a song. Just a description. 

“Um, hi,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say, but then I quickly tack on a “How may I help you?” 

His eyebrows draw downwards, and he looks around at the merchandise which, after a long day of Saturday sales in the last few frantic days before the most important gift-buying holiday of the year, is scattered everywhere. 

I’ve no idea if I want him to decide to leave immediately or if I should beg him to stay and shop. I do neither. 

But only because I spot another person on the street outside, pointing at one of the most sought after and most frequently purchased soy candles. She and her friend appear to be heading towards the door, so I summon the last of my energy and lunge for the door ahead of them, pulling the shade while simultaneously rotating the lock. My panicked movements mean I jostle the popstar as he stands nearby. 

“Oops! I’m so sorry. I just…” 

“Are you open or closed?” He asks, worry etched on his forehead where it peeks out underneath his black beanie. I take him in, recognising his face instantly. With a pair of joggers, he wears a black Pleasing crewneck, and I’m briefly jealous of how cosy it looks. I wouldn’t mind snuggling close – to the crewneck, of course. 

I am, after all, a competent businesswoman. Pfft. Okay, I’m trying to be one. 

“We’re closed now, but if you don’t have much to shop for, you’re welcome to look around while I tidy up in preparation for Tuesday’s maniacal clientele. 

He grunts, and I assume it’s affirmation that he’d like to look around, so I nod. “Are you looking for something in particular? Or shopping for a certain someone?” Wracking my brain, I attempt to recall if he’s currently dating anyone, but I’ve no idea. Since opening up my pop up last month, I’d not had time to do much more than work daily until exhaustion forces me to crawl into bed with a heating pad on my back and warm peppermint compresses on my feet. 

“Just looking…” He smiles, and I’m nearly blinded by the left dimple. 

Holy shit. No wonder he’s so popular. 

I have the silly idea that I should sniff him. It would be easy to make a tonne of money from bottling his scent and selling it. Then I would have enough money to set up a permanent shop to sell my organic candles, soaps, and lotions. 

Resisting only because I have managed to maintain some self-respect after being yelled at and cursed at by customers all day long, I decide to provide him some privacy. 

“Absolutely. Let me know if you have any questions.” 

He nods once, and I swear my insides melt into a puddle like Frosty the Snowman when the sun has come out. 

Stepping to the counter, I fiddle with the sound system, turning off the grating holiday tunes that permeate the atmosphere this time of year and sliding instead into some soothing jazz from Alfa Mist. As soon as the first song starts playing, Harry’s head whips around and he stares in my direction. 

“Excellent choice.” His voice is gravelly and kind with a bit of surprise in it. 

“It’s the kind of music I prefer,” I shrug, not knowing what else to say. 

“Me too.” 

It’s such a surprising thing for him to say that I do my own double take, but he’s returned already to smelling the candles on the wall display. 

Shrugging, I move to the first shelves to the right of the register, straightening products, and making mental notes of what I need to restock. When I move to the next set of shelves, though, it’s clear that a mental note isn’t going to be of any help. There are simply too many hand lotions, soaps, and other products that need to be replaced. Sighing, I move behind the counter again, withdrawing a pad of paper. Quickly, I jot down what I need to replace on the first two shelves. 

Turning my head, I see that Harry has barely finished sniffing one shelf of candles. “Um…” He glances up at my utterance. “...would you mind if I stepped into the back to grab some more stock?” 

“Whatever you need to do.” His voice is so silky that I could easily wear it and nothing else against my skin forever. 

In the small stockroom, I remove my shoes, wiggling my toes that have been screaming at me for the last two hours. Grabbing a basket I keep for just this purpose, I fill it with the items on my list before stepping back onto the main floor. The coolness of the tiles under my toes is soothing, and I sigh at the pleasure of it on my hot skin. Quickly, I restock the first two shelves, giving my feet a workout as I have to rise onto my toes multiple times. My knees also get to practise squatting so I can place items on the bottom shelf. 

After I slide my protesting feet back into my shoes, I sneak a peek to check on Harry. He’s moved on to the next set of shelves, opening the sample shampoos and smelling them one by one. 

At this rate, he’ll be here another hour at least. 

Surveying the third set of shelves, I jot down the merchandise I need to pull from the back for this one. It’s the shelf of eye compresses I’ve made that include differing herbs to soothe the skin around the eyes and quiet the mind. With a quick glance at Harry, I return to the storeroom, trying to recall where I’d placed the box holding more eye compresses. 

Spying it on a higher shelf, hiding behind a box of the scented rice neck pillows I’d designed to be heated and worn next to the skin, I stand on my tiptoes in order to reach. Just — one — more — inch — CRASH! Both boxes clatter to the ground, the sides splitting open on the box holding the neck pillows, and I sigh. 

“Are you okay?” 

His voice startles me, and I jump like that time I’d been forced to watch a horror movie by my previous boyfriend. The arsehole. 

Placing my hand on my chest to calm my pounding heart, I smile at where his head has emerged through the curtain separating the sales floor and stockroom. 

“Thank you for checking on me. I’m okay. Just knocked off a couple of boxes.” 

“Shit. That looks annoying. Let me help.” He muscles his way past the curtain, assisting me by setting the box right side up. I locate the roll of packing tape I’d used earlier to package some items for a customer who wanted them delivered, handing the tape to Harry as he repairs the box. “I’m Harry.” His introduction is endearing, and I share my name too. 

“No one else working tonight?” His hushed tones do things to my body that are inappropriate for work. 

“No one else is working ever. It’s my shop, and I couldn’t afford to pay for help this year.” 

“Damn. How do you manage?” 

“Well, I take it slow on nights like this with the restocking and tidying because I know I’ll get the next two days to soak my feet and relax.”

“But how do you do it during the day with all the customers?” 

“I think that’s clear from the state of the front. I muddle through.” My shrug is intended to communicate that there’s no real answer to that question. 

“Can I help?” 

“YOU?” I yelp, clamping both hands over my mouth at my shriek. 

“Why not me?” 

“Um, cause you’re Harry Styles.” 

When he smiles this time, his eye crinkles come into focus, and I’m lost in him. I could stare at those crows’ feet all night, I think. 

“And that means I can’t help?” 

“It means that you probably have plenty of plans that don’t include stocking shelves.” 

“Hmmm… tonight, I actually do not have plans. My sister and I were supposed to shop for our mum, and then my sister ended up ill, so…” Trailing off, he raises both hands to the side in imitation of a shrug. “You can pay me by helping me choose gifts for my mum and my sister. And my manager’s wife. And maybe the wives of my friends.” 

“That’s silly. I’d help you with that for free.” 

“Ah, well then, you can take me out to dinner after we’re done.” 

My jaw drops. Dinner with Harry Styles? 

Is he asking me out on a date? 

“Just as repayment, right?” I ask. 

“For starters,” he smirks, and my panties become uncomfortable as I rub my legs together. “I’ll take these boxes out front.” Bending his knees, he picks up the box of neck pillows with the box of eye compresses on top. Striding through the curtain, he drops the boxes on the floor and immediately starts artfully arranging the merchandise. Occasionally, he brings a pillow to his nose and breathes in deeply. 

Mesmerised, I watch from the door to the store room. After a few minutes, he removes his coat, carefully draping it over the counter, smiling at me as I straighten the bottles of lotion on the table, ensuring that the rosemary mint doesn’t get mixed up with the rosemary thyme. It’s easy to get them confused as the labels are similar. 

“How long did it take you to prepare all of this?” Harry asks, his hand encompassing the entire shop. 

“All year. My dad –” I pause as emotion invades my throat, layering it with sorrow. Finally, I swallow, clearing the grief. “My dad was ill for the last couple of years, so I quit my job to move in and take care of him. I started growing the herbs in his garden. And then I needed something to do with all of the herbs I grew, so I started making soaps and selling them at the local farmer’s market. Demand was swift, and I’ve been expanding the line for the last eight months or so.” 

“That’s amazing!” His face has lit up like the Christmas tree that’s in the corner of the shop, and his grin takes over his entire countenance. “And how’s your dad doing now?” 

I wince. “He actually died in July.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

My watery smile hopefully conveys my gratitude. “He was ready to go. At least that’s what he told me. And I needed a project after his death to keep me busy while I cleaned out the house and prepared to sell it.” 

“Sell it? Why?” 

Moving to the next table, I straighten the bars of soap. Wiping a tear from my eye, I answer his question. “Too many memories. I’ve had a lot of loss in my life, and now I’m the only one left in my immediate family. So when I’m in the house, all I can see are the people no longer with me.” 

“That must be hard.” His hand rests on my shoulder, and I’m startled because I hadn’t realised he’d approached. 

��It’s life. Lucky for me, I have my dreams to keep me going.” 

“Dreams of expanding beyond a popup shop at the holidays?” 

“Something like that,” I nod. 

“Sounds lovely. Listen, I’m done with these shelves, and those over there look pretty good. I, um, straightened them earlier when I was testing the product. Is there a broom so I can sweep up?” 

Astonished, I blink at him. “No. No. No. I draw the line at having a number one pop musician sweep my floor.” 

He giggles, his laugh growing until he’s slapping his knee, his full body moving with glee as he heartily releases his mirth. “So if I were the number one classical musician or number one jazz musician or number one country musician, you’d be okay with me cleaning the floor?”

Seeing the humour in my comment, I laugh along with him. “Okay. Okay. You’ve found me out. Only pop musicians aren’t allowed to sweep up. Everyone else is fair game.” 

Bopping me on the nose, he grins. “Good thing I’m not a number one pop musician tonight. I’m just a customer who is quite taken with your goods.” 

And the way he rakes his eyes over my body lets me know that he’s not talking about the merchandise on the shelves. 

Dammit. Why don’t I keep a pair of spare knickers in my bag in case I run into the handsomest man alive? Because the ones I’m wearing right now are ruined. 

Sticking his head through the curtain and peering into the back, he joyfully exclaims, “There it is!” Seconds later, he’s pushing the broom around the shop floor, and I am both pleased and appalled. 

Reluctant to let him do all the work, I watch him and squirm. Using the broom as a partner, he dances to the music, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes. 

“I remember when you couldn’t dance at all,” I reveal, then clamp my hands over my mouth at my rudeness. 

“Some would say I still can’t.” 

“Screw ‘em.” I grin. “Listen, I’m about to count up the money for a night deposit. Are you planning to pay with cash or credit?” 

Wincing, he bites his lip, resting his arm on top of the broom handle. “Oh yeah. I was having so much fun that I forgot I was here to shop.” He looks around at the merchandise. “You’re taking me out for dinner, right?” One eyebrow raises while the other stays in place. It’s a talent not many have. 

“I believe that was the deal in exchange for your labour.”

“Then let’s eat first. I can tell you about those I need to shop for, and you can decide what would be most fitting for each.” 

“Hmmm…” I tease, “Are you trying to get out of buying products from me?” 

“Nope,” he grins, stepping closer to me. “Trying to let you get to know me more.” 

“Who's to say I don’t already know everything about you?” 

“Ah, I see.” The expression on Harry’s face is smug. “You wanna have a quiz? Find out what exactly you know and don’t know?” 

“Sure,” I smile, “but somehow I’m not sure I trust you. You could easily say all of my answers are wrong, and I wouldn’t be able to contradict you.” 

“Let’s start. What colour are my eyes?” 

“Are you taking the piss? They’re green. That one’s easy ‘cause I can see them.” 

“Okay, okay. You got one right. What colour are my lips?” 

Which of course drags my eyes right to the body part in question. And they look lush. Soft. Slightly chapped, but not enough to keep me from… 

Shit. I’ve gotten lost in staring at his lips. 

“I didn’t hear your answer.” 

My tongue dips out to lick my own lips, and he steps closer, his eyes locked on my tongue. Shaking my head, I dart my gaze back to his eyes, and I can feel his breath on my cheek. Leaning forward, he reaches his arm to my left, and I briefly wonder if he’s going to wrap his arm around my waist and haul me to him for a snogging session. 

Which is when he grabs his coat from the counter. 

“Let’s count the money so you can make your deposit. I’m getting hungry.” 

Really? I'm experiencing a powerful thirst.

Author's note: Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed it, please reblog. I know not everyone reblogs, but it really helps writers out.

READ PART 2 HERE

[theamazingdigitalraceway]

I have a fic request…a new racer enters (or an NPC gone rouge) and immediately starts taking a liking to Caine and giving him all the attention he ever wants…he doesn’t realize he’s neglecting Pomni and isn’t spending time with her anymore…When he finally does have time to spend with Pomni, she ignores him and runs off to her room sobbing…he then realizes how much he hurt her and how he needs to make things right, because he truly does love her

ATTENTION SPAN

A RACEWAY AU ONESHOT

WARNING: hurt/comfort, jealousy, angst

~~~

"Congratulations on becoming a racer, Loo!" Ragatha cheered.

Loo adjusted her hot pink gloves over the stark white tracksuit with pink stripes down the sides. She gave a twirl, feeling stylish and ready to race. "Thank you, darling! And thank YOU." She pointed to the floating Racemaster.

Caine looked behind him, realizing a second too late that she was talking to him. He pointed to himself. "Hm?"

Loo laughed. "Yes, you, silly. Thank you for letting me be part of the races! It's going to be so much fun! You did a wonderful job on this suit, by the way. Very-" She swings her long leg up into the air and braces it against the wall. "Flexible."

Ragatha just about fainted. Caine bashfully tugged his collar. "It wasn't anything, really. Tracksuits are pretty easy to make. I'm glad you like it, though. Welcome to the races!"

Pomni was a silent witness to all of this, and didn't think anything of the interaction. Loo was cool and more competition was always welcome.

~

It was after Loo's first race that Pomni thought things were starting to get weird. Loo came in fourth but celebrated like she had won gold. While there was nothing inherently wrong with that, Loo was a bit...heavy handed about her fun time on the track. She was practically gushing about every detail.

Caine had never been so proud of a track in his life. He almost couldn't believe the praise. "You're being too nice to me....but I won't stop you."

"Heehee! Well, the looping track that rotated into the ball pit? Inspired. That's probably been my favorite mechanic so far." Loo rambled on about each track piece, even if she didn't have much to say about it.

Pomni just rolled her eyes. "Okay, Caine was getting the praise hea always wanted. Good for him or whatever. It's not a big deal." She tried to talk away the burning jealousy that started to brew.

~

Loo talking Caine up after every race became a regular thing. Pomni could no longer deny the hurt when SHE would win a race, but Caine would only stick around long enough to give her the prize and leave. He had important project discussions with Loo to get to.

"Wait, I thought I was helping you with tracks?" Pomni asked, concerned.

"You have! But Loo has been giving me some really great feedback and I have a few adjustments to make. Shouldn't be long!" Caine vanished without giving Pomni a chance to respond.

No one's ever assisted Caine other than her. What he was happier with her..? Intrusive thoughts of heartbreak wormed their way into her mind.

~

The final straw was a missed date. Caine had promised to make up for missed time, but...he never showed up. Pomni knew where he was. His workshop. Likely getting lost in Loo's attention. She didn't care anymore. If Caine found someone better to be around, who was she to stand in his way. She retreated to her room, locking the door and refusing to answer to anyone.

That night, Caine returned Loo to the garage after a project ran late. "Sorry to get you back here so late. I didn't expect the booster generator to short out like that. I hope Ragatha isn't upset that I kept you busy."

"Don't worry about a thing, dear. Ragatha is very understanding. Besides, we're going to have a picnic date after tomorrow's race, so I can make it up to her then. Have a good night!" Loo left towards Ragatha's room.

"Goodnight! Have fun on your date!" He rested his hands on his hips. He was so happy to be in good graces with even more racers. Maybe things were getting better after all. His racers were such good spirits, they were finding romance like him and Pomni. "Wait... weren't we supposed to... OH SUGAR HONEY ICED TEA!!"

Caine flew up to Pomni's room and knocked repeatedly. "Pomni? Pomni?? You in there?? Po-"

Pomni threw open the door, her face contorted with anger and stained with tears. "What the [%$#!] do YOU want? Get bored of your new girlfriend already?"

"My new-?? No! Pomni, I'm so sorry I missed our date. It completely slipped my mind. Loo and I were-"

"Oh, I know exactly what you were doing. Spare me the [%#$!] details." Pomni hissed and tried to slam the door on Caine's face.

Caine held the door open. "Pomni, wait! She was just helping me design a new track feature! It really wasn't supposed to take that long! The glitches have gotten worse. Frustrating, at the very least."

"What a convenient excuse." Pomni said coldly.

Caine felt like she just stabbed him. "I really am sorry. Please, let me make it up to you. I beg of you."

"It's not just the date, Caine. You've been straight up ignoring me. Loo has you wrapped around her little finger because she strokes your ego. Did you design her to do that? Feed into your insecurities? Get out of my door, Caine. I don't want to see you right now."

Caine's eyes twitched subtly. "If that's what you want..." He backed off and let Pomni shut the door. He stared at her insignia for a long while. He didn't know what to do with himself. How has he let it go so far out of hand?

Pomni leaned against her door and sank to the floor, curling her knees to her chest. She didn't mean to tear into him so hard, anger and jealousy poisoned her words. She stayed there the whole night, unable to sleep.

~

Caine kept his distance from everyone. It was like the races were before Pomni showed up. He announced a race. A race was run. Humans to the garage. He has gotten too close and it hurt, but he was still determined to find a way to at least smooth things out with Pomni.

Caine brushed off compliments from Loo. She really was heavy handed with them...was Pomni right? HAD he made someone overly complimentitive? He didn't mean to.

He missed Pomni terribly. Not just her words; but her laugh, her banter, her cleverness. She wasn't just someone that told him things he wanted to hear. She was a person. She has her own fire that warmed his closed soul. Don't even get him started on her touch. Her kiss could send him spiralling into the void if he wasn't careful.

~

Caine hovered alongside Pomni as she walked away from the day's race. "Congratulations on second place, you REALLY gave Jax a run for his money."

Pomni ignored Caine. She still wasn't feeling particularly social.

Caine flipped over Pomni's head and flew backwards, upside down in front of her. "Come on, I'm trying here. I really want things to go back to the way they were between us. Loo is a friend. Those are good, right? She was never meant to replace you or anyone else."

Pomni stopped walking, glaring into Caine's pleading eyes. "You expect me to just let go of what you did?"

"Well-"

"Look, as much as I appreciate the effort here, I'm still mad at you."

"How can I make you un-mad at me?" He asked genuinely.

Pomni sighed. "Not letting your need for constant praise override our relationship, for one. I get that you work hard on these tracks, I really do, but understand that everyone here is...tired. Tired in ways you won't understand."

"...Are you tired of me?" Caine asked quietly.

Pomni's stubborn resolve broke. "No. I didn't even want to say those things to you...you just...what you did hurt me..."

Caine righted himself, taking Pomni's hand with both of his. "I never meant for that to happen. You mean more to me than anyone or anything else in this world. I'm in love with you Pomni. Empty words could never take me away from you. I'm sorry I got so distracted."

"It's okay for you to hang out with Loo, really. You two got along so well. Just, don't forget about me."

Caine cupped her cheek and leaned in, his voice a low whisper. "Never."

Pomni threw her arms over his shoulders and pressed a long kiss to his bottom teeth. Caine caught her in his arms and kissed her back.

[solaneceae]

float like a feather, sting like sharp talons

Philza drops by Étoiles' brand new dojo for a friendly sparring session, and ends up getting quite a lot more. Namely existential dread, the thrill of a good hunt, and the comfort of shared trust. @apthotiosis this is a commissioned fic! read on ao3

He whistles, eyes lingering along the thick, wooden support beams and rice paper walls surrounding him. It’s a surprising sight, tucked away in a corner of what he can only describe as a mess of a base, mostly empty, the walls still a rough (and frankly ugly) mix of dirt and cobblestone that hasn’t been cleared out even after six months. “So. That is your dojo.”

Étoiles nods at his side, a big stupid grin on his face. “Do you like it, Phil?” he asks, eager as a pup as little Pomme zooms around the cave in an improv game of tag with Tallulah — ever mindful of how her lag (sorry, asthma) sometimes stalls her in her tracks. He glances at them fondly, silly, eggs, babies. “I do,” he hums, because it is pretty. Especially if you ignore the rest of the cave outside because God, it’s fugly as shit and Étoiles knows it. The plant hybrid smiles, all teeth and gums, and squints with star-filled eyes that always seem to glow despite not working like they used to. Phil still doesn’t get why what was originally a completely harmless veggie plant has evolved to bear such predatory teeth, but he can’t say it doesn’t suit his friend. “He likes it! Let’s gooo, big win for me, big win. I can die happy now.”

“Oh my god, stop. Kristin’s married, you know.”

Étoiles gives him a mock-shove that is more of a real one, because Étoiles never holds back, especially not with Phil. “Oh! Oh, so I can’t be nice to Lady Death? I can’t just visit her because she’s cool and she likes me also? I am married to the grind, Phil, you know me!”

Phil shakes his head, exasperated and fond. “You’re a nerd is what you are. Did you know she calls you her tech support?” Étoiles makes a confused noise. Tallulah peeps in the background, mimicked by Pomme, a chorus of play and yesyes, because all the eggs have picked up on that one by now. (Mimicry is a powerful thing, and the eggs are highly social creatures who thrive on it.)

Phil elaborates, circling the build to assess its structure better. “Because of the sweeping edge bug thing, and Richas’ cancelled death last week. You find the kinks and loopholes in death mechanics better than anyone she knows.”

Étoile beams at that. “That’s so cool. I’m Death tech support!”

“You certainly are. Do you think it’s because you picked Death? In the entity rooms?”

The green-skinned man shrugs, then gasps and takes off running after Pomme to stop her from setting up waterframes everywhere to display obscure anime edits for Tallulah because her internet, her lag Pomme, you’re going to make her void! Phil glances at them (safe, no danger, good) then back at the dojo, running his palm down a beam to feel its grain. It’s smooth, recently stripped of its bark. “Huh,” he says.

He doesn’t understand why his friend chose to build this underground when dojos are usually suited for wind-swept plains or mysterious forests. Then again, Étoiles has never been much for coherent aesthetics. That, and he probably thought it would be more mysterious to hide it under the ground, knowing him. “It’s. Well, very dojo-like,” he walks through dark support beams and onto clean, recently-oiled planks, coming to poke at one of the wooden sticks idly rotating above an altar to send it spinning in the opposite direction. Étoiles trots back to him with an egg under each arm (Play, dad, Pomme warbles. Play, silly, Tallulah beeps from within her cracked shell.) and lets out a guttural noise, visibly bothered by the sticks being out of sync, and it makes Phil snort. Silly. Silly. “Did you build it all by yourself?”

“Yeeaaaah.”

“You’re lying.”

A dramatic gasp. The warrior puts both eggs down to throw his hands in the air. “I’m not lying! Pomme, ma légende, dis-lui.”

Bomp. [me and richas did it. papa helped, very much :DDD]

Étoiles comes to brush his fingers against the red sign, letting the device tucked into his ear translate the written words into spoken ones. He whines, puts a hand over his heart as his ears droop. “Ahhh, trahison. Disgrâce. Tu m’détestes en fait Pomme, c’est ça ? You want me to dig down to bedrock and die forever? Or it’s because I can’t see, so you think I’m shit?”

Bomp. [papa…] Bomp. [t’a pas besoin d’être aveugle pour avoir des goûts douteux en déco :X]

“Okay, okay. I go die in fire then, goodnight.” Then Étoiles pours lava into the cobble floor and stands in it with a huge smile. His body catches on fire immediately, skin quickly shrivelling up and blackening under the heat. Pomme peeps at him loudly and hits him with her scythe, then douses him in water and healing potions — which immediately prompts Étoiles into sparring mode, laughing and hyping his egg up with a string of ‘oh she knows, she knows the play’ and ‘strafing, comboing, keep at it’ as his body heals up. Philza watches the display for a few seconds before getting bored, choosing to walk past the layer of light wood circling the dojo to take a look inside.

It’s even prettier than the outside, with all the paper lanterns and little fountains and bamboo shoots. His geta clack against the wood, then go silent on the woven straw flooring at the center. “Why’re all the posters in Japanese?” he remarks when his friend comes back from his little mock-tantrum with his daughter in tow, squinting at a crude montage explaining the belts system. Philza can gather that it’s based on how much HP the dojo master has left after a duel, because Étoiles has been yapping about making a dojo with that exact system for months now. (Is that a jar of mayo at the top? The hell?) Guess the eggs returning has been the push in motivation he needed to actually commit to that build, despite his insistence that he is very much a builder now, thank you very much, look at all the wool I have.

Étoiles perks up, grins in a way that lets Phil know he’s about to do a bit. “Oh, you don’t know? You don’t know that I’m literally Japanese, Philza?” he chirps, picking up one of the sticks on display before running circles around the other man, poking at his legs playfully. His boots are off, Phil notices. “Speaking of! Shoes off Phil, come on, come on!”

“You literally told me you grew in a field, mate,” Phil laughs, airy and wheezy and light as he evades the attacks. “The little legume who could! In rural France! Where does Japan come into play here?”

“Aaaah, Philza, Philza,” the warrior shakes his head, hitting the other on the shoulder to push him back out and onto the cold cobble floor. “Shoes off I said, it’s a rule. I don’t want shit on my tatami, I already had to clean it up sooo many times with the whole server fucking around in it yesterday. And Japan lives in my warrior’s soul. It’s all that matters.”

“F’course it does,” Phil complies regardless, shimming out of his geta before walking to the little shoe rack in the corner to tuck them inside. “There. Happy?”

“Very. Also, trivia time, culture time: did you know that cucumbers aren’t legumes? They are fruits, Phil! And vegetables don’t actually exist, they’re all either fruits or roots or leaves or flowers...”

Phil stares at him. “...You don’t get to stand there and tell me my avocados are fruits, Étoiles. What the fuck.”

“Umm, they are berries, actually—”

“Oh fuck off and come kill me already.”

“With pleasure, my bro.”

 

Armors come off next, quickly magicked back into inventories. Phil walks up to the altars to pick up his own stick (unenchanted, as plain as it gets) and spots Étoiles off to the side, rolling up his sleeve to check on his insulin levels before rolling it back down. “We eat one gapple each, yes? My sugar is low,” he explains as they both get into position on both ends of the tatami.

“Sounds good. You got yours?”

Étoiles laughs, summoning a golden fruit from his inventory and spinning it over his finger like the insufferable showoff he is. “Always. Autofeed off Phil, no cheating.”

“Alright, you little shit,” Phil summons his own gapple and bites into it with purpose, feeling the warm tingle of magic-saturation in his stomach as the rest of the apple vanishes into thin air with a few golden sparkles. He turns to the eggs, settled on top of diamond blocks they’ve just placed. “Tallulah, do a countdown for us please?”

Signs are placed, one by one, as Pomme hypes them up with Megalovania, perfectly timed with the Pigstep now blasting out of a music box. Bomp, three. Bomp, two. Bomp, one…

Bomp. [GO PAPA PHIL :D]

Étoiles shoots off towards him as soon as the letters show up on the wood, jumping up and swinging his stick down for a crit. Phil dashes to the side, the blow just grazing his shoulder. “Nice cock, Phil!” Étoiles gasps, all sharp teeth and waggling eyebrows, and it takes the avian back enough for the other to get a few hits in. “Motherfucker!” Phil laughs, breaking the combo and pushing the cucumber back with a few crits of his own, adrenaline starting to flood his brain and paint the world in sharp edges and colors. “You little shit! Stop doing that!”

“Do what, Philza? I’m just bantering, just chilling.”

Étoiles’ combat style hasn’t changed despite the blindness, Phil finds — he’s insanely precise and quick on his feet, which is a problem. He decides he won’t be able to outrun or out-speed him, so he elects to block most of his strikes with his own stick instead, relying more on instinct than observation. “He’s blocking, he’s blocking,” the warrior’s voice chants through the flurry of swings and the clack of wood against wood. “Strafing, strafing, he’s the best, he’s the GOAT. Hit me, Phil! Don’t just defend, hit me!”

And dammit, Phil tries pretty hard — but Étoiles is insane and he’s just a little too fast even without speedbridging, just a little too smart with his feints. Phil goes down after two minutes, the last hit clocking him across the temple and sending him to the (thankfully a little soft) floor, ears ringing and white stars dancing across his darkening vision. He wonders if it’s a little like how Étoiles sees the world now. Probably not. “Four hearts, Phil,” Étoiles announces, laying his hands on Phil’s side — the pain fades, the world comes back into focus, and his brain rattles with the doom-doom of revival. He hears fireworks going off, probably Pomme’s. “That’s good, very good. That’s a brown belt! I think you can kill me soon, easy. Again?” the cucumber chirps, offering his hand, and Phil thinks that if Étoiles had his tail it would probably be wagging right now.

He groans in agreement, grasps his friend’s hand and is pulled back on his feet. “Yes. Again.”

Round two goes similarly. “Again.” So does round three. “One more.” After his fourth consequential victory, Étoiles looks pensive, and Phil is getting a tad frustrated — he’s muted his comm for this, as he often does, but he can usher a guess at what Global chat looks like, spammed with his half-death messages and maybe a brief bout of concern from whoever else is online at the moment. “Fuck, man,” he rubs at his neck where a particularly vicious strike has left the skin an angry red, molted with purple. He’ll feel that in the morning, if he doesn’t get a respawn. “I don’t think I can do it. No black belt for me.”

“No, no, you can,” Étoiles insists, circling him — dull, greyed out eyes scanning for something. “I think…”

“Looking for something, king? How’s nebula-me looking?”

“Like the GOAT, you know that. But since you ask, you’re more blue today. With some red.”

“Cool. Wish I could see like you do, for a day.”

“You don’t. It’s pretty, but annoying. It’s harder to make out details inside the, ah…” he mumbles something in barely-legible French. “Je sais pas comment on dit. Les contours. The lines at the limits of a drawing.”

“Outlines?”

“Yes. I see the outlines well, but everything inside is messy. To me everything is just, shapes. And the bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it. Eggs are easy, because they are small and simple. People are harder.” He waves towards Phil. “Like, I can’t know if you’re smiling or frowning, I have to listen to how your voice sounds.”

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

Étoiles hums, stops at his side. Cocks his head like an attentive dog. “Ah. You should take your backpack off, Phil. It’s slowing you down.”

Oh. Philza shifts, hesitant. “I wear it all the time, it doesn’t nerf me that much.”

“No, I think it can make a difference. Let’s try it?”

Mh. He hadn’t planned on doing this today. Showing his kids had felt right, natural. Showing Fit had required a few deep breaths, but not much else. Étoiles… is a trickier case.

He does want to show him — the french warrior is one of his most trusted friends, and someone he knows he can rely on in a pinch. The guy is loyal to a fault, always looking at Phil like all it would take for him to lay down his life before him was a single word. It’s a bit scary, in a way, and always makes his hindbrain buzz pleasantly. But Phil held things like mutual trust in high regard, and Étoiles had broken that on the first day of Purgatory.

They had talked since then, and it’s clear to Phil now that it had been an honest mistake, a temporary lapse in judgement. Plus, it’s not as if Phil hadn’t lost his own mind within the first twenty-four hours in that red hellscape. Still, even though he has forgiven Étoiles, the cracks don’t feel completely healed just yet. “I don’t know, mate,” he pulls at one of the straps of his backpack self-consciously, feeling its weight pressing his wings tightly against his back. “I can’t get you under four hearts, I doubt taking it off will give me that much more.”

“Phil. Phiiiiil. Trust me?”

Tall order, Phil almost jokes, but refrains. “I do trust you.”

“Then trust what I’m saying. I know my shit, you’re being slowed down, you can’t spin as fast or jump as high with this thing, it’s basic physics. I want you to have all the chance on your side.”

Philza purses his lips, glances to where Tallulah sits off to the side. She jumps to her little feet and places down a sign, while Pomme rummages through her backpack next to her. He can’t help but coo when the bright ‘<3’ shows up in stark white against the magenta wood. “Right. Okay.”

Étoiles can’t see, not normally. So maybe he won’t be able to make them out, bound tightly against his back as they are. And if he does, then that is fine. No need to make a fuss of it. So Philza walks up to Tallulah and drops the black pack next to her, giving her a little headpat in passing. “Watch over that for me, okay?” he smiles at her, and she peeps at him with purpose, jumping on top of it and doing the egg equivalent of puffing up her chest. Pomme is in her own red backpack now, little legs kicking the air as she reaches as deep as she can. silly, egg, baby, egg, he croons. “I’ll be right back. Got a green ass to kick.”

 

“He is back,” Étoiles whoops when he steps onto the tatami. “Oh, he is ready, so ready. Are you full hearts?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We go on three, one, two, th—”

Phil takes off at the first syllable, and oh, yeah, the lack of weight on his back means he can lean forward more without gravity winning, and that means he reaches Étoiles right as he reaches the end of his three. He thrusts his stick forward, the blunt tip digging itself right into the other’s abdomen with enough force to make him stumble back, winded and sputtering. “Argh—”

Phil doesn’t let him recover, getting a few good hits in before his opponent parries and attempts an upward swing that he barely evades by sending his body backwards, dangerously far. The weapon grazes his chin, and his wings try to open to regain balance but they’re still bound against him. “Shit—” he steps back quickly, arms pinwheeling, and it looks a little silly but it works, and he does not crash onto his back like an idiot.

Étoiles stares at him from the other side, breathing hard, eyes wide, a palm against his diaphragm. Then he smiles. “Oh. Ohohooo. Okay, now we’re talking. Let’s go.”

Moving more freely doesn’t make the fight easier, not by a long shot, because Étoiles adapts quickly — but it does make it more fun, and that’s already an improvement in Phil’s eyes. He gets less crits in, because jumping up leaves him too exposed to revenge strikes, but he gets more light hits in between sidesteps and mad dashes. “He is so fast!” Étoiles cheers, ducking to dodge a vicious strike to the head. “Oh, he is so good, go Phil go!”

Run, dodge, strike, strafe, dash. Every muscle in Phil’s body strains to keep up as he pushes it past its limits, arm aching from the repeated shocks against the stick, but he barely feels it thanks to the adrenaline flooding his system. A hit to the back of his knee makes him stumble, but he recovers into a roll and trips Étoiles with his stick in retaliation. The cucumber groans, scrambles to get up, and Phil sees an opening right there on his foes’ unprotected throat. He zeroes in on it, takes the first step, raises his weapon and—

 

There’s a jagged shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He falters. Tries not to look at it, tries to keep his eyes on target, target that’s about to get back up, quick, quick, do it. 

 

There’s a purple shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He fails. Sharp angles and eerie glow, that shade he’s come to dread. The amethyst crystals hum out their ethereal song, taunting him. He doesn’t see Étoiles anymore, and his world is drowning in high-pitched static.

 

Purple. Purple everywhere. The room is too dark, too dark, darker yet darker.

Time slows down. No. The edges of his vision are fraying, dark tendrils creeping in. He feels himself falter, adrenaline making way for cortisol and making his hindbrain, no, fly, fly, run, nonono. He’s losing his footing, his grip around the stick growing slack, palms getting clammy. No, no, not now, please. His breathing picks up, faster than it’s been at any point of this duel. The amethysts glow an eerie violet, jagged shapes growing out of the thick, wooden beams around him, and he swears the room has gotten even darker. “Tallu—” He doesn’t make it to the end of the name, because then something smacks him in the back with unrestrained force.

Right on his left ulnare, the wingbone left exposed with no fat or muscle to cushion the blow.

Pain explodes throughout his left wing, the shock propagating all the way into his back and making him yell out, a gasp-screech that is very not human. Tallulah peeps loudly somewhere at the edge of his awareness, papa, no, bad! as he falls to his hands and knees, panic spiking, bad, bad, hurts, getoutgetout—

“Oh merde! Phil, ça va ?” He hears glass breaking, smells melon and gunpowder and something both earthy and spicy — Nether wart. Étoiles is healing him, putting a stop to their duel, and the realisation drags him out of that weird fugue state. “You never made that sound before, I think it’s bad. Are you okay?”

“Amethyst,” the older man growls between clenched teeth, letting the potion effects refill his health bar — fuck. Pain signals were always limited during PvP, but this had somehow broken through the server’s capping function. Étoiles makes a noise of incomprehension, his hands just hovering over Phil’s shoulder, not quite touching. “What?” he says, and Phil hears the patter of little feet rapidly coming closer. Pomme and Lullah.

“Please, just... Can you see the amethyst?”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course his friend can’t see it, because that shit isn’t real. Or at least not to anyone but him. Through the haze he can feel Tallulah’s warm shell bump against his arm, hear her little worried chitters. He doesn’t trust himself to tell her he’s fine.

But then, Étoiles raises an eyebrow and turns his head towards the wall, blinks. A frustrated noise. “Euuuh Pomme, je t’adore hein, mais ça va pas trop avec le reste en fait. Tu peux les retirer steuplait ?” Pomme crouches, one-two, then summons a pickaxe and walks towards the crystals, and proceeds to casually break all of them.

Oh. Her backpack, all her rummaging. She’d been trying to decorate the dojo while they were busy sparring. 

Philza lets out an uneven breath, runs a hand through his hair — his forehead is damp with cold sweat, and it sucks. Okay. Okay. Real, then. Just a really, really bad coincidence. Bad timing. Bad everything. He lets out a breath, the tight coil in his chest slowly loosening. “I’m sorry Pomme,” he gives the little egg a smile that he hopes to the Gods isn’t shaky. “Got distracted by the shiny, you know how it goes. Crow brain go brrrrr.”

Pomme falls dramatically on the floor at that, places a red sign that reads [sorry ;_;] “You’re good, you’re good, don’t worry.” Tallulah places a flower next to Pomme, bomp, [RIP manzanita]. Phil chuckles at their antics, heartbeat slowing down to a more normal pace. Jesus Christ. “You like shiny things, Phil?” Étoiles asks. “Did not know that.” He looks around, scans the dojo for any stray shine. “Mmmh. All good, I think. Sorry about Pomme, she likes amethyst stuff.” Then, quieter, “I think it reminds her of Baghera. She has an amethyst farm in her castle.”

Oh. Phil glances at Pomme, who thankfully seems fully absorbed in a sign-based conversation with Tallulah. “That makes sense. She must miss her a lot.”

(Dad, are you proud of me? I just killed a silverfish.)

“Can I see your wings, Phil?”

And, there it is. The other shoe. Phil lets out a heavy sigh, wincing when the movement makes his joint twinge in lingering pain — he’s pretty sure nothing’s actually broken or sprained, at least not any worse than before, but it still hurts. “So you saw them.”

“No no, I can’t. But I know they are there, somewhere. I’m sorry I hit them, I can’t tell where they are if you don’t have them out. Told you it was annoying.”

Ah. That makes more sense. He doubts Étoiles would voluntarily target them. Still… “How do you know about them? And, why?

“Philza, you need to understand something. And the thing is, I’m really dumb. I want to see them because maybe I can help, if I hurt them. I fix.”

“No you’re not, stop that. And you didn’t do any permanent damage, you’re fine.”

“No, wait. I’m stupid with lore, but I have eyes and ears. Jaiden showed she had wings, pretty sure Baghera has some but she hides them, I assumed you were the same.” Ah. Fair enough. Phil hasn’t been as subtle lately, and the crow jokes could only go for so long before people started to pick up on how literal they were. “Also, Kristin told me.”

Wait, what. “Wait, what?”

“Ye ye. First day of Purgatory, I died a lot.  She said she wanted to exchange fofoca, so I told her about things, and she told me about you because she likes me. Did you know, I asked her if I could get wings too? It made her laugh. I guess tech support is not a high enough position to get flying benefits, sad times for me.”

Mother fucker. It’s hard to be upset when everything that spews out of Étoiles’ chattermouth is so consistently funny. “Well. I would’ve told you sooner than later, anyway. S’fine.”

“So you let me help.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll let you take a look, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

“Let’s goooo, we got trust. Sit down please?”

Phil snorts and complies. He spots Tallulah running back towards him to climb onto his lap with a quiet warbe. good? Phil warbles back, good, yesyes, and rests his chin on top of his egg’s soft locks of hair. He hears Pomme hitting her dad behind him. “Ouais Pomme ?” Bomp, a short silence. “Badboy est là ? Ah ouaaais. Il veut encore t’exploiter pour ses boutons de l’enfer là ? POV, tu aides le fou du QSMP avec son escape game pour pas qu’il te tue.” More hits, Pomme’s little click-chirps. Étoiles laughs. “Okay, okay, t’inquiètes. Va l’aider, moi et Phil on va parler de trucs chiants de toute façon. Je te vois plus tard ?” The sound of a warpstone going off. “Saluuut.”

“Is Pomme leaving?”

“Yeah, she wants to build stuff with Badboy.”

“Oh god. Please tell me it’s not another find-the-button map.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna spend ten hours finding those fucking things again soon, let’s gooooo. So your wings, who else knows? I bet Fit knows. And your eggs.” Tallulah nods in Phil’s hold.

Étoiles’ lack of big reaction feels nice, but he supposes he should have expected it — the guy never makes a big deal out of anything. Except when it’s about banned materials. Or the Nether. And finding buttons, new trigger unlocked. “Add in pretty much everyone in the original Bolas, king,” he huffs as Étoiles settles behind him. His unseen presence makes a brief shiver of danger, danger go up Phil’s spine. It’s fine. It’s fine, he soothes himself, idly rubbing at the scar at the center of his chest through his robe. “I lost my shit with them around. Stopped caring as much. They saw them on day one.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Half the people on this shit island are like, creatures. Not humans. Nobody cares. I’m literally a fruit, Phil.”

Phil chokes on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how funny what you just said was.” Tallulah chirps and wiggles in his hold, places a sign. [*side-eyes u*] it says, and that’s somehow even funnier than if she had actual eyes to side-eye people with instead of the blank expanse of her brown-spotted shell.

Étoiles blinks. He cocks his head to the side, in that specific way he does whenever he’s listening to what he calls the ‘voices of the stars’. (Something akin to his crows, from what the older man has been able to gather.) “Oooh. Oh, is it a gay joke Phil? That doesn’t work man, we are on Gay Island, everyone is gay here, or they don’t date at all. And you are incorrect, because I am in the second group, héhé.”

“Didn’t Antoine call you his boyfriend once?”

“He calls me a lot of things.” Étoiles shrugs. ”He’s also an asshole and my DJ partner and my friend and I love him very much, but no, it’s not like that. And I am married to dark metal and dungeons anyway. Now I’m going to unbind your wings and move them around, okay?”

“Mh. Go for it, king.”

To his credit, Étoiles is methodic in his approach — unknotting the binds and carefully tracing the upper edges of his left wing while the other spreads out with difficulty, a few black feathers coming loose. Étoiles lets out a surprised oh, gently grabs the other to help it unfurl, and Phil feels him poking at the bottom of his regrowing primaries — right where the white ones, usually hidden beneath the outer layer unless he spreads them wide, grow in diamond-like spots. “I know this pattern, right there. You have Elytrian code too, Phil? I thought it was just crow.”

“Ah, so Kristin didn’t tell you everything then.”

“No. And she didn’t like, out you, you know. She only told me because she knew I knew, she only confirmed it. People with wings have like, a way they move? I can’t explain it, I just see it.”

“Body language expert Étoiles, ey? Have you known a lot of avians before?”

Étoiles stays quiet for a second. When he speaks again, he sounds perplexed. “Huh. I don’t know. I guess I knew Baghera? Memory stuff, it’s annoying.”

Phil frowns. Right. “You told me a little about your childhood, though. The village, the farmers?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing that came back quickly after the crash. But everything after that, I don’t remember.”

“Man, fuck this island. I’m sorry.”

Étoiles hums. His fingers start combing through his bottom feathers, lingering among the white ones. “I think. I think I went to the End before, Phil.” His voice has gone softer, airy, like he’s not quite anchored in the present. “I think… maybe, I’ve seen Elytrians before.”

“You have?”

“Mmh. I think I killed one. Yeah. And I took its elytra. It was a good fight.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him — Elytrian hunting is a common activity for those who reach the End, and elytras are a highly sought-after item in most worlds. (Philza would know.) “Were you a hunter? Before the island.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t like hunters.” And Phil can’t see Étoile’s face from his position on the floor, but his words are dripping with contempt. “Hunting for yourself is one thing. Making money off it, it feels wrong. And they don’t even fight, they make traps. I don’t like that. If you’re too shit at fighting to win fairly against something, you don’t deserve the loot. Bâtards de merde.”

And Phil laughs, because this he understands. “Ever the honorable warrior, aren’t you Étoiles.”

“Dude, I have so much honor. I told you, I’m literally Japanese.”

“Right.”

“And like I said, I am your arms. I am your sword, Philza Minecraft.”

Phil’s wings fluff up slightly, a croon of ownership-claim threatening to spill out of his chest. Mine. “Étoiles…”

“I am, it’s not a bad thing! Purgatory sucked. I didn’t like it. But it was better at the end, when you were telling me what to do. Who to kill for you.”

Phil croons, leaning back into Étoiles’ careful hands. “I see. You never called me dad though.”

“Fuck that!” Étoiles laughs, bark-like and airy. “That cult leader shit was weird. You’re Philza.” And there’s a quality to the way he says it, something that feels both casual and reverent. “First of his name, GOAT of PvP, Avoider of Lore, greatest man alive—”

“Woah there—”

“—husband and Angel of Lady Death, and father of dragon eggs. You’re not my dad. Why everyone has daddy issues on this shit island?”

Phil snorts. “I don’t know, mate. But I won’t judge. I think it’s fine if seeing me as a father figure brought them comfort. It was literally hell out there.”

Étoiles hums. “Maybe. Also, you didn’t answer my question.” Phil lets out a confused huh. “Earlier, when I asked why you were hiding that you had wings.”

…Shit. Curse Étoiles’ one-track mind, his deflection tactic had been foiled. “It’s not— shit like prejudice I was afraid of, Étoiles,” he admits, quiet and somber. The other man stops his ministrations, fingers dug deep in his primary coverts. “I know this island is a goddamn circus show. Mousey screams she’s a demon to whoever will listen and nobody gives two shits, I don’t know why Bad even bothers pretending he’s not. That’s not the problem. It’s just…” He sighs. ”The Federation has eyes everywhere, man. I feel like if I show them off too much, they’ll fuck them up again. Maybe even worse than last time.”

Étoiles is silent. His motions resume, slower, more careful and deliberate. “The first time, you say,” he eventually hums. There’s something dangerous in his voice. “So it’s because of them, that they are like this? Your wings.”

“Pretty much. Woke up on the train, boom, clipped. No more flying for me. I don’t know why they didn’t do the same to Jaiden, she said she didn’t want to fly, or didn’t know how? I can’t remember too well, but maybe that’s why. Less of a threat. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t do it to her. She’s family now.” Even though her loyalties are a point of concern, he couldn’t help it. She is Bolas, she is flock. And he had held her as she screamed out the temporary loss of her shiny blue wings, that first night in Purgatory. “No avian deserves that shit.”

“You don’t either, Phil.”

“I know that.”

“I’m just saying it because you have the voice! The one you use when you think bad things.”

A wry smile. “How dare you call yourself dumb, man. How fucking dare you.”

“It’s what I do! I kill things, I see people’s true souls, and I shit on myself.”

They stay quiet after that. Étoiles stretches out his wings, flexing the joints one at a time, muttering quick apologies when Phil hisses a little too loud. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re good. Keep going.” So he does, until Phil no longer feels the pins and needles of blood flooding back into his wings, until the joints no longer feel like rusted cogs. He even gets a little preening in, dislodging matted down and crooked secondaries, and it feels nice. Tallulah is dozing off in his hold, warm and safe. His egg, his baby, his hatchling. “Thanks mate,” Phil hums, a little out of it by the end, hindbrain thrumming pleasantly. Flock, good, yesyes. “You’ve done that before, I can tell.”

“If I have, I don’t remember. Okay, now stand— sorry Tallulah, were you sleeping? Sorry, your dad has to stand so we can see. Yes, nice. Now try them.”

Phil chitters quietly, furling and unfurling his wings experimentally — the constant pain is still there, but minimal, very bearable, and they do feel less stuffy. Lighter. “It actually does, yeah.” Tallulah does a little dance at his side, twirling and playing a few cheery notes on her flute. “Good job, seriously.”

“No probleeeem, Phil, my bro. Last round?”

This guy, I swear. “I’m a little tired,” Phil groans, cracking his neck as he stands, stretches his wings out as far as he can — it still aches, but feels miles better. “But okay. I’m going to put Tallulah to bed real quick, she’s eepy.” Tallulah nods in confirmation, takes out her warpstone right as her papa does. “Then let’s fight, one more time. After that I’m going home and conking the fuck out.”

Étoiles makes a sound that probably means something like ‘holy shit say less king’. “Okay!”

Five minutes later, and he’s warping back to Étoiles’ cave like a man on a mission. And in a way, he is. “Welcome back, worthy challenger,” the cucumber greets him, crossed-legged in the middle of the dojo, and Phil snorts because the music box is blasting Smash Bros music now. “You’re such a fucking nerd, oh my God.”

“It gives me strength, Phil. It’s my final form.” Étoiles gets up, stick already in hand, bouncing on his heels with anticipation. “Autofeed still off?”

“Yup. How’s your sugar?” Étoiles checks his monitor quickly, gives a thumbs up. “Good. No holding back?”

“I never hold back, Phil. Let’s go.”

There is no countdown this time — both opponents slip into quiet assessment, circling each other slowly, slowly. Étoiles does a strange head-tilt, ears flicking to track Phil’s footsteps, the sounds of feathers ruffling. Phil’s eyes do not stray from him, hardened and focused, picking up on the change in the air. Étoiles wants him to go all out. So he will. And he has a plan.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

Time to put that to the test, then.

Étoiles charges first this time, quick-footed, swerving at random moments to keep himself a hard-to-track target. Phil almost bursts into incredulous laughter because holy shit, he’s Naruto-running, what the fuck— but manages to keep his focus, waiting until the very last moment to thrust his wings downward with enough force to send him soaring abovehis opponent. Then, right as his feet touch the tatami and right as Étoiles screeches to a stop to spin back towards him

he spreads his wings

wide, wider

casting huge shadows on the four walls of the dojo

and lets his powers roll off of him like a dark mist, sparking with magic and wither-decay.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

It’s a gamble, a costly one that saps his Feds-capped magic like crazy — but it pays off, because Étoiles staggers back, confusion etched across his features. His head subtly snaps in all directions, like he doesn’t know where to look, his ears swivelling to try and pinpoint him. Bingo. Phil has made his nebula-self big, toobig for Étoiles, rendering the warrior effectively blind. Well, double-blind.

Phil doesn’t wait for the other to find a counter to this, curls his wings forward then snaps them back — they launch him forward at breakneck speed and create a gust of wind that makes the paper lanterns swing on their hooks, and then Phil is slamming into Étoiles like a literal hurricane.

The plant hybrid gasps, fingers slackening from the sheer strength of the impact — his weapon slips out of his grasp to clatter against the ground and roll out of bounds. His body describes a perfect curve and hits the wooden floor with a loud thud. He barely has the time to blink the dizziness away before something presses against the side of his neck, and he freezes completely. “Gotcha,” Phil preens, looming above him. The end of his stick is right against Étoiles’ pulse point, the threat crystal clear, and he’s a writhing mass of burning stars and cosmic fury.

The energy rolling off of him washes over Étoiles in waves, makes his skin tingle, and he recognizes it as withering. Withering coming from Philza himself, whose outlines are impossible to pinpoint, lost in the cloud of magic and giant Angel wings.

...Okay, this is sick as hell, Étoiles thinks, and he can feel somethingwithin him grow, a presence rejoicing in the back of his mind. Ink bleeds into his eyes, then under it, twin lines of darkness going down his cheeks and neck. (Flashes of a white spiral on a dark expanse, of whispers and stolen Time.) He feels cold, but he feels good about it, and he’s not scared at all — this is fine, more than fine. Withering is harmless for Death-touched things. Things like him and Phil. He laughs, loud and ecstatic, this is fun, so fun! “Aaah. Clever bird, clever Phil, I like. Okay.”

Then something wraps around Phil’s ankle and pulls it forward, breaking his balance and making him hit the ground ass-first with a startled caw. He grits his teeth, shoots a glare towards his leg to see—

—blinks at the sight of a green vine wrapped around his ankle. His eyes trace along its length. He’s seen this before, but only once, months ago. Right after harvesting a freshly-regrown Étoiles out of the ground, a week after his Code-related demise. “Oh,” Philza says, and Étoiles smirks in return.

His tail is long, as long as he is tall, and covered in large, healthy green leaves. It swishes against the tatami in a serpentine motion, the leaves rustling quietly, and Phil notices a half-star-shaped kink at the end of it. It’s... well, it’s pretty adorable actually, but something tells him Étoiles wouldn’t like that descriptor. “You kept it,” he says instead, fight-darkened eyes sparkling with something like kinship-euphoria. “You grew it out.”

“I did, I listened to you. I keep it wrapped around my waist, it works.”

“Told you it could come in handy.”

“You did. You’re always right about things, Philza.” Étoiles steps into a fighting stance, hands curled into fists, tail lashing left and right like a whip. Phil understands, lets out a quiet chuckle as he sends his own weapon flying out of the arena. So they’re doing it this way, huh. More than fine with him. “Nothing’s off the table then,” he hums, hands curling like claws at his sides, sharpening talons glinting ominously in the light of paper lanterns. His friend hums approvingly, and it’s all Phil needs to pounce.

They no longer try to evade, instead crashing into each other to cause as much damage as quickly as possible. Étoiles throws a jab, Phil retaliates with a smack of his wing to destabilise the other before slashing at his chest, tearing at his shirt and drawing the first blood. Because yes, Étoiles bleeds, deep cuts marring his dark green skin, chlorophyll sticking to Phil’s hands. Étoiles hisses, gets behind him and wraps his tail around Phil’s throat to choke him. Phil gasps, coughs, briefly flails before smacking the other with his wings until the tail goes slack. Phil rips it off him and whirls around to pull at it sharply — Étoiles falls, but not before grabbing onto Phil’s robes to pull him down with him.

Things get messy after that — a flurry of feathers and leaves and punches and kicks, one that clocks Phil in the jaw and makes him taste blood, one at the side of his head that makes him see stars. He hisses, screeches, swipes, again and again, and Étoiles blocks some of them with his arms, arms that gain more and more tiger-stripe cuts, but many go through and eat at his health, heart after heart. The warrior retaliates with a headbutt that makes the Angel’s world darken for a second, burning blood getting into his eyes and half-blinding him. Maybe it’s more fair this way, not that it slows him down at all.

They punch, claw, snap their teeth at each other like rabid dogs — chipping at each other’s health with no care, no limits. Dark red and greenish white smear against the straw tatami, but that’s fine, that’s okay, they are playing, they are having fun, and Philza feels alive, alive, alive!

(The whole time, Étoiles never touches his wings. Which goes against the whole ‘nothing off the table’ thing, yet Philza is grateful for it. He’s also grateful none of the eggs are here to see this.)

Philza has no idea how long this lasts, lost in the thrill of a fight the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in decades. But eventually the doom of someone getting downed makes every muscle in his body lock up, and he’s still standing. Or, kneeling over Étoiles with his talons right above his jugular, the other hand pinning the warrior’s hands above his head to keep him from hitting back. Semantics.

Étoiles has gone limp, heaving, his body a canvas of bruises and bloody cuts. “I win,” Phil realizes, wings quivering, all fluffed up in a show of victory. “I… won.”

“Well played, well played,” his warrior wheezes out in response, and Phil’s never seen anyone so happy about getting their shit kicked. Except maybe one person. But he won, Phil won, Étoiles is down and he himself still has… yes, two hearts to spare. He has won. They can stop. Right here. Right now.

But then. Étoiles, stupid and crazy and wonderful Étoiles, tilts his head back to offer him his throat, his binary-scarred face twisted in a feral grin. Philza gasps and leans back a little, eyes wide “Take your win, my bro,” he chirps, happy as can be, tail thumping against the tatami like an overpet cat. Tap, tap, tap, the countdown to his demise if Phil doesn’t up him soon. “Do it. You won’t. No balls, no bolas.”

And those words are the last push Phil needs for his Elytrian code to take over. He bares his teeth, eyes darkening to a pitch black that eats up his entire sclera, until the white of Étoiles’ teeth gets reflected back at him — not that he can see it. 

Phil’s wings spread out behind him, huge and dark and awe-inspiring even in their frayed state, and the withering aura that exudes from them paints Étoiles’ eternal night in bursts of star-speckled purples and reds and blues.

It’s beautiful. And it’s terrifying. Étoiles is about to get killed by an Angel of Death, and he’s never been so goddamn scared and excited in his life.

 

Phil feels insane. He’s going feral, going sicko mode, or whatever other colloquialism that means his mind is drowning in the thrill of hunt, hunt, prey, yesyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Étoiles scared before, but there’s no mistaking those too-wide eyes, that subtle tremor in his friend’s wrists as Phil’s hand tightens around them. He can smell it too, like cut grass left to decay in the hot sun, and it’s making the End’s superpredator in him go zoomies inside his skull.

He growls, low and bone-deep and dangerous, his talons pushing harder against the paling, sweat-damp skin of Étoiles’ neck. prey? flock. prey. prey? kill, eat, yesyes. Étoiles isn’t human, but he has something close to a heart, and he bleeds like one — greenish white chlorophyll that smells strong and tastes awful, bitter.

(Phil knows that, because Purgatory happened. More specifically, Bolas happened, gas masks and ritual sacrifices and fresh blood always lingering at the corner of their mouths. He misses his flock — misses all the ones that are still gone, carving cookie-cutter negative shapes in his heart — everything else about that hellscape, not so much anymore. Maybe he’s healing, just a little.)

 

His talons are just a hair away from perforating Étoiles’ jugular, so close to making not-quite-blood pour out like a fountain. But then he freezes, going silent, because the part of him that is still sane recognizes that this is a terrible idea.

It’s a terrible idea because Étoiles is bad at knowing when to stop, bad at spotting the line between what challenges him and what hurts him. And Philza understands that this, this is a bad. The cucumber hybrid is a creature of instants — fugue moments, rash decisions, the kind you would look back on later and go oh, yeah, that was dumb and maybe not worth it. Hence Philza has to be the responsible one, has to ignore his base instincts screeching at him to hunt, kill, kill, lest this ends badly. Like Étoiles getting mauled to death by what is supposed to be his most trusted friend. Again. (They don’t talk about that time. Just like they don’t talk about Étoiles’ betrayal, neither want to reminisce over Phil’s teeth tearing his throat out in the middle of a Hunger disaster. Not-so-fun fact: Étoiles doesn’t taste like cucumber at all.)

“Enabler,” the avian warbles, talons slowly lifting off the hollow of Étoiles’ throat. “M’not killing you.” And Étoiles, like the little shit that he is, has the gallto pout at him. “Why not?”

“Because then I’ll have to regrow your ass in my potato field for a week, you twat.” Also I think it’s not good for you, and my sanity is at an all-time low so I don’t need cold-blooded murder to push me over the edge, he adds in petto.

Étoiles blinks. Huffs out a laugh, something a little unhinged, but also a little relieved. “Ah, yeah! I forgot, because I respawned normally in Purgatory. Okay, you win.” The warrior’s smile softens to something more like him,  and just like that, the tension vanishes, the buzz of fear and aggression replaced by something light and playful. Étoiles baps his hands against his chest, grabbing at his robe to tug him down into a hug.

And Philza’s hindbrain floods the rest of him with happy, happy, yesyes, because Étoiles isn’t really a touchy-feely person and neither is Phil, but this feels right. “GGs,” the crow says back, warbling and chirping like crazy, the black in his eyes receding. yesyes, mine, mine, yesyes, yesyes! And to his surprise, Étoiles responds, not with a crude imitation of his own bird sounds, but with something… different. And Phil’s not sure any word in his vocab could ever describe it accurately — but something deep within him knows that if starlight was a sound, this would certainly be it. “Oh, oh, he is so good. The GOAT, the actual GOAT, best man on the planet Philza Minecraft,” Étoiles mock-sobs against him. “He wakes up in the morning casually being the best, and he takes care of two eggs and says fuck to the president’s office from the wall, and he finally beats me. My legend, Felipe, Felipe!”

Phil shakes from the force of his hilarity — a regular occurrence whenever he hangs around his favourite pickle man for long enough. silly, he warbles between fits of belly-aching, hiccup-inducing laughter, and he leans down to nuzzle against his friend’s mess of dark green hair (leaves?). silly. silly. flock. “I do see Forever wave at me from his office sometimes,” he hums, once he’s calmed down enough to speak again. “He makes kissy faces at me through the glass, so I flip him off.”

Étoiles hums in acceptance, finally pushes Phil back to shimmy out from under him with a small héhé to lay on his back, starfish-style. Phil rolls onto his own back, and they both stare at the interlacing wooden beams of the dojo roof for a little while, basking in the fuzz of a fading adrenaline rush.

(Phil hasn’t seen his favourite Brazilian as much lately. Silly, sun, friend-protector. He probably has his hands full, what with returning to his political duties after so long. Still, Philza worries — he thinks of black tar clinging to sun-kissed skin and tired sienna eyes, above a smile that just doesn’t shine as bright as it used to.) “I kinda like it, though. It’s like our good morning. Never tell him I said that.”

“I wooooon’t, I promise.”

“Thank you. For the fights.” Philza closes his eyes. He is here, he is real, everything about this moment is so real. It’s comforting, a balm on his fraying psyche. “It was fun.”

“It was so fun. Please fight with me again like this sometime, no sticks, yes? You have to come back so I give you your black belt anyway.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“I can hear you smiling, Phil. You want to, I knowww.”

“M’not smiling at all, dumbass.”

Étoiles does that high-pitched hum of his that means he’s not buying it, reaches towards his friend — his leader, his wielder, his death-touched Angel. Cool fingers, untouched by code, playfully trace over each of Philza’s features, feeling out the dimples and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes — pun very much intended. “You’re so bad at lying, Philza,” he sing-songs, playful and content. “I know you too well. Maybe I can’t see you, but I can see you.”

And goddammit, Philza actually does feel seen in this moment, anxieties melting away for now. How does he do it. How does this reckless, thrill-seeking cucumber man with a limited (albeit pretty good, and improving) grasp on English so consistently drop the most gut-punching lines in this entire server. Étoiles is something else. “...Yeah. I see you too, mate,” Phil breathes out, and the rough texture of the tatami is starting to dig criss-cross patterns into his back, but he wants to stay like this. Just a little longer.

 

(Philza is damaged goods. But so is Étoiles, and so is everyone he knows. But maybe they can both pretend, for a little while.)

[bluedillylee]

Hexer episode 6

Don’t you hate when you’re trying to dramatically storm off and then some stupid monster interrupts you? Poor Pavetta 😅

oh you know mousesack is the coolest dude here cause his beard is the biggest. He’s got a little ra ra rasputin vibe going on

oh damn did she get poisoned I thought she just fainted sorry girl I wasn’t judging u for fainting from the puppet. We all been there.

hahaha Geralt telling them not to drain her blood with leeches.

Ah Calanthe wants Geralt to come kill Duny for her. I fucking wish that creep got killed. I’m pretty sure that little worm survives the end of the book series now that I think about it 😤 dammit Geralt 😩

aw shit everything between Calanthe and Pavetta just hurts. All the ways that Pavetta is just totally abandoned by her mother in service to the kingdom it’s like she was groomed to be the perfect victim for Duny/Emhyr to take advantage of. She’s starved for love and desperately wants someone to think she matters. I feel like we get to see so little of Pavetta, she’s barely a character in the books and we didn’t get a lot in the Netflix show. I’m excited to see what else happens this episode with her.

Huh so she doesn’t suspect about Duny yet she thinks a creature is prowling the castle? In the books wasn’t that Duny and Pavetta having sex? oh I love how how clever Calanthe is in this. She gathers all this info on Geralt and then does all she can to set herself up to look like the most reasonable side I love it. It’s such a great way to show her political performance skills in just a few minutes to the audience. She’s keeping the child of surprise claim hidden from Geralt and trying to make sure he’ll kill Duny by telling him he has a monster form. Everything she does is very clever here and I love it

Pavetta doing magic is so funny. Go girl make that witcher so constipated.

ok well I was going to say that no woman likes hearing a man say another woman’s name but this one seems to be into it? Damn and she’s very patriotic do it for cintra!

hold on now I just got the ick actually Geralt thought that was Yennefer the whole time. You ever get so caught up it watching a beautiful woman unbutton her dress that you forget they’re depicting an assault? Err yikes 😬

damn now with Pavetta talking to him I feel like it’s created such an interesting and complex situation. Inadvertently Pavetta ‘magically’ drugged Geralt someone else came along and took advantage of him in that vulnerable position. Pavetta only did that to Geralt because magically sleep spelling the people around her in the only control she has in her fucked up situation.

like it’s messed up but it’s interesting to think about. I kinda wish I were a writer just because I feel like there’s stuff to dig into there but words are not my medium. Idk I am rotating these two in my mind.

ooo yes show your contempt for him Geralt heh heh

god this dude is full of shit ‘I don’t remember now’ bullshit you planned it

you fucked her to strengthen your claim- 😤🤬😬 I’m evil now I’m entering the story Pavetta I’m going to woo you so so niceys don’t even worry about that that bonefire over-there that smells like hedgehog I’ve got chocolate and animal crossing on god well get you some therapy Come live with me it’ll be awesome.

Hmmm this is different from the books with virgins not being able to do magic. I remember ciri having a conversation with Yennefer and being worried about being a virgin effecting her magical ability but yen telling her that was silly

Pavetta is so lonely all Duny has to do is the bare minimum for her to feel like she’s in love.

Calanthe is so fascinating. A terrible mother a brilliant queen. Smart yet has a temper that can undermine her.

Geralt’s advice is interesting. It’s smart quick thinking but also it fails to think long term which are what Duny/Emhyr’s goals actually are.

also love that his advice was ur a hottie get married

noooo don’t seat Geralt next to creepy lady

wooo eist and Calanthe are getting married yay

omg the creep wants to talk to Geralt about it. Who tf is this aurora lady the creepyness is off the charts

wow hedgehog Duny looks terrible

the only thing wrong with the Pavetta scream scene is that they could have gone harder on the telanova sort of vibe to it. There should have been more scene transitions and wipes.

hahaha Calanthe is the lion of cintra with hair like that

always this interesting push/pull dynamic with Calanthe and Geralt she tells him she’ll keep him in her heart but also confirms that witchers can’t ask anything of kings. I feel like I can’t quite be sure if it’s real or not. Maybe in spite of herself Calanthe does feel a connection with Geralt (not necessarily romantic or even something that would stop her from using him but something you know)

Duny just could let him go without one last jab huh? This is fate

Episode 6: Calanthe link to the episode

[carnation-damnation]

I LOVE your transfem Amy art! Would you mind sharing some of those transfem ideas you were rotating in your mind?

AUGHHHHH I'D LOVE TOOO!!

ummm lets go down the line haha. Only gonna talk abt ames rouge and metal because they're the only ones I've got in my brain atm. But rest assured if I had more brain cells I'd ramble abt Blaze too bc I also hc her as trans

Ames (She/Her, trans lesbian) - I think Amy presents p stealth! I think she knew she was trans from a young age and she's been presenting femininely since she was very very little. I made a post joking abt silly gender differences in sth (no back quills, small nose, etc) and I headcanon that those traits come from Amy being half-echidna so its like. ajdjsndnd gender win. The traits you were born with also coincide with hedgehog mobian gender binary??JFJSNFNN

I don't think Amy keeps her trans identity a complete secret, she loves being trans and she's proud of how she's tested fate and made her life her own, but I also think it does play a role in how she navigates her personal/romantic relationships (comphet to trans lesbian is what I was thinking of?)

Rouge: (She/Her, transfem lesbian also) - I talked abt Rouge and gave her a silly little backstory in that one post but I'll go over it again a little here: I think Rouge grew up pretty isolated in a small village with her family. She felt very trapped in the ideas that she felt like she had to follow the footsteps in. She felt like she was a side character in her own life because she's always had to ask for permission and think of the family's sleezy gem store/pawn shop before her own wants and needs. Landing that government job somehow was her ticket to finally spreading her wings and flying freeeee baby. She knew there was somth about herself and the way she dressed, talked and looked that didn't quite fit her, and although she didn't have a word for it, she assumed a new identity while working for G.U.N. and went like. full throttle on her transition. She didn't want anybody from her old village to recognize her. She's not listening to their complaints and desires anymore. She lives for herself, now. I think she has some trust issues relating to her past experiences which makes her hold onto Shadow and Omega so closely, and something about them also being queer brings them even closer to her. Can you tell Rouge has been rotating the fastest in my head

Metal - (It/She/They, sapphic demi-girl) -Metal is a fucking egg please saVE HERRRR. LISTEN OK. I don't have any evidence I don't got shit I just know we gotta get Metal outta there because she is an uncracked egg. Is eggman actively against the prospect of Metal having a differing gender identity? No. But Eggman is opposed to Metal having Opinions so. Metal has spent so long under the control of Eggman who they DO!! love, I believe. I think Metal Sonic and Sage are the only people that love Eggman and Eggman does nottt see Metal as his child as much as Metal does. And it makes me fucking bonks, dog. She thinks she's comfortable and fine where she is because that's all she knows. But she sees Amy and she yearns for something that she doesn't have the ability to describe...An emptiness that Metal doesn't know how to fill. Someone show this robot the joys of spinning for the first time in a flowy skirt PLEASEEE I think it'd do wonders for her. Go listen to bridget from guilty gear strives theme rn

[zagreuses-toast]

My Angua Playlist! I Didn't like Angua much at first but she won me over, and now she's enough my fave to have earned a playlist. my beautiful girl with a disorder, theres so much complex stuff going on with her relationship to herself, her family, carrot, the watch. i love revolving it all in my head. Theres some intentional overlap with Vimes's . Explanations under the read more as usual

Angua is a cynical pessimist, she's so sure she's going to be abandoned, that she'll slip back into her old bad ways, that she'll be attacked for what she is and have to run again. she always has one foot out of the door:

Fast Car by Tracy Chapman

Haunted House by Sir Babygirl (this one especially nails the "everything is doomed i just dont want it to hurt too much" vibes of early Angua)

In the Blood from Hades

Nothing Good from Centaurworld

Lets Get This Over With by TMBG

Evelyn by Kim Tillman

Run Boy Run by Woodkid

Too Much Time by John Vanderslice

the Angua and Carrot vibes. sweet in many ways but they also have a doomed romance (as in, doomed to be in a romance) thing going on thats bonkers and very fun to rotate in my mind, especially when its in tension with angua's instincts to run:

Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men

Between My Teeth by Orla Garland

Stray Italian Greyhound by Vienna Tang

I Scare Myself by Thomas Dolby

The Bright Side by TMBG

Absentee by Jack Campbell

I like You for Psychological Reasons by TMBG (genuinely thee carrot/angua theme song in my mind)

The Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine (yes this is dog themed no it doesnt go in the dog themes section, the horses are carrot and finding a home in the watch)

Tounges and Teeth by The Crane Wives

Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Sight of the Sun by .fun ("I used to run at first sight of the sun but now I lay here waiting for you to wake up")

King and Lionheart by of Monsters and Men

Despite being a pessimist, despite having been a killer, despite her family wanting her to go back to being that, and strangers still seeing her as a monster, shes better. she's trying:

Get Better by Frank Turner

Getting There by Mustard Service

Its My Way by Buffy Sainte Marie (gritting my teeth on this one, buffy was recently exposed as a horrific liar and a fraud who faked being native, but also unfortunatley this song still fits angua very well and i still like it)

Changes by David bowie

Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier

I'm Me by Vanessa from Phineas and Ferb (LISTEN, HEAR ME OUT, it's a little silly but so is angua sometimes)

This Year by The Mountain Goats

sorry for stereotyping you Angua but here's the werewolf/dog/monster songs, :

Maneater by Hall & Oates

Control by Halsey

Senses Working Overtime by XTC

Hey Bulldog by The Beatles

Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon

Freakshow by The Gothic Archies (specifically vibes with her being undead, and all the stuff people think about that in universe)

Turn The Lights Off by Tally Hall

I wanna Be Your Dog by AJJ

misc:

Music With Rocks In by Louie Zong

Synopsis for the Latecomers by TMBG (city watch vibes, i always imagined she's the next commander rather than carrot)