#simultaneously as being too much to ask it was also always so Frivolous as to not be worth the apparently infinitesimal effort

[unproduciblesmackdown]

what if we held on to whatever we get the idea of as Normal as unquestionable & think all you can do to this normal is apply some veneers overtop it to be more polite & also resent that. maybe we could project that everyone who seems to be Annoyingly Disruptively doing more than this must be putting on a performance to look good &/or humor others b/c that's all we ever believe we're doing, & again, we resent even that much....maybe we could use our show of More Polite language to make the same points blaming everyone who our Normal mistreats for their own mistreatment

[saintsenara]

I am delighted reading the answers to the ship name game. I am sorry for the number of questions that I have filled in your inbox with. What do you think about Molly/Narcissa, Fleur/Ginny, Hermione/Luna (you once mentioned that they both have a similar stubborness and can quite rigid belief systems and intellectual inflexibility and Sybil/Rita- love the idea of a office romance where Sybil does the astrology column of a pop culture spinoff of The Prophet

thank you so much for the ask, pal - and i love receiving these, so please don't apologise!

narcissa malfoy/molly weasley

so, i genuinely back this one - like lucius and arthur and ron and draco, narcissa and molly are narrative mirrors, and narrative mirror pairings always slap.

above all, one key area of their mirroring is that they're simultaneously central to their family's arc across the canon series, and yet also excluded from their family more generally by the narrative.

molly, for example, lacks the daring streak which characterises the rest of her family who appear in the main cast of the series, is much more interested in social convention, and is estranged from the child with whom she is most aligned [percy] for much of the series; she isn't a quidditch fan [there's no conceivable reason why she wouldn't come to the world cup if she was]; she doesn't seem to have any friends or connections that she doesn't also share with arthur [whereas he seems to be genuinely popular among his colleagues at the ministry]; and she is almost never seen outside of a domestic context - and when she is, it's usually while shopping or doing other activities which are adjacent to the domestic sphere.

narcissa gets less development because she's a more minor character, but she clearly lacks the rebellious streak which both bellatrix and andromeda must possess in order to defy the wizarding world's gendered conventions so openly; she's not a death eater, unlike her husband and son, and is therefore excluded from both lucius and draco's main social circle; she doesn't appear to have any friends outside of her family that she doesn't know through lucius; and she too is found in canon primarily in a domestic or domestic-adjacent context.

i think that both narcissa and molly must, therefore, be quite lonely, and i think that something really quite interesting can be done with that - especially in a post-war setting, with narcissa trying to come to terms with the fact that the defiance of voldemort she set in motion ended with molly killing her sister.

fleur delacour/ginny weasley

ginny spending most of half-blood prince acting up about how fleur thinks she's so hot and so interesting is definitely giving bisexual awakening.

fleur letting ginny wear a really low-cut dress at her wedding - and not being bothered in the slightest that this results in ginny's rack being given a shoutout to the entire congregation by muriel - is also giving bisexual and interested.

i back it.

hermione granger/luna lovegood

flopping - she'd never stop going on about that damn erumpet ["luna it is not a snorcack!"] horn.

rita skeeter/sybill trelawney

i really, really back this one as something genuine.

both rita and sybill’s lives are based in pure artifice. their careers hang on an ability to know things - sybill to predict the future, rita to be informed about the top news stories of the day - which neither of them actually possess. sybill is a fraud. rita is a hack.

and that must be very lonely. which means that meeting someone else who shares that experience…

plus, both of them are characters who fall foul of jkr’s loathing of women whose appearance and demeanour deviates from her extremelynarrow criteria for acceptable femininity - sybill because she looks spacey and gaudy, rita because she decks herself out in glamorous frivolities - her nails! her handbags! - which can’t mask the fact that she looks ‘manly’ […!]. jkr’s opinions on gender can get fucked, and the women she spends the series obviously loathing getting fucked by each other is one way to achieve this.

[helnjk]

In a Crowd of Thousands - Part 2 // F.W.

Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: You never really forget your childhood love. For Princess Y/N of Diagon, hers came in the form of a boy whose dream it was to start a business and support his family. As it goes, life–and her duty to her kingdom–had gotten in the way. She longed to see him again, to see the success she was sure he had achieved. Luckily, fate was on her side.

Warnings: food mention, alcohol mention (champagne, blink and you’ll miss it), gambling mention (it’s a small bet, blink and you’ll miss it again)

A/N: okay but im lowkey proud of this part. this is the last official ‘chapter’ of this mini series, and i’m really excited to share it with y’all hihi xx 

(also also, there’s a bonus part at the end that you don’t have to read but i love it lol)

flashbacks are in italics

Prologue | Part 1

The grand ballroom of the palace was packed with people. 

Princess Y/N of Diagon sighed internally as her eyes swept over its expanse. At 21 years old, she was mere months away from her coronation. And, as tradition dictated, a ball was being held in her honor and she avoided it until the last minute that she could. 

To be quite honest, she thought that the idea of a ‘presentation’ was completely outdated and there was absolutely no need for it. She was more than familiar with her people and she didn’t need this night of frivolity and grandiosity to prove it. 

When Minerva first brought up the idea of having to fake a smile and discuss politics in a stuffy room with a bunch of aristocrats, Y/N immediately rolled her eyes. She knew that it was tradition for her to be ‘presented’ to her kingdom, but she also knew that those invited to the ball would not be able to speak for the majority of her subjects. They would be nobles, far too uptight and far too removed from the masses to know what they would truly need. 

They were exactly the kind of people the princess tried very hard to avoid when she went on her rounds throughout the towns and met with people of all walks of life. 

The Princess was very dedicated to living out her goal of being a fair and just leader. From the moment she turned 16, she made it a point to immerse herself in the lives of those who relied on her for, well, everything. Though, much of the fire under her had to do with the initials etched into the trunk of a tree that stood tall and proud by the banks of the river. 

Her reaction to the news of the ball, however, wasn’t appreciated by her governess. Not that she needed a governess anymore, but Y/N would always be grateful for the strong and steady presence that Minerva had been her whole life. 

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” she defended, crossing her arms over her chest, “Even you know how useless these kinds of things are.” 

Minerva merely shook her head and tried to look stern, “Yes, well, it is tradition, at least try and enjoy yourself. You are not expected to speak with investors and nobles all night, and there will be many opportunities to eat and to dance!” 

“As long as my corset isn’t too tight, I think I can manage an evening with the snooty elite.” 

“My dear I hope you know that you are a part of the snooty elite.” 

True to her word, Y/N managed to get through several conversations without any sarcastic remarks or backhanded compliments. In fact, she found herself enjoying the party much more than she had anticipated. The music was lovely, the food phenomenal, and she daresay her dress was absolutely stunning. 

She was fetching herself a drink when a familiar voice spoke next to her, “Well don’t you clean up nicely, sweetheart.” 

“Lord Black!” the princess exclaimed, turning to him and letting out one of the few genuine smiles of the night. “I wasn’t aware you were going to be attending the ball! If I did, I would’ve stuck by your side the moment I entered.” 

The older man’s eyes crinkled at the compliment and he leant in for a warm hug. 

Sirius Black was one of the only aristocrats that the Princess actually held a fondness for. The moment the pair met at one of the first few meetings the King and Queen had allowed her to attend, Y/N knew that he was of the right sort. 

He came from very very old money, but once his parents had passed and he was given access to the Black fortune and title, he began to make very good changes wherever he could. He was a silent investor in many business ventures, and more often than not, the businesses he chose to support would end up flourishing.

“Anything new and exciting to tell me about?” Y/N asked, taking a sip of her sickly sweet champagne. 

Sirius’ eyes lit up at the question, “I met a very promising pair of brothers–twins, actually. Their minds are as sharp as a knife, and they’ve got the most absurd ideas! Brilliant, but absurd. I think they can make it work.” 

“I’m excited to hear more about them, then.” 

The pair spent a good amount of time chatting away, seeking refuge at one of the emptier tables and settling. This was a great compromise for the Princess, who was hitting two birds with one stone as she spoke to someone she enjoyed the company of as well as someone who was a part of the ‘snooty elite’. 

He spoke about his godson and how he was learning to walk and absolutely terrorizing his parents. In return, she told him about how the coronation planning was driving her up the wall. It felt good to be this open and genuine with someone, especially at a function like the one they were attending. 

Sirius was in the middle of an exciting anecdote about Harry’s adventures with his mother’s makeup when Y/N caught a glimpse of fiery red hair. 

Her heart stopped and leaped simultaneously in her chest.

As if they were being pulled by a magnet, her eyes focused solely on the familiar silhouette weaving in and out of the crowd. Her tunnel vision allowed her to see him and only him, and her mind began to go on overdrive. 

“Princess?” 

She barely registered the older man calling out to her, too distracted by the thought of seeing him again. Of being in the same place as him again. Of finally speaking the words she held in her heart for years to him. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” was all she managed to get out. 

Y/N could hear her blood rushing to her ears as she pushed through the, frankly too many, people in the way of her and her best friend. She didn’t care if she wasn’t behaving in a way that a Queen-to-be should be behaving, she didn’t care about any niceties at the moment. The last few years for her were spent almost completely alone, without her favorite redhead by her side, and she would be damned if she was going to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. 

If she was being honest, time hadn’t done much to settle the grief she felt over the Weasleys moving away. Every little thing had reminded her of Fred and she was ashamed to admit that she wasn’t as open to new relationships–or friendships–because of the lingering feelings she harbored for the twin. 

But now, now she had the chance to finally speak to him after so long. To feel the familiar comfort of his presence, to be herself and not have to worry about being the perfect royal that she was expected to be. 

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. 

Y/N could see Fred, he was right there, only a few steps away with his back turned to her. He was laughing at something the person he was speaking to had said, his whole body shaking with unabashed glee. Someone in front of him called out her name as they saw her approach and she watched as he froze for a fraction of a second before turning on his heel. 

Their eyes met and she paused mid-step. 

The world was coated in molasses now, everything around her moving haltingly slow as they saw each other for the first time in years. All other things in the room melted away as he stepped forward, and suddenly he was standing right in front of her. 

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Hi,” he replied, charmile smile and all, “I told you we’d find each other again, didn’t I?” 

Y/N let out a small laugh, still in shock that Fred was really in front of her. His arms wrapped around her torso in a tentative hug, and she spared no time clinging on to him with a ferocity that surprised even her. It was almost as if she was trying to convince herself he was really and truly there. Luckily for the princess, he had no qualms with how tightly she was gripping onto him. 

When she finally eased her hold, he held out his arm. “Care for a dance, Princess?”

“I’d love to.” 

All eyes were on them as they walked onto the dance floor, clearly not just another pair among the others. Still, Y/N only had eyes for the man in front of her. Her eyes scanned over his features, taking note of the things that changed and the things that didn’t. 

Fred was still her Fred, just older now, more confident. He had an air around him that wasn’t there the last time she saw him. It was a pleasant surprise, though, seeing him so sure of himself as he spun her around. 

Music flowed around them as Y/N was dipped and twirled. She had never felt more like royalty than she had in that moment, dancing with Fred Weasley, her hand in his. Everything around them seemed to melt away as they moved through the dance floor, eyes locked and bodies pressed together. 

Even when the music paused and they left the dancefloor, their hands remained intertwined. 

Slowly, those in attendance began to make their leave. Some passed by the Princess to say their goodbyes and politely thank her for the night, but most knew better than to interrupt her time with someone who was clearly quite important to her. 

Y/N had never been more thankful for the night to be ending. 

“Didn’t know you were so popular, Y/N” Fred teased after another nobleman bid her goodnight.

“I am a Princess after all,” she replied, watching the man leave. 

“And a damn good one, I’ve heard.” 

She turned to look at him, “Been asking around about me, have you?” 

The look he gave her nearly made her swoon. It was full of affection and admiration, taking the princess off guard. 

Instead of answering, he merely cocked his head in the direction of the exit, saying “Fancy a walk through the grounds? I hear it’s been decorated quite beautifully for the night.” 

After spending so much time packed in a crowded room, it was a welcome relief to be in the cool evening air. True to Fred’s word, the gardens looked spectacular. Lights glittered through every little nook and cranny, the soft trickling of water from the fountains filling the air. It felt like something from a fairytale. 

The pair of them walked together in a peaceful silence, sneaking glances at each other every once in a while. It wasn’t until they found themselves in front of the old weeping willow that they paused. 

“Remember this place?” Fred chuckled, his eyes scanning over the draping branches covered in glittering lights. 

“How could I forget?” 

For the first time that night since they had seen each other, Y/N let go of Fred’s hand. She gently moved aside the curtain of leaves in front of them and stepped into their childhood sanctuary. Fred had to take a moment just to take in the sight of her, a vision in the midst of a sea of stars. 

His heart stuttered in his chest. 

“Do you remember what we promised each other here?” he asked again, eyes shifting to the trunk behind her. 

“It’s on my mind more often than not,” she admitted, feeling heat creep up her neck. 

If he noticed how flustered she got, he didn’t comment. Instead, he said, “Me too.” 

Y/N was right in front of the trunk now, running her fingers over the indented wood. Nimble digits pausing when they brushed over their initials. Fred couldn’t see her expression, but he could tell that there were many things running through her mind at that moment. 

“I think I’ve held up my end of the bargain,” his voice filled the quiet air, “George and I have a rather successful shop in town, if I do say so myself.”  

The Princess turned around to face him with a smile, her back to the tree, “I think I’m on my way to fulfilling mine.” 

As they spoke, their bodies slowly inched towards each other, magnets unable to stay away. The air around them was charged, pushing the two together bit by bit. Soon, they were toe to toe, breaths mingling and eyes locking. 

“I think,” Fred whispered, “I think I’m going to fulfill another dream of mine tonight.” 

Time froze as his face dipped close enough for their lips to brush. Y/N let out a soft gasp as he drew close, body abuzz with nervous energy and skin alight with every touch. Fred was there to ease her mind, though, with warm hands at the small of her back and soft lips gently pressing against hers. 

She felt herself melting into his arms, melting into the kiss as if it was what she was born to do. Nothing else seemed to matter at that moment. 

Like waves finding their way back to the shore, crashing into each other the way only the ocean could, somehow Y/N always knew that Fred would always find his way back to her. The mere thought of it brought a smile to her face and she laughed as he kissed into her smile. Once, twice, three times.  

“You are my dream,” Fred whispered once they broke apart, both of them sharing the same dopey grins. 

“And you are mine,” she replied, pressing her palm to his heart. 

–

The clock tower had already struck midnight when Princess Y/N and Fred decided to make their way back to the castle. The night was far too short for their liking, but it comforted them to know that they had the next day (and the next and the next, and so on) for them to spend with each other. 

Their pace remained leisurely as they walked through the familiar place. The castle seemed brand new to the princess now. It was coated in a new light as she looked at it with fresh eyes and a happy heart. She came to the realization that the years spent apart from Fred were far too silent and still without him. Now that she had him by her side, the halls seemed to be filled with happiness and light.

The laughter echoing through the halls and the adrenaline pumping through her as they tried to remain unseen was a welcome feeling. It was familiar, almost intimate in a way. She was thrown back to when they were little and Fred had started teaching her about all the different secrets and passageways the castle had to offer. 

“This way, Princess!” a young boy’s voice whisper-yelled to Y/N’s right. 

She spun towards the direction of the sound to see Fred pulling aside a large tapestry. Behind it was a hallway she had never seen before. Her eyes widened at the sight, but she did not hesitate to duck into it. 

“How did you ever find this place?” she asked, eyes scanning the narrow but comfortable passageway, “And where does it lead to?” 

“I spend a lot of time running away from mother,” Fred shrugged. That earned him a laugh from the princess and he let himself feel smug. “This is a shorter way back up to your room, if you’re ever in a hurry.” 

Now, instead of shortcuts and easy ways to get from one place to the other, the pair found themselves taking their time. Fred would tug on her hand and bring them into an empty alcove, stealing kisses and sharing soft smiles. His body was warm, a comforting presence beside hers, and Y/N found herself leaning against his side more often than not.

By the time they found themselves outside the Princess’ chamber doors, they were giggling like little children, running away from governesses and mothers. 

Y/N’s back was pressed against the door suddenly as Fred’s body enveloped hers in a searing kiss. Her heart beat erratically in her chest as her hands found themselves clutching at his coat. 

Then, as quick as he had come, Fred pulled away with a smirk, “Until we see each other next, Princess?” 

She scoffed, “If you think I don’t have the resources to track you down and kill you for saying that, you’re wrong.”

“I’m only joking,” he grinned and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him once again, “We always find our way back to each other, don’t we?” 

The princess rolled her eyes, but he could see the edges of her lips trying–and failing–not to quirk up. 

BONUS

Sirius watched as the Princess hastily stood up from her seat next to him and hurried off in the direction of Fred Weasley. The same Fred Weasley he had been working with for the past few months. 

He tried not to stare, but it was too tempting not to. His eyes followed the girl as she deftly wove through the throng of people–people who tried to grab her attention to no avail. It was clear that she had a goal in mind and she wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted. 

He watched as they locked eyes, as they shared identical smiles, as they glided through the dance floor and eventually made their way towards the gardens. It was almost ridiculous how elated he felt at the sight. 

The chair beside him made a sound as it was pulled back and he turned to see who had taken a seat beside him. Sirius tried to ignore the man next to him, the man who gave him nothing but a smug smile, but it was useless. 

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, lips quirking slightly. 

“I think you owe me a few galleons,” Remus replied, looking very pleased. He cleaned up quite well in his navy blue suit, and Sirius had to hold back from causing a scene in the middle of a very prestigious ball just so that he could show Remus how much he loved him.  

Sirius rolled his eyes fondly, “So quick to judge the events that transpired this evening, Moony.” 

The look his husband gave him was enough for him to dig into his pockets for a few of the gold coins. Remus held out his hand, opening and closing it in front of him smugly. 

“You know,” Sirius said as he pressed the money into Remus’ palm, “When I made a bet against you, saying I was positive that the woman Fred was in love with was not the Princess, I really thought I was going to win.” 

Remus pressed a kiss on his cheek and smiled, “Never bet against me, love, you’re never going to win.”

Series Taglist: @prismarts​ @snoopydoop1​ @the-romanian-is-bae​ @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @manuosorioh @daltonacademia​​​

General taglist: @expectoevans​ @george-fabian-weasley​ @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles​ @harpyloon​ @nuttytani​ @mesmerisedangel​ @amourtentiaa​ @just-here-to-escape-from-reality​ @lumos-barnes​ @cherryweasleys​ @writingsomewrongs​ @the-unmanaged-mischief​ @mrzweasley​ @inglourious-imagines​ @pr3ttysw33t​​ @amrtxntias​ @miraclesoflove @thatlonelyalto​​​​

Weasley twins taglist: @pineapplesandpinas​ @papapapadumb​ @a-castle-of--glass​ @hey-there-angels​ @leovaldez37 @pinkypurplemagic​ @werewolfslut​ @surprizeshawtyy​ @oldschoolkiddo​ @gcdricreads​ @turtletaylor98​ @secret-obsessions​ @weaslxyss​ @serendiipty​ @nojamsonmytoast​ @famdomhideout​ @georgeweasley19​ @asuperconfusedgirl​ @loonylovegood13​ @lumielikesbooks​ @nanahachikyuu​ @freds-slut​​ @theweasleytwinsgirl​​ @ghost3rr @littlemisswitt​​ @astoria-malfcy​ @weasleysprofessionalhoe​​ @freddie-weaselbee​​ @daydreamgirl8​​ @jubilee-the-flying-dragon-pirate​

if your name is crossed out that means i couldn’t tag you! please check your visibility settings​

[the-kings-of-games]

Ship meme for Kizunashipping! (A bit mature with a section on sex)

General:

Rate the Ship - Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OT3 to rule - Literally my most favorite YGO ship!

How long will they last? - Since this meme asked about children, this is going to be post series. The answer to this question? They last forever because their bond never broke again.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Simultaneously and slowly, like a plant taking root deep into the dirt and taking the longest time to bloom. It may be slow and may not be seen, but it is there, always. They grew up together and decided to stay together.

How was their first kiss? - Comforting. Some boy Crow didn't care much about kissed hom, and Jack said it doesn't count if he didn't want it to count. So Crow wanted one that count. He got it from Jack first and then Yūsei, and then they kissed each other. It was cute because they were still kids then.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - They never got married; it's enough that they're stayed together. Post-series they get into an arrangement where Yūsei owns a house and Jack and Crow come back during their time off from being pro duelist. They all call it home and have seperate bedrooms for privacy, but it's always okay to ask to share the bed and whatnot. Most often, when Jack and Crow are home, they share the bed because they end up missing each other a lot.

Who is the best man/men? - Hypothetically, Brave, Kalin, and/or Leo.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Hypothetically, Akiza, Sherry, Luna, Mina, Carly, and/or Stephanie.

Who did the most planning? - Hypothetically, Jack. He understands quality and requires it at all times in his life.

Who stressed the most? - Hypothetically, Crow because he doesn't like spending money so frivolously unless it's food or gifts for other people.

How fancy was the ceremony? - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 - Something low-key because Yūsei puts his foot down.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - All of Neo Domino invites themselves to the wedding, no lie. Angelica Raines live broadcast it.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Jack takes the lead most often becuase he likes the control and being listened too; however, their dynamic is kind of complex? It's a lot of how their mood is.

Who is the one to instigate things? - Crow 70% of the time, Jack 27%, and Yūsei ~3%. Not definite numbers but Crow is the one who's not shy about being horny or asking about it!

How healthy is their sex life? - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 - They understand boundaries, and nobody gets mad if someone says no. They like having sex with each other, so someone is bound to say yes. It's just like one of the ways they just spend time together. Penetration is not necessary, just another way for them to feel good.

How kinky are they? - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 - They've done a lot of stuff together; their longest partners are each other. Jack likes slow sex and being watched as he performs; Crow likes it rougher and is a screamer; and Yūsei likes receiving and giving oral sex.

How long do they normally last? - Depends on the mood and who's calling the shots that time. If it's Crow, maybe fifteen minutes, maybe less if it's a quickie. If it's Jack, it can go on for up to an hour. If you're asking how long they can get back up though, hours.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Depends on the mood. Nobody is really keeping count, they lose track.

How rough are they in bed? 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 - In the heat of the moment, they might bite and scratch each other. Crow likes being held down while Jack likes to hold his friends down. Yūsei knows how to add just the right amount to bring it all over the edge.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 - They usually stay in the same bed for some post-coitus nap or sleep. They take of each other too, aftercare is very important to Jack. Crow gets a bit clingy, and Yūsei likes cuddling in general, though the one who leaves soon afterwards is usually him becuase he wants to get back to work.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - One (1) daughter. She was an accident, and she looks everything like Crow with the orange hair and the gray eyes. Her name is Sky Hogan!

How many children will they adopt? - Actively, none. They all, of course, donate and put a lot of effort into charity work since they're rich and successful now, and often, they go back to Martha's orphanage to help out and hang out with the kids. They have a lot of adoptive brothers and sisters.

Who gets stuck with the most diaper? - Yūsei. He's the main parent since he's not going from place to place as a Turbo duelist. He's the stable parent with the stable job and schedule.

Who is the stricter parent? - Yūsei. And he's also the embarrassing one. (He's a direct challenge with Jack on that.)

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Also, Yūsei, but he can't really pull that off much when Sky becomes a teenager because he did shit when he was just a teen and she finds out about it. (All three of her parents did shit, anything she is nothing compared to what they've been through.)

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Yūsei. Actually, he and Sky make it together, usually the night before.

Who is the more loved parent? - Yūsei. He's the go-to for comfort.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - Yūsei, though Sky tries really hard to make him miss it.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Jack. He'll cry at the drop of a hat for his little princess.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Crow. He used to be a cop, so he doesn't even have to pay the bail.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Crow. Basic things mostly.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - You'd think it's be Jack, but the guy's go-to meal is ramen. Okay, he's the pickiest one but only for certain things, like coffee.

Who does the grocery shopping? - When they're all available to do so, Crow.

How often do they bake desserts? - Jack likes the eccentric cooking. He does it once in a while, and they're good. You can also just ask him.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Meat, but whatever can fill their stomachs.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - No anniversaries, they've been together since they were kids and never kept track of that stuff. Jack, however, is the one to be most romantic and do the nice surprise stuff. Because he feels like it.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - No one really. They're good staying in together.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - As of now, none.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Jack. He likes a clean environment.

Who is really against chores? - Nobody gets to complain, not that they do.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Bruno can look after himself, thank you very much.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - They were all raised by the same woman, and she taught them to do their chores right.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - None, they're very open to having people come over.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - You're not allowed to lose money.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Jack.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Bruno can take care of himself, thank you very much.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Not really.

What are their goals for the relationship? - Being together.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Crow or Yūsei. Jack likes having a schedule.

Who plays the most pranks? - Crow. For shits and giggles.

[pynkhues]

I just have ask, cause I need to just voice this.. (BTW I do love the show no worry) Am I the only one who thought it was such a stupid reason that the new FBI decided that the fake money was made by women was because they used fuckin' NAIL POLISH?!! I legit sat dumfounded, I mean... wtf? What, men can't think to add nail polish to their fake money?

Haha, I get why you don’t like it, anon. As a functional plot device it’s a little hammy, but I appreciate it as a thematic plot device so much that I actually like it a lot overall. 

This show doesn’t really have a lot of recurring objects like many shows do, but when they are introduced, they usually serve as a means of underlining the gendering of spaces, crime and life, which is a theme this show is about as obsessed with as I am. I talked pretty extensively about the gendering of spaces and how the show uses them in this post (man, I should update this with the delicious new spaces in s3, because they continue all of these trends in such interesting ways!), and briefly touched on the gendering of objects too (namely Rio’s golden gun, and the dubby), but it really does extend well beyond that.

So let’s break that down a little!

(Under a cut to save your dashes!)

Functional vs Thematic Plot Devices

Plot devices take a hundred different shapes and forms throughout a story, and of course, always serve to drive narrative forwards, tell the audience something about a character, or drive home a narrative theme. Plot devices aren’t always physical – in many cases they can be a trope, expectation, lie, red herring, among many other things, but for the sake of this post I want to talk about physical plot devices.

So basically, I want to talk about the way this show uses objects.

It might not seem like it on the surface, but this is a show that uses objects as plot devices a lot. Sometimes these are obvious – the money for instance, the Boland Motors car Turner drudges from the lake back in s1, the dubby (and ho, boy, I have a lot to say about that last one, but I’ll come back to that), the guns, Lucy’s phone, etc etc etc.

While these are, of course, essentially props, this is a show that typically lends a lot of weight to them, and in particular, it lends a lot of weight to feminine-coded objects that would in other shows frequently be dismissed as inconsequential.

A pearl necklace, an old lady’s porcelain figurines, a smear of lipstick on a pen cap, a child’s blanket, a new engagement ring, a pregnancy test, vials of botox, and nail polish, among many other things, become objects of narrative and thematic importance.

When it comes to these sorts of physical plot devices, I generally separate them into two categories: functional and thematic.

Functional plot devices are ultimately what they sound like. They serve an often purely functional purpose in the story. Things like the Boland Motors car that the girls took to Canada, dumped, and then was drudged up by Turner. It was used as a means of re-directing Turner’s attention on Beth, while also revealing to Dean that Beth had been the person who’d robbed him back in 1.03. More recently too, the hockey jersey that Ruby stole was a means of ultimately giving us a fun heist as the girls scrambled to get the money to pay for Beth’s life, as well as getting us to the pawn shop where Ruby would see the pen that Sara had stolen.

Functional plot devices – at their most basic – move plot forwards, bridge the gaps between characters and accelerate the action and drama of a story.

Thematic plot devices on the other hand serve a different purpose, and are often less bogged down, I find at least, in perfect logic. While they need to do what a functional plot device does, they also carry the extra weight of underpinning character arcs and often punctuating the key themes of the story. The sled in Citizen Kane is a really good example of this – as a functional plot device it’s just a specific sled and a sort of silly thing for a multimillionaire to want when he can buy as many sleds as he wants, but as a thematic one, we lean that it’s the key thing in his life connecting him back to his childhood, his innocence and his humanity, and comes to represent the central loss of the film.

Similarly, Harry’s lightning bolt scar in the Harry Potter series serves as a functional plot device to tell us and Harry when Voldemort is near, but it actually evades logic to eschew a greater purpose – which is reiterate the theme of motherly love and protection in the story.

Sharp Objects

Good Girls uses objects this way a lot and frequently shifts them between the two purposes, and it has done that since the very beginning. Using toy guns on the very first Fine & Frugal robbery for instance, was a silly plot point used ultimately to get them into the situation with Boomer at the end, but it also thematically represented the naivety of the girls in the robbery, and Annie and Beth’s powerlessness overall, but especially in the scene with Boomer (something immediately juxtaposed with Beth hitting him with the bourbon bottle). It also works effectively as a means of showing how far Beth would come across the first season as she held a real gun at the end of it, and the further slip of her moral character and what she’s capable of across season 2 and 3.

Sometimes they seem to appear as purely functional too, but evolve into thematic ones – meaning they are enriched with weight and purpose as they transition in their design.

A good example of that is Boomer’s cell phone in 2.03 which was purely functional – serving as a means of tricking the girls into believing they were disposing of Boomer’s body, not Jeff’s, before it was pivoted in the last scene to be used on a thematic and character level. By Annie listening to Marion’s voicemails through it, it served to re-link Annie to her own humanity, and underpin her arc with Marion that would ultimately lead to betrayal, redemption, grief and guilt.

The Dubby: a quick aside

The best example though, at least to me, is, of course, the dubby. The dubby does a lot of heavy lifting on virtually every story level, and I could honestly wax lyrical about it until the end of time.

On a functional plot level, it’s there to ultimately get Beth shirking Rio’s instructions and throwing her weight against him in their partnership. It forces her to confront the fact that she views herself and Rio as equals, when the reality is – in situations like that – they’re not. It also gets us to confrontations between Beth with Dean, Rio and Ruby, as well as Annie and Ben (I told you it did a lot of heavy lifting!), served as the means to which Noah and Annie met (boo), revealed Rio’s hand emotionally, and forced Beth to face on a textual level (as opposed to subtextual level) her changing relationship with her home, with her role as a mother, and ultimately her children.

On a thematic level, it explores all that and more! Not only is it deeply, deeply symbolic of a loss of innocence (a baby blanket in a drug den!) – something that’s reiterated by the girls almost being raped in that house – but Rio’s desire, for whatever reason, to give it back to her (something actually reiterated in 2.08 when he tries to handle the baby hitmen for her) – a really, really interesting beat for a character that seems to revel in her moral decline. Rio has, I think, always wanted her to be both. Again, something that is the clearest we’ve ever seen in this episode – he wants her to own up to what she is (a drug dealer) during their fight, while simultaneously trying to restore her to a seemingly frivolous comfort as a mother. It’s complicated! And I love it!

It’s also a highly feminised object that is weaponised against Beth twice. Firstly, by Jane as a means of guilting Beth (she lost it in the drug den), then criminally (by the, y’know, criminals), and then Beth actually weaponises it herself against the woman in the craft store in a female hierarchical sense which is totally fascinating to me and feels very true of Beth as reiterating the sort of alpha woman she is.

I could keep talking about this, but let’s move on, haha.

Claws

It’s not just about character arcs though.

Thematic plot devices are also often used as symbolic touchstones to re-emphasise the key themes of the show overall, and it’s in this sense that the nail polish operates – to me – really effectively. The writers aren’t saying that nail polish is only used by women, they’re saying that it’s a feminine-coded object deemed frivolous or silly by a patriarchal society (which it is, even when men wear it), and that women can use that dismissal as a weapon.

In other words, the key through line of the show.

The girls have operated with this sensibility since the show began, acting within underestimated, feminine-coded spaces and using them, basically in a way that messes with people’s expectations. It doesn’t always work in their favour, but that’s not a bad thing, and I don’t think that that’s the story this show is trying to tell. Rather I think it’s simply trying to say that these things are active, and can be powerful and used in interesting ways. They’re not passive or frivolous as history has told us.

They’ve frequently actually tried to use female-coded objects in crime before too – namely Marion’s figurines, the secret shopping scheme, the botox – all of which failed in unique ways (all of which too were briefly entertained but ultimately rejected by Rio, and it’s interesting that a key transition in Beth and Rio’s relationship occurred around Boland Motors – a masculinised space that Beth feminised on her takeover of it – I spoke about that quite a bit in the gendered spaces post I linked to above!)

The nail polish though has been the first true, pure success of a weaponised, feminine-coded object in the crime storylines, and it’s not an accident that that has coincided with the launch of the girls’ operation and their pure success without Rio. Being able to use it to make the money has been key to representing their feminisation of the crime world and the crime space on a thematic level, and I’d argue represents a ‘full circle’ moment with the success of their returns-for-cash scheme working with Rio originally (again, a feminine-coded operation).

Like I said in my gendered spaces post – Beth, Ruby and Annie are at their strongest and smartest when they’re utilising the familiar, feminine-coded world and weaponizing it, as opposed to copying Rio’s highly masculine-coded world (one of the clearest examples of this ever on the show was this season actually when Beth realised she couldn’t intimidate Gil like Rio, but could blackball him in PTA mom mode). The nail polish is actually a key symbol of that too, and the fact that it’s identified by a female FBI agent is about reiterating the same themes. Phoebe has a chance to take down the girls and close in on them because she doesn’t underestimate that world like Turner did and Rio’s still prone to doing.

The nail polish in that sense formed not only a functional plot device (with making the money in the first place), a thematic one (the underestimation of feminine-coded objects by men), but a bridging device that makes Phoebe a real enemy to the girls. It also serves as a great narrative underscore as Phoebe removes that nail polish from circulation, not only indicating that Phoebe operates in that space as well as Beth, Ruby and Annie, because she’s a part of that world in a way Turner wasn’t, but forming a terrific narrative parallel where as Beth loses further control of her operation, she also loses control of a key ingredient which gained her that operation in the first place.

So yes! Less function, more theme, but I don’t know.

I’m pretty into it, haha.

[ncemiebouvier]

Basics. 

Name: Noémie Bouvier (also goes by Em/Émie)

Gender & pronouns: Nonbinary, she/they

Species: Werewolf (born)

Age & Birthday: 27, October 31 (Scorpio) 

Occupation: Host at Big Sky Ranch

Personality.

Traits: Compassionate, intuitive, clever / Pessimistic, impulsive, nihilistic

Neutral good | ISFP-T | 4w5

Values: Above all else, Noémie values hard work. They value someone who takes pride in what they do. Would they ever openly admit it? Very unlikely, but someone who knows who they are, who likes what they do, who can point to all their accomplishments with pride — it makes them hopeful that perhaps one day Noémie could ever feel the same. Not that they think the day would ever come, but what else was there to live for if not to foolishly hope? 

Flaws: Noémie is known to isolate themselves when the going gets tough, much to the chagrin of anyone who cares even the slightest about them. They keep others at a distance, even those of their pack, and many who have met Noémie since the passing of their parents can’t say they know too much about the recluse. They claim to be working on being more open, but being open invites vulnerability, and they haven’t figured out quite yet how to be vulnerable without simultaneously wanting to find the closest ditch to fall into. 

History. 

TW: Car crash, death, depression, grief.

“When they ask you, say that you are no descendant,” Noémie’s parents would say. “Tell them you are an ascendant — ascended from the great wolves before you and the great wolves before even them. Their blood courses through you. Their strength is your strength. It’s why you’re here today. It’s a sign that you are to continue their legacy. You were destined for it, our miracle child.”

Noémie could practically recite these very words by memory given how often it was uttered to them; it used to fill their chest with pride, bloating an ego that needed no help. But Noémie learned that talk was cheap, especially when said by people who were six feet under, right alongside the supposed greats that couldn’t evade the inevitability of a cold, anticlimactic death.  

Their parents had passed in a car accident — there one day, and gone the next. Noémie was only a few days shy of turning eighteen; all week they had talked of giving them something special. They never did find out what it was.  

Whispers were muttered around town speaking of the poor Bouvier child, that pitiful girl, who had lost their family, and every time they stepped outside, curious, hungry eyes bore into their skin. So, they stopped going outside.

At least for a while. At least until a stench almost as bad as death — just almost — wafted from the living room, where boxes of half-eaten pizzas were strewn about, empty cans of Coca-Cola were left haphazardly wherever they were tossed, and where a person-sized indent had formed on the worn-out couch while sleeping in the same foul sweatshirt they had worn for… was it two weeks now? Three weeks? A month? God only knew. That’s when, with every ounce of strength they still had, they peeled off every article of clothing on their person and hauled themselves into the shower, where even then all they could manage was to sit cross-legged on the floor as the water worked to wash away the grief they felt.  

They cried. They screamed. They disparaged any god would that listen. And when the water ran cold, they turned off the faucet and stepped out, their gaze affixed to their reflection staring back at them in the mirror. Their eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. All color had drained from their sunken cheeks. Their shoulders appeared frail, as if one wrong touch would make them crumble into themselves. A pathetic scoff left their lips; so much for the destined one. Is this what the great Bouvier line had come to?

It had taken time to gather the pieces their parents’ passing had shattered; and even then, they wasn’t sure they would ever find them all. A jigsaw puzzle with a few missing pieces, always so close to reaching its potential, but never close enough, always irreparably incomplete.  

Joining the pack hadn’t been a question of ‘if’. If not the pack, then where would they go? Who else could they turn to? Noémie had made it up to that point by the skin of their teeth, and they had no leg to stand on. There was no pride to swallow. They needed something. Someone. And a pack afforded Noémie quite a few someones who would watch their back as they watched theirs. They would never be what they had lost, but they were as close as they would ever come again to their family.

Nowadays, they still have their reservations about those they come across; Noémie could see how some hold their breath around them, how they long to see just what this natural-born wolf is capable of, how they plan to uphold their legacy. It weighs on Noémie so much more now than it did in the past, even if there is seemingly nothing to uphold with everyone gone but them. It’s made even worse given that all they have amounted to now is making a living asking if someone would like a table for two.  

Is this really all they were destined for?

Connections. 

In relation to their backstory. 

Before. Oftentimes, life is equated to a light inside someone, a light so bright and inextinguishable, it exudes from their very being. That was Noémie before, well... everything. There was a light in them. And YOUR MUSE could see it from miles away. Perhaps, that’s why they were drawn to them like a moth to a flame. And Noémie allowed them in; they let YOUR MUSE know them, know almost all of them, but when the news broke, it was a miracle if YOUR MUSE could get even a ‘read’ receipt in one of their numerous unanswered text messages. The relationship fizzled quickly thereafter, and now when Noémie sees them in public, they could barely get themselves to meet the other’s eyes. Isn’t it funny how quickly one becomes a stranger? | OPEN

During. The one time Noémie built the courage to step out of their parents’ home and do some grocery shopping (read: buy frozen pizzas and bags of chips to serve as their main source of sustenance), all eyes were on them. Some of the more gossip-oriented folks of Blackrock whispered between one another as they sized Noémie up, noticing their faded, coffee-stained hoodie (their father’s favorite, one Noémie’s mother tried her best to rid of to no avail), the dark bags under their eyes from nights of restless sleep. They even spoke of Noémie’s parents, and hearing their parents’ name upon someone else’s lips made it suddenly hard breathe, suddenly impossible to move. Their words rang in Noémie’s ears, over and over until ELIZA overheard and intervened — “Don’t you have something better to do than stare?” This small act of kindness is not one Noémie has forgotten. It’s one they hope to repay when the proper moment arises. | TAKEN

After. Noémie isn’t one for conversation these days. Luckily, neither is YOUR MUSE. Together, they have settled into an amiable companionship. Neither ask too many questions. Neither get too personal. They’re not friends, per se, but they’re more then mere acquaintances. Sometimes, they share a table at The Ugly Mug, both sipping away at their drinks while one reads a book and the other scrolls through their phone. It’s calm. It’s something both need, the slightest bit of human interaction that is as superficial and frivolous as can get to take away some time from how overwhelming every other aspect of their lives can be. | OPEN

General connections. 

Exes

Childhood friend

Regular at work

Friend with benefits

Significant annoyance

High school sweetheart

Co-worker

Drinking buddy

Smoking buddy

I’m so bad at this, please just message me ‘bout whatever and we can go from there!!!

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Org XIII shopping with their S/O! Who is going to let their S/O try on whatever they want and will give opinions on what they do and don't like? Who will wait patiently in another part of the store and let their S/O look at what they want? Who will keep telling S/O to hurry up and ask "are you done yet?"

Xemnas

Doesn’t like to shop.  It isn’t you, seriously, he just doesn’t like the crowds and he’s impatient and prices are too high and it’s just an all-around bad time. He’ll encourage you to bring one of the other members with you for protection reasons and he’ll even give you munny to buy yourself a few nice things, but he probably won’t go with you. He’s also usually much too busy to go do frivolous things with you, so be happy that you have time to spend with him at all.

Xigbar

Surprisingly… not that bad? He literally shocked the hell out of you the one time you dragged him out to go shopping. It takes a while to actually get him to the stores, but once he’s there he’s fine?

He’ll put up with you trying things on, will carry some of your bags if they get too heavy, will tell you what he thinks you look best in, but you HAVE to have a trip to Victoria’s Secret at some point during the middle of your trip, preferably when he starts getting tired.  Looking at lingerie he might be able to see you in always gives him more energy.

Xaldin

So, Xaldin is pretty stoic when it comes to shopping with you. Sometimes he’ll wander off if he sees something that catches his eye, but usually he returns to your side pretty quickly.  He’s great… but for all that is good and holy, let him go into the beauty supply store by himself as you go elsewhere - or at least save it for last, or when you know you have a lot of patience left to give.

Xaldin takes pride in his hair, so he tends to go apeshit when looking for the best products to use. Nine out of ten times he will definitely end up having a twenty + minute conversation with one of the customers who thinks he works at the store because he’s so knowledgable.

Vexen

Vexen prefers to shop online, but every once in a while you can drag him from the lab and convince him to go shopping with you. He won’t be happy about it and he’ll probably complain most of the time, if only under his breath because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.

He doesn’t like crowds and large groups of people make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t understand why anyone would want to go out in front of so many people and stand in lines to spend money that they don’t have. It just doesn’t make any sense to him. He’s terrifically patient with you, though, and he’ll stay out with you as long as you want.

Lexaeus

Okay, so Lexaeus loves you, adores you, would and probably has killed for you, but please don’t ask him to go shopping with you. He’ll put up with it for as long as possible but he’s seriously just not into it. Whenever he has to shop, he gets what he needs then he leaves almost immediately afterward.  There’s no lingering, no browsing.

That being said, he will carry all of your bags without being prompted, and he does get pretty excited when shopping for Christmas presents.

Zexion

Like Vexen, Zexion doesn’t like to go out and prefers to do his shopping online, but you can usually manage to drag him out shopping with you with the stipulation that you’ll be stopping by the bookstore.  Zexion is a curious individual, so he’ll definitely be doing some people watching the whole time, observing how people interact with each other as he follows you around the stores.

Set aside some time for the bookstore, because you’ll be there for a while. Whenever he buys books, he’ll always gravitate toward some of his old favorites to see if there’s anything new in a series, he’ll get a few biographical novels or informational texts, and he’ll always try to find something new that he’s never tried before.

Saix

Shopping with Saix is awesome if you think shopping is something that you need to divide and conquer. Saix is a swift shopper. He spends a little time looking at all of his options and buys the one he thinks will best suit him, then he moves on to the next thing on his list.

The two of you will probably separate somewhere in the beginning of your trip to do your own thing and meet up for lunch or something. It works for you, especially around the holidays when the two of you are trying to buy Christmas presents and don’t have to worry about someone else looking over your shoulder.

Axel

Axel likes to make shopping experiences into a game. He’ll shop for himself, but he’ll also shop for you! The two of you will separate, pick out some things for each other - both nice and ridiculous - then meet up to try on. It’s a great date idea for the two of you, plus you both get some new clothes out of it!

Axel is always fun to shop with because he’s super supportive and gives pretty good feedback on things that he thinks look good on you.

Demyx

Really good but also really bad when it comes to shopping. He likes shopping and he’ll definitely be supportive whenever you feel like going to the mall or market, but he get distracted by practically everything. You’ll be having a conversation with him, turn away for two seconds, and he’ll just be gone. He pretty much disappears every time he sees something shiny and you have to go and find him before you continue your shopping. More than once you’ve had to go and have the workers call his name over the loudspeakers so he would meet you at the front doors.

Luxord

Fine with shopping but only at high class stores. Like Marluxia, everything he owns besides his organization cloak is name brand. Will stay with you certain times, sometimes he’ll go off on his own to explore the men’s sections of the stores, but he’ll always find his way back eventually.

Doesn’t like to stay at places for long periods of time, though, because he gets bored. He knows what he likes and doesn’t have to spend time debating on whether or not he should buy something, so get ready to move fast through the stores.

Marluxia

Simultaneously the worst and best shopping partner you could ever have. Has a spectacular eye for fashion and color and instinctively knows what will go best with your body type and skin color. However, he’s also annoyingly infuriating because he will definitely want to continue shopping long after you’ve tired yourself out. Does he care? No, of course not. If he wants to go through every store in the mall then he’ll definitely be dragging you with him, so buck up and don’t forget to wear a pair of shoes you don’t mind walking in.

Larxene

Whether or not you like shopping with Larxene depends on your own personal preferences. Larxene views every public space as if it were her  own personal battleground. She stalks around with her head held high and fire in her eyes, going where she wants, and people jump out of her way.

Positives: you won’t be approached by creepy people, you’ll never be caught in a crowd, and people will literally move out of lines so you can go in front of them. Negatives: people with definitely be gawking at Larxene and you by by proxy as you try to keep up with her long strides.

Roxas

Kind of like a sweet, little puppy in the sense that he will put up with whatever you want to do and will trail after you as long as you have treats to give him from time to time.  Keep a little bag of snacks in your purse - and maybe carve out some time to stop for lunch - and pass one over every once in a while and Roxas is good to go..

Also super supportive when it comes to waiting on you to try clothes!  Will compliment you and thinks you look good in anything and doesn’t really mind waiting for you to try things on.

Xion

This cutie pie loves shopping and doesn’t mind when you pick out clothes for her to try on or want to dress her up like she’s a Barbie doll.  She gets really flattered when you ask her to find some clothes for you to try because it means that you appreciate her taste. Gets tired after walking around a lot, but get her a smoothie or something from the food court at the mall and she’ll be good to go for another few hours.

[jadekitty777]

Who Needs Gifts When We Have Love?

Finally, after all this time, the long awaited second chapter of the Summer/Tai/Qrow mini series is up. Technically, I just ended up dropping what I planned for the original ‘ending’ (of which will become super obvious what it was when you read this). I may finish that part later, but it was hanging me up way too much and I didn’t want this series to just go on an eternal hiatus because of it. 

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,500

Pairing: Summer/Tai/Qrow

Ao3 Link: Who Needs Gifts When We Have Love?

Summary: Qrow didn't really care for the fanfare involved with birthdays, especially his own. Luckily, Summer and Tai's combined creative efforts made it much more bearable.

Qrow hated birthdays.

It came to no surprise to him that all the main ‘traditions’ tied to a birthday came from Atlas – as if the overly commercialist kingdom didn’t have enough money to fatten their prestigious family’s wallets with. There had to be cake with your name on it, an expensive dinner out, enough colorful balloons and streamers to make a person go blind – and one could definitely not forget the “perfect” gift, as if there really was such a thing or, even if there was, that it could be found every single year. It felt like a bunch of frivolous fanfare.

So, he hated birthdays. Especially his own.

Except, it wasn’t his “own” – and that made it infinitely worse because it only served as a reminder of the missing presence in his life.

Despite his misgivings though, it didn’t seem to stop Tai and Summer from breaking the rules, in their own way. They didn’t cook his favorite dinner, they cooked his second or his third. There was no cake, but plenty of cookies to go around for the next week. They never gave him anything wrapped up with a neat little bow on top, but they did ask what he wanted to do and then followed through with as many extreme measures as they were allowed.

So, his request for ‘a quiet night in’ equated to dropping Ruby and Yang off at a babysitter’s house.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved those scamps with all his heart – but some days their energy was a bit… much. So just one night away from any father-uncle responsibilities was definitely a treat. He also figured this was the only ‘gift’ his partners had planned for him.

The bouquet of sunflowers sitting on the front step to the house seemed to laugh at him and his gullibility.

He looked to the woman beside him. “Summer.”

She looked back at him, her mask of innocence doing nothing to convince him she wasn’t up to something. “Oh my! Look at this lone bouquet just sitting out here for you, completely unprecedented and without a clear reason!”

“Summer.” He repeated.

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You should really pick it up.”

Damn her for being pretty. “I swear, those eyes of yours are lethal weapons.”

“Was that a pun?”

For the good of his own sanity, he absolutely refused to answer that. God knows what mileage Tai would get out of it if she told him. He leant over to pick up the vase and discovered that pinned underneath it was a note. A single instruction was written on it:

Follow the trail.

He rose an eyebrow at that but it wasn’t until he opened the door that the direction became clear, as from the doorway to up the stairs was a trail of white rose petals. He imagined he knew where it was leading, but he questioned anyways, “What are you two up to?”

“Something you’ll really like.” Summer said, practically bouncing with excitement. When he only hummed uncertainly, she added, “Come on, have we ever let you down before?”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He snickered as she gave a little huff, shoving him forward. Obediently, he started to follow the rose petals, hearing the door shut behind him before Summer was trotting along after him. As expected, they led to their bedroom, but instead of them ending at the bed, they continued into the bathroom.

The door was open but the light was off – yet a warm, orange glow still emitted from within, beckoning him towards it. Curiosity growing, he headed that way, setting the bouquet on the dresser as he passed by it. “Tai?” He called.

“Welcome back!” Was the returned greeting.

Qrow stopped where the trail did, right at the door’s threshold, sucking in a surprised breath.

The room had been meticulously transformed with strings of winter holiday lights carefully tacked around the walls. Candles were perched in various places, including the counter, the windowsill, and the tank top of the toilet. They emitted a gentle but familiar vanilla scent he was particular too. Tai was lounging back in their oversized tub, the water filled three-fourths up but seeming much higher with all the bubbles. And it was in that Qrow finally understood his real surprise.

Having grown up washing in cold rivers and lakes, he hadn’t had the pleasure of knowing what a warm shower was until he went to Beacon. It was even longer before he’d been introduced to a bath, but it instantly became his preferred method of bathing. Something about being able to lounge in a vat of pure warmth was so undeniably relaxing. He figured that nothing could top it until Summer learned of his fondness for them and, on a whim, imported specialty bubble bath mix from Atlas. Qrow was instantly enamored, the experience stirring something almost childlike in him as he popped the shiny spheres between his hands and made bubble beards and crowns. From that day on, he would have gladly run a bubble bath every day; but because it was both expensive and fairly hard to find a supplier, he’d limited running the bubbles for special occasions or those particularly trying days.

“So?” Tai tilted his head towards him, grinning in that excited way he got whenever he felt he was pleasing one of them. “What do you think?”

Qrow wanted to tell him he loved it. That it was the best gift either of them could have given him. But, years of poor social skills meant he still wasn’t particularly good at expressing his gratitude, which was why he waved at the candles and said, “I think this might be a bit of a fire hazard.”

Something wet and cold hit the back of his neck, making him jump. He whirled around, seeing Summer grinning at him, a pseudo-weapon aimed his way. “Don’t worry, we’ve got your semblance covered.”

“Is that a water gun?” Qrow exclaimed, only to yelp when another blast hit him right on the ass. He shot a scowl over his shoulder.

“Two water guns.” Tai winked at him. Where had he even been hiding it? “So now that you have nothing to worry about, get in here!”

“Or what?” He challenged.

The blond rose an eyebrow, his gaze sliding to the one behind him. “Summer?”

“Barrage him.” She said gleefully.

And then Qrow was being pelted from both sides by blasts of cold water. He quickly rose up his arms in a poor attempt at guarding, laughing all the while. “Alright, alright you heathens!”

The moment they let up, he reached over his shoulder to grab the back of his shirt, yanking it up and over his head. The move earned him an appreciative wolf whistle.

“Whoo! Yeah, baby!” Summer catcalled. “Take it off!”

He threw his shirt in her face.

“Ack!”

“You’re terrible.” He told her, toeing off his shoes and unfastening his belt simultaneously.

It was her turn to wink as she started to undo the ties on her corset. “Is it truly such a crime to marvel at a work of art?”

“If so, then guess you’ll just have to lock me up.” He countered, deliberately roving his eyes over her.

“Oh I’d never miss the opportunity to put you in handcuffs.”

Before he could think up a fitting comeback, a snort drew his attention behind him. Tai had propped his arms over the rim of the tub, an amused smile gracing his features as he watched them try to out flirt each other.

It hadn’t always been like this; in fact, when Summer and he first started dating, she would get so easily flustered by even his weakest of lines that she usually just spluttered her way into an embarrassed silence. Qrow had thought it was cute, so he kept up the charade, even made a bit of a game of it to see how fast he could make her go from collected to bashful. But Summer wasn’t Summer if she didn’t try to rise to a challenge – and soon enough she started to return as much as she was given. It eventually developed into somewhat of a couples’ quirk of theirs, so commonplace he usually didn’t realize when they were doing it anymore.

Having joined them later on, Tai didn’t tend to participate but at least he was never short on entertainment.

“See something you like sunshine?” Qrow asked, shimmying out of his pants.

He smirked. “Quite.”

His socks were the last thing to go. He padded over the tile, taking that first, wonderful step into the tub, sighing contently as he sunk into the water. Tai adjusted to lean against the back, holding his hands towards him, an invitation Qrow couldn’t ignore as he slid over. There was always something immensely comfortable about having the brawler’s arms wrap around him. Toned from years of training, they just seemed to completely envelope his thinner frame, the strength and security it invoked undeniable.

Which made it rather ironic that despite being built like a tree, at heart, he was the biggest softie. Qrow didn’t have to even wonder whose plan this whole set up was. When it came to romance, Summer and he had always kept things simple – she would have stopped at just the bath; but welcoming Tai to their relationship had also meant welcoming his eye for more grandiose gestures. That sometimes equated to waking up to toast cut into heart shapes or finding love notes in his pack long after he’d left for a mission. Or, in this case, petal trails, candles and mood lighting.

“Gotta say,” Qrow said, relaxing against the other. “This isn’t too shabby for a gift.”

“Gift? What gift? Are we celebrating something?” Tai replied with a tone of mock-innocence.

He rolled his eyes, kissing away the other’s teasing grin.

The door was shut, encasing them in the candle and string light’s yellow-orange glow, reflecting off the bubbles rather dazzlingly. The two of them made room, Qrow silently glad Tai had splurged for a larger tub as Summer was able to settle in easily with them.

“This is so nice.” She commented, sinking down.

A few nudges had Qrow shifting around in Tai’s arms until they were back to chest. “Want to come over here?”

She answered by sidling right up against him, tucking her head in the dip of his clavicle. She was just above the water and her hair, free from its typical rose bun, floated around her shoulders like a fan. It was tempting him to run his fingers through it, so he did.

“So, after the bath, we have a little proposition for you.” She said.

Every word ghosted along his neck, making him shudder. “Oh?”

She walked her fingers up the center of his chest, saying, “Tai and I were talking and we realized how long it’s been since we’ve had a three-way. Even longer since you’ve been in the middle.”

Qrow snorted down a laugh. “Oh, so the flowers were supposed to lead to the bed.”

Tai nipped his ear. “There are some on the bed, thank you very much.” Of course there was. He should have never doubted. “Anyways, it’s only if you feel up to it. We just don’t get this opportunity often.”

Didn’t he know it. Between full time jobs, long missions away, and two tykes that could drain the energy out of the sun, it was a miracle just to get time away for just himself – and sometimes he was too exhausted for even that. When they were desperate for a little downtime together, often, they appointed one of them to watch the kids for a time so two of them could slip away. But all three of them? He could count the instances on his own two hands – which, for a four-year relationship, was a ridiculously pathetic number.

So, with the very idea stirring arousal through him, it really wasn’t a question he had to think hard about to answer. “’Course I’m up for it. But, Gods be damned, I’m enjoying the bath first.”

They both laughed, their joy reverberating through him from either side. Summer kissed the side of his jaw. “Of course.”

~

“Why don’t you two go get comfortable while I clean up in here?” Summer offered, maneuvering carefully to wind the towel around herself without elbowing one of them.

They’d been fortunate so far that nothing had caught fire, but since luck was bound to run out, Qrow certainly wouldn’t argue putting out all the candles before they got into it. Not that there wasn’t a little foreplay in the bath anyways – it was hard to avoid, with their hands all over each other and the promise of what was to come lingering in their imaginations. Still, it felt a little unfair to have their wife do all the work. “You sure?”

“Mmhm.” She strung out her hair over the tub, a small rainfall pouring down. “It won’t take more than a few minutes. Go have fun.”

As Tai finished tousling his hair, the wet strands sticking up at odd angles, he replied, “Now that’s an offer I won’t refuse.”

It was hard to say if it was from the door he just opened or the way the blond aimed him with a hungry gaze, either way Qrow felt shivers running down his spine. “Yeah, alright.” Not about to be outdone, he turned and headed into the room, unnecessarily swaying his hips as he did so. The swift, harmless swat to his ass told him the motion did not go unnoticed. “Hey careful now. You’re about to use those goods.”

Tai chuckled. “Sorry, want me to kiss it better?”

That wasn’t a half bad idea. But as he approached their bed, he found himself distracted by a small, colorful array left in the center of his pillow. Flowers, just as promised. But not just any flowers; Dahlias. One white, one black, and one yellow, neatly tied together with a blue ribbon. It was one of the few plants he knew what they were meant to symbolize.

Qrow was not a romantic, that was as true as the sky was blue.

But once upon a time, he tried to be.

When he and Summer had first started to date, nothing had changed incredibly much about their lives – except their days were filled with a lot more kissing and sneaking away between (or sometimes during) classes for a quick romp in the dorm. They didn’t even really go out that often; since they already saw each other every day, it felt arbitrary to ‘make time’ for just each other. It was comfortable and easy. But on the anniversary of his and Summer’s first date, he had wanted to do something she’d never expect. Because somewhere along the way he’d done something stupid.

He’d fallen in love with her.

And like all idiots who fell in love, Qrow was swept away with the desire to tell her in the most memorable way possible. What better way to do that then to give his Rose a rose?

When he dragged Tai along for his ‘expert’ opinion and told him his idea, he was quickly shot down.

“What do you mean it’s a terrible idea? Roses are practically the romantic flower queen!” Qrow had argued, shoving a fistful of them right in his face.

Tai’s eyes continued to judge him over the tops of the blooms. “Buddy, if you want her to know you put exactly zero thought into this, then give her roses.”

“Well what would you do Casanova?”

He hummed, giving the shop a once over, before laser focusing on one corner of the room. “Oh, over here!”

Qrow grunted as he was dragged by his elbow to another display of flowers. They came in a variety of colors, with tall stems and petals that burst out in multiple layers. He recognized them quickly, as the tribe would collect them occasionally. The roots were thick like potato tubers and very sweet. They were useful for a kick of energy during seasons in which they didn’t have much food. He didn’t know anything beyond that. But that was why Tai was here – back where he was from, his family owned a flower shop. He had a fairly detailed knowledge on the whole ‘symbolism’ matter.

“Dahlias?” He asked.

“Yeah, they’re a wedding flower.”

His heart practically jogged a marathon. “What?! Dude! I’m not proposing!”

Tai laughed, already plucking two out from their vases. “I know, I just wanted to mess with you. But the reason they’re a wedding flower is because they stand for loyalty and commitment.” He held them towards him; a white one and a bloom so deep red, it appeared almost black. “Tie these two together with a blue ribbon and that’ll tell her you want to make this serious.”

He didn’t have to guess why the ribbon had to be blue. That was a Mistralian custom. Many that hailed from there were told the same folktale about how the sea and the sky once were colorless and sad, until they fell in love. They began to stretch, on and on, to try and reach one another. When they finally touched, making the horizon, they turned blue and from their love, they birthed the continents.

He knew now that was all utter nonsense – but the tale was practically the foundation for the culture of his people. From the fact parents still named their children after things either of the water or the sky to the very shade of their Kingdom’s symbol, blue would likely always be Mistral’s most significant color. Therefore, giving something blue to a significant other was meant to represent that they had the same unending love for them that the sky and the sea had.

So, he did what Tai suggested – and while the flowers didn’t last long, his and Summer’s relationship did, growing and thriving. Every year, he still gave the dahlia pair to her on the anniversary of their first date. They’d become so iconic, something that represented them, that she’d even had fake ones sewn to her wedding dress. Her bouquet had real ones and had been tied together with a big, blue ribbon.

They had planned to have some yellow ones strewn in with the black and white ones, but Tai had been adamantly against it, not wanting to step into their tradition like that. So, they had let it be, and settled on sunflowers instead.

It seemed something had finally changed his mind.

Qrow picked up the mini bouquet, smiling as he ghosted a thumb over the velvet soft petals. “You know, someone once told me that giving these flowers away means you want to be with them forever.”

“Oh really?” Tai loosely wound his arms around his waist. “Must have been someone pretty smart.”

He gave a thoughtful hum. “He was blond; so no, not really.”

A swift nip to his shoulder reprimanded him. “I changed my mind, you jerk. Give them back.”

“No. They’re mine.” He said holding them to his chest. He squirmed as Tai wiggled his fingers up his stomach, making a move to grab them. He slapped them. “Go away!”

“Not until I get my flowers.”

One of those hands started to tickle his side, and he burst into laughter, trying to twist away as the other came to loot him again. He pinned it. “Get your own thief! I’m – WAAH!”

Qrow’s vision swiveled around as he was suddenly hefted up like a bride and tossed onto the bed. He tried to scoot backwards and out of reach, but Tai was quicker, climbing up on top of him and pinning him down as he demanded, “Give me those flowers!”

“Never!” He proclaimed, throwing his arm up above his head. When Tai tried to stretch over him, he grabbed his shoulder, pushing him back. He was satisfied when he felt fingers only skim his elbow. “You’re gonna have to do better than th-”

The rest of his taunt was lost when Tai smashed their lips together, forcing his tongue into his mouth. Not that Qrow was complaining, eyes slipping closed as he was coaxed into returning the kiss. A moment later, they were easing up, falling into a rhythm only two people could have from doing this more times than they could count.

When they broke apart, Tai’s voice was husky and his eyes were dark, a storm of passion in those deep blue irises. “What say we see how far down your body I can get until Summer joins us?”

He was all too happy to tilt his head back and reply, “I’m all yours sunshine.”

[maybeilikenumbers]

Qualifying Immunity

Midnight on July 18, 2004, Donald Rickard was pulled over for a broken headlight. Upon being asked to step out of his vehicle, Rickard drove away at high speed and police pursued. Officers later surrounded Rickard in a parking lot, where he again attempted to flee. Officers then fired shots into the vehicle in an attempt to stop the suspect, killing Rickard and his passenger. Donald Rickard’s family filed a claim against the local government for the incident, citing a number of alleged injustices; however, the police department attempted to have the suit dismissed as frivolous due to officers’ “proper conduct,” which should have granted qualified immunity — freedom from certain lawsuits against public officials, granted to avoid trivial lawsuits. Regardless of whether immunity was granted in this particular instance, the fact remains that it was a viable alternative for the defense to use against a trial bringing multiple high-profile charges—a privilege that ought to be limited for the common beat cop.

Pearson v. Callahan clarifies that “qualified immunity balances two important interests—the need to hold public officials accountable when they exercise power irresponsibly and the need to shield officials from harassment, distraction, and liability when they perform their duties reasonably” (Pearson v. Callahan). This definition clarifies the purpose of the doctrine, but opens a few questions in so doing: When do public officials’ actions become ‘irresponsible’? And what constitutes a ‘reasonable’ action? Both of these seem impossible to distinguish without clarification of what action is necessary in a public official’s position and to what standard officials must be held. To make such distillations simpler, limit the problem to police officers, as in the aforementioned Plumhoff v. Rickard. 

So what is a police officer’s duty? The standard value applied to law enforcement is the promotion of security, although many would contest that in the United States, such security is unequally applied to a population that has generally all “agreed” to a social contract by living among others in a society. Thus, two values emerge: security of the population and equality of security’s application.

To begin, first examine equality (a sensitive topic in regards to law enforcement, but a necessary portion of the argument nonetheless). The fairness of law is generally always established by how evenly it is applied to the citizenry, regarding race, ethnicity, culture, disability, occupation, and so on. The podcast Invisibilia, in its episode “The Culture Inside” explores the commonality of implicit bias and how culture ingrains near-indetectable beliefs in individuals, focusing on race (“The Culture Inside”). This presents a notable analog to the issue of qualified immunity, as there is significant disparity in how minority groups are treated by police forces nationwide likely due to racial biases, as presented by the Journal of the American Medical Association in 2018 (Mesic et. al.). A better analysis, though, looks into qualified immunity and by whom it may be granted. It’s already well-established that implicit bias exists, typically against those from racial or ethnic groups different from their own, so observe trends in those who are given the reigns to immunity. “A Demographic Snapshot of America's Federal Judiciary: A Prima Facie Case for Change,” published by the Richmond School of Law professor Jonathan K. Stubbs, details trends in the judiciary based on race and gender, contrasted to the reality of the United States’ population. Stubbs’ findings give a significant reason to question the validity and equity of qualified immunity claims: sixty-seven percent of the bench consisted of white male judges, while black males comprised only six percent (though still, black males comprise the third largest group reported by this study, following white males and females, which altogether sum to approximately eighty-three percent of the judge pool) (Stubbs). By comparison, the 2010 census estimated thirty-two percent of the population were white males, displaying a gap between the proportion of individuals who have power over qualified immunity (police officers and judges) and those who such a privilege may actually harm—even without full awareness—through each person's naturally ingrained "culture inside." Here lies major reason to question, or even challenge the allocation of security as being “equal.” 

Yet, even if one were to set aside the question of fairness, the purported security of the doctrine still  remains to be placed on trial. The core assertion in the qualified immunity argument for increased safety goes something like this: “It would be in poor practice to allow US law enforcement officers to go about their day-to-day business whilst having to simultaneously face the bother of an overly-litigious society. The boys in blue have enough to worry about as is.” This, unfortunately displays an assumption from unfounded grounds, which the father of empiricism, Francis Bacon, might have referred to as one of a number of idols, most clearly those of the Cave or Marketplace. Throughout Bacon’s discussion of what he calls Idols of the Mind, he makes it apparent that, in order to counteract the common fallacies of conventional wisdom, one must question their validity and accuracy (Bacon). How then is Bacon’s process applied to previous assumption? Bacon’s question would likely be, “What police officer, going about the menial, everyday tasks of their occupation, or even enjoying the thrill of the less common aspects of vocation, truly carries an endless burden for fear of lawsuit?” It is likely that none do, and also likely that those who do carry a guilty conscience. Rather than an assertion for security would suggest, the risk of lawsuit likely encourages better professional practice where necessary, as it does in any other field. So why is it truly valuable to limit a fairly simplistic channel by which US law enforcement may be held accountable? There seems to be little reason remaining.

To summarize, one must observe the difference in how qualified immunity is justified: in its ends. In the long-run, it is difficult to see the consequences of immunity for police officers being much more than a number of low profile court cases dismissed to give already overworked public defense lawyers a much needed recess in their duties, however the end result is not always a proper justification. Were a man to swindle ten-thousand cattle from a poor rancher in the midwestern United States to feed many more individuals steak dinners for charity benefits, would his ends be justified? One may say, “Yes. The dinners likely supported a number of wonderful causes, and tens of thousands of steaks make for a good many donors.” This stance, while it acknowledges the altruism of one man’s actions, fails to take into account the means by which this man acquired his benevolent offering, by stealing from someone in a position worse than those reaping the benefits. So too does qualified immunity detract from its justification of practicality by excusing injustices of police men and women. “Excusing a number of low profile court cases” seems to be reasonable until one realizes that little things add up to a lack of accountability. An inconsistent justice system in which errors accumulate to become precedent is no tool for the people, it is the government’s kidney failure—a system of platitudes, concessions, and appeasements which disable accountability and distract from objectives, concentrating waste until the general body can no longer stand to face the flaw any longer and it must be fixed, cleansed and replaced, or left to fester. 

Then, qualified immunity must be confined by a similar set of constraints, which block any extra avenues for misbehavior, inequality of treatment and judgement, and acknowledge the value of people as means, not ends, to be treated justly.

Works Cited

Bacon, Francis. "The Four Idols." Sophia-project.org. 7 Aug. 2013. Web. 5 Oct. 2018.

Mesic, Franklin, Cansever, Potter, Sharma, Knopov, and Siegel. "The Relationship Between Structural Racism and Black-White Disparities in Fatal Police Shootings at the State Level." Journal of the National Medical Association 110.2 (2018): 106-16. Web.

N.a. "The Culture Inside : NPR." Npr.org. 8 Jun. 2017. Web. 2 Oct. 2018.

N.a. "PEARSON v. CALLAHAN." Law.cornell.edu. n.d. Web. 2 Oct. 2018.

Stubbs, Jonathan K. "A Demographic Snapshot of America's Federal Judiciary: A Prima Facie Case for Change." University of Richmond UR Scholarship Repository. 4 May 2017. Web. 5 Oct. 2018.

[starryikevamp]

silver linings

a theo imagine.

by: admin xuan

It was cold.

This thought popped into your mind without warning. It was strange, coming from nowhere, and past the sleepy fog of your consciousness, you could process that something cool was enveloping your numb skin. From the sleep, probably. You shifted a little to a more comfortable position, eyelids still weighed down by drowsiness. It wasn’t strange for you to wake up in the middle of the night, and nothing was really out of the ordinary.

Except that it was still cold, and it’s summer.

“What’s up?” A groggy voice behind you made you crack open an eye.

“Sorry. I’m just a little cold.”

A moment of silence, and then two strong arms wrapped themselves around you, bringing you closer to their owner almost effortlessly. They were comfortingly warm to the touch, and the gentle familiarity of it all made you smile on reflex. The hard torso that was now against your back, and you snuggled a little closer to Theo, him being a “human heater”, as you liked to call him at times. You immediately felt much better as the heat spread through your limbs, and allowed sleep to overtake you promptly.

So far, this was an account of what you vaguely remembered that night. What you didn’t know was that Theo, ever so accustomed to your body, realised with a startle that you were burning up, as if molten lava was incorporated into your soft skin. Plagued with worry (although he won’t ever say that), he got up and took the necessary measures to cool you down.

Thus explaining why you awoke for the second time that day, an ice cold and slightly uncomfortable sensation atop of your forehead, and your limbs very much constrained by the tight blanket wrapped around your torso. In other words, you were in a burrito-like state, and the male figure that’s draped over the chair beside you, snoring away, explained everything.

“Theo. Theo Theo Theo !”

You whispered urgently, desperately straining against the soft fabric of the blankets, but whoever that did this had considerable skill; it did not unravel an inch, much to your simultaneous dismay and amazement. Thankfully, Theo stirred, jerking his head up and standing so abruptly that the chair teetered a little. It was somewhat endearing, to see him all worried like that, brows drawn together and actions clumsy. The usual composed and cool Theo was long gone, at the sight of your sickly form.

“You’re awake. Is everything okay? I’ll have Arthur drop in later-“

“Everything’s fine. And thank you for that, but could you loosen these a little?”

You were freed of the soft bounds in a jiffy, and stretched out comfortably, much like a starfish. The fever wasn’t really terrible or catastrophic in any sense— it simply felt like your skin tingled strangely at the sensation of anything cool and windy. The window panes were shut firmly, and you shot a questioning look at the brown-haired man beside you.

“Oh, that. I asked Arthur to see you as soon as he can, but he advised me to do that first while he’s occupied with things. I don’t really know a lot about medicine and sicknesses and stuff, so…”

“Is that so?”

“I was a healthy kid. Rarely fell sick, actually. It was mostly injuries that kept me from running around.”

But of course. It only made sense that a youth like Theo, who was constantly protecting Vincent from thugs and bullies would be physically in tip-top shape. In return, he got those cuts and bruises littered all over his torso; you’ve seen it before, having already mastered their positions, the white lines that indicated flesh that was once split apart, and some new ones from the days after he got revived. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but it meant something to you. Theo was a kind, kind man, underneath his layers of personality, and he would never admit that for as long as he’s alive.

You look at the windows again, and smile.

“Thank you.”

Just for a moment, maybe, you thought you saw something pink dusted across his cheeks, but they disappeared with a blink, and the default tight expression returned once again. You first saw him like that, but now, however you see it, there’s always something that softened. His eyes, perhaps, or the way his lips curve. It’s softer, kinder, and it sends a wave of aching through your chest.

“Don’t go all soft on me now. It’s just my responsibility to take care of this.”

Ah, the fake curt voice. How you relished in it.

“I’m pretty sure I got sick from-“

“Fatigue.”

The new voice announces the arrival of its owner from the door. It’s lighter, higher in pitch, and has a mischievous ring to it. Arthur now stood there in all his glory, basked in the morning sun, a friendly wave directed at the both of you.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here. Your temperature is higher than normal, that’s obvious, and could you please open up your mouth for me….? That’s right.”

The said man wasted no time in crossing the room, and lifting your chin up to have a better view of your tongue. It reminded you of the health checkups you had back in the 21st century, technological advances aside. If you didn’t take it seriously that Arthur was a doctor, you sure did now. He spoke with the air of a professional, quick and deft in his occupation.

“The colour of your tongue is all wrong. Sorry Theo, but you gotta put a pause with the making out sessions. She’s got fever from the fatigue, like I said earlier. It’s not serious in any way, so I suppose she’ll be up and bounding in no time.”

“That sentence wasn’t necessary, you erotic frivolous four-eyed.”

And in the same way he arrived, Arthur left with the same genial wave. You weren’t particularly bothered by his words, partly because it did hold some truth to it, but also as you were too used to the teasing from everyone. They all did it at some point of time.

“How’d you overwork yourself? Sebastian giving you a hard time? Anyone’s not cleaning up after themselves? Or-“

You held up a hand.

“Theo, you’re such a darling for being worried, but this isn’t anyone’s fault. It isn’t yours either. I should’ve taken better care and awareness of my own body.”

There was another pause, not unlike the one you both shared the previous night.

“It’s such a pity I can’t kiss you right now.” Theo whispers lowly near your ears, and yet, contrary to his words, his lips trailed down the curve of your ear to your cheek, leaving butterfly kisses as they travelled. It was enough for your currently overly sensitive skin to turn even hotter, and you patted his head fondly in return.

“Keep it up, and I’ll never recover. That means no kisses.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll get you breakfast now.”

If falling sick meant that you could see another side of Theo, then it’s not bad at all. You’ve started to wish for illness to befall you more frequently since then, much to his dismay.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

another prompt saga

April 8th: Talk about friendship. How important are friends to you? Do you find it hard to make and maintain friendships? Are your friends generally supportive? Is there anything about having friends that confuses you?

another big question for me to go on plenty of tangents lol

well i haven't often had friends Really, there's like, being amicable with classmates, being friends with people While We're At School Together, being friendly acquaintances lmfao, or like, the occasional "yeah ig we're sort of friends, not exactly very close tho" lol and then rarely where yeah i'd call someone a close friend, although naturally, it's not like i completely discount those other, less close relationships. and, even more so, not like overall i'm like "oh friendship? yeah that's pretty frivolous and unimportant and it's just something mildly entertaining vs the Real Shit & True Emotional Support & Love of your biological family and romantic soulmate" lol, Friends Are Important and it's entirely serious 2 me

also natch i Do find it hard to make and maintain friendships lol. goes back to like, preschool and being around a bunch of age peers regularly for the first time, where my "best friend" defaulted to this one person who sought out interacting with me when i was otherwise doing my own thing during preschool recess, and i was pretty enthused about getting invited to a bday party one kid invited a bunch of us to, because that was like, a Friend thing, and a fun social thing, and i was included.....that i Do remember just feeling like, socially, everyone else was playing a game i didn't know the rules to and so couldn't expect to participate and, furthermore, i ought to stay out of the way of whatever everyone else was doing, where i Did often choose to do stuff by myself, but it's like, you know, the way "autistic" is even used figuratively (which. i have a lot of disdain for) because it's like oh the defining thing really is that telltale "doesn't want to interact with other people or form relationships, probably because also they have no feelings / normal and intrinsic qualities of Humanity" but it's like, if you pay any attention or god forbid ask autistic people about their own experiences, sure everyone has their own varying social approach and anyone might not always be raring to be the center of the party or Not want to do their own thing, but it's not that oh all autistic people aren't interested in social connection, but that like even when you are a small child it's like, oh all these other kids are interacting in this way that isn't really my social style and that shuts me out, and/or attempting to interact with people results in this even subtle, quiet rejection / exclusion that can be picked up on. i wasn't making friends and was often keeping to myself / keeping my head down as it were, but it wasn't because i didn't want to have friends or socialize. my mom was insistent i was a Shy Child lmao and i'd always argue that i wasn't Really, without further explanation though lmao, but it's like, again that i felt that sort of emergent exclusion, and there wasn't any space to interact much on my terms at all, and like, yeah i often stayed quiet / didn't want to mingle with other kids / if i was in a Situation i wanted to know the How To of navigating it / what to expect

being friends with people at school was fine, except the drawbacks of stuff like "we're only interacting at school, rarely hanging out outside of that" & "someone in the same grade is in a diff class in elementary school so we just never see each other now" & "for some reason that 2nd grade teacher made a whole giant Example out of me and a friend, god forbid, not paying attention or whatever the fuck, so now i feel like we can't interact at all anymore" & "changing schools entirely between elementary / middle / college" & "not being in school" lmao similar to work friends too, we're At Work, might not see each other outside of that, might change jobs & stop seeing each other, & still overall rare, b/c the Preschool Experience never Really stopped imo, had different versions of it even into college and like, being at jobs with other adults lmao, socializing is still Like That, came up with the Je Ne Hate Quoi where like, people kind of just Know to exclude you / consider you an exception to whatever other social stuff is going on.

and then like, the difficulties even when socializing / interactions Are happening, where like, it's always funny like. i'm very Verbose / Chatty and very opinionated but like, this will surprise people, that i Talk actually and have a ton of takes, b/c i was keeping to myself / not sharing that with them and so it's like well, that must of course be the realest version of me, no way i was filtering myself, i just must have Not Wanted to talk, and/or had nothing to say & hence no thoughts or feelings i might wanna share lol, of course....and tbh like, it sure Can be true that i don't wanna talk lmao like. i wanna talk About Stuff that isn't really "personal" generally, which can be like, yeah i wanna talk about this book, or about birds, or about this trivia topic, or whatever, whereas idk so much how to do like small talk about your day or otherwise share Casual things about Yourself, like, idk, being aware my interests are things about Myself but also aware that it's Weird / wasn't the kind of stuff you were supposed to talk about, and i felt that things about my life were otherwise Not The Right Stuff, or too boring (never hanging out, not doing much except being at home reading / doing shit by myself or w/siblings) or too Unfun (able to pick up the sense that At Home Shittiness was a private matter lol......) and it'd be like, idk what to say, things about myself don't seem to fit..........but also it can be that i do not enjoy the Vibe of an interaction lmfaoooo like, i truly do not want to talk to you people. like that i can sometimes vibe with someone inebriated people better lmfao because then, idk, they have some sense of humor and can muster some enthusiasm for anything, but also i'm not really a fan of knowing that someone isn't sober lmfao like. ppl will be like "omg were you drunk" like no, that was just my personality, whereas i am not Heartened to know other ppl Will have to have been drunk to get on my level, for example, don't understand when people cannot muster being even a little silly. it's goofaround hours. but then you have like, being around a bunch of cishet people when they're drunk, and their humor is as nonexistent and boring as ever but they're even louder / more insistent about it, nightmare. and, yknow, just people talking and i'm like "i'm not interested in this at all, whether re: conversational Style or Subject, i would not want to participate" and times when it's like. i know if i was gonna chime in with what i Would say you would not be able to handle me here lmfaoooo so. i truly would prefer examining the wall and thinking about my own shit or texting with someone i do like talking with

but that yknow, in groups / conversations i would be at least someone interested in, i can still be like, idk, Hesitant To Talk b/c of all the instances you've been taught like oh you're socializing Wrong and everyone hated that, sorta like the post about making a comment about salsa that brings the gc to a halt and you're wondering how you fucked up and if salsa killed someone's parents and forgot or whatever, i've been Disheartened re: hanging out when it's like, well, nice to be included, but i'm a friendship third wheel here, not being included in the entire convo and nobody misses it, there's been instances where it's like, two people talking, i chime in, i am completely ignored multiple times, this is frustrating lmao. or there's been times i've tried to put myself out there in a way, like yeah sure i'll hang out with this group, but also i'm anxious and it's like, if people are doing homework i'm also bringing this thing i'm working on as this parallel task, only to find out down the line like people then regarded you as a joke or something b/c it was Rude or Wrong when you know, actually that was you reading some weird shit that didn't exist into the situation, and just like, idk it's wild how people will have like "graciously" declined to express something to your face, and you either can pick up on shit at the time but not be able to say anything which just reads to people like "oh they didn't notice this / that means you can push it a little further next time even" or like, figure out later that something that seemed positive or decent actually ft. people not liking you / not wanting to include you Yet Again, and as a bonus you're left with you know, having to always worry about if people Seemingly being amicable & accepting is actually them wishing you weren't there or solidifying some Interpretations of you that they're then gonna Talk About or Act On behind the scenes, like, beautiful thank you, always very touching, so glad you were so Considerate of someone's feelings and Nice about this where it just ends up being this whole letdown / feeling like even more of a rejection if there was this weird like stringing along lmao like. can allistic people be normal for five minutes

anyways and tied to that sort of, it's also like, simultaneously Cagey About Things and always worried about like, i could tell this person this thing and maybe it'd be Incorrect for the interaction and they won't care, whether because it's too mundane and boring a thing about you or because it's too #Real, i think i glimpsed something a month or so ago about like "do other autistic people have trouble where like, you can be friends with someone a long time but not get particular Close to them" or whatever lol, where like, well i have to hold everyone at arm's length and often Then Some because there's just matter of fact stuff about me that i nonetheless think i can't or shouldn't share, if i talked about something it might be out of the blue b/c i just was hardly confiding in people about it, or it's boring, or it's like, i don't actually feel like i'm close enough with this person that saying this isn't gonna be like "whoa overshare!! i just feel awkward & weird!" lmfao like. there were people i hung out with in person the year i lived out of my car and i did not mention this at all to them / kept it a secret b/c it's like, not out of like ohh this is a secret b/c No One Can Know, some people Could know lmao (shoutout to the person i Did confide in about these problems and who talked with me at what must've been like 3am in that timezone when i was like "well the rich people around here made sure to get cops to harass an unhoused person, e.g. me, would you believe it, it sucked" lmfao) it's that i knew idk, it would be pointless, they'd just feel weird about it and switch into that "for some reason, this is being Nice" where everyone will go into full Putting On A Front mode to be Polite like, that really sucks actually lmao could you Not. but it's like, idk, all this stuff where it's like "this thing about me / my life would be too Boring or too Awkward or Depressing or Etc Etc" turns out to be isolating / alienating b/c like, of course it would be. and idk nobody i ever made friends with in person i was Confiding in, not a ton of them re: me either, because you know. being cagey and wary, on top of like ohhh this person is Standoffish if they're hesitant to interact with people generally or do their own thing or i don't think they're socializing Right / have incorrectly inferred their feelings/motivations/intentions or whatever

and furthermore on that lmao it's also like, again, while i'm Verbose & Opinionated people will think i'm quiet & have no takes to provide because it's also like, even when it comes to stuff i sure feel i Could talk freely about, it's like, if i have a different opinion here will that just be a conversational Interruption ruining things for the real participants, probably nobody wants to hear me talk about this Subject, probably nobody wants to / would let me talk about it at much length without interrupting, even Online lmao i can be just going all out in terms of [how much i can talk about something] and while people can be Into that at that time it's like, people aren't into that beyond that one back and forth on one day, shoutout when people do enjoy the extensive discussing and/or have patience for it other times lol.

then supposing i Am talking to people lmao it's like, idk i'm an acquired taste or what have you, like, on top of the Talking A Ton it's like, the being opinionated and argumentative and sometimes pedantic or whatever on top of being irritable, could stand to be a bit more patient lmao, The Hater Friend to use the figure of speech lmao i have hardly been in a Group to be The [Any] Friend lol, also if my sense of humor doesn't fit it's like well how am i supposed to be silly, if being sometimes Enthused doesn't fit, again kinda an issue......have described myself as A Bit Much, humorously, but already not doing that as Much b/c it's like, i think i'm still too much like considering other people's opinions too "objective" here when like, first of all that's never accurate lmao, second of all i can easily forget that idk, i can at least in theory expect people to just regularly Like me and Enjoy interacting with me lol so. an acquired taste few can sample..........like hey even if other people don't vibe with me, it can just as much be the case that i'm not vibing with other people, don't worry lmao. and yknow, kinda parallel to Masking to seem acceptable in any casual social situation it's like, if i feel i'm suppressing my whole personality here / putting up a front / like i have to Get Through what should be a friendly interaction rather than be able to enjoy it myself, it's not exactly that rewarding. and plenty of times it's like, i like to be around people, but it can be strangers, i don't feel like "oh i wanna go out to eat / see a movie / go to this event, but if i can't get any friends to go, guess i can't!" like get out of the way i'm readily doing shit alone, it can even feel Better that way if otherwise it's like, now this occasion is about performing peak Agreeability for this other person/people, and like, not like i have ever been like "yes i have people i can readily ask to hang out and they'll be like Ya" anyways lol so. used to operating solo, where you can't be like "aha this is because this person has no Human Interest in Human Connection" when it's like. well it was never all up to me was it

well and so also it helped when i was 14 and able to be Online consistently, vs at home lmao. time for online friendship, which i don't think is like, oh that's not Real, like what sorry have you never known about people who have Remote friendships before, phones & letters & telegrams and also [nowadays when many ppl are Remote even if they usually lived near enough to hang out with] where it's like, you have this different format for socializing that can sure play out differently than Real Time, In Person interactions, and ever since i'll be posting mostly to myself lmfao but able to thusly talk about Interests and like, people will come along who want to talk more about it, then we do. i suppose also it can sure help that i'll draw (and Only draw, lol) for said interests, although tbh i think most of the time it's the extensive text posts that do it? really and great litmus test or whatever lmfao like, well already this person must not hate the verbosity. and then you can end up vibing with these people further, or not, but it's like, again, there's this chance for From The Start like, oh this person Likes that i have this niche interest, they like &/or don't mind talking A Lot about it lmao, vs in person introductions where that can sure happen but it's like, that's gonna be chance & spontaneous, whereas ppl might have the opportunity to Seek Out this interaction / content of yours......even online though, i'm still like, not as inclined to reach out or make the first interaction move or whatever lmao so. and then it's like, people make galaxy brain remarks like "ohh people who are very Online don't have friends, irl, they aren't Personable, irl," like yes congratulations i'm autistic and i don't have many In Person friends generally, sometimes maybe not any, don't really know where people think they'll land their argument here. like, follow it through, are you just calling people losers. is it "social media makes peopel Not social" like nobody is Doing Anything when they're online or everyone is embracing strangers and having heart to hearts every weekday morning with whoever is nearby if only they weren't on twitter? plus the fact that like, if i don't have access to people i interact with online, that doesn't like, force me to become neurotypical so that i then have a thriving in person social circle, it just means i'm more isolated? meanwhile, turns out it helps a lot if it's like, yeah i can Expect to interact with people

and then still like, all the time it might be like i still can feel Confused as it were about How To Talk To People lmfao like. there's not much "Just Be Yourself" when being yourself has meant filtering yourself, actually, and being v self conscious about trying (and often failing) to appeal to other people (which, then if you do succeed, it's like oops this person likes me but if i've been putting up a front the whole time, not super Validating) and not exactly a ton of practice getting to do Otherwise, and it can again be like. is this too boring to talk about, or just somewhat arbitrarily like "oh i'd better Not talk / say whatever" for no real reason lmfao, i Can just get like. Real Time Chatty as it were, but it's difficult actually lmfao like i need a lot of momentum, and it's easy for that to be Not the case.......and just like, again that it's easy to forget you don't have to be in "nobody wants to hear you talk" mode, or think like, okay, i can't just say anything, i have to say something Good, aka of interest or funny or whatever lmao but then it's like well i guess i Can just say anything. don't much know how to do that tho

(also, sidenote from "wtf is thinking being friends w/someone online is faker than when you're friends with someone sort of from being in the same building every weekday, what is the conclusion of 'what a loser geek whatever if you care about connecting Online who can't be popular Offline'" where it's always funny when someone is also like "wow even in person Fandom is, like social media, something that only people who suck at socializing Normally are into" lmfao like. not very relevant b/c nobody wants to really be in a broader fanbase rather than find particular kindred spirits through it, and who actually wants to go to comic con or whatever, sounds like a nightmare, but it's still such a faux analytical perspective lmfao like, again, first of all, what's the Conclusion to your argument here? and secondly honestly like. all versions of Small Talk are kinda gonna be bullshit, even amongst say, nt people, there's nothing Universal, and people can certainly be inconsiderate / preclude any genuine connection via what they might consider to be this neutral part of the ritual, and yknow, i find it kinda exhausting like it's peak Time To Mask and then i'm hardly in the mood to Really talk further, like yknow what. idk i'd be annoyed if someone demanded i Correctly Complete some sort of fandom reference by way of greeting, but i'm also annoyed when someone demands i Correctly Complete whatever maneuvers you're supposed to do with a rhetorical "how are you :)" lmfao like. you're a cringe nerd in the rigid social ritual of pleasantries fandom)

anyways and uhh yeah i also yknow, hashtag alana beck, it's like, glad to pretend Friendly Acquaintances makes sense, i guess it can, but it's great when it's like, oh i Don't have to only expect to be really peripheral in people's lives, or to only be friends with people i don't feel like i vibe with That much or also talk to that much about anything, when i can definitely feel like Yes this person is a Friend, no "are they actually closer to an acquaintance at this point" disclaimers needed, again, taking it back to the fact that friendship sure is Significant to me and when i have it that's v important thanks

so it's like uhhhh yeah difficult to make friends, don't have general appeal or whatever lol, ppl aren't on my wavelength or i'm not on theirs, hard to talk to people even though it's not because i don't/can't talk plenty lmfao.......and re: being Supportive it's like well, i don't really tell people In Person i'm autistic but naturally if you follow me Online here i am talking about it lol, and not like anyone who already knew me & was friends with me was like "oh nvm don't like interacting with you now" and i also gotta mention the like Handshake Lgbtq lifehack, where plenty of times it can be like, oh if we vibe on That wavelength it can be easier to befriend people, and/or that people will at least be more like, amicable / supportive based on Knowing you're handshake on that lol. b/c really it's like, i'd also like to just be allowed to talk and/or simply be around people even if we are not Personal Friends, aka that you can expect to be treated decently with some basic respect / consideration and like you're generally allowed to exist and be present and interact with people where you're not only guaranteed to Not be punished / excluded for it if someone's your individual friend and allows you to be here, so. once again it's like, can allistic ppl be normal for 5 min

[kondo-hijikata]

Pairing: Pre-Relationship to Relationship Kondo/Hijikata Rating: T Summary: Hijikata had no particular interest in meeting the new Tennen Rishin Ryu heir…until he saw the size of his shoes. [AO3]

<< Chapter 1

.*Before the Storm*. Chapter 2

As the waning sun painted the tree line in crimson, a kiseru pipe was packed, lit, and brought to a shapely mouth. The first pull was slow and the exhale just as indulgent, with white smoke drifting up and out toward wide open shoji that remedied a once too-humid space with fresh air.

The summer heat was like Hijikata’s preoccupation with the young master, both lingering and vexing him relentlessly from early June to mid-July. Despite these current parallels, the two were ultimately destined to be at odds, though. The days would grow shorter as the year wore on, with promise to an end of sticky and suffocating conditions. Unfortunately for Hijikata, his interest seemed resolute to do just the opposite. It flourished and deepened all on its own, without any new fuel to feed it, or a looming conclusion in sight.

An irritated scoff suddenly filled his room and he drew from the pipe again, sitting cross-legged with an elbow against his knee and chin weighing down heavy in a supportive palm.

That he was even still thinking about Kondo was absurd. Hijikata hadn’t seen or heard from him since the day they’d met just over four weeks ago, but that brief encounter was enough to ignite a fire in his chest and fill his head with questions that only his new acquaintance could quell. As if this weren’t infuriating enough, he wasn’t rightly sure how to go about articulating the things bothering him in the first place because they were so…indicative. Personal. Revealing. And certainly not fit or fair to inquire of someone he barely even knew.

Why aren’t you judging me? Everyone else tells me I’m wasting my life, so why don’t you? Why the hell are you so…nice?

And while I’m at it! How did you even get adopted into a samurai family? You really just…let go of your status without consequence and people actually take you seriously? You think it’s possible that someday I—?

Oh, now he was really veering off the rails of rationality. Hijikata scowled further and closed his eyes. These inquiries were so inane, so annoying, and not to mention so utterly pointless. So what if Kondo hadn’t derided him? It didn’t constitute approval. So what if he’d apparently earned his status, and seemed to embody the spirit of bushido as it was meant to be? Yeah, that was rare, okay. So what if he was humble and gentle around others, but a force to be reckoned with when a weapon was in his grip?

So what if he was handsome on top of everything—immaterial, truly, but an attribute which only complemented all the other things already so damn impressive?

“So fucking what?” Hijikata grumbled aloud, removing the pipe from his lips and ridding loose ash in the bowl with a pointed tap. Why did he, should he, care? Why should any of it matter?

…He knew exactly why, however—just as well as he knew the reason for asking these obvious questions of himself in the first place. They allowed him to deflect: from the anxiety of being wrong, or the dizzying, impossible notion that he might actually be right.

His first impression of Kondo was too positive. It was too good, too utopian, too much of a wild dream come true. Ever since his childhood, Hijikata had pined for the unlikely day he might meet someone exactly like this man who appeared out of thin air to teach lessons at Hikogoro’s dojo.

The samurai he encountered through the humdrum routine of his life were lazy bottom-feeders, and the ones who weren’t would never give him the time of day because of where he’d been born. They judged him for having hands which sewed fabric, for the medicine chest that clung to his back. Neither group viewed him to be a worthy contender in kenjutsu, and each side dismissed him on preconception alone.

But Kondo hadn’t. And Kondo was like him, born in Tama and raised of the land. Unlike Hijikata though, he’d somehow managed to traverse the constraints of classism and become a real samurai who didn’t throw the weight of ego around and, and, and—

Hijikata tossed his head aside. It was too ideal to be reality, too goddamn ideal. There had to be a flaw somewhere and he needed to find it, even if the letdown would be unthinkably severe should he discover his first impression was misguided. Yet…hope was already so fleeting and fragile, and his first touch with Kondo offered a dangerous glimmer of promise to whet a faith within him that’d gone long parched.

For all his life, Hijikata had sought the validation that would prove his dreams weren’t frivolous, that his birth class didn’t define him—only to be shoved aside and ridiculed again and again, because who had ever heard of a farmer becoming a samurai?

No one. Until now.

So, what if Kondo did approve? What if he really was as great as he seemed, if he could provide the blessing Hijikata had so desperately yearned for all this time? What if Hijikata could follow in Kondo’s footsteps, if they could actually become friends and bond over a crazy mutual goal?

His heart beat a little quicker as he stared out at the carefully chosen landscaping just beyond the doors. He’d felt trapped for so long in this one place, in this one room, going nowhere and doing nothing of importance when a whole country was out there for the taking. Hijikata had longed for the day when the view from his room shifted from meticulously pruned shrubs to a field of wildflowers—a disorderly and chaotic tangle, but beautiful if only because they weren’t strangled into obedience.

The kiseru went untouched for some time while his eyes fixated in an unseeing gaze. He wanted to be right. He wanted to be right so badly. But pinning all of his hopes, the most delicate of his dreams, to one person he barely even knew was beyond reckless. He was playing with fire. And if he didn’t watch out, he could get—

“Don’t burn yourself!”

Hijikata’s spine went ramrod straight, the daze rattled clear out of his brain. The hand that held his pipe lifted from resting on his knee and his attention snapped to find Nobu on the porch, a palm braced against the shoji.

“Were you sleeping?!” She stepped quickly over the threshold and despite having posed a question, gave him no chance to reply. “You could burn the whole house down, Toshi! Don’t smoke when you’re tired!”

His expression darkened as his cheeks went alight, simultaneously feeling annoyed at her lecturing but all too grateful for the distraction. “I wasn’t sleeping!” The petulant snap of his retort was followed by his pipe clanging against the ashtray again, and once it was put out, he set it down.

Nobu pursed her lips and slowly lowered to sit in informal seiza, the chastising bite from her demeanor slipping away since there was no longer a perceived threat. That was one of the best things about her—she could be dramatic and sometimes overbearing, but practicality was always first and foremost in her mind; when it was time to let things go, Nobu did and she always moved on fast. In kind, her voice deepened with consideration as she cocked her head. “Daydreaming, then? I said your name twice but you didn’t reply.”

“I was just thinking about something.”

She swept her hand slowly over the tatami, reveling in the texture as she often did. “Like what?”

“Nothing, just forget it.” Hijikata’s lashes fell as he shook his head.

“Well, what is it, something or nothing?”

Damn it. “Nothing.” He swallowed and stiffened his back, then looked to her. “It was stupid anyway. Did you need something?”

She hummed a negative reply. “Just wanted to ask how work was today. I thought I saw you stalking past the sitting room when you got home.” To Hijikata’s consequent cht, Nobu offered a sympathetic smile. “That bad, huh?”

His shoulders crept up and over a half-sigh, he brushed his fingers through his hair and flipped the ponytail out of the way. “Not any more than usual. Some guy came in to yell at us because his wife’s kimono was the wrong colors. Mind you, she picked them out.”

Nobu squinted. “And was Murakami-san there?”

“Yep. He came running out while I was handling it.” Hijikata huffed and diverted his attention forward, his eyes narrowing while recounting the situation. “Apologized right from the get-go and said we’d remake it the right way. Then he went on to lecture me, saying I was out to make his business an enemy to the public, that I’m—” His nose went high into the air, his tone turning into one of mockery, “—never allowed to oppose any guy wearing two swords ever again.” Disgusted, Hijikata sunk back down. “Blah blah. It’s always the same shit.”

“Well, if the patron was a samurai—”

“That man was no samurai,” he interjected.

“—it’s no wonder why he’s so entitled.” Nobu stressed her words, not allowing herself to be interrupted or misconstrued.

“Neesan, it’s bullshit, all of it.”

She sat still and silent, her hands now joined in a lazy fold just over her knees. Eyes remained studiously on him, and Hijikata was all too aware that she was trying to read between the lines.

“These assholes, they just get away with everything.” Taking fistfuls of hakama, he squeezed the material over and over to abate the animosity welling up inside of him. “They get whatever the hell they want because they’re born to the right privileged dickbags who were also raised the same damn way.”

“I…see your point, Toshi, you know I do.” A pensive moment. “And you know I appreciate what you’re saying. But there’s not too much we can do about it.”

He snapped his face to her. “Are you telling me to just be complacent?!”

Nobu scoffed and sat taller. “No. No, I’m not saying that at all. You can fight back, but you have to be smart about it. You can’t do it head on.” She cut him off before the rebuke could begin to leave his tongue. “I’m aware that’s not a satisfying answer for you, but you of all people know I’m right.”

Hijikata’s mouth was set in a line, wearing discontent openly across his features but he didn’t speak out—immediately, anyway. “Neesan, I’m quitting. I can’t do it anymore.”

A deep inhale filled her chest and as it left her lungs, she shook her head in surrender. “That’s up to you, Toshizo. But you have to be the one to break the news to Tamejiro-san. You know the strings he pulled to secure your apprenticeship there.”

“Yeah, I know,” he droned. “It’s just whatever. Murakami has no backbone. He’s an enabler. I’ll just find another apprenticeship in the same field.”

“Well.” The inflection in Nobu’s voice meant unsolicited cautionary advice was about to rear its head. “I hope it’s as easy as you think it’ll be. But I have a feeling it won’t.”

“Heh. What’s another failure on the already huge pile of failures I’m sitting on?” The words left him unaffected.

“Toshi…”

“Whatever.”

Nobu’s tongue poked out to wet her lips and her eyes closed for a brief time. “Hey, you do what you need to do. Tamejiro-san won’t be happy about it, so you’ll need to find a way to do right by him. He’s just looking out for you like any good brother would.”

“If he really wants to help me, then he should mind his own damn business.”

“Come on, stop that. Don’t you know we all want the best for you?”

Hijikata deflated. Of that he’d certainly been aware, but what he hadn’t ever learned was how to explain to his family that their concern with his successfulness (or lack thereof) was smothering and sometimes more harm than otherwise. He sure as hell wasn’t about to try explaining it now.

Nobu seemed to catch the hint, though. “Anyway…look. It’s all gonna work out in the end, okay? You know I have your back, so just do whatever you have to do. If you need me to help smooth things over with Tamejiro-san, I will.”

His shoulders shook with a huff, but he couldn’t prevent the tiny smile that wanted at his lips. “Thanks.”

“Now enough of this gloomy crap!” She clapped once and her eyes caught a shine as they widened, the room suddenly feeling much lighter with the change in mood. “I have some good news for you! And I’m sure it’ll make you feel better.”

Warily, Hijikata’s brows narrowed. “Well, what is it?”

“Katsuta-san is coming by tomorrow!”

Oh, fuck. And just when Mister Golden-Perfect-Handsome-Samurai had been out of his thoughts for more than three minutes… He exhaled sharply and looked away before he gave too much away. “Okay? So?”

“So you should make sure to be around.” Nobu leaned closer. “Aren’t you interested in talking with him more?”

“Why, so niisan can jump in every other word again?” Hijikata snapped, but immediately regretted the response. It wasn’t Hikogoro’s fault for returning hastily with lunch that day, just as he’d pulled Ishida Sanyaku from his chest at Kondo’s inquiry about medicine. Hell, for all his brother-in-law knew from the level of attitude Hijikata had given him, he probably rushed back to save both men from themselves. How could he possibly have guessed that the conversation was only just getting good?

“Oh, he did, huh? I’ll have a talk with him, then.”

Wincing, Hijikata held out one hand and stammered, “Just…never mind. Forget what I said just now, will you? Anyway, thanks for the info, but it really doesn’t concern me.” Relaxing his posture, his lashes fell once again with dismissal. “I have work tomorrow.”

A snort. “Ah yes, at a place you’re quitting.”

…As always, Nobu was on point. He cracked one eye open as she stood, and then watched while she walked back to the porch. “He’ll be here around noon. Training starts midday, I believe.” Raising her brows she waited expectantly for his agreement.

“Neesan.”

“Mm?”

“You know…” Hijikata peered right past her and into the garden, and suddenly pointed to it. “We oughta move that primrose bush a few centimeters to the right.” Nobu’s face pinched in confusion and she pivoted to the flowering plant in question. Upon returning to him, suspicion was written openly across her features.

“It’d look better if everything wasn’t so evenly spaced,” he explained.

“Toshizo…” She paused with a cant of her head. “You are most welcome to dig it up and put it where you please. Just don’t kill it.”

“Aa, of course,” he said over a breath and reached to pack his pipe again. “We can’t have that, now can we…everything has its place.”

“Dinner’s at the usual time,” Nobu said slowly in parting—but lingered a moment further to glance back at the primroses. Just when it appeared that she might speak again, she set off down the porch and disappeared.

Hijikata watched the tobacco smoldering a reddish-orange hue in his pipe.

So, Kondo would be back tomorrow… That was fine, just fine. It wasn’t like Hijikata would spend the rest of the evening thinking about that, wasn’t like he’d rush out of the textile shop tomorrow to get home before his arrival.

He took a pull and let the calm wash over him. Nope, it wasn’t like that at all.

~

“Where in Edo do you think you’re going?! Hijikata!!”

Ignoring the irking shrill of Murakami’s shout from the back door he’d slipped through, Hijikata’s feet hit the dirt until he rounded a stone-walled corner and the agitated old man’s yammering no longer reached his ears. Pressing his shoulder blades to the hard surface, he panted to catch his breath and allowed a triumphant grin to spread clear across his face.

He was home free and ready to wash the sweat from his skin, not because Hijikata wanted to look presentable for Kondo or anything, oh no. The day was simply beyond humid despite it being only late morning, and he hadn’t worn a hat to shield from the sun. Where was his hat? Forgotten in his room. Certainly not on purpose. Definitely not because he didn’t want it to wreck his hairstyle.

“Fuck, it’s hot today,” he groused while pulling at his hakamashita to generate airflow, and resuming a faster-than-usual pace, all too eager to feel the comfort of cool well water easing the heat.

When Hijikata had awoken to birds chirping outside his door at some ungodly hour today, he’d flirted with the idea of just not showing up at all or sending some kind of sob story letter in his stead—but that meant he’d have to deal with the nosy people at home asking questions, especially since Tamejiro was coming to visit.

Heading out had seemed like the correct decision at the time but now, as he felt tiny droplets lining his brow after just having wiped away the previous ones, he wondered if he’d really made the right choice at all. Were the prying inquiries worth the luxury of staying much drier in the shade of his room? He was beginning to think so. He’d feel much cleaner, at least.

Whatever the case, depending on the hour, he might have still have the time to bathe and wash his hair out again before Kondo showed up, but that was entirely reliant on—

Hijikata stopped short on his heels when he turned the next corner and made no certain effort to conceal the displeasure radiating from him at the sight ahead. The brats of the neighborhood were all huddled around some crouching guy with a wide-brimmed hat—one of their hifalutin fathers, he assumed—and getting a lecture of some sort. Little bastards had probably gotten into a fight or stolen something, wrecked something, like they usually did. And while Hijikata wasn’t one to call the kettle black when he was a pot himself, his bad behavior meant consequences when he was young, not pretty little speeches or slaps on the wrist.

It wasn’t like the harsher discipline made him change his ways, though, so perhaps there was no room for him to talk. Nevertheless, he didn’t particularly want to overhear what nonsense was transpiring but avoiding the situation meant heading another street over—which meant adding three more blocks to a schedule already too tight. Therefore, the fetid kid-contaminated path would have to do. Hijikata would just hold his nose, close his ears, and walk quicker.

Strangely, none of the children were crying or looking agitated from the assumed scolding and in fact, they seemed more interested in what that hoity-toity dad was saying. What was the world coming to?

As Hijikata neared, one of the boys in the front spoke up. “So…you’re really not gonna tell my mom that I punched Mantaro then?”

The hat-clad dad shook his head. “Nope, but as long as you keep your end of the deal, okay?”

Wait a minute…

Hijikata’s eyes narrowed and his steps slowed at the sound of a voice so unsettlingly familiar. He had noticed that the dad wore a pair of swords, but dismissed it because anyone could do that in the boonies of Tama without consequence. While it was technically illegal to bear blades if one wasn’t in the samurai class, the Bakufu couldn’t protect all this wide open space like they could a crowded city and was content to turn the other cheek at the bending of the rules. As such, ordinary country peasants took up kenjutsu, not so much for status or even interest as it was protecting themselves and their possessions. Still, that didn’t mean…

“But we’re not samurai, Mister! We’re farmers. We don’t know nothin’ about…” The boy studied a word that had been written in the soil with a stick. “…bushimichi¹.”

The dad tossed his head back and laughed—and that was when Hijikata stopped dead in his tracks and felt the color drain from his cheeks. This guy was no dad, he was—!

“Good try, but it’s read bushido, not bushimichi.” Kondo stayed crouched to maintain eye level and crossed his arms over the peaks of his bent knees. “And so what about being a farmer? I’m one too, you know.”

A high pitched choir of “eh?!” rose from the lot. The same kid who spoke earlier piped up again. “But you’re a samurai!”

“I am now, but that’s because I was adopted. I was actually born in Kami-Ishihara, not too far from here.”

“What?! No way, Mister!”

He chuckled. “I mean it!”

“Are you saying that anyone can be a samurai?”

Kondo shook his head. “Oh, no. Not just anyone. If you want to become one, you need to earn that honor and live it every day, no matter where you come from.”

“But…” Another child spoke out, the gears clearly turning in his head. “What about the people born into the samurai class?”

“Especially them.” Kondo looked into all the inquisitive eyes focused on him. “I’ll tell you boys something. You’re all from Hino, right?” Enthusiastic nodding ensued. “Even if this world sees you as farmers and nothing more…” Lifting one hand, he pointed to his heart. “If bushido is in here and you let it guide you, then what they think doesn’t matter. But!” His tone went serious. “But. Understand that being a samurai isn’t about status. It isn’t about walking around just saying you are one. The most important thing is acting the role.”

And with that, Kondo reached forth and gently flicked the first outspoken kid on the forehead. “So quit picking petty fights in the middle of the street!” Giggling erupted from the lot. “That’s un-samurai-like, I’m telling you!”

Hijikata remained frozen in a mid-summer inferno, goosebumps dotting his arms while his mouth had gone dry. His attention had been unseverable from the moment he’d made the realization, and only the gods knew if he’d even blinked or drew breath since then. All that mattered, all he’d been cognizant of was Kondo, who was now rising to stand while the children dispersed and—oh no! Tossing his face aside to hide it and hoping with all hope that he wasn’t seen in his current state, Hijikata began to pivot.

“Hi—Hijikata-san?!”

Fuck.

There would be time to process this entire situation and the emotions that billowed because of what he’d just heard, but for now Hijikata swallowed hard and stowed those feelings…tried with all his might to calm his racing heart and bate his breath. He kept his features out of sight only long enough to blot the sweat from them, and upon turning again, he found Kondo approaching with that same large smile he’d shown the first day they met.

“Wow, it is you! Imagine meeting you here! –Uh.” Rubbing at his neck, Kondo chuckled. “I mean…you live here, so I guess it’s not that strange, is it?”

Hijikata forced a laugh, not that he didn’t find the clumsy statement amusing, but the recovery from it was so… Well, it was…endearing. He prayed that Kondo simply presumed the flash of heat he felt burning clear across his cheeks was from the sun. “Aa. Um, my sister mentioned you’d be visiting, but she told me it would be around noon…”

It was hard to look at Kondo directly while feeling less than put together, so Hijikata gazed down the road with a squint and idly ran fingers through his hair.

“Oh, she was definitely right,” Kondo agreed. “I have this annoying habit of always leaving too early. Which means I also arrive too early. Which means I wind up needing to walk around and bide my time so I don’t impose.”

…Was it weird to not face someone when they were speaking? It was definitely weird. And rude. Hijikata ventured a glance and this time held it, when he realized what Kondo had just said. “You don’t have to do that, you know. You’d never be imposing.” A nod. “My family talks so highly of you. I guarantee that you could waltz into our place in the dead of night and my brother-in-law would start doing backflips.”

He felt the laugh which followed, felt the good-nature of Shimazaki Katsuta wash over him. It tingled, had butterflies flitting about in his belly, made it impossible to look anywhere else. And yet, strangely, Hijikata found himself not only minding but even wanting more of this bizarre sensation.

“Hikogoro-san is something else!” Kondo shook his head. “I keep asking him to not hype things up about me like that. Honestly, and I hope you won’t repeat this because I’d hate to hurt his feelings, but it makes me a little uncomfortable.”

Hijikata blinked. “Why?”

“How about we find some shade?” Kondo suggested. “I feel bad making you stand out in the sun. That is, if you have time? In fact, do you want to wear my hat?” He began reaching for the clasp. “I can make do without it—”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Hijikata chanted and raised his hands, equally as embarrassed as he was flattered that his comfort was being considered. Oh, why the hell didn’t he just bring his damn hat? Every sane person of an adult age wore a hat on a day like today. It was ridiculous to be without one. “Thanks, though.”

“You sure?”

“Mm. We could just head back to my place. It’s really close.” Hijikata dabbed at his face again with his sleeve. “Anyway, if someone in my family finds out that I was just hanging around with you and didn’t bring you back, I’d catch hell for it.”

Kondo grinned. “Guess we’d better get going then.”

And just like that, Hijikata was back on his way home with unexpected company at his side—company he’d needed time to ready himself for, or so he thought. Without even realizing it, the relentless self-conscious needling had slipped away while their conversation wore on and now, he was more concerned with not doing something mortifying like tripping over his own feet. He wasn’t clumsy by nature, and that was all the more reason to be super careful.

“So, yeah,” Kondo spoke up as they walked. “I respect Hikogoro-san more than I can put in words and I treasure my friendship with him in the same way.” His voice matched everything about him, Hijikata thought; it was warm and inviting, a pleasure to take in. “I’m just a regular guy, though, you know? Nothing special.”

…What? Hijikata’s face snapped to the side as he looked incredulously at Kondo over his shoulder. “But…you became a samurai.”

“By adoption,” Kondo insisted. “And I was adopted only because I was in the right place at the right time. That’s why I’m slated to take over for my father and inherit his sword style.” A breathy laugh followed and he shrugged. “It could’ve happened to anyone lucky enough, I promise.”

Despite not agreeing with that statement in the least, Hijikata let it go and his voice flattened, almost as if he’d meant to speak to himself. “You really meant what you said then.”

“Mm?” Kondo met his eyes.

“What you said to those kids back there.”

“Oh, you overheard that…”

Watching as his companion turned forward again in what appeared to be a pensive moment, Hijikata could feel the chagrin beginning to rise up from the pit of his abdomen—the looming discontent that it’d all just been a hefty bit of lip service. But then, the soft line of Kondo’s profile hardened and his chin dropped in a firm nod. “Absolutely.”

Validation. Just like that.

Approval. Freely given.

Acceptance. Affirmation. A sanction.

Hijikata’s feet halted in mid-step, and when Kondo realized the space at his side went empty, he paused and peered back. “Something wrong?”

Heat baked the dirt road that they stood upon, both as still as lifeless mannequins, as if the swelter hadn’t been oppressive and the humidity not suffocating. Neither spoke and neither moved, each reading the other like they were tangled in a high-stakes game of Go instead of friendly dialog.

At last, Hijikata moved his piece. “I didn’t expect you to say you actually meant it.”

There was silence for a moment longer, until Kondo’s expression shifted into something unexpectedly severe and his tone fell harsh in the same instant. “Do you disagree with me, Hijikata-san?”

…Apparently Kondo had been offended by the assumption that Hijikata believed samurai status was inherited, and not earned. And to leave such an incorrect premise unaddressed would simply not do, especially when it couldn’t be further from the truth. Hijikata’s bound hair swished with the shaking of his head. “Not at all. I agree with you completely.” He watched as Kondo’s demeanor immediately relaxed. “It’s just…it’s not something I expected to hear from a samurai, that’s all.”

“Hey, uh…” Kondo closed the distance between them, rubbing at his arms before setting hands on his hips. His eyes dropped to the ground for a beat before raising back to Hijikata’s. “What would you say to a match today?”

Hijikata’s brows raised, caught off guard by the abrupt change in subject. “What?”

“I mean, when we get to the dojo. Would you face off with me?”

Exasperation colored his response. “And what in the hell makes you think I have anything to do with kenjutsu?”

A breathy laugh fell from Kondo’s lips and his attention wandered off to nowhere important while he scratched at his jaw. “Sorry. I didn’t think it was an off-limit topic. Well, we all have our reasons.”

With his features going serious, Hijikata pressed, “No, answer my question. What makes you think I can fight?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” A beat. “Hijikata-san, you might sew fabric and you might sell medicine…” Kondo found his gaze then, and there was a particular directness in it that spoke novels all on its own. “But the calluses on your hands tell me those aren’t the only things they’re capable of.”

Well…shit.

¹ bushimichi: I needed the kid to misread the word bushido, so I swapped the "do" kanji reading with its other reading "michi." Suffice to say, this is a made-up word. Just wanted to make a note of it in case anyone wondered.

Chapter 3 >>

[docholligay]

Wish

For @keyofjetwolf​‘s birthday tomorrow, I wrote some stuff she definitely does not want! Pharah vs her birthday, Lena being a little shit, Pharah and Mercy being tender. Roughly 3,300 words, and I liked it enough to put it in my proper OW universe, all of which you can find here if you want to read it or just check where this is in the time line. 

Fareeha Amari was a woman of patience, intelligence, and strategy. She had earned high commendation from high school onwards for her focus and her strong drive, and she had achieved magnificent levels of success in her career due to this ability to clear the obstacles from her mind, and see clear the path.

Some obstacles are more difficult than others, however.

“What we doing for your birthday Thursday next?” Pharah looked up in horror to see the tiny British pilot grinning at her excitedly.

Ever since Tracer had been brought onto the project by Helix, she had expected to be friends with Pharah and Dr. Gamal. That they were nothing more than partners working toward a common goal did not seem to occur to her.

“I do not know what you are talking about.” Pharah was not even sure she had convinced herself, but she had to try.

Tracer whirled around to her side of the table and stood inches from her, eyes gleaming with delight, clapping merrily as she bounced.

“Your birthday!” She gave a little jump. “”S next week, right? Right,” she did not give Pharah the opportunity to respond, confirming her own question, “Saw it on your id card.”

Pharah glowered. “You stole my wallet?”

Tracer laughed. “Didn’t ‘ave to! I wouldn’t have neither,” she shook her head in sincerity, “I’m not that type, love, not at all, an ���onest girl, I am, can ask anyone--”

Pharah brought her hand down on the table in front of her. “It does not matter how you know what you think you--”

“Saw you take it out at the pub,” Tracer added, “just so as to sate your curiosity.”

Pharah turned away from the conversation, unrolling plans for a modification to the Raptora suit, and mumbled in Arabic. “You can remember my birthday, but you can’t remember when we need to have paperwork done. How useful you are to me.”

“What was that, love?”

“I said that we have work to do and my name is Captain Amari, or Pharah--”

“Your name’s Fareeha, seen that on your ID as--”

“Captain Amari or Pharah. Not love, Corporal Oxton. Agent Oxton. Tracer. Whichever you prefer.”

“Prefer Lena.”

Pharah closed her eyes. She had spent her entire life modeling military excellence, to be the soldier her mother had been, and she was on the cusp of the first great thing to be developed since Overwatch had fallen. She wanted to be a part of something greater, and if she could not be a member of Overwatch, then she would create something new in Helix.

But this woman, who had gotten the honor of not only joining Overwatch, but being a field agent like Pharah’s mother, who got to stand in the way of evil and do good, and who had sacrificed so much to do so, did not seem to approach this, or anything, with gravity. She was a keen pilot, and her lessons had helped Pharah immensely, but her manner was brash and annoying, and Pharah could not wait for the day when she would be free of her.

“Did you not tell Ang?”

Pharah looked down at Tracer, who had reappeared at her side, though further from her and less excited now.

No, she had not told her. Mercy was a busy woman, a talented teacher, a doctor constantly being asked to consult, and running all of her volunteer work besides. She was moral and thoughtful and a shining example of everything Pharah thought of when she thought of Overwatch. When she thought of goodness.

She was also very beautiful, and her voice was soft and warm as a blanket, and she looked at Fareeha as if she were beautiful as well, but these were things Pharah barely mentioned to herself, they seemed so frivolous, so shallow and surface that Pharah would do better to ignore them.

“I have only...known her,” she said awkwardly, “for three months.”

“Keeping careful track now, aren’t we?”

Tracer delighted in the, well, Pharah was not so sure she could call it a relationship, not so sure she could explain how she felt, not even sure if it was the right way to feel. There were no manuals for this, no best practices, and Pharah had little experience in the matter herself. Her father would have called it, for love was an easy place for Sam to get to, and so many things were love in his eyes, but Pharah was her mother’s child, for good or for ill, and she could no longer ask Ana what it might be.

But whatever it was, Tracer’s pleasure in her hand in the making of it was the only thing about it Pharah found distasteful.

“She’ll want to know,” Tracer had already moved off Pharah’s memory of the dates, flitting to another topic, “She’ll want to do something, Ang’s very thoughtful you know, she’ll want to properly mark--”

“I do not celebrate my birthday.” She looked at Tracer briefly, then back to the plans. “I need your assistance with--”

“That an Egyptian thing, or just you being a general damp squib?”

“What is a,” she shook her head, deciding she didn’t care, “It is a Muslim...thing.”

“Told me you weren’t at all religious, when I asked after the tattoo.”

There it was again, the quality of Tracer’s memory, simultaneously unable to track from one task to the next and to remember in keen detail conversations from months ago.

Infuriating.

Tracer put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “Also, discovered your birthday in a pub, love, drinking beer, which I’m fairly certain is alcohol, though if you told me that pisswater stuff wasn’t at all, I’d believe you, mind.”

She glared at Tracer, unable to mount a defense. “How I practice my religion is none of your business.”

“Lucky I’m not religious.” Tracer’s mind was already on another topic, flitting from them like a hummingbird from flower to flower. “I believe in two things for certain: The Hammers, that’s me footie club, mind, and the sky. Love flying, the feel of it when the wind just catches the edge of your wings, and it’s like you go where--” she looked down at the two fingers she had stretched out of her hand, and added another, “I believe in Winston, too, that’s another thing. And me family. Also prawn cocktail crisps though I don’t know if it’s serious as to call it a belief, but they’ve never treated me wrong, that’s for certain. Oh!” She jumped a little in her realization. “And there’s that little shop round the corner from me house what ‘as the best strawberry milks, I’ll take you there when we go to London.”

Pharah shook her head and looked down at the plans, glad enough that she seemed to be off the subject of her birthday, but carrying on again with this idea that they were, or would be, anything to each other but colleagues.

“Seems I believe in a lot of things, at the fag end of it all.” She laughed heartily at herself and pulled a few snacks out of her backpack, some of those beloved chips, a bag of granola, a bag of Slim Jims.

Pharah looked at her strangely.

“Jesse got me ‘ooked on them in Overwatch days.” She shrugged happily.

Pharah leaned over to take one of the meat sticks out of the bag, sketching on the plans with her other hand.

“That’s pork, Fareeha.”

She looked up to see Tracer giggle.

Some obstacles were impossible.

___

Pharah took the packages with a nod, already knowing who they would be from. Reinhardt’s large print that nearly echoed his booming voice, wishing her a happy birthday, sending her the same cookies and strudels she’d liked since she was a girl, the same teasing note about her sweet tooth, the same warm affection. The other was from her father, always something she had asked for, because Sam listened to her and loved her, and he always made sure to tell her so as often as he could. It would be wrapped in bright paper, the same way it had been when her mother scoffed at it when she was a child.

Her mother did not do birthdays, and had found it silly that Pharah might. Her mother did not do festivals of any sort, really, but this was the sacrifice she had made to ensure the safety of the world, a sacrifice she gave up to her own life.

And so Pharah smiled at the kindness of the cards, and popped a piece of strudel into her mouth, and shut the door to her small room behind her as she continued down the hall. No one else seemed to note any difference about today, and this was the greatest gift Pharah could have hoped for. Last year, she was lucky enough to leave the occasion totally unmarked, except for the usual packages. Birthdays were frivolous, and it was silly to lavish celebration on someone just because they had managed to be born. So had everyone else, as her mother used to say, what is so special about it?

There was, however, one loose end to tie up.

She walked into the workspace for the Raptora suit and looked around the room quickly.

“Where is Tracer?” She asked Dr. Gamal, who sat at a workbench, toying with a small piece of metal at the end of the helmet.

He answered distractedly. “She had a flight mission. Left last night, but she is expected to be checked in tonight.”

“That does not help me today.” She nodded as if in confirmed disappointment. “But perhaps she will stay gone.”

He chuckled. “She’s one of the best pilots in the world, Captain Amari,” He pulled at the metal, and it came free as he shook his head at it, “And she flew the Gnat, and the Slipstream. Her…” He tried to jam a tool into the space left by the metal, “personal manners weren’t part of the job.”

Pharah relaxed. Tracer was gone, and could not reveal anything to anyone, and Dr. Gamal seemed to either not know or not care, and did not question why Pharah was asking after Tracer first thing in the morning. It looked as if she would make it through the day without a scratch, and so she brewed herself some coffee, sat down at her workspace, and wished she had remembered to bring the strudel.

But birthdays are a full twenty-four hours, and Tracer was berthed in the same area as Pharah, sharing a common room and a kitchen in a way Pharah was forced to remember every time she found Tracer’s shoes and jacket scattered around.

She had been working out in the field, looking for sites to practice with the first Raptora suit, digging at the edges of cliffs, the wind whipping up and casting red dirt all about her. She wanted a long shower, a cookie, and to read her book in peace.

You cannot have everything you want for your birthday.

“Oi!” It punctuated the air and Pharah cringed as she tried to pass the common room, but the gig was up, and she had been spotted. “In ‘ere, come on then!”

Pharah tensed. It was going to be a surprise party. The lights were dim in the common room, and Tracer could just as easily come to her, and generally did just bounce into her life when she chose, and she would never choose the path of sitting still, so for her to beckon Pharah in...there was only one option.

But she’d been seen, and there was no way Tracer would let her get out of this.

She took a deep breath, walked into the common room, and immediately lost the breath she’d taken.

Sitting on the couch, lit softly by the candles of a birthday cake, was Mercy. The light made her glow even in the shabbiness of the common room, and the soft lilac of her dress sat beautifully against her blode hair curling gently at her shoulders. She’d dressed specially to see Pharah, blushing rose lipstick and dark mascara, a soft scent of vanilla that must be the sweetness of her perfume whispering across the room.

“Fareeha.” She said it so softly, seeming so shy and afraid of rebuke, like an awkward teenager instead of a highly respected doctor.

“Angela.” Pharah took off her jacket immediately, wiping at the sand and dust in her hair, thinking of how filthy and unkempt she must look.

Mercy stared at her, and Pharah stared back, and neither of them said anything for seconds that went on like hours.

“Right then, there’s me job done, save me a piece of cake.” Tracer’s cheerful voice jolted them out of their awkward trance, and they half-laughed at themselves.

Pharah looked over to Tracer. “I suppose I have you to thank for this.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Tracer took off her bomber jacket and tossed it over her shoulder, “I don’t know nothing, not even that it’s your birthday, lo--CAPTAIN Amari,” she gave a small salute, “‘ave a good night, Ang. Cheers.”

Tracer left the common room, and Pharah looked back to Mercy, who sat waiting, a bottle of pink champagne, sweet, the way Pharah liked, poured for the both of them, the candles on the cake burning down, and yet neither of them seemed able to say anything. Even after these months, things felt so tender and new, and every motion was imbued with such importance, as if this relationship was as precious as it was fragile, both of them desperate to keep and be held in this love.

Mercy broke first, looking down at the cake.

“Lena was telling me you do not celebrate your birthday, as a Muslim observance. I do know two things,” She was smiling shyly, as if she were trying to urge herself on, “that your father is not Muslim, and,” She smiled brighter, “Islam is being more like Judaism, and you may have picked the commentary of the Sheikh who already agreed with you. I read commentaries on the issue, you know, when Lena was telling me this, and,” she looked more serious now, “there are some commentaries that are speaking to the merit--”

Pharah laughed and held up her hand. “I am not very religious. I had hoped it would quiet Tracer.”

“God can only work so many miracles.”

Pharah looked at the cake. She loved Mercy and hated her birthday, and Mercy had gone to so much trouble, coming halfway across the world and taking time from her important work in Boston, and she did not know how to respond. It was easy, with Tracer, and with others, to growl and grumble, and to quietly take alone the gifts of her father and Reinhardt, but Mercy was soft and gentle, and Mercy was here, and Pharah did not know how to tell her she wanted nothing special.

She was not even sure she didn’t want it, now. Mercy had made life rich and complicated.

Mercy sensed the discomfort in the room. “I did not--we do not have to. I was not meaning to be disrespectful to you, Fareeha, I am feeling so stupid.” She began to blow out the candles on the cake, trying not to show her disappointment.

“No, no, it is beautiful. I am happy you are here.” She bent over and blew out one of the candles,  her face in front of Mercy’s and she smiled in the light of the last remaining candle. “I...I am not worthy I have done nothing to deserve it.”

Mercy looked at her with great tenderness. “You do not earn a birthday, Fareeha.”

She sat down next to Mercy. “I do not celebrate my birthday. My mother never did. My grandmother never did. My aunts never did. It was not done. I am an Amari, we are a practical people, the world does not have birthdays and so why should we?.”

She decided not to mention her father’s bright card, with the loving hearts scrawled on the inside, tucked into the military sweater she had asked for, some Aero bars rolled on the inside because Sam felt she had to have something special and impractical for her birthday. Mercy would meet Sam, and Reinhardt, soon enough, and see that her mother had always had a weakness for the very sweet, and the very kind, and the very effusive.

“Well,” Mercy nodded, “I am a Ziegler, and we are an impractical people, and we try to put into the world the things we want in it. I will celebrate you.” She suddenly looked aghast at what she had said, “It is not as if the Amaris do not work very hard to--”

Pharah took her shoulders. “I know. What it is you mean. This, this is all very new to me.”

She meant the birthday, and the little cake, and the sweetly wrapped present, and someone marking a day as special simply because Pharah was born on it, but she also meant this sitting on the couch with someone, hands on her shoulders, being looked at with love.

“For me, also.” Mercy nodded at her, and Pharah ran her hands down Mercy’s arms, taking her hands.

“This is my favorite birthday present.” She kissed Mercy’s hand. “Thank you.”

Mercy blushed. “Lena was kind enough to be bringing me to you.”

“As she will undoubtedly remind me every day I see her.” She looked over at the coffee table. “You brought my favorite champagne.”

Mercy smiled and picked up a glass. “For your birthday, or,” she handed it to Pharah, “not your birthday. If that is what you want.”

Pharah took the champagne from her hand. “For my birthday. Perhaps you will give me the inspiration to celebrate,” she sighed and nodded knowingly, “Tracer has told me I can sometimes be a wet squid.”

“A what?”

“That is what I said.” She took a drink of her champagne. “English nonsense. But, I can be...serious.”

She felt something crack in her, then, not the crack of destruction but something like it must feel to be a chick in the shell of an egg, and Mercy’s hand on her face was all the warmth of the sun coming through a crack, telling her there was something out there worth breaking through for.

Mercy moved to say something more, but simply shook her head.

Pharah set down her drink and moved to blow out the last candle, then felt Mercy’s hand on her back.

“Wait! Fareeha, before you blow out the candle, you have to make a wish.”

Pharah looked to her and smiled. “But I already have what I would wish for.”

Mercy put her hand in Pharah’s, and Pharah blew out that last candle, giving them over to the warmth of the darkness. But, you see, she had lied to Mercy, that day, for she knew very well what she would wish for.

She wished that someday, she would stand in front of her loving father, and kind Reinhardt, and irritating Tracer, and all of the people who had guided her to this moment. She wished that she would takes Mercy’s hand, and promise her all the things she would do, all the things she would put her focus and her drive into for Mercy. She wished that the greatest obstacle of all, the one that had never cleared from the path, her own fears and protections, would step aside and allow her this one gift.

She wished that someday, she would marry Dr. Angela Ziegler.

And they say your first birthday wish is the strongest.

[toonstarterz]

Having a lot of free time on my commute to boot camp has made me crazy enough to write an Ikarishipping fanfic. That ain’t a complaint by the way. 

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12660134/1/Empathetic

Rating: T

Pairing: Paul/Dawn

Summary: Gym Battles? Easy. Winning the Pokémon League? Child's play. Becoming Dawn's stupid boyfriend? Paul's greatest challenge.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon, TPCi, or any of its properties. Bless you, Satoshi Tajiri.

~ Empathetic ~

Contrary to what people may think, Paul is not some stone-faced, unfeeling bastard. He has emotions just like everyone else. Serious. Bitter. Exasperated. That last one’s been happening a lot lately, and the cause of it comes from everywhere. His chimchar failing to meet expectations, the trainers in the corner that won’t shut up about Brandon of the Battle Pyramid, that blue-haired friend of Ash whose name alludes him that tries to get him to show a smidgen of compassion.

Paul is exasperated.

Paul’s hates useless small talk. He always answers people with only the minimum amount of words necessary–or a cold scowl if he can help it. But that girl–Dawn, right?–is tailing behind him after he exits the Pokémon Center and it doesn’t seem like she’ll leave him alone unless he talks to her.

He mentally groans. If he has to say something, he may as well be honest.

And so he talks. He talks about his dislike for Ash, his distaste for how similar the boy is to his brother Reggie, and how inane ideas like ‘trust’ and ‘guts’ annoy him to no end.

He expects Dawn to start spouting nonsense about how right Ash is, and how wrong he is. What he doesn’t expect Dawn to say is how people can have vastly different styles despite having similar beliefs, and how those contrary styles don’t necessarily make any one person wrong.

At least, that’s what she meant to be say. Her actual answer is much more simple-minded.

But the important part is that Dawn didn’t reject him like so many others, and when your training style goes against the majority rule, that’s oddly comforting.

Paul is thankful.

He runs into her again about a year later by chance. Yes, chance. He refuses to call it ‘fate’. He just so happened to be in the area following his win at the Lumiose Gym when he bumps into Dawn right in the middle of the north plaza. It’s probably his biggest surprise of the day, second only to the gym leader he’d just beaten that was also a talking robot. They exchange awkward pleasantries, and Dawn invites him over for lunch at Restaurant Le Nah. And it’s only because Paul has no excuse, and that he’s actually quite hungry that he agrees.

He plows through the double battle with just his weavile, and helps himself to an order of soup and breadsticks while Dawn enjoys her salad. She offers to foot the bill.

It’s only later that night that Paul realizes that, by pure definition, he went on a date with Dawn.

Paul is not displeased.

Paul is not fond of pokémon contests. They’re far too showy and impractical for his sake. But while he has no interest in contests, he can respect that pokémon coordinators need a mastery of skills are that are far beyond Paul’s level of understanding.

When he sees Dawn on the broadcast trounce the competition with a combination of discharge and ice beam to create a cage of electrically-charged ice, he is quite honestly impressed.

Next time they run into each other, he asks her to teach it to him.

So they set up a date, er, meeting the next day at a local park where they have a few practice battles and in no time, Weavile and Electivire have mastered the technique completely, albeit in a style more suited for battling. As a thank you, Paul offers to buy her a meal.

As they eat in silence, A girl with giant pink ringlets saunters up to them and starts giving them the third degree.

“This guy your boyfriend?” she asks, loud enough for the other patrons to hear.

“No, Ursula,” Dawn says, barely hiding the annoyance behind a smile. “This is Paul, one of Ash’s rivals from a few years back.”

Paul makes some sort of grunting noise that simultaneously says, “yes” and “back off” to this Ursula girl. She takes the hint and exits the restaurant with a satisfied smirk.

Paul is irritated.

Less than two months have passed, and word around the coordinator circle is that the esteemed Dawn is now dating some edgelord trainer named Paul.

Paul reads the excerpt in Coordinator Monthly, clicking his tongue in distaste.

If there’s anything Paul truly hated about being a pokémon trainer, it’s the publicity. Warding off reporters, kids badgering him for battling advice, that goddamned fanclub that arose when that photo of him in an undershirt leaked online. It’s why Paul travels alone, away from all the scrutiny so he can keep all his focus on training. But all of his attempts to keep a low profile were apparently all for naught.

Zoey is the first to confront him. He cooly brushes her off, simply stating that it’s mindless gossip and completely untrue. She leaves him alone after that, but not before giving him an eye that said “you try anything funny, and I’ll break your legs”.

Barry comes soon after that, demanding at the top of his lungs for an explanation lest he fine Paul for betraying him. Paul doesn’t know what he means by that, and frankly, he doesn’t care. He gives him the same answer he gave Zoey, word for word, and Barry eventually believes him.

At some point, Kenny steps up, and Paul saves the poor guy a lot of trouble by outright denying everything before he can even get a word in.

Paul is tired.

Paul excels at a lot of things. Training, battling, pissing people off, the list goes on. But the one thing he never got the hang of is being a socially functional human being.

So when Dawn invites him over to a banquet for coordinators as her plus-one, Paul is disinterested, as if trying to find some benefit to going that will help him be a stronger trainer.

“Why?” he asks far too directly, “Just ask someone else.”

“Everyone else is busy with other plans,” Dawn explains, a bit miffed. “And you’re my only friend left in the whole region!”

Paul stiffens, his mind stuck on the word ‘friend’. When was the last time anyone ever referred to him like that? Kindergarten?

“People will get the wrong idea,” he tells her gruffly. “And I’d rather not give them another reason to think that we’re dating.”  

“Since when have you ever cared about what people think of you?” she counters.

Touché. Still, he’d like to keep the pests at bay, especially now that they’ve finally started to leave him and his nonexistent love life alone. But as far as he can tell, all the coordinators at the banquet will be people he’s already explained himself to, so the possibly of another rumor spreading should be exponentially lower.

“Fine.”  

Paul is naive.

After a long day of training for the Pokémon League, Paul checks into the local Pokémon Center. Nurse Joy sympathetically tells him that they’re overbooked and that he’ll need to share a room with someone in order to stay. Not surprising, he surmises. The League challengers are always monopolizing the Center during this time. He’d much rather get his own room, but he can deal with bunking with some random trainer for the night.

As the nurse hands him the room key, it’s only then that he notices Dawn further down the reception desk, a room key in her hand marked with a number the same as his own.

That night, he glances from his book as Dawn exits the shower, clad in a white rope, and her glistening, blue hair hanging over her bare shoulders.

Paul is frustrated.

Paul is a man of routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, train, eat lunch, train, eat dinner, read a book, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. If something were to incorporate itself into his precious time, it would have to be something of great importance.

How Dawn managed to sneak her way in there, he’ll never know.

Today, Paul is listening with one ear as Dawn laments on making the semifinals of the Unova Grand Festival. She hasn’t made it this far since Sinnoh all those years ago, and understandably, she’s nervous out of her mind.

He notices Dawn’s fidgeting hand, so he places his own ice-cold palm on top of it in an attempt to calm her down. “You’ll be fine,” he says offhandedly, not even looking up from his phone.

Dawn eyes bug out, and she goes red in the face, as though Paul has violated her in some way. When she realizes that this was Paul’s weird way of showing affection, she smiles softly, and places her other hand on top of the pile.

“Thanks Paul,” she says with a sigh of relief, “You’re a good friend.”

Paul is ignorant.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

It doesn’t show on his face, but Paul feels like he was just blown back fifty feet by a hyper beam. He swerves his body to stare at Dawn as if she’s grown a second head. He scrutinizes her, looking for some trace of teasing on her expression, some hint of humor in her body language, any sort of indication that she’s only pulling his leg.

There is none.

“Why?” he asks, with all the careful seriousness he uses in battle. “I don’t date people.”

“I know, but…” Dawn bites her tongue, trying not to sound foolish. “I really like you, you know? I mean, you’re smart and determined and not as heartless as everyone says you are.”

Paul thinks she’s rationalizing. That she must be blinded by some great desire for romance that she’s ignoring all the very obvious reasons why he would not be a good boyfriend in any respect. At least, that’s what he thinks at first. He knows from first-hand experience that while Dawn can be naive, she’s not frivolous, nor is she the type to lead people on. In that case, she must honestly have some romantic interest in him, as absurd as that may sound.

And if he’s being completely and utterly and totally honest...he’s rather fond of her himself.

Just a tad.   

“Fine,” he says curtly. “I’ll go out with you.”

A jubilent smile stretches across Dawn’s face, and she immediately starts listing off places to go on their first “official” date, while her boyfriend of three seconds grumbles in agreement.

Paul is content.

Paul nibbles down just below Dawn’s collarbone, eliciting a faint moan from the coordinator. He gently pushes themselves onto the bed, and slowly moves his tongue down Dawn’s figure while she straddles his waist.

At this moment, Piplup steps into the room and squawks in horror. In the shadow of darkness, all he can see is a big, scary man forcing himself onto his beloved trainer.

Piplup launches forward with a drill peck, and Paul screams loud enough to wake up the entire Pokémon Center.

While her boyfriend gets checked for rectal damage, Dawn takes Piplup into the hospital lobby to have a magnificently awkward talk about human relationships.

Paul is humiliated.

Paul isn’t sure how to feel at the moment. One the one hand, he’s just accomplished a huge part of his dream that many trainers could only hope for. On the other hand, he feels weak in the knees, as if all the attention on him is physically beating him down into the ground. Or maybe that’s just the solid gold trophy in his grasp.

“Congratulations, Paul,” Cynthia says to him with a tender smile. “May you carry the title of Sinnoh League Champion with honor.”

“Thank you.” Despite of himself, Paul smiles. As of now, nothing could ruin his relatively good mood.

At least until the press conference.

With the reporters and cameramen bombarding him like a machine gun, Paul resists the urge to curse them out and instead puts on a face of what he hopes is dignity.

“Mr. Champion, what’s the secret to your immense strength?”

“How do you respond to the allegations that you’ve abused your pokémon with illegal stimulants?”

“Is it true that you are dating Top Coordinator Dawn?”

“No comment,” Paul spits. “Next question.”

The next onslaught of paparazzi is even more ravenous, and after an hour of fending off the vullabys, Paul retreats to his hotel room. Dawn is there with a cup of tea and a comfy bed.

Paul is drained.

Paul hardly doubts himself. Oh sure, ninety-nine percent of things annoy him to no end, but barely anything makes him self-conscious. He’s so used to people chastising him for his harsh training methods that such things now slide off like butter. Years of being called a douche, a stick-in-the-mud, and an asshole has given Paul a lot of thick skin.

But when a young trainer actually called him a ‘nice guy’, Paul visibly bristles.

Worst yet, his former rival Ash Ketchum is there when it happened. As a precocious little boy dashes off in excitement after receiving the Sinnoh Champion’s autograph, Ash is giving Paul the most aggravating yet genuine shit-eating grin the latter has ever seen.

“A ‘nice guy’, huh?” Ash lightly teases. “I always knew you had a heart.”

Paul glares back at him as if to mentally punch him in the face. It isn’t the first time someone has accused him of getting ‘soft’, and it’s a trend that’s been bugging him for over a year now. They always say that it’s in the little things, such as the hint of warmness in his fierce eyes, or how he now compliments his pokémon about five percent more often than usual. And every damn time, they always say it began when he started dating Dawn. Paul cringes at the possibility of losing his edge to romance.

“No need to worry,” he tells the young man with the pikachu on his shoulder. “That’s just the image I have to put on as Champion. Absolutely nothing’s changed about me.”

Paul glances aside, having made his point. He hopes that Ash, is his infamous ability to take everything at face-value, will drop the subject after that. But when he sees the guy stifling a laugh, a surge of rage rushes over Paul’s body.

“What?” he barks.

Ash crosses his arms, knowingly. “You just said ‘No need to worry!’ You’re talking like her now!”

It takes all of three seconds for the the color to drain from Paul’s face. He races forward in shame, trying to hide his mortified expression from Ash’s exuberance. No amount of humiliating defeats could rival the terror that comes with adopting your girlfriend’s catchphrase. He stops in the middle of a clearing, his mind racing as Ash catches up to him.

At what point had Dawn brainwashed with all these flowery emotions? Paul considers smashing his head with a rock to self-induce amnesia and revert back to his old, happily unhappy self. But then he remembers there’s too much to lose.

Like it or not, Dawn had been good to him–like a spoonful of bitter medicine that tastes awful at first, but makes you feel better in the long run. Whenever he was doing more than his daily ten hours of training, Dawn would remind him to eat dinner. Whenever he forgot his ‘please and thank you’s, Dawn would punch him in the arm. Whenever the stress of being Champion was too much and he sentenced himself to solitary confinement, Dawn would drag him out so they could watch Cleavon Schpielbunk movies over ice cream sundaes.

Indeed, every ounce of logic was screaming that Dawn was ruining him. But in his shriveled up, raisin-like heart, he knows that Dawn is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And that feeling he gets when Paul realizes that he, the man who worked through blood, sweat, and tears to get to the top, couldn’t handle the fun-loving nature of his own wonderfully imperfect girlfriend can only be summed up in the most prominent word in his dictionary.

Paul is pathetic.

[of-the-starlit-night]

Apprentice Asks - Aurex

In an attempt to finally get some info out there about my apprentice and to fill her tag, I answered this ask from. It’s long, plus I don’t know how to answer things in a short way so it’s all below the cut...

1) Which character(s) is your apprentice romancing? What attracts your apprentice to them? Asra. Uh, can everything be an answer? Seriously though, Asra has a lot that attracts Aurex. How at ease he seems in almost any scenario and he’s pretty much always cheerful. His laugh. His dimples. How caring he is. His thirst for adventure. She’s just comfortable around him. Even without romance, they are incredibly close friends and they have respect for one another and that sort of thing is incredibly important to her.

2) If your apprentice was a romanceable character in The Arcana, what would their route be like? (Feel free to be as detailed or as vague as you’d like.) Hmm, I’m not really sure. She probably wouldn’t make a good romance option since she’s more of a slow-burn type of person and there isn’t any time for that in the game. In the most vague sense, her route would have magic, light-hearted teasing, and plenty of flirting and fluff.

3) How does your apprentice take their coffee? Do they even drink coffee? If not, what do they drink instead to put pep in their step? Aurex prefers drinking tea of any variety. Her foray into coffee territory has gone no further than café mochas and that’s as far as it’s going.

4) If your apprentice was attending a potluck, what would they take as their contribution? Either potstickers (favorite food) or cookies (favorite thing to bake).

5) What are some of your apprentice’s minor and major fears? What’s the best way to comfort them when afraid? - Minor fear – Aurex is somewhat afraid of rivers since it’s how she lost her parents. Other water is fine, just no rivers. - Major fear – I’m going to be really uncreative and say never regaining her memories. She hates being the one to know the least about herself.

Physical contact is the best way to comfort her. She likes if someone holds her hand or wraps her up in their arms.

6) Does your apprentice enjoy dressing up or would they prefer to just wear what’s comfortable? She enjoys dressing up. But Aurex thinks that dressing up and comfort don’t have to be mutually exclusive. Dressing up be damned if heels are involved though, that’s where she draws the line.

7) Is your apprentice happy with their physical appearance? If so, do they flaunt it? If not, what do they want to change? Aurex doesn’t flaunt it in an obnoxious way, but she is happy with her appearance and takes pride in it.

8) What would your apprentice want as a birthday gift? Jewelry. It is guaranteed to be a no-fail gift for Aurex and she is of the mind that one cannot have too many baubles so there’s no such thing as receiving too many gifts of jewelry either. Other things that would work are books and literally anything that someone said made them think of her because she’s a sap like that. Honestly, you could give the girl a pair of socks that you said made you think of her for whatever reason and she’d love them to pieces.

9) What is your apprentice’s natural stress response (fight, flight, or freeze) and how does that influence their actions when confronted with a stressful situation? Do they recover from stress quickly or does it affect them for hours afterward? Either fight or flight, which is literally what she has done in the story so far. (Attacking Julian and trying to gtfo Lucio’s chambers.) Though I feel like she might lean towards fight in most scenarios as she likes to deal with things head-on instead of ignoring it. How quickly she recovers depends on the situation. Scary things will linger for a while, other things she gets over pretty quickly.

10) What’s the first thing someone is likely to notice about your apprentice when meeting them for the first time? Do they have any other quirks that set them apart? Strictly appearance-wise it would be her eyes. Her hair is cut into blunt bangs that end just above her eyes plus the precisely drawn black liner draws attention to her golden eyes. Second thing would be her tattoos and the amount of jewelry on one body. Otherwise, people notice that she comes across as very comfortable in her own skin.

11) How does your apprentice act when meeting new people? Are they outgoing, shy, awkward, aloof? Do they like being the center of attention? Aurex is warm and friendly when first meeting new people. And even though she doesn’t know them, she makes people feel like she genuinely cares about them by giving them her attention. There isn’t much desire in her to be the center of attention, except when she’s dancing, so she’s completely okay with being on the sidelines.

12) How does you apprentice treat people in positions of authority? Does your apprentice believe they deserve respect just because of their position/status? She believes there is some level of respect due based on position/status. But there is also a point where no matter your status, if you’re being a dick and can’t be bothered to show respect to others then she has no respect for you. Aurex can’t stand bullies.

13) Your apprentice sees someone who is very obviously wealthy accidentally drop a small pouch of coins. What do they do? If it happened now, she would return it without a thought. However, when she was a street rat Aurex would have been conflicted but would have ultimately returned it and hoped they gave her a few coins in return. She avoided outright stealing if at all possible, due to leftover teachings from her parents still ingrained in her.

14) What was your apprentice’s reaction to Julian’s speech on the docks in Book VII? How did they deal with it afterwards? So, this one is a little tricky since while I play through his and Nadia’s route as Aurex, I don’t ship her with either of them so it’s merely informational for me. That being said, when I did play it I went with the “Fine, I’ll leave” option for Aurex and later the “I don’t want to talk about it”. Honestly, Aurex wouldn’t have been all that torn up about the break up since she keeps her heart fairly guarded and it takes her a while to develop any significant feelings worth being upset over. Plus, she would have been like “We weren’t together?” So, obviously that pretty much goes against everything in that part of the chapter.

15) How does your apprentice feel about sharing a bed with Asra in the shop? Short answer is Aurex likes sharing a bed with someone, especially Asra. She sleeps better when there’s another person nearby. Long answer is prior to finding out they share a bed I had been under the assumption that they had separate beds, so now I just blend canon with my now headcanon which is: They used to share a bed early on when Aurex needed the supervision, help, or whatever when Asra was helping rehabilitate her. But much like he needs to go on trips to hide his feelings from Aurex, he started to sleep in the small bed tucked into the back workroom when it became too much. But they still do share a bed on a fairly regular basis. Every time he comes back from one of his trips, they fall asleep together without fail after talking about it. Sometimes they just fall asleep while talking or practicing magic, not to mention naps, so it’s not really a structured thing. There are times when Aurex sleeps alone and times where she shares with Asra.

16) Does your apprentice enjoy the luxury of the palace and Nadia’s gifts or do they find it overwhelming? Both simultaneously. She enjoys splurging on frivolous pretty things occasionally and Nadia gives her pretty things so that’s great. It’s overwhelming in the sense that those gifts cost way more than she could ever afford, and the luxury of the palace is more than anything she is used to.

17) How does your apprentice react when confronted with the creature from the abandoned wing in Asra and/or Nadia’s routes in Book VII? What’s going through their head at the time? Afraid. Aurex remembers what happened to her the last time she encountered Lucio, which was not fun. And now he admits knowing her and seems to be looking for her, so it freaks her out. She can’t help but wonder if he’s been lurking around when she can’t see him.

18) How does your apprentice feel about Consul Valerius? Going with the fact that in her canon she has had only one encounter with him, she pretty much hates the man at this point. During the wine fiasco, he spilled it on Senka, so that was more than enough for her to take issue with him. Don’t mess with her familiar.

19) Is there a song or songs that you associate with your apprentice?  I actually have a playlist that was originally supposed to be for her, but it has now just morphed into an Aurex/Asra playlist and I regret nothing. Anyway, I have “IDGAF” by Dua Lipa. (Whose singing voice happens to be Aurex’s VC.) “IDGAF” has 1000% to do with her shitty ex. Oh, and “Freak Like Me” by NoMBe and “Dance” by POWERS, but only because I feel like she would like those songs, they don’t actually have any special meaning.

20) Is your apprentice friends with any other fan apprentices? My friend, @asrathemagician, and I often talk about our apprentices being friends and what not, so Noctis and Aurex are indeed friends. But hey, if any of you want our apprentices to be friends, go for it. Aurex is super friendly. You more than have my blessing.

[fabermemorialrink]

some mistake, part 3

This part marks the end of what would be chapter one! Still a good handful of sections to upload after this one, but uh I should warn you I probably left off in the middle of writing the most important part, so I hope y’all don’t mind some suspense later on haha. Thanks again for reading!!

So Derek takes Dex’s advice to heart and tries, he really does, and...it kind of works. There are some people in each of his classes that he becomes friendly with, that he can grab a bite with or have study sessions with. And the team has several guys he's pretty close to now. There's Shitty, who’s easy to talk to and shows his support for Derek in his free-spirited, oft-naked way, and Ransom and Holster, who take him under their defensive wing. Ollie and Wicks, Indy and Alph and manager Sierra who treats them all like her out-of-control little brothers.

Derek likes them all but just even being in school drains him every day, over time. There's nothing wrong with any of them, per se, but they're all part of the same system, and it's like a vortex of bleakness that everyone at Andover is caught in. So he goes to class and talks to the tolerable people, and re-learns every single morning how to ignore the intolerable ones, and he goes to practice and bonds with the guys, and when it starts cascading into the always present shadow of pressure and prejudice, he escapes to where he can take a moment, just to be himself without being berated for having the audacity to exist.

He doesn't usually see Dex when he's just meditating in his hidey-hole, his head poking out to rest on the roots and stare up at the treasured glimpses of sky that are revealed to him through the shifting leaves. But he realizes soon enough, shortly before he heads back to the city for Thanksgiving break (because all three of his parents are actually going to be home simultaneously for once) that when he dares to delve deeper, and the woods entangles itself around him slowly and imperceptibly until he's lost in a dark corner again, Dex appears like clockwork to rescue him.

It's an accident at first, just a genuine attempt to try and teach himself more about the outdoors. He read up on camping and shit, and some Thoreau for good measure, but putting what he read into practice doesn't seem hugely successful for Derek. Inevitably, he ends up stranded in the unknown - in the inner ring, as Dex finally tells him one day when they're sitting by a pond Derek's never seen before and eating trail mix he swiped from the dining hall - where his sense of direction fails him.

Dex is nothing if not supremely reliable and strangely, suspiciously, always aware of Derek's whereabouts, so Derek is never left waiting long before Dex storms out to chastise him for endangering himself. Derek still doesn’t get it, because literally nothing seems to live in the goddamn woods except his ginger stalker/self-appointed bodyguard/friend, so he continues to tell Dex to chill and make half-baked promises to not get himself murdered. Dex always does this hilarious hand-clench of frustration when Derek brushes off his concerns, but nevertheless semi-reluctantly puts up with his company until he deems it too dark or too cold for Derek to stay any longer.

Soon it becomes habit to search Dex out whenever Derek's feeling numb. On good days, they get along, talking about the junk they’re interested in. Dex isn’t up to date on the newest shows or movies that Derek likes, but they bond over the nostalgic films of the past, and Derek gives quick and dirty summaries of all the shitty books he’s read on long plane rides. If he exaggerates the inanity of some of the plots, well, it gets a laugh out of Dex, so whatever.

On not-so-good days, at least he has someone he can argue unapologetically with. Sometimes it's important stuff, because Dex is still very much a know-nothing white boy who doesn't understand what Derek goes through on a daily basis. And though Derek still doesn’t actually know much about Dex at all, he does know that Dex thinks he’s too damn rich to understand his hang-ups about buying nice but frivolous things, and dropping more than eight dollars on brunch. So they fight about these things sometimes, but because Derek can’t physically find his way back home without Dex’s assistance, it becomes a forced learning experience for the both of them, to learn to listen to one another without tussling like elementary-schoolers. It works more than it doesn’t, but they’re also both dumbass fifteen year olds who don’t know when to quit, so there are nights that Dex dumps Derek at the field without another word and Derek spends the next day moping in his bed, then moping in his hollow until one of them has enough guts to go and apologize.

And sometimes, their arguments are about whether the pet rock was the best cash grab of all time, or how much money it would have cost to fake the moon landing, or whether it’s a terrible idea for Derek to try a backflip on the ice.

What it comes down to is this: even when they fight, at least Derek feels alive. At least he knows the person he’s talking to cares, about something. They’re not always in sync about how they see the world, but Dex is real in a way the kids at Andover never are, and willing, in his mulish way, to consider Derek’s point of view after a shouting match. And, for all the faces and weird noises he makes, he’s a good listener. Derek practices his public speaking assignment on him and his oral presentation for Spanish; Dex claps in the right places and throws pebbles at him when he’s avoiding eye contact too much. He asks after Derek’s family and his team, and almost always remembers to ask Derek about his games. Derek thinks he probably follows Andover hockey more closely than Shitty’s parents do. Several invitations to their home games have been extended, but Dex always apologizes before turning them down.

Derek doesn’t put it into words until the day Dex sets him to work gathering herbs “for reasons” and they’re sitting in the dirt and fog picking through weeds and chirping each other about their bad hand-eye coordination. Derek has mist in his face and there’s soil caked under his nails from digging up tiny sprouts and silvery roots, but it’s been the best part of his day by far.

“How’d you get dirt on your nose?” Dex asks when Derek delivers another handful of shoots to him.

“Just living that natural life, Dexy.” Derek swipes at his face with the back of his hand, but from the look that crosses Dex’s face he’s not finding much success. He makes another attempt with the heel of his palm this time.

“No, you- there’s even more now,” Dex says irritably. He reaches up, as if to brush the smudge away himself, but aborts the motion halfway and digs him hand harder into the ground instead.

Derek grins, and tries again. “Did I get it?” he asks as he deliberately streaks dirt from the bridge of his nose across his cheek. The corner of Dex’s eye twitches as he fights with himself, until Derek slowly and deliberately digs up a solid handful of muck, ready to plaster it to his own face.

Dex dives for him as he brings his hand up in slow-motion, flattening him to the ground as they battle over Derek’s hand.

“You’re a literal child, I swear to god,” Dex hisses, wrestling Derek's arm in place long enough to smear most of the dirt off.

“Lots of adults enjoy the rejuvenating properties of a mud mask, bro.” Derek pats his cheeks gently with what's left of the soil on his hands, and offers the remainder to Dex. “Give it a try. Refreshed skin will bring out your freckles more.”

“Why would I ever want that.” Dex has to pin Derek’s arm down with his shoulder to protect his face.

“Seriously? People would kill for the Look you got going on, dude.” Dex’s eyes narrow when he hears the capital L, but Derek continues. “You're like a concept painting of autumn. All gold and red and orange.”

“What does that even mean, you weirdo?” Dex groans into the dirt as he rolls away from Derek, ending in a patch of brambly leaves that stick in his shirt.

“It means you’re beautiful inside and out. Own it.”

“Were you put on this earth to torment me?”

“Maybe! Aw, that's cute. Like we were made for each other.”

“What.”

“Well, like, if I exist just to annoy you, and you exist to be my bff, then it's kinda like we were made for each other, right?”

“Wait- are we even having the same conversation right now?” Dex asks, confused. He bounces up like a pop-up book insert to give Derek his classic squint of suspicion. “Who's what now?”

“You’re my best friend, Dex, is what I’m saying,” Derek tells him, smiling at him sideways from where he's still tipped over into the mud. This is what it should feel like, right? This comfortable, unfiltered ease that Derek has grown used to in Dex’s presence. No pretenses, no fear of letting his chill slip or his anger surge. Derek is Derek, and Dex, even with all his secrets, is Dex, and that's all they need.

“Oh. That’s not where I thought this was going. Are you sure?” Dex asks, scratching awkwardly at his hair tucked under his cap. He cut it recently, choppy and slightly uneven; Derek suspects he may have done it by hand himself. Hopefully not with the hatchet. He seems to be in disbelief, so Derek solves the problem the only way he knows how: by being extra annoying.

“No, actually, now that I think about it more, I don't know if I can be friends with someone who’s afraid of barbershop quartets.”

“Oh my god, I'm not afraid of them, I just think the striped vests are fuckin’ weird! And the hats, too, Jesus. It's creepy, okay?”

“You are legit the strangest dude I know. You scared of 90s boy bands too? Leather pants, frosted tips?”

Dex undergoes a deep, full body shudder of disgust, visibly trying to shake the memory off himself. “Quit it, Nursey-”

“Matching track suits! Bandanas and denim overalls!”

“I don't understand how the hell we’re still friends,” and Derek’s smile must be embarrassingly real, because Dex flushes that nice shade of red he gets when he's flustered but not angry, and half-heartedly gives Derek a “yeah, okay, me too,” which, in the current flow of the conversation is a non-sequitur, but Derek gets it.

When it draws close to six, Dex packs up his basket and walks Derek back out, even though Derek has got a pretty good handle on navigating the outer ring by now, where the forest isn't yet labyrinthine and dim. Like always, he halts at the edge, but this time, he stops Derek with a hand to his arm, his skin warm despite the biting coldness in the air.

Dex is about to say something, but Derek word vomits on him before he can speak up. “You wanna come visit my dorm? We could watch Netflix, eat stale pop tarts.” It's such a fantastic proposition that Derek is surprised Dex doesn't immediately begin heckling him.

“Sorry, but I, uh, also gotta get home. Besides, you know they'd never let me into your prep school dorm room. Blue collar cooties,” he says with the sort of uncasual shrug that says he's accepted long ago there are places he isn't meant to go.

“I can't believe you just used the word cooties in a sentence,” Derek says, trying to lighten the mood, because even he's more than willing to sneak Dex in, doesn't mean his friend wants to go. He probably wants to keep their lives compartmentalized. They can share the woods; everything else is off-limits. That's okay. Derek can handle that.

“Some of us have to make do with our dollar store vocabulary.”

“I didn't say I didn't like it. You have the best cooties,” Derek says solemnly and clasps Dex’s shoulder.

Dex shakes him off, but cracks a smile, so it's a solid win. “Shut your face, Nursey. You know I wouldn't fit in with those guys. You'll just have to bring your pop tarts here. Not the laptop though; electronics don't work right in the woods.”

Derek swallows thickly, suddenly overcome with this invitation. It's new. Dex almost always sees Derek off with a demand that he watch his back and stay in school, like some kind of twisted after-school special. He never makes any indication that he actually wants Derek to visit, though Derek’s learned enough of his tacit signs by now to know that Dex doesn't mind his company. “Yeah? What flavor?” he asks when he unties his tongue.

“Wild berry. Extra stale.”

“I'll open a pack and leave it in my math binder for a week.”

Dex must remember that Derek avoids even touching his math materials if he can, because he laughs, and gives Derek a little shove closer to the field. “I'm counting on it. Hey, we need to make some ground rules though.”

“Rules? Like the name prohibition.”

The first couple of times they ran into each other again Dex had reiterated the ironclad importance of Derek never, ever uttering his name while in the woods. Dex nods now, relieved that Derek’s been bludgeoned with that information until it stuck.

“Right. Never tell anyone your name; that’s the most important one. Rule number two: don't trust anyone you meet in the woods. Got it?”

“Uh, what's that supposed to mean? Didn’t I meet you in the woods?”

Dex makes a complicated face and a jerky, ambivalent motion with his hand that Derek does not understand at all. “There's just some strange people in here sometimes,” he says, still hedging around something. “Be wary around them. If they ever try to make you break rule number one, get the fuck outta there. Even if it’s me, okay?”

What? Why would Dex ever…”Okay? If you say so?” What’s Dex afraid of? Brainwashing? Doppelgangers? Clones??

“Promise me, Nursey,” Dex says intensely, gripping Derek’s elbow tight. “I might not always be around to watch out for you.”

Derek must look too hesitant still, because Dex pinches his arm and he lets out a yelp. “Alright, chill, Dex. I promise.” Then, narrowing his eyes, he ventures to ask, “Is this a cult thing? ‘Cause my parents know people. We can help.”

“It's not a cult thing. And if it were, it’s not like I’d admit it.”

“Hmmmm.” Derek looks around, giving the woods a leery once-over, before leaning in to hiss, “Blink twice if they’re watching us. Blink three times if they’re holding you against your will.”

Dex stares at him for a few seconds before blinking deliberately twice (!), then a few more times for a total of five. Derek’s brain flies into overdrive as he tries to decipher this. Is it five as in two plus three? Is he giving Derek a signal? Or is he just messing around?

While he dithers over this, Dex purses his lips and blows a sharp stream of air right into Derek’s eyes. He recoils, clutching at his face.

“Ow, what the fuck, Dex!”

“That’s enough cultist bs for one day. Time to go home, Nursey. Walk slowly; wouldn’t want you to trip on literally nothing again and ruin your pretty face, city boy.”

“Ha ha,” Derek grouses, still rubbing his eyes. He’s well aware of his bad skin and awkward legs. Dex doesn’t need to rub it in. “D’you practice those lines on the squirrels before you try them on people?”

“Don’t be dumb. You ever seen a squirrel around here?” Dex snipes back, but the corners of his eyes crease in a smile and he mutters, “I practice on the trees.”

Derek is still laughing as Dex shoves him out onto the field toward home.