#they’re giving me something to be a ““““substitute”””” this shit doesn’t work

[loveandthings11]

How Deep My Love Goes, Chapter 13

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Very Tall Somethings

Fic Summary: A Kenrava-focused fix-it alongside canon 💗

Chapter Summary: Hunting and Safe Room, redone. Or, the story of Kendall and Rava's chaotic Christmas week. Kendall tries different tactics to get Logan to agree to save Vaulter while trying to stay apprised of goings-on within the company from afar. Rava is terrified when an active shooter situation hits Waystar with Kendall inside. The incident causes Kendall to struggle with his past demons and to try to reconnect with Shiv. Kendall and Rava exchange Christmas gifts and see how much they mean to each other.

On December twentieth, Kendall lies on the couch in the great room and stares up at the ceiling.

“I-I mean, he didn’t mean that, right?” he asks for the fourth time since his call with Logan yesterday. “That was nothing? He wasn’t really offering it to me when I turned it down. Was he?”

“Mind games…” Rava says absentmindedly as she turns the page of her book in a nearby chair.

“Yes, mind games! Fucking- manipulation, yeah? He’s always done shit like that. What- what do I even do with that?”

She can feel his chaotic energy.

“Have you considered calling HR?” Rava says drily.

“Uh-huh. Okay. They’re all at the fucking corporate retreat in Hungary doing God-knows-what with the company-“ he looks at her eyes running across the page. He’s more stressed by the day not to be able to attend any management meetings right now and it couldn’t be clearer that she doesn’t want to hear about it anymore. “Whatever. I need sunflower seeds.” He gets up and goes to pace in the kitchen as he pours the bag into his mouth.

She tries not to look at him while he’s doing it because she knows what that means. He walks back and forth and looks around.

“You know what? I’m gonna be in the gym,” he says as he walks down the hall toward it.

“Twice in one morning?” Rava asks.

“That was floor stuff, weights. Now it’s cardio. Why, you don’t want me too ripped?” She lets him turn the substitute addictions into a joke. Whatever works.

“No,” she laughs. “Go get ripped. That’s…. great.”

“You laugh now,” he says. “You’re not gonna be ready.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready,” she nods sarcastically. “You should go back to drawing, or music. You used to do more art.”

“Uh- yeah. I did. I should. Just- yeah, I’m going to work out right now.”

He flashes her a smile and walks away. When he comes back in the room she looks over his ever-so-slightly mussed hair. He locks eyes with her.

“Yeah?”

She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head to the side as she chuckles. It doesn’t look like he was going too crazy with the workout, but she does like what she’s seeing. She notices a grey smudge on his hand and nods at it.

"What is that?" she asks. He looks down at it.

"Oh, it's nothing. From the treadmill I guess."

“Okay... well, you are looking good.”

“Feeling good,” he says. But he sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself. “I haven’t heard from Roman in a couple days,” he says.

“Well, there’s probably not much privacy in jail- I’m sorry, the retreat. I always get those mixed up,” she returns.

“Right.” He heads to the shower and, after fifteen minutes, enters the room and starts pacing again. She looks up from her book.

“You’re making me nervous. Come sit down!” He goes to sit down next to her and she watches his foot bounce.

“I’m gonna text him again,” Kendall says with worry in his voice. He types out a message.

Rome. You gotta give me something, man.

He taps his fingers on Rava’s thigh as he looks at the screen. After a couple of minutes, Roman sends a text with a news screenshot and accompanying message.

Preview of an article Karolina sent us. Merry fucking whatever. You’d better not forget this.

Kendall looks at the screenshotted headline and gives a little smile at his screen.

Waystar Royco subsidiary Vaulter lives to fight another day; President Lawrence Yee stays in role under embattled Waystar CEO Logan Roy’s leadership.

“Roman saved Vaulter,” he says out loud in disbelief. “I’ve seen this kind of thing, though. It’s just a temporary extension for now, but it’s a start.”

Rava smiles.

“Good Christmas present,” she replies. “Speaking of which, it’s about time to do the finishing touches on the tree now that you can breathe again. Only a few days til Christmas! You know the kids are going to be ready for holiday stuff.”

“Yeah, for sure.” He pauses a second. “I feel kinda fuckin’… bad that we’re not going to my mom’s. She always wants us to go and Shiv would never do it, but Roman wanted to too. Maybe next year? Or can we- could we go see her next month or something? I just- you know, things were actually good with us at the wedding. It was kind of weird. But, yeah, good.”

“Yeah. Sure, we can go see your mom. Whenever you want.”

Kendall nods and gets up to go to the kids’ rooms to coax them out with promises of hot chocolate and ornaments as Rava looks through the boxes of decorations the staff had been taking out earlier to find the last bits of tree decor. Kendall and Rava have always done this part themselves.

Rava shows Kendall a ceramic ornament they’d bought at a Christmas market in Belgium in one of their first holiday seasons together. The little red frame says Merry Christmas in green and features a sweet picture of 24-year old Kendall and Rava with big smiles on their pink faces pressed together. Kendall’s first Christmas free of his family had been one for the books.

Kendall looks at it and wordlessly returns her look of love. He takes his phone from the glass coffee table and walks the few steps over to her, bending down to her and putting his cheek on hers before taking a quick picture of them smiling once more. Rava nods at the picture and gives him a grin.

“We’ll get a new one made to match,” he says.

“Love that,” she says.

…..

On December twenty-first, Roman calls Kendall.

“Hey, fuckface,” Roman starts. “I’m so hungover I might kill myself.”

Kendall doesn’t know if this is about to be an alcoholic joke or if Roman really just called because he would understand.

“Uh, okay. Well, I’d go throw up and pour yourself an Irish coffee, always worked for me,” he says sardonically to head him off at the pass.

“No. Jesus. I’m not drinking at least until this afternoon.”

“Solid restraint.” Kendall wonders for the millionth time why he’s the only sibling who got the addiction gene. “How was last night? Little bit of corporate trauma bonding?” he asks, stretching out on the couch and enjoying the fact that he spent last night sipping hot chocolate by the Christmas tree while the kids watched Elf.

“You missed a fantastic round of Boar on the Floor. De-licious. Got it all on film, I’m gonna watch it and jerk off later.”

Kendall massages his forehead.

“Jesus. First of all, delete that immediately- or, actually, send it to me and then delete it.”

“I don’t share my porn stash,” Roman says.

“Bro. Seriously. That kind of abuse of power could help our case.”

“Your case. I’m not fucking over Dad. Why do you want it, are you giving it to the biographer? Because Dad will know it’s you.”

Kendall sighs.

“No. I- I mean I got a call, but I didn’t return. Didn’t you get a call?” he asks.

Roman’s quiet before he responds.

“Yyyyeah, of course I did. I’m the most important one.” He changes tone. “But seriously, Dad’s fucking paranoid right now. Someone talked. He doesn’t trust anyone. He’s being… you know. Scary.” He switches back to being cavalier. “He’s gonna find out who it is and it’s gonna be sweet punishment time.”

“Well. It’s not me. But if he wants to know who’s got motivation to talk shit about him, he should look to literally anyone else he’s talked to in the last twenty years.” Roman makes a hurt face and Kendall can practically see it through the phone. “Dude, it’s- it probably won’t even go anywhere. Don’t worry about it. But- yeah. Try to stop people from talking if you can.”

“Why would you want to stop them? You hate Dad,” Roman mumbles.

“I- I don’t- come on, bro. You know that’s not true. It’s tough with us, though.”

“Whatever. This isn’t your ridiculous therapy time where we talk all about how you want to fuck and/or kill our parents and possibly our sister, although you should know she’s mine.”

Kendall rolls his eyes.

“Did he make you play Boar on the Floor?” he asks. The protective older brother in him comes out no matter how annoying Roman is to him.

“Of course not, Dad loves me, Ken. Not something you would understand, but-“

“He never made me play either.” It’s true, but there was always a present threat to both of them at retreats. “Well- good,” Kendall finishes.

“Frank’s here,” Roman says angrily. Kendall feels a momentary pang.

“Yeah? How is he?”

“Being a corporate cock-suck like always. My fucking babysitter.”

“Frank knows what’s doing,” Kendall says. He’s glad Frank is back on at the company, but he misses his guidance. He’s a little envious that Roman is getting the advice he wants. He wonders if he could get Frank on board with his side.

“Ugh. This godfatherly love thing is annoying. Dad’s only bringing him back so he can suck up to the Pierces.”

“The Pierces?” Kendall asks in disbelief.

“Oh, fuck,” Roman laughs. “You didn’t know about that? Man, you are out of the loop.” Kendall squirms at his brother’s glee.

“What do you- Dad’s going after them again? This is his solution. Old tech again.” His mind starts running and he makes a note to text Sandy and Stewy right after this call ends.

“I didn’t tell you that!” Roman exclaims, partially regretting having the shared the information. Kendall can tell how he’s feeling.

“I would’ve found out anyway,” he informs him.

“I guess.”

Kendall decides to change the subject.

“You, uh, see Connor’s video?” he asks.

“Giving away all our secrets to never paying any taxes. Idiot. I mean- love him and his desperate ploys for attention- obviously- but, like, perhaps he shouldn’t be making a joke of our last name?”

“Yeah, thought that was your job.” Kendall sends the rare jab his way.

“Fuck you,” Roman spits back. But he has another thing to discuss. “Um… hey, what do you think of Gerri?” he asks.

“What- Gerri?” Kendall asks. “You mean, like, is she trustworthy? I mean, yeah. She’s all in for Waystar.”

Roman scrunches his face and runs his hand through his hair.

“No, I know, I mean, uh… like as a… human woman? Did she and Dad ever…”

“Fuck?” Kendall chuckles. “I dunno. Maybe. She seems like she’d tell him to go to hell though. Not exactly a warm and fuzzy, fuckin’… take you to bed type.”

“Well, you don’t know. You don’t know her.”

Kendall’s confused by Roman’s sudden defensiveness.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“I don’t- nothing. No reason, I just want to know if she’s trustworthy.”

“Okay.” Did I not just say that? Kendall thinks. “Well, yeah.” His interest is piqued by the questioning. “Why’d you think of that, her and Dad?”

“I don’t know, nothing. She’s just… you know, she was probably hot, once. I should’ve hit on her when I was, like twelve. That would’ve been saucy.” He swirls his finger in the bowl of grapes next to him and doesn’t eat any.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Kendall half-laughs.

“I don’t know. Whatever.” He sounds defensive again and Kendall is more amused by the second.

“Are you trying to fuck Gerri, bro?”

“No, gross, fuck you. She’s, like, efficient. And old. Fuck off. And text me what pills Dad’s supposed to be on.”

“Uh- okay. He- he said I would know?” Kendall’s surprise is evident in his voice. He feels a brief warmth in his chest followed by anxiety that he might never get to experience the closeness he craves with his dad in person again. But he reminds himself that this is a good sign for the future.

“Yeah, don’t get excited. He won’t trust anyone he hires. Thinks they’re all gonna send the list of meds to Michelle Pantsil for the book.”

“Wow. Sure, I’ll- I’ll send you the list.”

“Ugh, just do it, don’t make it a big deal. See you whenever.”

Roman hangs up and Kendall is left with a moment of mixed emotions before refocusing and sending a text to Sandy and Stewy.

Dad’s going after Pierce. Good news. He has no real option if his only plan to get the company even more bloated. Just wants an excuse to chase the old dream. No chance Nan Pierce lets this happen.

Rava pokes her head into the office.

“Are you working?” she asks.

“No- that was Roman, but I think he just called to catch up, actually.” Kendall surprises himself as he realizes that is exactly what just happened.

“Oh?” He’s not the only one who’s surprised.

“Yeah, I think, uh, I guess Dad wanted him to ask me about his pills.” Kendall can’t help but smile a little bit.

“Really?” Rava asks hesitantly. “And that’s- a good thing…?”

“Yeah. That’s a good thing.” He looks at her and gets up to hug her. “Let’s go sit by the tree before the kids go to bed.”

Rava already has had Christmas music playing for the kids, who are inspecting every wrapped present under the beautiful, towering tree.

Kendall notices Sophie subtly peeling back the wrapping paper on the corner of a present addressed to her.

“Uh-uh, Soph. Santa can see that,” he scolds. She looks shocked to have been caught and stares up at him.

“Tell him I didn’t do it! You know the president!”

Rava puts her hand over her face for a moment.

“Santa is more powerful than the president,” Kendall says seriously. “Up, away from the tree. You’ll unwrap it in a few days.”

Iverson looks concerned and Rava goes to smooth his hair.

“Don’t worry,” she reassures him. “Santa knows you’ve both been good this year. That’s what really matters. It’s time for bed now.” The kids groan. “Up, up, up,” Rava continues. “The faster you go to sleep the faster you get to Christmas!”

They stand up and Sophie runs ahead of Iverson, who looks over his shoulder at the festively lighted tree and the many perfectly wrapped boxes underneath it.

Kendall and Rava savor the moment of wonder and innocence and she sits next to him on the couch and leans into him. He kisses her head and they gaze at the glowing tree together.

…..

On December twenty-second, Kendall is at Waystar. He’s here to save Vaulter and he can’t do that without talking to his dad. But he won’t answer the phone and his assistants are denying Kendall at every turn. So here he is. The only way was to come in person. He sits nervously at his desk waiting for any sign that Logan is back on the floor so he can make sure his acquisition isn’t going anywhere. It’s proof he deserves to be here. He glances over to Logan’s office. In there. Heads turn at the sight of him looking out at the floor. He feels self-conscious but strangely proud. They all look away once they've been caught. They've been staring all morning. He bites a nail.

Jess walks into his office. “Hey, Ken?”

He's startled out of his nervous haze and looks up. “Yeah?”

“It’s Rava.”

They exchange the briefest of moments. She hasn’t said that in years. Even though it’s been a few months now, he still gets the rush of remembering she’s calling because she wants to talk to him, not because she’s mad or just to coordinate the kids’ schedules. For a while, it had sent shots of anxiety through him to talk to her- another opportunity to fuck up. But not anymore. He smiles.

“Oh. Yeah, of course put her through.” She turns to go. “Jess- can you just- always put her through.”

She nods with a tiny smile.

“Yeah.”

He picks up the office phone.

“Hey.”

Her voice is honey sweet.

“You didn’t text me back.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, hang on.” He picks up his phone and reads her latest message. He thought nothing could scandalize him but he’s been proven wrong.

“Wow. Uh… are you going to act that out later, or-?”

“Maybe. How’s everything going? What are the guys saying?”

He’s still looking at the text and now he really doesn’t want to admit that he might have a colossal failure on his hands.

“I- I don’t remember, I’m a little distracted.” She laughs.

“Tell me!”

“It, uh, it- it’s not… great. But I’m figuring it out. I’ll have it by tonight. I will.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“I will.”

It’s like he doesn’t know anyone he doesn’t have to convince.

“I know, Ken. You don’t have to prove it.”

He takes a breath.

“Right, yeah. Okay. I have to go but, yeah, I’ll text you back.”

“Okay.” She knows when work’s not going well, nothing is right in his world. She sounds disappointed and he can’t let that happen either.

“Hey- it’s- it’s five hours til I’m home.”

She can hear him trying and she sighs dramatically.

“Suuuure it is. See you at midnight.”

“I’m coming home at 7:00.” Knowing he’s going home to her makes him feel like he can do this.

“You’ll at least come home before you have to go to some other thing tomorrow, right? I mean, you have to change?”

“Okay. Yeah. See you at 5:00 AM,” he deadpans.

“Ken!”

“I’ll see you at 7:00. Seriously. Maybe we’ll go out.”

“For breakfast? When you get home in the morning?”

He shakes his head.

“Yes. For breakfast. Okay. I have to go save this company now.”

“God, I love how important you are.” He rolls his eyes at the sarcasm but he can hear her smiling and he loves it.

“Bye.”

There’s a tentative knock on the glass and Kendall looks up to see Greg nervously standing at his office door. His voice is muffled as he calls through the glass.

“Uh- hey- hey Ken. Can I come in and talk to you?” He smiles awkwardly. “For a just a- a min? A sec of fam time?”

Kendall’s feeling generous.

“Sure, Greg. Come in,” he calls back. Greg swings the door open.

“H-hey, cuz! What’s up on the anti-corruption, you know, the anti-Roy train?” he attempts.

Kendall gives him a small smile.

“Just anti-corruption. And anti-dictator behavior. What’s up, Greg?”

“Uh, well, you know, just… hangin’ with the fam on the private- private planes and livin’ that high life. I mean, not, like, high. Like not drugs. Not that- uh, I didn’t mean-“

Kendall shakes his head.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Um, so, you know the biography of your dad? Michelle Pantsil?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Um, well, I didn’t exactly meet with her, but I did, like, a pre-meet? And-“

Kendall sighs.

“So it was you. And you said some things you can’t take back now?”

“I mean, kind of?” Greg starts. “It wasn’t anything terrible, but maybe things that shouldn’t be in a book? You know? And Tom said Ratfucker Sam is, like, doing research, and apparently he’s not the best guy?”

“Uh, yeah, I mean, Dad’s not gonna love it, man.”

Greg looks panicked.

“Well- well, isn’t there something you can do, or, like-“ he takes in a short breath, “-protect me, maybe? Because I am gonna be able to help you if you win. Or, actually, I can help you win.”

Kendall looks at him.

“Well… I’m not sure what I can do,” Kendall begins.

“I, well, I think you should give me a job if I lose this one?”

Kendall raises his eyebrows.

“No. Dude, come on. If you lose this one? Second choice?”

“I mean, I’m just saying? I have some very, potentially, extremely useful information that I think you could use.”

They look at each other. Kendall thinks about whether he should believe him. He considers the consequences of turning him down and letting the mysterious information stay hidden and the positives of letting it go and staying a small team. He already has one person who’s straddling two sides of the line. But then he considers his dad’s tendency to play as dirty as possible and wonders if he has anything planned to destroy his reputation again. It would be good to have something to stop him this time.

“Okay, Greg. You got it. I think you should leave this side sooner rather than later if you’re going to do it.”

Greg nods.

“Uh, yeah, totally. I- I’m kind of, like, moving up here, though? But also I agree so yeah, yeah.”

The most wishy-washy person alive is on his team, Kendall thinks.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay, well… gotta finish this stuff,” Kendall gestures at the stack of papers on the desk in front of him.

“Right! Yeah! Gotta get to work, for sure.” Greg smiles a nervous smile and backs out of the room. “See ya!”

….

On the afternoon of the same day, a news headline flashes across the PGN screen and Rava’s heart stops for what feels like minutes.

“ACTIVE SHOOTER AT WAYSTAR ROYCO: BUILDING BARRICADED WITH SHOOTER INSIDE”

“What?” Her hands shake as she grabs instantly for her phone and there are tears in her eyes before she can even process it. The most terrifying images and future rip through her mind and she fights as hard as she can to make them stop. The one day Kendall goes back. Was it someone looking for him?? Is he hurt? Hiding? Worse?! She can’t breathe right. The phone rings and rings as she dials his number. He doesn’t answer and she starts hyperventilating as she runs for the car. She calls her driver and manages to choke out “Waystar building, right away, please.”

Her coat half on in the freezing air, she jumps into the waiting SUV and calls him again. When she hears his voice on his voicemail, she starts feeling truly terrified. Why would he not answer his phone in the middle of this?? She doubles over and tries to breathe as heavy rain starts to pound on the car.

Her driver glances back at her but she’s too scared to even try to explain. She dials again, still no answer. Just the voicemail message. She frantically pushes away the thought that that’s how she’ll hear his voice now. She waits to hear the beep.

“Kendall!” She practically yells. “Call me! Call me, please call me and tell me you’re okay. Call me. Ken. Call me. Please.”

The drive seems to take hours. The rain makes the traffic even worse than usual and she curses her lack of recollection of the subway system. She dials Jess and is relieved that she answers on the first ring.

“Hi, Rava,” Jess answers through panting and panic.

“Is Kendall okay?” Rava asks helplessly. "Are you okay?"

“Um-“ Jess sounds like she’s running. “I don’t- I don’t know, I’m being taken to a room somewhere but I don’t see him- but that doesn’t mean anything. Everyone’s running around. I’m sorry!”

“Oh, my god,” she lets out a yelp of true terror. “How is this possible- is anyone- you know?”

“I don’t know, I just heard a shot and some people said maybe more than one? But I haven’t seen anything- um, okay, they’re making everyone hang up so we can hear safety procedures? I’ll call you back as soon as I know anything or if he shows up. When he’s here, I mean.”

Rava covers her mouth. She can hear the blood pounding in her ears.

“Stay safe, Jess! Please call me! I’m coming.”

The beeps to end the call seem louder than normal. Rava panics and dials Roman.

“Oh, good, a connection to what almost passes for civilization,” he answers. She drops her head back for a second and realizes she forgot that Kendall told her he’s been out of the office at management training all week.

“Roman,” Rava starts tearfully. “You don’t know? There’s a shooter at Waystar.”

“Oh, holy fuck, what? Are you fucking with me?”

“No! Kendall’s not answering his phone, Jess is being hidden somewhere and he’s not there. I have to call Shiv.”

“What the f-“ Rava hangs up and dials Shiv. Straight to voicemail like it’s off. She begins to really cry and falls toward the seat. He said he was coming home at 7:00.

The car pulls up and she practically falls out of it trying to get out as fast as she can. Armed guards stand outside and look suspiciously at everyone in sight. Police cars line the street, scattered protesters stare up at the building, news crews are everywhere.

“Excuse me! Is Kendall Roy in there? Is he okay? Where is he?” she calls desperately to the nearest security guard.

“Please stand clear, ma’am. Police orders. This is a crime scene.”

“NO! My husband is in this building and I need to know if he is safe! Kendall Roy.” The guard appears unmoved. “As in Royco?!” She has never talked to anyone like that in her life, but she will do whatever it takes.

“We’ll update everyone when we have more information.”

She practically screams in frustration and calls Kendall again. The rings end early and his live voice sends waves of relief like she couldn’t even imagine over her.

“Hey! Fuck, sorry, I just heard your message and I was going to-“

“Oh, what the fuck,” she sobs into the phone. “Ken! Are you okay? Are you safe? Where are you?”

He sounds like Jess had, being hustled through hallways.

“I’m- yeah, I’m fine, I was making a call on the roof til it started raining and I didn’t even know about this until about a minute ago when these guys came and found me.” He covers the mic. “Excuse me! Where are we going?” he asks the security guards. Rava can hear heavy breathing and yelps and alarms and hurried footsteps in the background.

“Safe room,” Rava hears a guard’s muffled voice through the noise. “With Logan.”

“With- uh- what, no, is there a different-“

“Kendall! Go to the safe room!” Rava yells into the phone. He looks at the phone in surprise and then it really hits him what she must have thought.

“I’m going. Hey, I’m sorry, I’m fine. Really. I mean, it’s possible this was all orchestrated by Dad to get me alone and threaten me.“

Neither of them knows if he’s joking. Rava puts her hand on her face.

“Please. Are you almost to the room? Have they caught the- whoever was-“

“Uh, I don’t know. Not sure, we’re almost there, though.”

“Do not hang up on me,” Rava says sternly, but he can feel where it’s coming from through the phone.

“I won’t. It’s okay. I promise.”

He can’t promise that and she knows it, but hearing it in his voice makes her feel a little bit better. She doesn’t want to be too dramatic.

“Can they just let you out of there? I-“ her breath catches. “-it would be really good to see you right now,” she tries, knowing there’s no way they’re just letting one person out.

“I agree, but they’re not letting anyone out. These guys have the kind of guns Ravenhead loves to talk about.” The door opens in front of him.

“We’re here, head inside, please,” the guard orders.

“Okay, I’m here at the safe room,” he reports to Rava. She’s suddenly beyond exhausted and plops down onto a bench in the wide courtyard in front of the Waystar building.

Kendall steps inside, dreading what Logan’s reaction will be, whether he’ll even let him in. But Logan’s up and striding over as fast as Kendall has ever seen him.

“Kendall!” Rava hears Logan’s voice through the phone. “Are you all right, son? Where were you?”

Kendall can’t believe the embrace he’s getting. He hesitantly hugs his dad back and finds himself wishing against his will that it could last longer.

“Uh- yeah, I’m fine, Dad. I was fine.”

Logan nods and pats his arm before going to sit back down. Kendall takes half a second to remember that he’s still his father’s son, regardless of what’s going on with the company.

“You’re in? You’re okay?” Rava asks nervously.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Thank God. Fuck. I don’t-“ she shakes her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my life.” The adrenaline has kept her warm so far but now the cold is getting to her and she zips her coat, gazing up at the building and willing him to come walking out the doors. She longs to feel him against her, to squeeze him and feel his heartbeat.

“I really am sorry, I- I should’ve answered, I was on a call and thought I’d just call you right back and then they came up-“ he begins.

Gerri hangs up her phone and interrupts the moment.

“It was an ATN employee… a suicide,” she tells the room delicately. Kendall glances down and he’s suddenly pulled away from his conversation, from the present moment. He has uncomfortable flashbacks to wondering if anyone would notice. If anyone would care. Logan looks at him for a second and Kendall feels a disturbing connection to know it’s in his head too. The only other person who knew how he used to feel. It’s a wake-up call to see how worried his dad was just now. To hear Rava’s panicked crying at the mere thought. He thinks maybe he’ll never tell her what he used to think about when he was left alone for too long.

“Uh-“ he clears his throat as he and Logan break eye contact and he turns his attention back to the call. “I’m not sure if you heard that… someone- killed himself… at his desk. It’s- it’s him only. No one else.” He wonders what they would have said about him.

“Oh,” she breathes out. “That’s sad… Does that- um, are you coming outside now?” she asks, knowing that’s much too hopeful.

“No, I think we have to be in here a little while longer?” But his head is elsewhere. “Hang on a sec.” He taps one of the guards near the door a bit nervously. “Um. Do you know who it was?”

The guard shakes his head.

“Okay.” He takes a step toward Gerri. “Who was it, do we know?” he asks her.

“A- Mark Johnson?” she says, scrolling through an email from Karolina about the incident. Kendall knew there was a small chance he’d know the name, but he still feels guilty that he doesn’t.

“Oh. Okay.” He wonders if there’s anything that could have been done. The therapists told him there was always something to live for.

“Did you know him?” Rava asks.

“No,” he answers.

But it’s still more upsetting than he’d like to admit. He looks around the room and thinks he should go to talk to Shiv. It’s been a while and he wants to know what’s going on. Maybe she can distract him. Or maybe she can talk. He glances at Gerri and Logan talking to Rhea and wants to make an appearance in that conversation too. If Logan’s going after Pierce, Kendall needs to make it clear that he won’t.

“Uh, I’m going to go make sure everyone else is okay,” he says into the phone. “Yeah? I’ll call you as soon as we get the go-ahead.”

“Oh, okay. I’m right outside for you,” she says. He likes the sound of that. “I’ll see you soon.” She doesn’t like this situation but she knows it could be hours.

“Okay, thanks, Rav. I love you.”

“I love you.”

They hang up and Kendall cautiously makes his way over to the corner where Gerri and Logan and Rhea are talking. He wouldn’t have normally attempted it, but Logan’s concern prompts him to think he might be allowed in.

Gerri’s talking in a low voice about Mark Johnson.

“Apparently he emailed a close friend last week, talking of a ‘culture of bullying.’”

“It’s a newsroom, not a kindergarten,” says Logan as he rolls his eyes. Gerri hesitates.

“Tragically, he also had a history of incidences of – well, not really, mental illness, which he was medicated for through our health plan?”

“Well, let’s hope that doesn’t get out and muddy the waters,” Logan replies darkly.

Kendall feels like someone’s punched him in the stomach and changes his mind about being a part of this. He walks over to Shiv. He wants out of this room and into Rava’s arms.

“Hey,” he starts.

Shiv’s scrolling on her phone and glances up at him, pressing her lips together for a second as she decides on a tone.

“Hey,” she says carefully, with just enough attitude to make it clear that she’s on Dad’s side.

“Can we talk? Like…” he gauges her weirded out reaction. “Actually talk?”

“Um… I guess?” she says as she glances toward Logan.

They move around the corner and she looks at him expectantly.

“So you’re working here now?” he asks.

Her expression turns suspicious.

“Just observing. Why? You know, that’s company information, not for outsiders,” she smiles. He nods and raises his eyebrows.

“Right. But you’re not an outsider?” he challenges.

“Oh! No, I am,” Shiv says with a sarcastic nonchalance.

“So, Rhea,” Logan says smoothly from the other side of the wall. Kendall and Shiv both turn their heads at the sound of his voice moving back into business mode. “Let’s get into it. There’s a price. Let’s cut the bullshit.”

The siblings look at each other warily as they both lean in Logan’s direction to hear better.

“Well, I’m a mere conduit, so feel free to give some numbers, but it’s a hard no from the Pierces.”

“Twenty-one billion.” Shiv looks alarmed and her eyes dart to Kendall. She’s dismayed to see his lack of surprise.

“Why aren’t you more shocked by this?” she asks. “Oh, fuck. You’ve been in contact. This is all an act? Is this why you’re here today?”

“No, Shiv. I’m here because I need to keep up with what’s going on here and I’m not shocked because I’m taking over the company I’ve worked at for seventeen years. I know what Dad wanted to bid.”

“Fuck off, I don’t believe you,” she whispers as they both quiet down to listen to Rhea’s low-key reaction to the staggering number.

“It’s like Shiv said, the cultures just aren’t compatible,” Rhea answers. Shiv gives Kendall a smug look. “It’s an emotional matter for the Pierces. Money is not irrelevant, but how can I put it-?”

Kendall knows Rhea is really here to shut it all down. He makes a split-second decision to call her bluff. Maybe there is no number big enough. Before Shiv or Logan can stop him, he steps back out into the main part of the room.

“-Relevant?” he finishes. Logan and Rhea look up at him and he feels his heart hammering in his chest. “I mean, let’s be honest here. What is it- twenty-one five?”

Shiv runs up behind him.

“Excuse me?” she looks at Logan. His expression is complicated. “Dad! He can’t just say numbers. Can he?” Kendall holds strong and hopes his dad won’t shut him down.

They’re both glued to Logan’s face and Rhea seems reluctantly enthralled by the family drama. Logan’s anger at the move is simmering under the surface, but Kendall can see that he’s grappling. He wants Rhea’s yes more than he wants to shut Kendall down. The moment feels like it lasts a week but finally, Logan nods. Authority approved.

“Bidding against yourself,” Rhea smiles. Kendall’s emboldened.

“Twenty-two,” he says without breaking eye contact with Rhea.

“Jesus, Ken.” Shiv stares at him.

Rhea’s grin continues.

“That doesn’t sound like a real offer.”

“It’s real,” Kendall confirms more confidently. Rhea raises her eyebrows.

“I’ll really have to take this to the Pierces,” she demurs.

“Uh-huh,” Logan says. “Thank you, kids. Rhea, I’m sure I’ll be hearing from you.” His phone rings and he steps away to answer it. “Marcia. Yeah, yeah, fine. Just some ‘mental illness’ fuck…”

Shiv walks over to a couch and calls Tom, leaving Kendall standing with Rhea. He tries to read her face.

“This isn’t what the Pierces want,” he says, as both a statement and a question. Rhea smiles.

“No,” she confirms. He was right. If she’s saying no to twenty-two, there’s no way this is happening.

“Well, frankly, I think you deserve complete transparency. I don’t think my dad should start something he can’t finish. His tenure, as storied as it is, is going to come to an end when I take over. And I agree with you. It’s just not the direction we want to take the company, Sandy and Stewy and I.”

“Mmhmm. Yeah. I understand that. I have a feeling your dad won’t give up until he gets a solid answer from Nan Pierce though.”

“Right,” Kendall says. “Well. I think we can be confident what that answer will be.”

Rhea gives him an enigmatic look. She can communicate with just her eyes and he knows she sees the same future he does.

“It is going to be you, isn’t it?” she says, more as a statement than a question.

He takes a breath.

“Yes. It is.”

She nods subtly. He nods back and she goes to sit down.

Kendall takes a second to collect himself before sliding back down into the current reality of what has happened today. He looks over at Shiv hanging up the phone and thinks he’d really like to try again to connect to her. He cautiously makes his way over to the corner she’s standing in behind the side wall, hidden from the rest of the room. He can’t help himself and lowers his voice.

“Hey. Did Dad promise you… something?”

Shiv tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Nope. No… did he promise you something?” she asks, concern bleeding through her façade of calm.

Kendall decides to keep it vague. The sadness starts creeping up again and sucking away his adrenaline.

“Well. He’s promised me a lot of things.”

“Old news, Ken.”

“I mean, it’s not. Turn on the literal news and they’ve been talking about it.”

“Mmhmm.” Shiv returns to her phone before flitting her eyes back up when she feels that he’s still looking at her. “…What?” she asks.

“Did you know the guy?”

“Who- the guy who- with the gun? No. Why, did you?”

He shakes his head.

“No. Fucking… terrible, though.”

“Yeah,” Shiv shrugs. “Sad,” she adds in an obligatory tone. He’s too quiet. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks.

“I mean, no one knows him, or- cares? Dad was over there talking about publishing his mental illness, like…” She looks at him expectantly. “You know.” She gives him a blank look. “It’s what they would say, Shiv. About me.”

“Well, they’re speculating with him. But everybody knows for sure how fucked up you are,” she jokes. He doesn’t laugh and his eyes stay on the table next to him.

She gives him an uncertain look. The news is really sinking in now and making him more upset by the minute. The fact that an employee brought a gun in the office, the fact that someone in his company killed himself because of policies Kendall could have improved. The idea that more than one person thought he might have been dead today. The things Logan and Gerri would’ve said if he’d gone through with it years ago. The distance between him and his siblings now. It’s too much. He just wants it all to go away for a minute. She sees his face and doesn’t really know what to do.

“Come here. Give me a hug,” he says quietly.

“Wha-?” she starts. He pulls her in and stays there for longer than she’d expect.

“Ken. Hey. That’s not you.” She rubs his back for a second and pulls back to look at him. “Wait, you’re not, like.. thinking of-? Because, you know, Dad would be pissed. Who would he talk shit about to the lackeys?” Kendall has to restrain himself from asking if she’s kidding. She looks at him like he’s crazy. “It is just a company.” He looks at her like she should know it’s not. “It is. Not really worth…” She gestures at him. “…this, you know.” He shakes his head.

“Not the company. Not really. I just… I don’t know. Someone should have noticed something with this guy. They just- should’ve noticed.”

She gives him a long look.

“You wanna talk some more?”

He looks at her and hates that he feels like he can’t trust her to keep it all to herself. He flashes back to holding her as a baby and wants to cry at the thought that he can’t tell her anything. It’s so quiet for a second that they can hear the rain dripping down the windows outside.

“I- I really can’t.”

….

After what feels like an eternity, Kendall finally trudges out of the Waystar doors into the drizzle. Rava’s head snaps up at the sight of him and slides out of the SUV to run across the courtyard and throw her arms around him in her puffy coat.

“Oh,” she whispers. “You’re here.” He lays his head on her shoulder and just lets the news photographers snap their shots. He’s so relieved and lets his shoulders drop. He hadn’t even realized they’d been practically around his ears. She doesn’t let him go for a whole minute and she’s teary again when they separate just enough to walk over and get in the backseat. She’s a little surprised that he’s teary, too. She opens her arms again when they’re inside and the door is shut, enclosing them in the safe, heated interior with tinted windows. He leans into her and stays in her arms the whole way home. He tells her the whole story and she tries to stay even-keeled while telling him her side. When they’re home, she takes him inside, and even though he has to email Stewy to tell him about Rhea and figure out how he’s going to get Roman to tell him the whole truth about PGM as things develop, he’s just feeling emotionally exhausted. So he lets Rava lead him to their room and slowly pull on some pajamas before she guides him into bed and holds him to her. She takes the remote from the bedside table and starts the fire in the fireplace. While the flame shadows dance on the walls, she nestles into him and slowly kisses his cheek, once, twice, three times. He closes his eyes.

Her lips touch his and he needs them to feel like one. He pulls the comforter over them both and rolls her on top of him for a deep and slow connection that they both need after everything they’ve been through since this morning. He needs comfort, needs to give comfort, and she wants to be taken care of after such a dangerous day. He holds her close and they share each other’s air. They’d rather have less oxygen than be more than an inch apart.

They end the day lying still in the light of the fire, wrapped up in each other with no plan to move. They don’t need words to express themselves and he’s grateful just to have time to exist where there’s nothing to prove. She just wants him to lie there with her. Deep tiredness hits him hard after such a taxing day. Even though he has no idea what time it is and is pretty sure it’s still early evening, he lets himself slip into sleep. His even breathing and the way he cuddles up to her in his sleep make Rava feel like utter mush and she kisses his head before she follows after him and floats into sleep.

….

On December twenty-third, Rava wakes up still on her side facing Kendall as he lies on his back. She glances at his phone screen as he scrolls. An Instagram profile full of professional photos, galas, upscale restaurants and bars… she squints a little in her morning haze and sees the username clearly. MarkJohnson.

She blinks and he realizes she’s awake.

“Hey,” he says, closing the app. He looks haunted.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to close it,” she says. “I thought you didn’t know him.”

“Uh, yeah, I didn’t.” He pauses. “Probably should have. I dunno. I wish I had.”

She runs her fingers over his forearm. She’s still getting used to his newfound enlightenment and desire to be the one to help post-rehab.

“Oh, Ken, you couldn’t have done anything.”

He doesn’t love that attitude but he reminds himself it’s coming from not wanting him to feel guilty. He looks at the comforter.

“He sent an email to his friend saying it was a culture of bullying. My company. I could have done something.”

“You can’t control everyone at the company,” Rava sounds too indifferent and it makes him kind of upset. He doesn’t want to say anything. She glances at him. “I mean, you couldn’t have known, his Instagram looks like a lot of fun,” she prompts. He nods.

“Yeah.” They’re quiet for a moment. “I might start a foundation.”

“For this guy-?”

“Yeah, I mean, you know, for people who are struggling. Like… it doesn’t have to end like that.” He considers how differently he would’ve felt if he’d known that in the future he would be lying next to Rava and on his way to taking over Waystar.

Rava’s a little touched.

“Well, that would be nice,” she affirms as she sits up in bed and reaches for his sweater to pull over her tank top.

“Or- something for addicts, maybe. Maybe both. There’s kind of a lot of crossover. You know? Maybe he had a problem. He had a lot of party pictures? I- I was at some of those galas.”

Rava looks back and realizes his voice was wobbling.

“Hey,” she says, laying back down and giving him a hug. “You don’t know what caused it. It was probably complicated.” She pats his back.

Everyone’s so quick to dismiss and he tries not to spill a tear onto the sweater she’s wearing. But she notices.

“Oh, Ken, what’s-“

“Nothing. It’s just- fucking… sad.” He sniffles and sits up. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

She looks at him with concern.

“You sure?”

He shrugs.

“Uh- yeah. I’m gonna get some breakfast… yeah? You want something?”

“Yeah. I’ll be in in a minute,” she says.

He nods slowly and gets up and walks toward their bathroom. She thinks he looks like he has a hundred pounds on his shoulders. She follows him into the bathroom after a minute and finds him leaning against the wall by the sink with the water running and a silent tear on his face.

“Oh,” she pulls him close and he lets her. She turns the water off.

“Uh…” he wipes the tear from his face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s sweet that you care. It is sad!” She keeps one arm around his waist and touches his face with her free hand.

“It could’ve been- anyone. You know?” He finds himself wishing she did know.

“Sure,” she says.

“Dad’s gonna publish that he was insane because he was on some prescription through the company. You- you know he’d do that to me. He basically already did.”

Logan’s shaming for being a human being never seems to stop, Rava thinks.

“Well,” she says, “that would pale in comparison to the headlines I’d get printed about his Viagra use. And of course his death by daughter-in-law.” Kendall laughs a little through the tears and she squeezes him. “He’s such a…. fuck him,” she says. He nods and tries to get it together.

“It’s okay to fall apart,��� she tells him.

He shakes his head.

“Not doing that.” He takes a deep breath and she nods and takes his hand as they walk out to the breakfast table. He sits down and looks at her across the round edge of the breakfast table. “So, tell me what’s going on,” he says. “Something else. It’s- it’s not good for me to think about this anymore.” She gives him a worried look but obliges. She sighs as she forces herself to talk about her situation.

“Well, I called that firm Robert knows to take the case,” she says a little regretfully. Her face is pained. “I- couldn’t handle it on my own I guess.” She smiles a forced smile of embarrassment. “I’m still the attorney of record,” she adds, feeling like she must sound lame, “but they’re mostly handling the day to day now.” She shrugs. “It’s… disappointing. But I’m staying up on it as much as I can. They’re already making more progress with getting documentation.”

He nods and holds her hand. He knows the feeling of failure.

“Well, it’s good for those guys. Tony, yeah? And the other guy?”

“Yeah,” she says reluctantly. “Yes it is.”

“I don’t mean you weren’t good. I mean- you know. If they can solve it. If they can find the guy who disappeared. What’s the resort company called?”

“Um, Triangle Properties.” Kendall thinks for a second about whether he recognizes it. No.

“Uh-huh.”

They look at each other and it sinks in that they have nothing good to talk about at this moment. They pick at breakfast for a few minutes.

“You want to watch tv?” she asks.

“Yeah. That would be good.”

They take their coffees and head into the family room for some low-key zone-out time. She flips on the set and spreads one of the blankets over them both.

“The kids are out?” Kendall asks.

“With Malaya, at the new science museum exhibit. Iverson wanted to go.” Kendall nods. He kind of wishes they were going, too. He could use a distraction and he thinks Rava could, too.

“I’m supposed to have lunch with a couple of the girls today,” Rava says, more like it’s a question than a statement.

“Oh.” Kendall tries not to make his disappointment obvious. “Uh… yeah. Okay."

"I just promised them because it's been so long."

“Right. Sure,” he pushes a smile onto his face. She should have a distraction.

After the show has ended and Rava has gotten ready, she walks over to kiss Kendall, still in his robe in his armchair.

“Don’t go,” he says, only half-serious.

“Ohh, I’ll be home before you know it. But you could have a friend over, too.” She smiles, “or don’t you have any of those?” she teases.

“I have friends,” he insists.

“Outside of business acquaintances?”

“Well, Stewy’s not a business acquaintance.”

“Business partner,” she says as if that distinction is not the point.

He feels regretful for having given up so many of his party friends from the old days, but he’d known he had to do it.

“It was part of rehab to end those other friendships,” he says, trying not to sound annoyed that she would forget that. “You know that.”

“Ken, I’m messing with you. You’re fine.”

“Ivey will build the Lego skyline with me when he gets back.”

“Adult friends, Ken,” she smiles.

“Uh, well, you’re my adult friend,” he says as he purposely looks her up and down.

She smiles a little sadly and glances down at herself.

“Not exactly looking my best these days,” she sighs.

“What? You look good every day.”

She looks at him for half a second and looks away. He can tell her confidence is shaken by the loss of control over the case.

“Come here!” he says lightly.

She walks over and he gently pulls her down to kiss him.

“What are you going to do while I’m out?” she asks him.

“Uh, just work out, and… yeah, I have to call Sandy.”

“Okay. I should probably join you in the gym. Gonna go eat instead,” she’s says in a regretful yet amused voice.

“Hey, stop that. Seriously. I have to work out,” he says seriously. “You know. Every day it has to happen. But that’s my shit.” She nods. “You look hot.” He means it but she laughs it off.

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you when I’m back,” she says without a lot of feeling.

….

On December twenty-fourth, the Waystar Christmas party is in full swing. The cocktails are flowing, the festive attire is sparkling, the band is playing, and Rava is grimacing. Kendall looks over and doesn’t miss the expression.

“I know, last place you want to be right now,” he sighs. “It’s only 4:00. We’ll be out of here in no time. I just have to talk to Dad.”

She nods because she gets it and she sighs because she doesn’t want to get it.

Logan’s across the room and she hopes he’s feeling as un-grinch-like as possible. She watches Kendall eyeing him cautiously.

“This is the last chance I have to save Vaulter,” he says nervously. “Next time I see him- I don’t even know. A month? Argestes? It’ll be too late.”

“Oh yeah,” Rava says. “I forgot about that trip.” She always liked it out there, minus all the networking. “Well, go do it. You can get this taken care of and we can go home?”

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You know, it’s kind of fucked up that there’s this party when Mark Johnson…” his eyes fall to the floor for a moment. She squeezes his hand.

“I know. But you’re here to fix the Vaulter situation for all those people. They need you,” she reminds him.

He nods and takes a deep breath and summons the strength to walk to where Logan is standing with Colin not far behind.

She watches from across the room as Kendall approaches his dad. He starts off nice, and she can see his harder business persona come out as she’s sure they’re getting into the nitty-gritty. After a surprisingly brief conversation, Kendall bounds back over to Rava.

“It’s done. I convinced him. He’s keeping it.”

“Just like that?”

“This- this is a new level, I think. I’m playing him, Rav. We’re playing chess. Like equals. He fucking listened to me.”

“He’s listened to you plenty of times before!”

“Yeah- yeah, but this was another level. This was real shit, like- there was respect there. I showed him I did the work, I had the full answer for everything he asked. He said Roman agreed with me.”

Rava pats his arm.

“Honestly, that’s great, Ken.”

He’s basking in the glory of being heard as Rava glances around at the attendees. Her eyes stop when she sees a tall, thin blonde with fake cleavage spilling out of her tight dress walking by and smiling at Kendall.

“Hi, Kendall,” she says in a breathy voice as she passes them.

Rava turns her head and swings it back around to stare at him. He’s looking at his watch.

“Um, who was that?” she asks, eyes a little wider than necessary. He shrugs.

“Nobody, just, uh, some girl I went on a date with last year.” She keeps staring at him. “It was nothing.”

Rava looks down at her corporate-appropriate dress and takes in a bit of a sharp breath.

“Oh. You… went out with her?”

“One time.”

“Oh. Okay.” She raises her eyebrows and wishes for a mirror. He saw her, he asked her out.

“What?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing, you know, just that she can’t be more than twenty-five.”

He shakes his head and tries to brush it off.

“I don’t know how old she is. It doesn’t matter, it was nothing.”

She reaches behind her head to fix her hair.

“Mmhmm. Okay.”

He half-smiles at her. She can’t seriously be worried about this.

“Nothing even happened.”

She grimaces at the idea of anything happening, of him comparing her to that girl. Nothing happened. She wonders if they kissed at the end of the date. The idea makes her sick.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, I promise.”

She tries to seem casual, like she’s making a joke.

“But you wanted it to, though.”

He looks right at her.

“Actually, I didn’t. She’s really not my type.”

“Right, yes, I’m sure you hate perfect, beautiful, young-”

He smiles.

“Stop. You are perfect, beautiful, and young.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Oh, right,” she says, walking ahead of him a step. He reaches for her hand and grabs it.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know, the dermatologist?”

He shakes his head and laughs.

“Don’t say that.”

She looks back at him.

“Stop smiling!” she insists.

“I’m smiling because this is ridiculous.”

“Oh, you were so miserable without me,” she says in a mocking tone.

He looks at her seriously.

“I was.”

She shifts uncomfortably and he slips his arms around her waist, looking into her eyes. She squirms a little and avoids looking at him.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” She starts moving away and he keeps her there.

“Hey. I mean it, I was.”

She wrinkles her nose.

“Please, I didn’t even look like that when I was twenty-two.”

“I don’t want you to look like that.”

“You asked her out.”

He doesn’t know whether the truth is better or worse.

“Actually-“ He drops his head down and looks up at her. He tells himself not to mention that Rava had a whole pseudo-relationship and tries not to smirk or gloat.  “She asked me out.”

She sucks in one cheek.

“Oh, good. A slutty model,” she says semi-seriously.

“I wouldn’t know. One date, Rav.” He gazes at her and she avoids eye contact. “I-I wished she was you. I fucking wished everyone I talked to was you.”

She sighs and finally looks at him.

“Really?”

“Of course, really. Fuck, don’t get all… fake at the doctor.” He shakes his head. “You’re perfect. Come here.” He pulls her in and she leans against him. She’s briefly amused that he’s blissfully unaware of her expertly-done skin treatments.

“Does she know you’re married again now?” she asks in that fake-joking voice again as she squeezes him to her.

“If she reads Page Six.” He still can’t believe she would care about this. “Can we go home now?”

She looks up at him with a small smile and imitates the girl’s voice sarcastically.

“Yes, Kendall.”

He shakes his head again.

“Stop. Let’s go.” He puts his arm around her and they walk out.

….

On December twenty-fifth, Rava hands Kendall a wrapped present after the kids have gone to take post-unwrapping naps. He takes a look at the gift tag.

I thought about sneakers, but this seemed somehow even better. Something for the man who has everything.

The phrase used to be a dark joke to him. He'd thought he had nothing for the longest time and it had always been impossible to explain to anyone but her. He opens the wrapping paper and beholds a well-loved journal.

“It’s my diary,” she smiles. “From the first years we first started dating. I thought you’d like to read what I- well, how I saw you, versus how you saw yourself.”

“I didn’t even know you kept this!” he says with wonder. He opens it up and starts flipping through it, catching snippets on different pages.

If he could take a month away from the Roys, he’d start to see how brilliant he actually is.

I wish I knew how many colors are in Ken’s eyes. I tried to count them once but he blinked. I could honestly look into those eyes forever.

I didn’t know it was even possible to think about someone so much. All I want to do is lie in bed with him every minute. It’s like I physically need him. I don’t know how I’m going to focus on classes when I have to go back to law school next week. I can’t be away from him anymore!

He’s speechless when he looks up at her again. She’s blushing but she’s happy it’s having the intended effect. He glances back down and flips the page one more time.

If Kendall doesn’t propose to me this year I might actually die!!

He chuckles and points to that line, holding it up for her to see.

“Wow,” he laughs. “Good thing I did.”

“Yeah,” she smiles and they gaze at each other. “It is a good thing.”

“This- this is amazing,” he says. “I don’t even- wow.” He looks at her again. “Can’t believe this is real.” He looks down at the book and smiles again. “So, uh, I guess you’re kind of into me.”

“Mmm,” she says as she kisses him. “I guess so.”

He pauses.

“Did you really count the colors in my eyes?”

She smiles.

“Four,” she whispers in his ear.

“Four? No, three.”

“You’re missing the darker green,” she says.

It’s his turn to feel a little hot in his face.

“Okay. So, you’re actually obsessed with me,” he smiles.

“And look how happy you are about it!” she replies.

“You just took out all the bad stuff,” he insists.

She shrugs. “No missing pages!” He flips through the whole thing again. She’s right.

“Okay, I’m absolutely reading every word of this today. But first, I’ll get your gift.”

He pulls out a wrapped gift that’s clearly a frame.

“I don’t know if this is- yeah, this is probably not, you know, great, but- you said you missed when I did art, so…”

She pulls the paper off of a close-up sketch of her smiling in bed, sheets wrapped below her bare shoulders and slightly messy hair framing her face. Sunlight streams through the window behind her.

“How I see you,” he says. “Versus how you see yourself,” he adds.

“I can’t believe you drew this,” she whispers. “It’s so beautiful, I love it. When- when did you even have time to do this?”

He shrugs.

“You know. I made it work. Got the idea at the wedding, the way you woke up,” he smiles. “I just think you should know…” they look at each other. “You know.” She nods. “Come here,” he says quietly.

She cuddles up to him and they wrap their arms around each other. Today, they do have everything.

Chapter 14 💗

[jovalencia]

carmennnnnnnnnn hi. I hope u get a jovalencia icon to match the url cuz I love crisana but Joa & kelsey is simply the vibe. also since u didn’t ask i hope u saw my post about me driving crush girl and her roommate and their stuff to their little yurt transportation tomorrow . Since I’m down bad or whatever the fuck. anyways what is ur new job i hope it goes well i hope u get to hang out w the people you like at home for the summer and replenish ur energy a little etc etc and i preemptively hope school part 2 goes ok for u <3 also love that ur sister is being nice to u now that’s all ok bye :)

hiiiiiiii maya literally jo and kelsey are so important they’re literally us and skam austin is the american remake and dani is coming to america so ofc those have to be the matching icons come on. I did see your post about driving crush girl and I love that you’re using it as a substitute for being emotionally vulnerable that’s very funny. hope you get to kiss her some day if not get well soon. I work at the gas station!!!! which is suuuuuuch a first summer home from college job and also half the reason I applied was so I could be like **** in ********* by ******** on ao3 and there’s not enough money in the world to make me unredact that but just know it’s a fanfiction I read last august and it changed my life because it was literally august before I started my first year of college. you know how it is. and thank you I hope it goes well too but if it doesn’t I know it has an expiration date of mid september. god bless. I also hope I can hang out with some people I like maybe even some old friends I haven’t seen since I graduated that would be nice. and again I also hope that next school year goes well for me bc if it doesn’t I swear to God I’m dropping out I can’t do this shit. but I will keep a positive outlook for now, I have a class on dinosaurs next quarter :). also my sister is nice to me most of the time but she’ll randomly say something so mean like most recently that I can recall it was the night we washed wendi and her friend (side note this friend is like if kelsey russell skam austin was a real person like it’s actually scary how similar they are) had just sent me all the pics and I have a spam account on Instagram that I Love posting on and I was trying to figure out what pictures to use and I guess my sister was annoyed with me bc she got all mad and was like “carmen.” and I was like “what” and she just said “you’re not that special” like okay???? I just wanted to post silly pictures of my cat. I brought it up yesterday and she was like “I don’t remember saying that why did I say that” like bitch idk. but yes it’s true she doesn’t actively call me a horrible person to my face anymore🫶 that was when she was dating her horse girl ex. weird ass era. speaking of the horse girl ex, she’s giving kelsey friend the daniel treatment rn like she’s being so rude and poor kelsey friend feels so awful. like FUCK horse girl ex for REAL

[moonfurthetemmie]

i know people are super interested and I’m sure no one else has said anything like this before (sarcasm) so:

This is my job. I am the bitch they’re paying minimum wage to go pick up your groceries for you. There’s at least one item I can’t find every day, and the system that gives me my list of shit to find and scan will suggest things we can substitute the ordered item with. You can say you can’t find these items, and it may or may not suggest more. There’s an order it goes through when suggesting substitutions:

1. “Customer preferred.” The person who ordered it specified what would be an acceptable substitution.

2. “Suggested.” The system has a suggestion. I don’t fully know how this works, though I suspect it has something to do with ‘tags’ on the items (like tumblr/ao3 tags to specify what the thing is about; not price tags) and/or matching words in the item names. With bread it’ll go through every goddam brand we have that sells that specific type (we keep being out of sourdough for some reason?). Sometimes it stops after one. And sometimes it’ll skip straight to -

3. “Idfk man. Find something.” You gotta make an executive decision! However. There are parameters that need to be met.

Firstly, it has to be more or less the same kind of thing. I could theoretically substitute the lactose-free milk with regular dairy milk, but not a loaf of bread. Pretty sure, anyway. I haven’t really tried.

Secondly, it has to be within a certain price range relative to the ordered item.

And then after that if you can’t find anything it just goes to the next item on the list, and maybe someone will have to go look in the back to Acquire the item that wasn’t found on the sales floor. Sometimes the system won’t even bother to suggest a substitution. I think it depends on whether or not we even have a comparable item (not very many) or the customer said the didn’t want substitutions? I’ve been on the customer side once. Usually my grandma and/or mom deals with ordering stuff. Anyways

I think we can all agree that a video game is not comparable to tampons. It’s also about $35 more than the tampons.

Also…Look, I work at the neighborhood market, where we don’t have fancy shit like clothes, or crafts, or electronics, and I generally don’t go to the big Walmart to get groceries with people, but I’m prrreeeetty sure electronics and health & beauty are really far from each other.

The distance doesn’t matter to the system; it’ll make me run all the fuck the way across the store for a substitution if it wants, but a human wouldn’t go out of there way to run across the GODDAMN SUPERCENTER just to get you a $39 game to replace your tampons for the bit.

So uh. I think the system might’ve glitched. Just a little. Just a little glitch. Just a tiny little blip (sarcasm. Definitely glitched, and pretty badly)

[ghostdrinkssoup]

*jazz hands* hey dudes I’m back with more hannibal notes/reactions (s1 ep11) except it’s just the silly goofy ones 🥹

omg is chilton back ??

“poke around a psychopath’s mind, bound to get poked back” haha hi there s2

ocean imagery, ice turning into water, drowning 😳 (twotl is that you ??)

well at least gideon knows how to hold himself accountable 🤷‍♀️

chilton is such a gaslighter omg

“worked for me” killing as a substitute for divorce almost worked for hannibal too 😩 *mizumono flashbacks*

see will would lowkey be the most op serial killer ever. he absorbs all their techniques and shit, he’s like the avatar except instead of past lives it’s all the killers he’s analysed LMAO

^^ will really could’ve picked any career field. like I know his empathy is a ✨metaphor✨ but also if he can presumably get into anyone’s head and relive their experiences then damn he could really do whatever he wants but no, his dream career was this bullshit </333

alternate reality where will gives up being a criminal profiler and becomes a gothic poet like if u agree

“I just feel like somebody else” - hannibal is just sitting there listening to will unravel like 😊

“I feel crazy” “it is what you fear most” omg he really is just like me fr 😩

“will, you have me as your gauge” - I love how this is hannibal feigning security (and being a manipulative piece of shit) but also hannibal being like 🥺 I want you to rely on me. I am your paddle <3 I hate him he’s the worst therapist and boyfriend to ever exist

^^ also the idea that they’re the same 😳

^^ also FORESHADOWING

HELLO AGAIN WATER IMAGERY

YOO I DIDN’T THINK THE TONGUE/CHURCH MURDER WOULD COME BACK I SAID I KINDA WANTED TO SEE IT IN EP7 LMAOOO *flashback music*

be careful what you wish for kids

oh freddie we’re really in it now

“gave you something better to do with your tongue than wag it” THAT WAS SO OUT OF POCKET LMAO

not the dating imagery again </333 why do all the killers in this show want to date hannibal,, my fave romcom fr,,

gideon is like *tears up* freddie don’t fuck with me rn

chesapeake ripper mimicking kills and throwing himself into the fray? that’s very copycat killer of him… it’s almost like they’re the same- *gunshot*

severed arm, observatory, boom gottem

hannibal was like 🙄 yeah I got your invite, I saw on my ipad. I don’t want to fucking date you *calls the cops*

hannibal is such a snitch damn

the beginning of chilton’s looney tunes suffering arc (it only gets worse from here)

FREDDIE JUST STANDING THERE 😭 this would be so horrible to witness jesus

“I feel like fluid, like I’m spilling” WATER IMAGERY

don’t let go jack *my heart will go on plays distantly in the background*

^^ this appearing in the same episode as all that ice imagery? this really is titanic omg

“it’s hard to shake off something that’s already under your skin” this line BANGS

doesn’t will like,, run off in this scene?

THE STAGGGG OH SHIT

it’s gonna take him to hannibal’s house omfg

GIDEON IS GONNA FOLLOW WILL

NVM

why is will following the stag to hannibal lowkey romantic LMAOOO he’s gotta follow his heart and mental illness <3

“I was expecting the chesapeake ripper… not his boyfriend”

WILL IN THE CAR he’s not gonna walk to hannibal’s BSDBBSBD

NOT GIDEON CALLING WILL ILL GET ROASTED ??? TAKE THE L ???

gideon delivering will to hannibal all sheepish like “man sorry to do this I know it’s a bit awkward but I found your man out in the wild and thought I should probably take him home” 😭

HANNIBAL’S FACE LMAOOO he really said 😟

hannibal said no more girlboss only gaslight

GIDEON’S FACE HE’S LIKE WTF

hannibal deserved everything he got in s2 he was so fucked for this

the saddest thing about this is hannibal is the only person will trusts enough to be vulnerable and open with,,, the only one he feels safe enough to breakdown in front of. he’s a safe presence in his mind *screams in agony*

“he’s had a mild seizure” “that doesn’t seem to bother you” “… I said it was mild” NDNDHHD FUCK WHY IS THAT SO FUNNY

^^ whenever hannibal’s hypocrisy is pointed out to him he’s always so confused like “??? god guys it’s not like I HATE will I care about him ?? I’m his paddle ?? I’ll set his brain on fire and gaslight him to the point of mental collapse but it’s not like the seizure was that bad 🙄 he’s literally fine”

WHY ARE BOTH WILL AND HANNIBAL FUCKING ALANA OVER THIS EPISODE 😭😭😭

hannibal rlly said I want her GONE (it was very rude of her to kiss will 💔 god he’s petty)

hannibal being sweet to will now is so sick and twisted,, not the little smile,, I hate him

“I’m worried about alana” SHUT UP

alana :((( I’m sorry queen

BEDELIA ??? hello there <3 *thinking lesbian thoughts*

hannibal fr is like a child, he’s throwing around his favourite stuffed toy thinking it’ll be fine if the arm breaks, or an eye falls off. he’s too rough with no real regard for the consequences 😩

oh hannibal *head in my HANDS*

[ikiprian]

Oh shit, this is tight as hell. Jack would be such a chaotic teacher, so enthusiastic and supportive. Hold on, now hear me out:

The whole Fenton family moves to Gotham. 

At first it was going to be just Jazz, pursuing a doctorate at Gotham University. With Gotham’s recently-confirmed high levels of ambient ectoplasm, and the high rate of supers (both hero and villain), it’s the perfect place for her to do research! 

(Her thesis investigates something like the relationship between long term ecto-exposure and deviant behavior, specifically criminal and anti-criminal.)

Now, Jazz ends up good friends with the local librarian. The library’s her favorite study spot, and she and Barbara have a lot in common! Almost too much in common, actually. Odd hours, combat experience, increased signs of stress during Batman Inc. sightings, even those across the country… Jazz wonders if Babs knows anything about looking out for reckless superheroes. Or superheroing, herself?

And then Danny decides he’d like to tag along, too. He and Jazz hadn’t spent much time together after growing up and graduating college, and that’s a damn shame. If there’s an emergency in Amity, Red Huntress can handle it. Besides, since the treaty, the ghosts haven’t been hostile. Phantom hasn’t fought anyone outside of ghost-typical social combat since high school. Teacher shortage means he can work anywhere! After excelling as an overqualified substitute at various Gotham public schools, he lands a swanky spot on recommendation as a long-term sub at Gotham Academy.

His brightest, most chronically exhausted senior has a lot of concerning signs. Tim is clearly above Honors-level chemistry, but he dumbs himself down in class discussions. He calls out sick a lot, always with a believable excuse, but always after a major supervillain move. He doesn’t do anything that tip Danny off as a mandated reporter, but like recognizes like.

Then Jack and Maddie, the Drs. Fenton, receive a call from an old pal at Gotham U. At this point, they’re famous for discovering an entire parallel dimension of ecto-entities, and as advocates for ecto-entity, metahuman, and nonhuman sentient rights. And, of course, as the developers of Team Phantom’s tech, back in the day. She’d like for them to come down as guest lecturers for her undergrads. Ultimately, they like it so much they apply to teach a course in the next cycle.

(Maddie makes frequent appearances as a teacher for the campus self-defense club. She is adored and feared.)

They end up with a curious freshman in their class. Stephanie Brown is bright and clearly interested in their work, popping into office hours and asking all sorts of questions. They can’t help but feel, though, like she’s keeping tabs on them. It’s hard not to feel that way when they find a listening device hidden in their office. Ah, but who can blame young Stephie! Too many passionate Gotham University professors go crazy during their tenure. They don't know how she's connected, exactly, but of course the local supers would want to check them out! They leave the bug be.

(Ellie pops in to visit. While poking her head into random buildings-- literally-- she ends up sticking her nose right into a safehouse.)

(Black Bat gives her a hesitant wave. Ellie waves back.)

(She goes back to Danny and Jazz’s, and politely says nothing.)

Mr. Fenton is a competent teacher. Almost too competent.

If Mr. Daniel Fenton had any more than a BS (with a minor in education), Tim would’ve flagged his profile as a potential Rogue. That’s the way of most charismatic academics, at least in Gotham. (Got a PhD? Instant watchlist.) Instead, he’s Gotham Academy’s newest celebrity, as a young, passionate, out-of-towner substitute while the chemistry teacher’s on maternity leave.

Tim gets the hype. Fenton seems to genuinely love teaching, and is invested in the welfare of the student body. He hands out bananas during exam week, hosts a “study habits seminar” each month to coach effective learning strategies, and the third time Tim falls asleep in his class, he even pulls Tim aside to ask if he’s doing okay. With all the late work he accepts and the protein bars he sneaks Tim, he’s every teen vigilante’s dream teacher. He could’ve been Tim’s favorite.

In fact, Mr. Fenton was Tim’s favorite. Up until Tim walks into Mr. Fenton’s chemistry classroom for a forgotten textbook, an hour after the final bell.

On the board where tallied scores for today’s review game had been kept, “THE CHEMISTRY BEHIND DR. CRANE’S FEAR GAS: ANXIOGENICS, NERI’S, & YOU,” is now scrawled. A detailed diagram of the human endocrine system projects in front of a small crowd of adoring and attentive students.

Fenton is wrist-deep in the skull cavity of an anatomical model. A short tug, and out pops the brain.

It’s plastic. It’s fake.

Tim identifies the nearest emergency exit.

Fenton turns to the door, and in the dark classroom with the projector illuminating half his face, his eyes almost seem to flash red. “What’s up, Tim?” he asks. His friendly grin is too big for his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the Just Science League!”

[OR: Danny’s a science teacher at Tim’s school. Gotham’s a pretty wild place, even for someone who grew up a superhero in a ghost-infested town, so he takes it upon himself to start a club teaching kids how to manage themselves in the event of a crisis. These Gothamites are pretty hardy, but a little extra training never hurt anybody! And he suspects one of his students might be a teen vigilante, like he’d been, back in the day. As a senior super, it's Danny’s duty look out for him! Surely, this is the subtlest and most appropriate way to give the kid pointers.]

[Tim immediately assumes supervillain.]

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS DAYLIGHT Vol.9 Mukami Yuma [TRACK 4]

Original title: ぬくもり

Source: Diabolik Lovers Daylight Vol. 9 Mukami Yuma

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Tatsuhisa Suzuki

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 + Epilogue

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 4: Warmth

*Knock knock*

[00:05] “...Sure. Come on in.”

You enter Yuma’s room.

“What’s wrong? Do ya need somethin’...?”

You show him the hand cream in your hand.

“Ahー The thing ya mentioned the other day, huh? An ointment, huh…? Will that shit really work?”

You shrug.

[00:32] “Hahaha…Oi, ‘maybe’ is your answer? Doesn’t sound very convincin’.”

You promise you did your best to make it.

“Ya made it yerself? It’s a medicine, right? Is it really that easy to make?”

You explain.

“Fine…It contains several herbs and oils, right? If ya made it, I don’t mind testin’ it out.”

*Rustle*

[01:04] “Come on, put it on.”

You put the ointment on his hands.

“...Hm~ It smells nice. Of different flowers and plants. Hah���Like the scent of the sun.”

*Rustle* 

[01:31] “Hmー It made my hands all shiny…Will this really help heal the cuts?”

You explain to Yuma that you will need to repeat the treatment. 

“Eeh? Ya have to do this multiple times? What a drag…”

You suggest he wears gloves to speed up the process. 

“Eh? Gloves? Oh shut up.Who cares ‘bout warmin’ up the skin. Besides, I don’t have any gloves anyway.”

You frown. 

[01:58] “Ah…Oi! Grab hold of my hands! As a substitute for the gloves!”

You seem hesitant.

“Oh come on…Just do it. It works better if ya apply heat, right? Yer hands are warm after all.”

*Rustle rustle*

“Heh…Yer hands are so tiny. Only ‘bout half the size of mine. But still…They’re warm. …Hm? Why did ya close yer eyes?”

You tell him that you were praying for his hands to heal quickly. 

[02:42] “Haah…? I abandoned God and became a Vampire, remember? I don’t think he’d bother healin’ my wounds. You’re just wastin’ yer time by prayin’...”

You shake your head.

“Haah…Well, ya always put me first, no matter what ya do…In that case, while you’re at it, won’t ya add in a lil’ prayer for yerself as well? ‘Kay?”

You explain why Yuma is so important to you.

[03:19] “...!! …Hey, oi. Sow. Listen up. I’m gonna ask a question, so give me an honest answer, ‘kay? Promised.”

You nod.

“...Wouldn’t ya be happier without me?”

You seem surprised and ask him why he would ask such a question.

“It doesn’t matter why. Just gimme an answer.”

You shake your head.

[04:02] “Is that so? I’ve only ever caused ya trouble, haven’t I? …That’s why I don’t understand why ya would say that I protect ya. …Ugh. Hey!”

*Rustle*

[04:18] “No lies. …Are you truly happy with me? I told ya earlier, didn’t I? Ya can’t give me any blood in yer current condition. If ya think back, I’ve feasted on your blood so many times in the past. Often even to the point of makin’ ya faint. If I weren’t a Vampire, ya should have a much easier life! Am I wrong!?”

You stick with your standpoint. 

“How so!? How exactly have I protected ya!? Shouldn’t ya say I’ve taken from ya instead!?”

[04:57] “...!! Ah…The fuck…? So you’re sayin’ that just by bein’ to yer side…I’m keepin’ ya safe?”

You confirm your words.

“Haah!? Excuse me…? You just…feel that way? That’s all?”

You nod.

“Kuh…Haah…Heh. Haha...Hahaha…Ahー I guess it all depends on the perspective, huh? …Well, I guess that works too. Hahaha…”

Yuma embraces you.

[05:57] “Yeah…You’re right. Who needs logic anyway? It doesn’t matter. What really matters is how you feel inside. That’s it.”

[06:20] ( At that moment, something clicked inside of me. It was then that I figured out how I felt. )

*TIMESKIP*

Yuma enters the living room. 

[06:45] “I’m only sayin’ this once so listen up! We’re done with these family meetings! She belongs to me! I won’t let any of ya guys tell me what to do. Don’t ya dare tell her ‘bout her condition. I won’t forgive ya if ya dare take away her smile. …If any of ya dare spill the tea, I won’t show any mercy, even towards y’all. Understood!?”

*THUD*

[07:21] “...Heh. Haha…This is for the best…It’s what I’ve wanted to do all along.”

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[bluejayblueskies]

How about an AU where Jon and Gerry have been dating since Uni and have managed to keep it secret from everyone (including Elias and Gerttrude) by complete accident?

send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons about it! requests closed!

by accident you say? 👀

1. jon and gerry meet somewhere completely ridiculous (yet also completely mundane) where the chance of them running into one another was like.... one in a million. like, maybe jon's class got out early and so he decided to walk a little further from campus to try a new coffee shop that he's never tried before and never will again because he realizes he really hates the drinks and that it's not worth the walk, and gerry is in the area looking into something leitner-related and he looks down at his phone a bit too long and runs smack into jon when he's walking away from the coffee shop with a lukewarm travel cup of hot chocolate because they were out of tea (what kind of coffee shop is out of tea? jon thinks with a scowl).

the hot chocolate spills all over gerry and jon's like 'oh god sorry, do you- do you want me to do something?' and gerry's about to brush past him when he sees the person he was looking for and shit, they're looking this way so without thinking he just... grabs jon and pulls him into the nearest shop. which happens to be selling something weird, idk, little ceramic figurines. and gerry does Not know what to say because like, he can't tell this stranger that he's hiding from maybe-a-fear-avatar! so he's like 'uh. you can make it up to me by.... helping me pick out a figurine? for, er. my mother. yes.'

so they're just walking through this shop, gerry's shirt still wet with hot chocolate, jon Very confused and also Very late for class but somehow nervous to just leave, so they look at figurines together. gerry keeps looking back out the window and nope, maybe-an-avatar is still there, and now they're sitting on the bench and it doesn't look like they're planning on moving anytime soon and gerry really doesn't want to take the chance and gamble that the maybe-avatar won't recognize him or realize what he's looking for. so gerry keeps shooting down every recommendation jon gives him with some progressively-more bullshit reasons--'oh, my mum already has that one' 'that one's too expensive, i can't afford it' 'that's too small' 'i don't like the way that one's looking at me' 'my mom's allergic to dogs, actually'--until jon's finally like 'okay what is going on and can i leave now?'.

and the maybe-avatar is still out there and gerry's certain now that they're watching him and he's suddenly very aware that he's spent a long period of time with this guy whose name he actually didn't quite catch and that it definitely looks like they're working together and ah, fuck, if i let him leave and he gets targeted because of me i'd feel horrible. so gerry sighs and thinks fuck it and is like 'listen i'm gonna level with you. i'm here looking for a book and there is somebody watching me right now and i know how that sounds but it's really not as shady as you think and also really not my fault but it is my fault that you're here too so. yeah. sorry i don't know if it's safe for you to leave.'

and all jon can think to say is 'a book?'.

and gerry's like 'don't worry about that bit, you really wouldn't understand' and jon gets all bristly and says primly, 'well, i'm a lit major and i work at the university library maybe i could help' and gerry can't help but laugh and say, 'really hope there's not a leitner in your uni library, mate'. and then jon gets this wide-eyed expression on his face like he's just seen a ghost and says 'what did you just say?' and before gerry can deflect again jon says, more intensely, but also hesitantly, 'is... is it called a guest for mr. spider?'.

and gerry's like 'um. no, it's not' and jon deflates a bit but now gerry's curious and he's like 'why?' and jon tries to deflect like 'oh clearly i misunderstood' but gerry's not budging and he's like 'no, no--have you read a leitner? gold bookplate, super fucked-up consequences?' and jon just goes pale which is really all the confirmation gerry needs. gerry feels the need to clarify that he hates them too--that he burns them whenever he gets the chance.

weakly, jon says, 'there... there's more than one?'. and then, a bit stronger: 'you- you're looking for another one? here? and you're going to burn it?'

gerry: yes, that's the plan. why--?

jon, without hesitation: i want to help

and maybe gerry is hesitant at first but, well. it seems like jon is already fully in this, so he reluctantly agrees, and they hunt down the leitner together and gerry lets jon burn it and then they're friends (and it really doesn't take long at all for that to transition into partners).

2. gertrude and elias missing that they're dating is a comedy of errors, including a lot of rather dramatic near misses including, but not limited to:

- jon always leaves a room just before one of them enters

- gerry always talks ambiguously about the person helping him hunt down leitners; elias always assumes he means gertrude, gertrude always assumes he means his mother. this is exploited to a comedic level

- getrude thinks 'going on a date' is code for gerry having a new lead on jurgen leitner and leaving to go chase it down

- when jon joins the institute as a researcher and runs into gerry in the building for the first time, he greets him neutrally in a mutually-agreed display of professionalism while working. gertrude and elias both remark at the fact that 'it's so nice that jon/gerry has a friend'

- gertrude, opening the door to the break room and bustling around inside, looking over at gerry where he's standing in front of the counter, jon sat atop it with his legs bracketing gerry's hips (they have very clearly just been kissing): oh hello gerard. jonathan. talking about leitners again?

jon, a bit embarrassed, slipping into Ultra Professionalism to compensate: i was just discussing with mr. keay the details of case number 0031211 regarding ms. cortena's experience with the talking vase--

gertrude, not at all interested, already knows that it's fake: right, right, carry on then

*after she's gotten her tea and left*

gerry, holding in laughter: 'mr. keay'?

jon, blushing: shut up gerry

3. gerry, casually, not actually aware that getrude doesn't know that he and jon are dating: yeah so then i had to leave my date early to go chase down this leitner and jon was not pleased

gertrude, after a hum of acknowledgement: how unfortunate. i'm not sure how jonathan's opinion on the matter is relevant, however. was he disappointed that you didn't ask him to track down the leitner with you?

gerry, Confused™️: he was.... at the date?

gertrude: at the date? whatever for?

gerry, now staring openly: because i was on a date with him? because we're dating? wait, did you not know that?

gertrude, not willing to admit that she missed that for nearly three years: of course i knew that, gerard. don't be foolish.

gerry, now even more confused: but--

gertrude, without missing a beat: i trust the leitner hunt went well, then?

gerry, after a long pause: um. yes?

gertrude, nodding: good.

4. there's an institute party and everyone's allowed to bring a plus-one

elias, noticing that jon's alone at the party: ah hello, jonathan. no plus one for you today?

jon: no, gerry couldn't make it, unfortunately. family business.

elias, somehow Oblivious, and also very Old Fashioned and way too familiar with his employees: quite. though typically, plus ones are of the romantic capacity. it's nice that you would consider gerard an acceptable substitute though, i suppose

jon, Bi confusion and suddenly unsure if his boss is homophobic: um. it.... it would have been in a romantic capacity?

elias, still Not Getting It: ah, i see. perhaps for the best, then--office parties don't make for pleasant first dates, in my experience

jon, unsure of how much of his personal life he wants to share with elias but not really wanting to pretend like he's not been dating gerry for going on three years now: um. it- it wouldn't be our first date. or- or really a date at all, just an- an event, i really don't think gerry would call this a date

elias, Getting it a little bit: ah. unfortunate, then. congratulations, i suppose, are in order. was it a recent engagement?

jon, ??????, biting the bullet: we've been together for three years, elias

5. jon, handing gerry a wrapped package on their fourth anniversary after they started dating: this is, um. this is for you

gerry, opening it and holding up the little ceramic figure of a dog: jon. is this--?

jon, in a rush: it's from that shop. where we, uh. where we met.

gerry, overcome with such love he really can't stand it, throwing all of his proposal plans out the window and digging the little square velvet box out of his pocket: jon can i ask you a question--

(jon is so surprised he just starts crying. it's only the fifth time gerry's ever seen him cry and he's so worried he said something wrong at first but then jon manages to say yes around his tears and jon wraps his arms around gerry tightly and buries his face in gerry's shoulder and whispers i love you and gerry hugs him tightly in return and says i love you, too, jon. i love you too.)

[bumblesimagines]

Forgotten Fairytale

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

I'm not afraid of this series not becoming as well loved as Green Thumb and I don't expect it to be popular. I've had the idea stuck in my head for a while and I'm getting it all out.

~

You looked over the artifacts the school had stored. You gave a small scoff, shaking your head as you noticed things that didn’t belong in a school.

“They call us thieves and hoarders yet half this shit was stolen off a corpse.” You muttered, stopping in front of a glass case protecting a sword.

“I wouldn’t suggest stealing that. It’ll be obvious.” You turned towards the redhead, sighing and tilting your head as she walked towards you.

“You’re a pain in the ass.” You looked back at the sword, eyes raking over it. 

“You know what this is?” You asked. Hope stood beside you, looking down at the sword. She shook her head, pursing her lips slightly.

“A man named Lord Jameson Wraith owned this sword. He was… a hunter of sorts and specialized in killing dragons. When he stabbed this through the chest of a dragon, the sword would light up and the dragon would burn from the inside. A gruesome, slow death. We were hunted like all others but it wasn’t just to protect humans. We were hunted for our meat, our teeth, and our scales. Humans declared war on us and when we fought back, we were erased from everyone's minds and deemed fairy tales where we continue to be killed by a so-called knight.” You explained, running your finger over the glass. 

“Some dragons were able to survive Malivore but as soon as they shifted… They were taken. They disappeared and left no trace.” You turned to look at Hope. The redhead stayed silent, a frown etched on her face.

“I’m sorry you lost your father. We’re working on finding Malivore and when we do, there’s a chance you’ll be able to see your father again.” Hope said softly, gaze still trained on the sword. 

“Where’s your mother? Alaric mentioned she was a vampire.”

“I was never able to meet her but.. I believe she’s dead.” You walked around the case, looking back up at Hope. You locked eyes with her, hearing her clear her throat.

“I’m sure she would’ve wanted to be in your life.” Hope offered a small smile, nails gently tapping against the case. 

“Are you being nice to me cause you need to find out more about me?” You asked, head tilting. Hope cocked a brow, eyes rolling as she turned away from you.

“Alaric really doesn’t trust me, does he?”

“He trusts you more than I do, that’s for sure. It’s just too much of a coincidence for you, a dragon, to show up when we’re dealing with monster after monster. If it weren’t for Alaric, I would’ve already done a spell on you.” Hope said as she walked around the room, features hard and serious. 

“A little witch spell wouldn’t work on me. You haven’t been trained to deal with dragons. If I was really one of those monsters, why didn’t I burn the building down and search for whatever it is that you have?” You asked curiously. Hope didn’t answer, thinking for a moment.

“Because you’d need to know if it was hidden.”

“Alaric asked if I felt a pull to this place. I suppose that means I would feel a pull towards the artifact, right?” You slowly walked towards her, a soft chuckle leaving you.

“You can kick and scream all you want, Red. I’m here to stay, whether you like it or not.” You reached out, twirling a strand of her red hair around your finger. Hope grabbed your wrist, pushing your hand away.

“You’re up to something and I’m gonna figure out what it is.” Hope sneered, eyes narrowed. She turned around, walking towards the doors. She almost bumped into a man on her way out, quietly apologizing before moving past him. The man entered the room, clasping his hands together. 

“I’m Dorian Williams, the liberian and occasional substitute teacher.” Dorian introduced himself, finding a table and taking a seat. He motioned for you to sit across from him. You did so, taking a seat and crossing your arms as you eyed him.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, (Y/N). I do have some suspicions that you might be after the artifact but.. You’re a kid. A kid who lost their father and wants answers. I’m not here to interrogate you about your intentions.” Dorian explained, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. 

“Do the other students know what I am?” 

“News spread like wildfire here, especially amongst the students so.. Yes, most likely. I can assure you that you’ll be treated like any other student-”

“So, Hope goes around telling every student she’s gonna figure out what they’re up to? No wonder she’s not popular.” Dorian let out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“I promise Hope isn’t always like that. The monster problem we’ve been having has everyone on edge. Do.. Do you know anything about Malivore?” Dorian asked, sitting up and leaning forward. 

“I thought you weren’t gonna interrogate me.” You tilted your head, brow cocked. Dorian hummed softly, nodding. 

“Alright, we can talk about something else. The neck is a dragon's soft spot, right?”

“Depends.” You answered, licking your lips as you reached up to touch your necklace. 

“If a dragon is older and stronger, a hit to the neck isn’t gonna hurt them much. It might piss them off and they could lose their ability to speak or even stop them from breathing fire cause it’ll hurt to do so. We can still kill someone by stepping on them or snacking on them. We were on the top of the fucking food chain and humans just couldn’t deal with that.” 

“I’m not your enemy, (Y/N). I want to believe I can trust you. You’re a child and like all children, you need guidance. I see a lot of rage built up inside you. I can tell from the way you interacted with Hope and from what I heard. Landon and Rafael aren’t your enemies. They’re new and they have a rough past. The first dragon they met wanted to burn them into a pile of ashes so.. I’d say they’re being pretty welcoming.” Dorian held a soft yet stern gaze. It was obvious that he sympathized with you but at the same time, he wasn’t gonna deal with an attitude.

“Tell me about your father. What was he like?” Dorian asked softly. Your gaze dropped to the table, fingers squeezing around the key. 

“I’d appreciate it if everyone could stop talking about him as if he’s dead.” You breathed out, standing up abruptly as your eyes began to sting from tears.

“I don’t need to be welcomed into this school. I’ve been to high school before, I’m not some little kid whose hand needs to be held.” You walked out of the room, heading back to your dorm room. You entered the dorm, shutting the door behind you. You sniffled softly, walking towards the window and opening it. You stepped out, taking a seat on the roof. You brought your knees up to your chest, feeling the wind gently hitting your face. 

“The key to food is passion, remember that (Y/N).”

“I thought it was seasoning.” You grinned as you watched your father cook. He hummed, nodding with a chuckle.

“It is but food from a chef who feels no passion for it will taste bland and bitter. It’s the same with any other job. If you hate it, it’ll show and you’ll only hurt yourself. That’s why I always tell you to look for things you’re interested in.” (F/N) said, handing you a wooden spoon so you could help with stirring the soup.

“What was mom passionate about?”

“Your mother was.. She was a hurricane.” He began, sighing deeply. “She destroyed everything in her path and took down anyone in her way. Not many people have fond memories of her but I saw the good in her. I didn’t love her romantically but I considered her a good friend of mine. I’ll always be grateful to her for giving me the best gift a man could ever have.” You smiled widely, chuckling softly and rolling your eyes. (F/N) smiled softly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“No treasure could ever compare to you.” 

You bit your bottom lip, letting out a shaky sigh. You weren't used to being alone. Your father had always been there to back you up, to support you, and to provide comfort when you needed it.

“Christ, pull yourself together. You come from dragons and a psycho vampire.” You mumbled, carefully going back inside. You picked up the phone, turning it on and waiting for it to power on completely. You responded to a text, watching a call pop up. You clicked the green button and held the phone up to your ear.

“I thought you said it was stupid to be in contact.” You took a seat on the bed.

“Yeah, well, I was expecting you to be back by now. You do know your fathers return lies in your hands, right? Only I can help you get him back but I’ll only do that if you give me what I need.”

“I have a plan-”

“Speed up that plan before I change my mind, (Y/N). While you were on your way to the school, I bumped into some of your new friends. They were a redhead and an older man. I believe the girl went by the name Jessica but I doubt it was her real name.” You let out a deep sigh, head tilting upwards. Hope Mikaelson was gonna be a real pain in the ass.

“Yeah, I’ve met the redhead.” You breathed out, dropping your head and pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“I just need you to relax, Ryan. I’ve got it handled but I really don’t need you fucking things up for me. You just keep up your end of the deal and I’ll keep up mine. You might be able to save my father but I can also keep you from helping yours.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact. Don’t bother me again unless it’s an emergency.” You pulled the phone away from your ear despite Ryan continuing to talk. You hung up and tossed the phone to the side, burying your face in your hands. 

“Am I paying for my mothers crimes?” You whispered. You flinched when you heard two knocks on the door, standing up and approaching it. You opened the door, staring at Josie.

“What do you want, baby face?” You asked with a frown, looking down at the ice cream tub in her hands. Josie’s brows furrowed at the nickname but she ignored it, choosing to raise the tub. 

“I.. I kind of eavesdropped on you and Dorian and saw you rush out. Ice cream always makes me feel better when I’m feeling down, so I brought you some.” Josie shrugged lightly. You blinked, opening your mouth but nothing came out. 

“If you don’t like ice cream then I could see if-”

“Thanks.” You cut her off, watching her relax and give a small smile. Josie nodded, perking up when you stepped aside so she could enter. Josie looked around the room, humming. 

“If you want, we could go shopping for some decorations tomorrow after school.” Josie said, moving one hand under her skirt as she sat down. You nodded, taking a seat beside her and subtly turning the phone off. Josie opened the lid of the tub, handing you a spoon and giving a small shy smile.

“Well, Welcome to Salvatore School. I’m pretty sure dad is still figuring out your class schedule.” 

“Dad?”

“Oh, uhm, the headmaster is my dad.” Josie shrugged, digging her spoon into the ice cream. Your brows raised, a small smile spreading across your face. 

“Really? You look nothing like him.. Which is a big compliment.” You grinned as Josie let out a soft giggle. Things were definitely starting to look up.

[autisticandroids]

do you know any fics about dean and meg fucking while thinking about cas? i think it will be hot and kinda sad.

i don’t and i’ve searched through like the entire dean/cas/meg tag on ao3 (there is NOTHING good it ALL sucks) BUT i can tell you that there is a secret good season nine that lives in my head (concocted in conjunction with @lesbiansamwinchester) where meg lives and they complete the trials at the end of season eight with meg as the demon they’re curing and sam dies BUT sam comes back as a ghost tied to the impala but doesn’t show himself to dean so dean doesn’t know, but he DOES show himself to kevin and kevin ends up stealing the impala and joyriding around the united states having a coming of age arc while sam just kinda. hangs out and tries to mentor him semi-successfully. BUT it does get them out of the bunker.

meanwhile in the bunker, dean is a depressed wreck because sam is dead and he can’t even sell his soul about it because hell is locked, meg is a wreck because she’s been a demon for thousands of years but now she’s a human so she has a “conscience” and she has to reckon with all her “atrocities” and also because meg has always been kind of a wreck she just puts it aside to follow orders or to survive but now there aren’t any orders and she’s not in any danger so she’s slowly going insane having to “face” her own “problems” and “trauma,” cas is a wreck because, well, he’s human now and also the angels fell and it’s his fault, but also like. he’s doing the best of any of them, because 1) he’s not being forced to interact with society he’s just hanging out in the bunker with his friends who are used to him and know how to interact with him and accept him, he is part of a community (even if it is only a community of three) and he belongs there, 2) Dean Is Being Nice To Him Right Now, always a prime factor in cas’ mental health, and 3) dean and meg both need him to take care of them emotionally and that’s something he can do, he’s good at being therapyfriend. (they also to an extent need him to care for them physically and he’s worse at that but he approaches it with gusto and he learns. this is normally a role dean takes on but he is too fucked up even for that during the early parts of this arc; one of the signs that he’s slowly healing is that he starts cooking for cas and meg). 

anyway one of the things that happens is that meg and cas are sleeping together, and it’s very much a no feelings, fuckbuddies thing (although they are both aware that meg is deeply in love with him and simply do not talk about it or admit they are aware of it out of deference to her pride. you know. normal shit) BUT dean’s ideas about sex are Diseased and he thinks meg and cas are Dating Seriously, With Intent To Marry And Everything, (because cas is innocent and pure and could NEVER just be having no strings attached sex, that’s for evil irredeemable man disease havers like dean) and he is just. so mad about it. That Demon Skank Is Manipulating Cas With Her Feminine Wiles, Just Like She Did To Sam (cut to meg crying in her room because cas will never love her back while cas obliviously tries to make everyone a nice breakfast because he loves his friends <3!) like dean is so mad. he’s sublimating his [REDACTED CAS RELATED FEELINGS] into protectiveness. 

now into this mix you throw in one (1) adrenaline and belligerent sexual tension filled post-hunt hookup between meg and dean. cas stayed home at the bunker on this one so dean and meg are alone which like never happens and they do some violence together and then they end up fucking afterwards because of the adrenaline rush and because the belligerent sexual tension they have is off the chain. this pushes dean into a complete meltdown because he’s like i fucked my best friend’s girl, the ultimate betrayal, how can i ever redeem myself oh god, oh woe is me, meanwhile when they get back to the bunker and dean goes and hides in his room, meg goes up to cas and is like by the way i fucked dean, wanna hear about it? and cas is like Yes Of Course Please Tell Me Every Detail I Am Very Intrigued and then they have deeply weird sex while cas updates his fantasies about what dean would be like as a lover. 

anyway normally i’m a “i enjoy megstiel because i love the tragedy of cas is in love with dean, but can’t have him, so he’ll use meg as a substitute / meg is in love with cas, but she can’t have him emotionally, so she’ll use fucking him as a substitute” person but actually i think they could work something out and be in a triad where everyone is emotionally satisfied. like i think meg being there might actually help cas get with dean, (”if you’re so concerned about protecting cas’ honor from my feminine wiles, you’ll just have to join us, dean-o” and then slowly lifting veils of plausible deniability until dean has to admit that he has feelings for cas), and once it’s less of an eternal pining situation with dean, cas might be able to genuinely give something back to meg, emotionally speaking. 

also if they’re both fucking cas, dean and meg’s dynamic is...... incredible. it’s a special little prickly but ride or die friendship that i’ve invented completely in my brain but i love. they’re the definition of vitriolic best buds. also they have sex but only when they’re housewifing around the bunker waiting for cas to get home like a nineteen fifties husband. (when i say housewifing i mean dean is obsessively cleaning the kitchen and making dinner and meg is sitting on the couch eating chips).

i know this isn’t quite the angst that you asked for but it’s what i have. in my brain.

[thefanficmonster]

Filterless

Corpse Husband x Plus-sized Reader (Female)

Warnings: Body Image Insecurities, Low self-esteem, Swearing

Genre:  Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Feeling comfortable in her skin has hardly ever been the case for Y/N who’s been struggling with body image issues all her life. However, they only get worse when she sees the ‘type’ of girls her crush is into.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request (hits close to home 😅) I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill it and post it but here it finally is and if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it, I hope you enjoy! ALSO! - Never forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Never compare your beauty to someone else’s. We’re all beautiful people and we all shine so brightly and uniquely. No one deserves to be compared to anyone when we’re all so different yet so incredible. Love you and appreciate you with all my heart, Vy ❤

If I ever need my ego taken down a few notches - it never does, it’s barely even present, to be honest - all I have to do is go on Instagram. To be honest, regardless of how I’m feeling, opening that app is bound to make my mood plummet and come crashing into the ground so hard it drives a hole in it - probably in the form of a broken heart.

Being a content creator myself, I often get asked questions about my absence on that social platform specifically. I mean, the questions are based and rational I guess, considering I’m not a faceless YouTuber and yet my Instagram account is void of any photos. It’s not like I don’t post at all - I do! I post on my story often but it’s more often than not scenery I find pretty or a poster I’ve made for a movie/video game. Bottom line is: I barely ever allow a picture of me to make it online. The most my fans are ever gonna get of me is a selfie which is also a super rare occurrence because of how long it takes me to take and choose one I don’t hate.

Ok, but how am I supposed to find the motivation to post any sort of picture of myself when on my timeline I’m always faced with people worthy of posting pictures of themselves. People with such perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or envious of those people - good for them! They know what they’re working with and they’re working it well. I have nothing against them, in fact, I love seeing people proud of their bodies no matter their size, shape or weight. Those are my role-models: people who are proud of themselves, their bodies, their attributes and capabilities and don’t hesitate to show them off. Those are the people I look up to but, deep down inside I know I’ll never be like.

Insecure about my body, having been referred to as ‘chubby’ and ‘squishy’ all my life. Inappreciative of the stuff I do: starting from my job as a graphic designer leading towards my job on YouTube - nothing I do, professionally or otherwise, satisfies me. Nothing I do is enough in my eyes because I feel incapable of ever being able to do enough. I’ve been called lazy and a half-asser a few too many times to be able to brush it off as a meaningless insult. 

With these problems I’ve had with myself and my own perception of who I am and the work I do, I’ve never had the time for romance or romantic relationships. I second-guess the intentions of everyone who ever shows any interest in me because in my mind I’m nothing special and I have nothing to offer - nothing attractive or likable at least. That being said, I haven’t even been one to make heart eyes at others either. I busy myself with my job and some side-gigs, brushing off any relationship questions with the excuse that I’m ‘just too busy to be in a relationship’ which is technically true.

Having spent twenty plus years with that mindset, one can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself catching feelings for someone. And that someone just couldn’t be any other than the biggest YouTube sensation at the moment - Corpse Husband.

I’m close friends with Poki - her and I were roommates at one point too - so her inviting me to play Among Us with them wasn’t so strange. One or two games, I thought, nothing unusual there, just friendly curtesy. I wasn’t expecting to warm up to the group of famous streamers nor did I expect them to welcome me among them so easily, mostly because my channel is so small and practically invisible to the YouTube algorithm. But soon enough, I became a permanent member of the team, making friends with every single one of those YouTubers I practically thought of a celebrities.

This journey of branching out to other content creators has proven itself to be surprisingly pleasant and has packed my book of friendships to the brim. All of that came unexpectedly, along with a wave of new subs and a higher view count. However, as I mentioned, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. I came to finally understand what my high school friends were talking about when they were head over heels for a boy - the butterflies in the stomach whenever he speaks your name; the importance of the laugh you share with him, how special and different it is; how cool it is to be impostors with him - ok they never said that, obviously, but it’s what I have as a substitute to the ‘when the two of you make eye-contact’ bullshit since Corpse and I have never seen each other in person. That is, of course, because of him being a faceless YouTuber and me being a self-conscious and insecure girl.

We do talk all the time though - texting, calling, chilling on Discord, you name it. Our conversations range from deeply philosophical to ones that might mislead someone into thinking we’re high. There’s no topic we haven’t touched upon and yet we still manage to find something new to talk about. We have plenty of similarities but we also never seem to run out of differences we slowly come across as we keep getting to know each other better and better. 

And somewhere along that journey I ended up catching feelings.

Human nature of wanting to connect with other people, I curse you for what you’ve done to me.

You might think I’m being overdramatic about the whole ordeal and that this is just a normal, natural occurrence many people experience in their life - some even daily. Well, not only am I far from used to it, but it’s also taking a toll of a different kind on me.

It’s like a constant slap to the face. 

That slap turned into a punch when Corpse and I started following each other on Instagram and I started getting daily reminders of how out of my depth I am with this crush on him. In over my head, especially when you look at all those girls whose pics and videos he reposts on his story. Imagine how that makes me feel, what that does to me - puts me back into the ‘Constantly not good enough‘ basket, the one I’ve been fighting to get out of all my life. In the past and in different contexts I could easily say that it was all just my mind hating me intensely but now - now that I know for a fact I’m not good enough and don’t fit Corpse’s criteria - it hurts ten times as much. I’m not one to do shit for someone’s attention or to attract someone’s eyes, but it really hurts my feelings. Often times, it also leads me to doing dumb things and making rash decisions. 

Like the one I made two days ago.

Imagine me cringing and shaking my head at my own stupidity as I admit this: I, in a frenzy, ordered a whole e-girl getup with overnight delivery. 

Wait, hold up, it gets worse. 

I received it yesterday and spent the whole day regretting that decision, but then, in my most insecure hours - which was somewhere around midnight - I equipped the get-up, took a picture and posted it on my Instagram page. First full body pic I’ve ever posted on there. First pic I’ve posted there of any kind. There to stay, not to be gone in twenty four hours. First pic, and it’s not even of me. It’s of who I want to be in order to fit someone’s criteria. And that fucking stings.

As you might imagine, I’ve spent today’s day regretting that decision as well. Recently my mood’s been nothing but regretting rash decisions that have surfaced under the influence of my ridiculous, constantly-present insecurities. And I would’ve probably gotten over it rather quickly had I not received a message from Corpse that read:

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic“

I didn’t open the message, I peeped at it as it was a notification on my lock screen. It’s still there, an unread notification. It’s been two hours since I received it and I cannot think of a single thing to say in response to that. 

Truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of so many things right now.

I’m afraid of becoming that girl in the photo, cause I’m most definitely not her.

I’m afraid of letting Corpse down by admitting I’m not her.

I’m afraid of what my own mind has made me do because it hates me so much and I’m terrified of what it might do in the future.

I’m afraid and stranded on things to do.

You can’t be her forever, you know. Being her won’t make your insecurities go away, it’ll only make them worse. Haven’t you learned that by now?

I sigh, frustrated and irritated with myself as I grab my phone and tap on the notification, finally deciding to face the music and allow my instincts to carry me through the interaction. Improvisation, that’s one of the few things I’m good at. Let’s hope it doesn’t fail me.

I’m just about to type out my response - not sure what it’s gonna say - when I give the message Corpse has sent me a second glance.  I furrow my brows, finding there’s more to it than that peep through the notification let me see.

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic. You’re personality is so bright and colorful, I could’ve never imagined you were into the darks and blacks“

Because I’m not

I fail to realize until the message has been sent that my thoughts are exactly what I typed out and sent.

And honestly, I’m glad. It feels like I’ve spoken my truth, like I’ve lifted a huge boulder off my chest.

With that rare confidence in mind I go on and delete the picture.

In its spot, I post a picture I just now took - a mirror selfie in my homey get-up consisting of hot pink sweatpants and an oversized blue tee, my hair in a messy bun, my face free of make-up.

I caption it: ‘Oops, had the e-girl filter on for the last one. This is filterless me tho so...Hi 🥴’

A lot better, I’m surprised to hear my inner voice say. I hope I don’t get used to all this kindness on my brain’s part, probably won’t last, but damn if I don’t milk every second of it.

Just then, I receive a new message from non other than Corpse.

“Now that’s the girl I see when I think of you. She’s super cute 😉“

My, oh my, who would’ve guessed Corpse has a game like that - and by that I mean the ability to make me blush so intensely with only a text message.

Now ain’t that better than being someone else, Y/N?

It sure is, it sure is.

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse

[tainbocuailnge]

fgo criticisms have been flaring up in the wake of dw’s sakura wars mobile game quitting after only half a year but I have a disease that makes me get defensive when people try to rip fgo apart as this uniquely terrible game with uniquely terrible devs so i’m going to complain about people who are complaining for a bit.

i hadn’t heard of the sakura wars game before it shut down but from what i’ve been able to find it suffered from a lot of the same problems as (launch) fgo, terrible gacha rates with no pity, slow ap recovery rates, barebones repetitive gameplay. so i guess seeing how fast sakura wars was shut down people feel like it’s only the fate name holding up fgo and in the early launch days of barely playable fgo that was definitely the case but I don’t think it’s fair to fgo to act like people only continue to play it because it’s fate, and “being like fgo” wasn’t the only problem with sakura wars either. sakura wars is a vn/dating sim series that attempted to revive the series with a mobile game that featured none of the original cast that fans cared about while fate was already a series with new characters and a new setting every instalment and the thing that stood out in this new game was actually that it DID have characters from previous fates available. hell, it’s not fair to sakura wars to claim that its series name is simply weaker than fate’s when there were other factors involved in its failure beyond “being a delightworks game”

fgo DOES improve, launch fgo is unrecognisable compared to current fgo in a good way. events have become more streamlined (events have mid- to lategame enemy hp scaling but feature damage ce’s to let newer players keep up, mission events are set up so that they basically clear themselves just by farming the most recently unlocked node), they experiment with new game modes and gameplay mechanics on the regular, they’re taking more care to make viable permanent servants and buff the older ones, and the past few months there’s also been a noticeable effort to throw out random banners for minor things as an excuse to rerun old limited servants more often. I’ll admit the bar is on the low side (strengthening quests are a ridiculous model, there shouldn’t be this many limiteds to need reruns in the first place, etc) and progress is slower than many people are willing to put up with, and I’m not saying anyone Has to put up with it or they’re a fake fan or whatever, but like, granblue fantasy is seven years old and still doesn’t have the ability to uncap a weapon multiple stages at a time when its entire gameplay loop centers around farming and uncapping weapons and they’ve buffed heles like 7 times but she’s still shit, none of fgo’s problems are exclusive to fgo.

i LIKE playing fgo. i like tapping the cards and watching my little guys go and coming up with different teams to make them go harder or just look good together or even lean into the Themes. and this is going a little bit on a tangent but i have this post window open anyway i was talking with friends earlier that one problem that a lot of mobile games seem to have is that they use “making the game play itself” as substitute for “making the game fun to play”. the only game with autobattle functionality (out of the ones I play, i don’t know everything that’s out there of course) that I feel DOESN’T do this is arknights, where you solve the puzzle that the stage presents in order to earn the right to not have to solve the puzzle every single time you play the stage and coming up with different efficient or perhaps ridiculous ways to solve the puzzle is part of playing the game. the worst case I know is dragalia lost which upon realizing that playing it sucks implemented an item to just let you skip playing stages altogether. “this game is good because you don’t have to play it” is not the selling point some people (and devs) think it is, and fgo refuses to fall into that trap - something I believe is an intentional decision because of their explicit refusal to implement NP skip.

one big advantage that fgo has over the other mobile games i’ve played is that it’s entirely turn based with no real time elements beyond start and end times of events. fgo doesn’t NEED to continue playing itself when you look away because looking away has no bearing whatsoever on your ability to clear the quest, fgo doesn’t give a shit if you look away for six hours and then close the game and only reopen it another ten hours later, you can continue right where you left off. the problem is not that you have to manually play the quest, because as far as the system is concerned you can take as much time as you like to clear that quest, it’s that the greater structure of the game wants you to repeatedly manually clear the same low-stakes quest for disproportionately small rewards. this one’s easy enough to solve by just increasing material droprates across the board. repeat clearing a low level quest is much less frustrating if you actually get drops every other clear.

but that’s a bandaid solution, because related to the issue of having to manually farm low-stakes quests is the lack of high-stakes quests to do when you want to do something a little more engaging than routine farming. outside of event challenge quests with their time limited availability, certain main story chapters that you can’t replay, and recently on JP the permanently available kiara challenge quest in the main interlude, there simply isn’t any difficult content to play. you could argue about fgo’s merit as strategy rpg in the first place i suppose but if you ask me it does have that merit and there is a clear effort from dw’s part to improve the depth of fgo’s strategy elements, the issue is that there is simply not that much content available to unleash those strategies on. of course you’re gonna get bored if all there is to do is either brainlessly repeat the same quest for minimal rewards or play the specific challenge quest that the game hands you right this moment regardless of whether that’s the kind of challenge you feel like facing right now. the solution to this one, although it’s likely going to take some significant effort on dw’s side to implement, is to make main story quests replayable.

you want to flex your brain muscles but there’s no challenge event right now? you stomped on a boss by using overpowered servants the first time but want to challenge yourself with some 3* this time? or the other way around, you beat a boss by the skin of your teeth the first time but want to stomp all over them now that you rolled some bitching 5*? you rolled a servant that’s not that suitable for day to day farming but would really shine in more difficult content and you want to try them out? you have a silly strategy in mind that would only work against certain story enemies? you’re like me and just really crave the shimosa duels? all of this involves content that already exists and is available in the game, dw would just have to figure out a way to let you access it again after clearing the chapter. and of course ideally this extends to event story quests once they’re added to the main interlude

i guess another way to put it is that i think the reason a lot of people say fgo has bad gameplay is not that its gameplay system is actually bad, in fact it has the potential to be very engaging, but rather that it’s a system that is set up to respect your time through the ability to put down the game absolutely whenever you want without being penalised, only for the game around it to go and penalise you for putting it down anyway. if you don’t diligently spend all your ap farming this quest you won’t get single damn material drop, and if you don’t play the event while it‘s happening you’re going to miss out because you can’t be sure when if ever it’ll return. so the number one way to solve the problem of fgo’s “bad gameplay” is not to make the game play itself whenever it tells you to play, but rather to make content more easily available so you don’t have to play if you don’t want to and CAN play if you do want to. thank you for coming to my ted talk i suppose

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a list of bottom Louis fics where Louis or Harry work at a coffee shop or where coffee shops otherwise play a major role in the fic.. This is a shorter list, but we hope you enjoy it! If you do, please remember to like and reblog to spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Breathing Underwater | Mature | 5135 words

Harry is a 27 year old business man and Louis is the 21 year old University student working at the coffee shop Harry comes into one day.

2) I Could Stay Right Here And Burn In This All Day | Explicit | 5964 words

Harry and Louis meet in a coffeeshop, and then they end up being kind of married without meaning to be, and then they have sex. The end.

3) Time Of The Season | Not Rated | 6031 words

Note: This fic has no smut, but it is omega Louis.

When writer’s block stands in the way of Harry completing his second novel, he turns to the sweet-smelling omega behind the counter of his new favorite coffee shop for inspiration.

4) Fall Into Some Velvet Morning | Explicit | 6038 words

Louis shrieks loudly as his body collides with the other boy’s, face smashing into said boy’s back which, of course, made him topple from his weird yoga pose. They lay sprawled on the ground, Louis on top of the weird kid who does fucking yoga in a park. Yoga Boy lifts his head out of the grass and mumbles in a gravely voice, “You ruined my vibes there, mate.”

Louis groans as he sits up and rolls off of Yoga Boy’s back. “Yea, well, you ruined my skateboard, mate. Think we’re quite even.”

5) Stay Forever | Explicit | 6841 words

For the last year and a half, Harry has spent his coffee break at the same cafe every day, not because he loves their coffee, but rather because of the gorgeous omega behind the counter making the coffees. As a beta, he’s sure he doesn’t stand a chance with him, so he goes online to find as close a substitute as possible.

6) Two Creams, No Sugar | Mature | 8341 words

Harry’s a young, successful, and rich music producer under Simon Cowell. Louis’ a college student, working part time at the local coffee shop while studying to be a pediatrician, just barely making ends meet. He has no idea who the cute boy is that keeps on popping up at his school and work is, or what Harry has in store for him.

7) It’s Hard To Look Right At You, Baby | Explicit | 14584 words

Coffee Shop AU where Louis is going through a dry spell, Zayn wants to be a good friend and help Louis find someone, and Harry ends up finding him instead.

8) Everywhere And Nowhere | Mature | 16547 words

Niall took a seat and said, “Apparently Louis’ downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food.”

“What has he given you?” Liam asked.

Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. “There was a rabbit’s foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can’t prove it’s from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though.”

“Wow,” Liam said, looking deep in thought. “That’s old school.”

“What’s old school?” Niall asked. “Giving creepy gifts?”

“I’ve never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he’s courting you.”

Louis couldn’t contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. “He’s courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they’d do in the 1800s or something?”

9) Black And Blue | Mature | 19796 words

Louis is a barista who is a bit damaged from a previous relationship. Harry is a musician who is all warmth and light. Rebuilding a life takes time.

10) The Devil's In The Details | Explicit | 12704 words | Sequel

Seeing Harry as an actual professor will never get old to Louis as his eyes soak him in. The casual attire of a student-teacher is gone and now Harry’s got on a button up under a sweater vest that both have stripes on it because someone with a face like Harry’s can actually pull that off. His beige trousers ride up high on his waist, loose and wide around the legs like he’s been preferring lately. By the time Louis’ done taking all of him in, he’s got a smile stretched wide across his face, cheekbones feeling like they’re about to burst just from happiness alone.

“Hello Professor Styles."

11) And That’s The Tea | Mature | 27590 words

The one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be.

12) All this Delusion In Our Heads | Explicit | 30453 words

Note: This fic features a tea shop, but we figured that is close enough.

The one where Zayn gets amnesia, Liam has regrets, and the entire universe conspires against them…until it doesn’t.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[belfrygargoyles]

*whispers* I would like to hear what you have to say on reader inserts in the SW fandom because I too have a problem with them and I feel like not enough people are calling it out 👉👈

I’ve made a few posts about it in the past but I think it’s high time I actually Do This and really get into it.

Before I start: 1) This will be in specific reference to fanfiction written for the Star Wars fandom, particularly tcw and the mandalorian eras, 2) A lot of the issues come down to racist fetishization of men of color by white women; I am white, so there is much that is simply not my place to make statements on. What I can speak most on is my take from the gender side of things.

I’d honestly recommend reading this post by @nibeul with addition by @clonehub first, as they discuss the core issue with reader inserts in the Star Wars fandom.

And 3) some of this will involve discussion of sexual acts (as they relate to fanfiction) and sexual fantasies. These discussions will be non-explicit, and no pornographic text or content will be displayed.

Also. I’m GNC and nonbinary. I’m also a very feminine looking person that falls under the generalization of “small and petite.” I don���t have dysphoria, I like my body and the traits I have, and treating them like inherently female sends me into a blind fury. This is, unfortunately, important.

For the sake of making sure I come across as clearly as possible, I will be writing as though the reader of this post has never read or is broadly unfamiliar with reader-insert fanfiction.

Without further ado.

Hey, Star Wars reader insert fic writers? Please get your shit together.

INTRODUCTION

I’ve been reading reader-insert fanfiction since I was a grade schooler waking up early to check Quizilla. I love it! It got me into fandom, kept me engaged, helped me make and develop some of my oldest OCs, and it’s just fun to read and write- it’s like a self-indulgent little gift you can give to a bunch of people all at once. Because who doesn’t like the idea of starring in their own little adventure, usually alongside some of their favorite characters? It can be fun, immersive, get you attached in ways other ways of fandom interaction may not, make you feel just a little bit special, or be a way to express some feelings you might have about canon and the way the story went.

Like any form of fiction, it ends up saying more about the author’s feelings than anything else, whether the author realizes it or not. For many, many authors of reader-insert fanfiction, the primary enjoyment comes from writing “themselves” into the story- before the readers, the author most often makes the “reader character” someone they, themselves, can relate to and substitute for themselves. They write to live out a self-indulgent fantasy they have, and their readers can come along for the ride.

Some writers do actually try to write as diverse or as vague of a reader character as possible- as few details about the body, identity, etc. as possible so anyone could superimpose their image without the narrative directly contradicting it. This is not the kind of reader insert author I will be discussing.

The kind of author I will be discussing is the one most common in the Star Wars tag on Ao3: White, AFAB, cisgender, gender-conforming, able-bodied women who assume all of their readers are also White, AFAB, cisgender, gender-conforming, able-bodied women. Yes, you can tell.

ISSUE: fetishization of men of color

Again, this post puts it in the best words, but there is a rampant problem with Star Wars reader-inserts, particularly those involving the clones, Boba Fett, and Din Djarin, fetishizing characters played by men of color as either “physically aggressive and threatening, hypersexual and dominant, big strong men who are scary because they do violence and fuck constantly when they’re not” or “completely inexperienced baby who doesn’t know anything about things and needs a gentle nurturing guiding touch to introduce him to the mere idea of a vagina.” The former is common across all of them, the latter most common among clone trooper fics or Din/Reader.

I went into the Boba Fett/Reader tag on Ao3, because I like him and hoped to find something alright. Here are some stats I tallied up (give or take some) based solely on tags, summaries, and warnings:

There are 284 works in the Boba Fett/Reader category as of the time of this post.

198/284 are rated E for explicit sexual content. 69.7% of all Boba Fett/Reader works are sexually explicit.

259/284 are in the F/M category. 91.2% of all Boba Fett/Reader works involve an explicitly female or AFAB reader.

24/284 are tagged with or mention “Age difference,” “Older man/Younger woman,” “Innocence kink” or “Virginity kink.” 8.4% of all Boba Fett/Reader works are written explicitly with an age gap, with Boba Fett as the older party

26/198 E rated fics are tagged with or make reference to “Daddy kink” or involve the reader being called some variation of “little girl” by Boba. 13% of all E-rated works under Boba Fett/Reader are daddy kink fics, or allude to Boba Fett being a daddy dom/sugar daddy.

102/198 E rated fics are tagged as, make reference to, or suggest in the summary that Boba Fett takes a dominant sexual role with a submissive reader involving rough or painful play, or make reference to Boba Fett being frightening, physically intimidating, having a power dynamic over the reader, or being possessive or violent. 51.51% of all E-rated works under Boba Fett/Reader portray Boba Fett as sexually dominant and/or enacting use of physical force or pain play.

Just using this as an example, because it’s the easiest stats I can gather and also what made me realize there was a pattern.

The problem isn’t even necessarily that people write explicit fic about Boba- it’s that 1) over half of all fics in the category are explicitly pornographic, and 2) the way those pornographic fics are written. The two things compound on each other. They’re dominance fantasies projected onto a character of color in which he becomes extremely sexual, physically rough with the reader, possessive, and demeaning towards a reader character who is always written as White, AFAB, and petite.

This brings me to the next issue.

ISSUE: The way sexual relationships are portrayed.

Let me clarify so there is no chance of me being misunderstood: sex is good. Liking and wanting and enjoying sex isn’t bad. It is not bad if you are AFAB and have submissive fantasies. It is not bad to be sexually attracted to a man of color. You can write about sex even if you haven’t had it. Writing about sex can be a good way to express some more complicated feelings you could have about certain things. It doesn’t even have to be realistic. It has its time and it has its place.

This being said.

Sexual relationships as they are portrayed in the vast majority of E-rated Star Wars reader inserts are… not great.

The reader is always AFAB. I can think of maybe one fic off the top of my head where an AFAB reader was written with they/them pronouns and not just she/her.

The reader is almost always submissive, the dominant character is almost always portrayed as cis male. Even when the characters are supposed to just be having spontaneous casual sex, D/S or BDSM aspects will be introduced with no prior discussion or talks about it afterwards. Sometimes characters will start using dirty talk and it just does not fit at all, but it’s what the author thought was hot.

Sometimes, it just reads like a quick smutty oneshot. More often than that, it reads like the author doesn’t realize that sex… isn’t always a dom/sub thing. Or that someone can take the lead in sex and that doesn’t automatically make them a dom.

It’s not bad to be inexperienced. It’s not bad to have preferences or kinks or specific turn-ons.

But it gets… tiring to read, over and over and over and over, because that’s all there is.

That and… I dunno, it just has me a little worried? It doesn’t make me feel good knowing so many people can only portray a sexual relationship if it’s dom/sub. I don’t know why it makes me so uneasy.

Vanilla sex isn’t a bad thing I promise. It's this feeling of insistence that something "spicy" absolutely has to happen for it to be worth writing that gives... some weird vibes.

I’m going to move on to the next Big-

ISSUE: Every “reader” character is exactly the same

By which I mean the following:

Always cis AFAB female

If a character is written with gender neutral pronouns they will always be AFAB and written like Girl Lite

I have never seen an explicitly stated nonbinary/gnc reader character unless it was a request specifically for a nonbinary reader

I have never seen a gender neutral reader insert fic where the reader was AMAB

I have seen a grand total of 1 cis male reader fic and 1 trans male reader fic. The trans male reader fic was about dysphoria.

The reader is allowed to have one of the following backstories: slave/runaway, mechanic, medic, ex-Rebel, secret Jedi, bounty hunter.

The reader is allowed to have one of the following personality traits: throws knives, babysitter, completely civilian, WOMAN, says curse words.

The reader is never written with any narrative agency- things only ever happen to the reader character or around the reader character, they are never written to take charge and actually affect things on their own. Essentially the sexy lamp trope.

Remember when I said the majority of people writing Star Wars reader-insert fanfic on Ao3 were White, cisgender AFAB women who are gender-conforming and able-bodied? This is how you can tell.

It’s at this point where you can tell they’re really not meant to be reader-inserts, but author-inserts with the names removed- they were only meant for a very narrow selection of readers.

I’m nonbinary, I’m gnc, and I’m a very feminine looking person, generally speaking. I’m used to people looking at me and assuming oh, girl. I’m at peace with that.

I can barely stand reading some of these fics just because of how much the author emphasizes that the reader is FEMALE shes a WOMAN with BOOBS and a VAGINA and FEMININE WILES. There’s barely ever even a chance to give myself room to mentally vault over all the “she”s and “her”s because then I’m getting hit with Din or someone calling the reader “girl” or “the woman.” It’s unbearable, and I even fall into the general description every fucking fic author uses for their generic protagonist!

Even with the “gender-neutral reader” fics, it is just. Painfully clear that they just wrote a female character and changed the pronouns- no, there is no such thing as “male behavior” or “female behavior,” and I quite heartily rebel against the concept of gender essentialism. And honestly, I can barely even begin piecing together how I know it and what it feels like, because it’s just one of those vague conglomerates of cues and writing patterns I can’t consciously pick up on but I know it’s there- it’s frustrating, it’s demeaning, and it feels like you’d have to threaten these authors at gunpoint to get them to write a reader character who was any major deviation from the same three cutouts they use every time.

It seems like they can’t possibly force themselves to write a reader character who isn’t meek and submissive or has the sole personality traits of “mean and can hit things”- you can actually strike a balance between “absolutely no personality” and “fleshed out oc” you know? And you don’t actually have to tell the reader what their hair looks like or how full their figure is

It’s like 2:20 AM and I started this at like 8something PM but.

I’m someone who loves reader-inserts. I enjoy them. I still check for new ones regularly. I’ve been reading them for well over half my life now.

So many of these authors are just locked in on exactly one way to write things and it fucking shows. It’s like a self-feeding loop, they just keep writing the same things and the same dynamics because they see each other doing it and they never think about taking a step back.

It’s… exhausting. I’m exhausted. If you’re a reader-insert fic writer and you want to improve your reader character inclusivity and have also read this far, you can DM me or shoot me an ask.

[nat-20s]

Wonderful! Au Part 7! (also on ao3 here) another episode only installment, and obnoxiously fluffy! Have fun!

~*~

Martin, tired: Hello everybody! Welcome, or welcome back, to a very low energy episode. We have had, as the kids say, A Week Tm.

Jon, equally tired, but fond: Is that as the kids say?

Martin: I don't know, and perhaps worse, I don't really care. I guess I could ask Jeremiah next time he's over, but I'm not sure if that would actually help.

Jon: Shockingly, I don't think two year olds have their finger on the beating pulse of youth culture.

Martin: Hmm, maybe not. Speaking of Jeremiah, he's part of why the format of this episode is gonna be a bit different than our regular. On top of me dealing with a frankly obscene amount of inventory management, and Jon being swamped with grant writing-

Jon: I never want to look at proposal guidelines again-

Martin: we were on babysitting duty for our favourite neighborhood hellion-

Jon: Hey, Jeremiah is a very sweet kid! I know he's a toddler, but we shouldn't be slandering him anyway.

Martin: One, we're not even using his real name, I don't think that counts as slander, and two, exactly, he's a toddler, he's by default a hellion.

Jon, teasing: This coming from the person that actually wants one?

Martin: I..look, if anything, the last few days have shown we should not be permanent parents.

Jon: But?

Martin:...There's no but.

Jon: I don't believe you! Are you lying for my benefit or the audience's? Because someone spent the last five days wearing one of the largest grins I've ever seen, exhausted as it may have been.

Martin: Okay! Fine, I admit, I liked having a kid around. I still think it would be a bad idea to do it full time, but I dunno. I wish we weren't both only children or something. We would make such good uncles.

Jon: Should I should have taken that teaching job after all?

Martin: Perhaps. After all,

Martin, singsong: An English teacher, is really someone!

Jon and Martin, singing together: If only you, had be-come one!

Jon: Honestly, though, I was considerably underqualified. I'm much more suited to my current job, even if it doesn't have quite the same impact on the "shaping of the next generation" or whatnot.

Martin: Wait, you actually care about qualifications now? When did that change?

Jon: This coming from Mister "master's degree in parapsychology"? And it was probably around the time that the world ended from taking on a workload I was ill-suited for.

Jon:...

Jon: Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Martin: Oh, of course. Definitely nothing literally apocalyptic in our pasts, no siree, nothing to see or speculate about or make weirdly involved forums for here. Uh, anyway, long introduction not so short: Both of us have been averaging about 4 hours of sleep, so any sort of actual research was not on the table.

Jon: If any of you are wondering why we didn't just say that we're both very much worn out and thus we'll be taking a week off, it's because we're both deeply, deeply stubborn.

Martin: It's one of our best shared qualities that has never caused any conflict between us, ever.

Jon: In fairness, sheer stubbornness does account for, what, 75% of the reason that either of us are still alive? And it hasn't caused a major conflict between us in a good three years.

Martin: That's true. We've become a deeply boring, relatively conflict free couple. Which fucking rules, by the way. To all the couples out there: I highly recommend being boring. It is so nice. We've gotten to go to the farmer's market so many times.

Jon: You do love the farmer's market. I would say that it's the access to fresh produce, but I think you just like the attention that one yarn seller gives you. Can't believe you would take advantage of a crush to get discounts on wool. How did I marry such an opportunist?

Martin: Ollie does not have a crush on me. They're just friendly to everyone.

Jon: Bullshit. I certainly never get an extra skein or stitch markers or delicate fabric cleaner tossed in my bag. Actually, I think I've been charged more for committing the crime of having married you before they could.

Martin: I'm..70% sure that's not true, but every sentence we speak, we stray further from even pretending to be on topic. So, to everybody listening, this is the itty bitty episode! Basically, we're only doing small wonders and user submissions. If you want details or backstory for things we like, too bad, come back next week. Jon, I believe you're first this week?

Jon: Oh, right. My first small wonder is cat names.

Martin: Delightful, but unsurprising. Though, I would've expected either more or less specificity. Why cat names as opposed to pet's names in general, or, like, military title names?

Jon: Well that's simple enough. I've simply never met a misnamed cat, even if the name itself wasn't to my personal tastes, and I think that speaks to the wonderful universality of cats.

Martin: This, of course, implies that you have met animals that were misnamed.

Jon: Oh, I have. I once met a papillion dog named Meatball.

Martin: Now I know you don't like food names in general for pets, but are you sure that Meatball didn't suit the dogs personality? I've known some "Meatballs" in my lifetime.

Jon, only half-mock offended: Of course it didn't fit, Martin. She was a lady. A nervous, jittery lady, but a lady nonetheless.

Martin, laughing: And what, you've never met a dignified cat with an undignified name, or vice versa? Would you be okay with our cat being named Meatball?

Jon: I would be upset if our cat was named Meatball, because we named her and we're above that sort of thing, but, technically speaking, she could have been Meatball in another lifetime and it wouldn't have been wrong. You see, all cats are a mix of both extremely austere and little baby idiot.

Martin: Oh, is that the scientific terminology?

Jon: It is. Now, while there's probably some amount of, er, normative determinism or confirmation bias or something that results in a cat with a more dignified name seeming to possess more of that austerity, as all cats have both, any name can, potentially, fit. Hence why it's wonderful.

Martin: I..accept your proposal for now, but I think more research needs to be done. Maybe we should visit the shelter this weekend and test your hypothesis.

Jon: Hmm. I think we may need to visit multiple shelters, actually. A large sample size is necessary for any sort of veracity, obviously.

Martin, imitating Jon tone: Obviously.

Jon: Glad you agree. What's your first small wonder?

Martin: Tofu!

Jon: I..didn't realize you liked that much?

Martin: Well, I don't get it very often since I know you can't stand the texture, even though it is not like 'worse scrambled eggs', and you're a horrible food thief-

Jon: Lies and slander. We readily share. If I'm a horrible food thief, you have committed the exact same, if not worse, crime as myself.

Martin: Well, we are thick as thieves.

Jon, groaning: You're thick as something alright

Martin: Rude! My beloved husband-

Jon: -uh huh-

Martin: whom I love and trust with my most tender of hearts-

Jon: -an oddly cannibalistic turn of phrase-

Martin, badly suppressing laughter: Oh, my god. I want a divorce, then I can put tofu in as many dishes as I like. I'll triple my protein intake.

Jon: It'd never go through. I'll burn the papers. No, wait, I'll burn down the legal offices where the papers are kept.

Martin: Hmm. While my experiences with it have been, uh, varied to say the least, I do have to admit that arson is one of the more attractive crimes of passion. I suppose I'll take you back.

Jon, flat: I'm so very grateful.

Jon, genuine: You do have yet to actually tell me why you think tofu is wonderful, love.

Martin: It's just a good food! It's neutral enough that you can toss it in pretty much anything with a sauce, you can bake it, you can fry it, whatever. Plus it's what? two? Three quid? I spent many years of my life living off the cheapest, saltiest approximation of noodles you could imagine, and half a pack of tofu, a little bit of sesame oil, and some green onions went a long way to both making it more filling and less sad. 

Martin: Plus, I feel like it often gets decried for being something it's not? It's so often viewed as a meat substitute or the vegan alternative option, and so when people try it, they often go in with a false preconceived notion of what it's going to be like, and then end up disappointed. They're all like, 'ugh, this doesn't taste like turkey!' and yeah, of course it doesn't. It's the oatmeal raisin cookie of the protein world, a perfectly good and tasty treat on its own, but if you want chocolate chip, it's not gonna work.

Jon: Martin you don't even like oatmeal raisin. I'm the only one that ever eats them out of the multipacks.

Martin: Well, yeah, but I don't like oatmeal raisin because of its flavor, not because I think it should be chocolate chip and fails. It illustrates my point. Also, just for balance, is your next small wonder oatmeal raisin cookies?

Jon: No, though, maybe one of these weeks. They are good. But no, um, my next small wonder is being married.

Martin, let out a high bark of a laugh: Being married is a small wonder?!

Jon: Small wonders doesn't mean a lack of importance! Or even significance in our lives. Half the time we even end up spending just as much time chattering on about them as the things we actually research. But, yes, I didn't feel like researching the concept of being married. For one, a lot of the history of it is depressing and patriarchal, and for two, it's not something I really feel any need to elaborate on. Being married. I very much enjoy it. I recommend it for anybody that's found someone that they want to marry, and who wants to marry them. I really recommend being married to Martin Blackwood, I think I would enjoy it significantly less if it was to anybody else, but one: we typically try to make the wonderful things in this show  applicable to more than just ourselves, and two: I got there first, so I believe the appropriate thing to say here would be; neener neener and/or everyone else can go suck it, Ollie.

Martin: Well...

Jon: Well, what?

Martin: Saying you got there first is technically not true-

Jon: What?!

Martin, laughing like a bastard: Sorry, sorry! Couldn't resist! Jon, you already know that you're my first real realationship, how would be married before fit that?

Jon: Hence my surprise at the notion! I cannot believe you! I give you my trust, my earnestness, and belief-

Martin [only laughs harder]

Jon: and you throw it in my face for a bit. I take back everything, being married is a nightmare, because sometimes your partner thinks he a fucking comedian and you just have to put up with him because you love him and want to live the rest of your life with him or some such nonsense. Not worth it, if you ask me. My turn to ask for the divorce.

Martin: Babe, hate to break it to you, but both of us are guilty of doing bits that the other doesn't like, it's an integral part of  a healthy marriage, and secondly, you knew who I was long before I proposed. You should've said no when you had the chance.

Jon: Hang on, you proposed?

Martin: Yeah? This isn't part of a bit, of course I proposed. I'm even pretty sure you were there. The whole visit back to Scotland trip? I finally made you a sweater and said it was because we would now be immune to the boyfriend curse?

Jon: No, no, I remember all that, but it wasn't the proposal. It was a reaffirmation of the proposal. We had already decided to get married.

Martin: Well, yeah,, I wasn't just gonna spring that on you, we had had conversations beforehand-

Jon:  No, I mean, I had already proposed. I asked you to marry me a good three years earlier, and you said yes, which is a proposal by any definition that I know.

Martin: Jon, love, darling, apple of my eye, fire of my soul, I mean this in the nicest way possible, what the everloving fuck are you talking about?

Jon: In the ambulance ride when we, uh, moved here. It was the thing I said to you the second I saw your eyes were open.

[An audible pause is left in the recording.]

Martin: That does not count.

Jon: How does it not count?! I asked you to marry me, you very emphatically said yes, that's the de facto definition of an accepted marriage proposal!

Martin: It doesn't count because you were half-delirious with blood-loss, and I had a traumatic brain injury that the hospital was very surprised I made a full recovery from. No court in the world would consider anything we said then more than pain driven ramblings, let alone, I dunno, contractually binding.

Jon: Well, I knew what I was saying well and clear. Just because it was desperate doesn't mean it wasn't sincere. I didn't realize that you weren't as cognizant when you accepted.

Martin, snorting: Yeah, didn't really need to be cognizant to say yes. I've wanted to marry you since the train ride to Scotland.

Jon: Wait, really? Martin, we hadn't even been on a date.

Martin: And yet we were on the lamb together, which I honestly think is more romantic than sitting in some restaurant somewhere trying to get through icebreakers. Also, back up, from your perspective we've been engaged since 2019? What did you think we were doing in the interim?

Jon: Uhh..

Martin: Yes?

Jon: There are people that have long engagement periods, and it's not exactly like we were in any sort of position to get married for awhile. Especially not that first year.

Martin: Okay? And?

Jon: And..I sort of thought you had changed your mind. For awhile. Was rather surprised that you kept living with me, considering that, on the worst nights, I was convinced you were going to storm off and leave me forever any minute now. Hence why your proposal was rather relieving.

Martin: Oh, Jon, love. That is so very ridiculous, and so very you, and so very close to many of my own fears and doubts. Do you have any idea how terrified I was to float the idea of marriage to you? Half the time I was convinced I was just meant to keep you company until you found someone better. And, Christ, we'd, from your perspective, been engaged the whole damn time. Fuck.

[Jon, after a beat, starts laughing. It has a slightly hysterical edge to it. Martin joins in. It takes a minute for the laughter to subside enough for them to speak again.]

Jon: I'm rapidly realizing that our entire romantic relationship would've been, if not more successful, a hell of a lot faster if we weren't both complete fools.

Martin: You're realizing that now? I think I've known that since the CV incident. I've definitely known it since the Lonely.

Jon, with a slightly tired chuckle:Yes, yes, something probably should've tipped me off earlier. Shockingly, observation of our own personal romantic trends is not always a strong suit of mine.

Jon: Anyway, please tell me you have another small wonder, this has gotten wildly of track.

Martin: Since we're talking about marriage anyway, I think my next small wonder is having a shared reference in your wedding vows. Our friends had "I have been, and always shall be, your friend" in theirs, and I made Jon cry with a slightly altered Lord of the Rings quote in ours.

Jon: First off, we were both openly weeping long before that point, secondly, I defy anybody to have been through half of what we have and then have the love of their life look them in the eyes and tell them "Leave you? I never intend to. I am going with you, if you climb to the moon" without at least tearing up.

Martin: There wasn't a dry eye in the audience, either. Granted, the audience was only 20 people, but that was also literally the only time I've seen Eloise show a strong emotion, so I'm pretty smug about it.

Martin, soft: I still feel exactly the same, you know. If you're climbing to the moon, I'll make sure the rope is strong enough for two.

Jon, soft: I know, love.

Jon: Though, to be fair, the moon is also significantly more pleasant than many places we've been.

Martin: God, I hate how much that's true. Look at this barren, oxygenless rock, at least it's not actively trying to kill us. Practically a honeymoon location.

[Martin sighs]

Martin: I am so tired. Let's do the user submissions then take a very long nap.

Jon: Please.

Martin: So, first submission is from Josie; They find it wonderful getting cards from their friends. They say they're lucky to have so much love in their life and have friends that care enough to send them things. That is wonderful Josie! We have a drawer in our house dedicated to every loving card we've ever received since the move, and they're always such a nice reminder of the people in our lives.

Jon: We should really organize that drawer, but, yes, agree with the sentiment. Even the cards from people that are no longer in our lives are lovely, I think. Those connections are very much meaningful for both of us, whether they're active or not.

Martin: That's very true.  Next submission is from Lys, who submits the sound of leaves crunching under your feet in the fall. Ah, that's a classic.

Jon: I just felt myself relax imagining it. I wish it was autumn.

Martin: Don't we all? Alright, for the last submissions, I'm grouping them together as they follow a similar theme. Jadwiga submits the feeling of waking up well into the morning with the sun shining through the window and your cat laying next to you, and Oran submits when a dog falls asleep with its head in your lap.

Jon: I can heartily recommend at least one of those, considering that's how we try to wake up most mornings. The Duchess is a dutiful darling girl who spends every night with us, and she's usually still there when us humans rise.

Martin: I bet you'll agree with the other when I finally convince you to get me a dog for my birthday.

Jon: It hasn't happened yet, so I wouldn't hold your breath.

Martin: But you don't even dislike dogs! You're just as happy to pet them when they pass by as I am.

Jon: Being fine with an animal isn't the same thing as wanting to adopt one for yourself! We don't even know if The Duchess would put up with a dog.

Martin: I bet she would. I bet we could get a big senior dog who's the calmest animal you've ever met with those soft eyes and a little grey on the muzzle and she would cuddle up in an instant. And we did say we should visit a shelter or three this weekend..

Jon: I think you're rather callously taking advantage of my exhausted state, but I suppose we can look. 

Martin: Hell fuckin yeah. So, I think that'll close out the episode, and as we always say at the end, uh, go take a nap and get a dog. Not necessarily in that order.

[ofmythsandmadness]

to be called beautiful | d.h.

❛ do you ever miss, having someone around to love you?❜

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

SUMMARY: vigilantes!au. you push the boundaries of your relationship, and ask for a wish you know won't be given back. (or — it's late, and after another night of patrol, loneliness sets in deep.) WARNINGS: slightly nsfw??? mentions to sex, no descriptions. it's not a sexual story, just a part of an inner monologue. WORD COUNT: 2.6k+ NOTES: reposting this in hopes it shows up this time (pls pls pls i'm gonna cry). i've been writing a whole other series that is a totally different writing style, but i've been trying to work out my emotions in small, focused pieces like this one when i can't focus. i might develop this into a small ficlit series of it's own, bc i think it's kinda fun — but we'll see how this goes.

THE BEAST THAT IS YOUR LONELINESS has been your burden for too long to say.

It's hold on you is a familiar ache, one you've felt for years, like a chronic tight tugging on your heart that refuses to give in no matter what you try. But you still refuse to name it for fear of coming to terms with the implications of it all. That you're really alone in this life and you're terrified of what that means and the fact that you can't have what your childhood stories promised would be yours.

Like the fool you are, you cling to the idea that it's just passing notions. You'll get over it one day. The flitting daydreams of a fairytale romance better fit for a vanilla Hallmark flick suck, but one day they won't hurt so bad. You'll numb and find a way to fill the void. And you try, you really do, pushing it down for the quick release of meaningless acts and walks of shames and cold bedsheets.

Sex is a toxic friend. You choose it's pull when your heart aches most and the loneliness begs for your breath to the point where every gasp of air is a privilege, not the bare minimum. It's not what you crave. There's no romance, no love. It's a trade and one that always leaves you feeling robbed of something you're not sure you ever even had.

You rarely remember their names. You know they probably won't remember yours. And why would they? The shudders, the whimpers, the cold moans that amount to nothing but crumbs of a supposedly passionate act only pass an hour, then they're gone. Or you're gone, if you're lonely enough to risk it. A bit of fun, a breath of pink and white and the feeling of someone pulling you closer, begging for your skin against theirs.

And then, it's all grey again. And you're alone at your apartment, washing your body free of the marks some stranger dared to press into your wilting skin, wondering what it would feel like for a lover to kiss you that same way. Running your fingers over every inch that has been caressed by so many faceless guests, trying to hold yourself in the way your foolish heart pounds for. But it's never enough. Your hands don't cup your flesh, don't mould and kiss and promise the carefully knitted lies any lover had dealt you in the past. And you're as cold as ever when they fall back to your sides. Nothing enflames your skin like you wishes it could — like those you wish would.

It's a discontent you live with. Just as you're sure millions of others do. That's what life is; you push yourself through the day, through your mundane day job and your taxing nighttime hobbies (because you sure as hell can't claim what you do as real work if your only pay is in blood and tears). You cling to the good times that happened too long ago to remember clearly, and make the moments that you're alone with your thoughts as small as possible.

But there's no time to consider all that now.

You scrunch your face up as tight as you can, squeezing your eyes shut to the point where you see stars, exploding like confetti in some absurd black void that hides behind your lids. For a moment you hold the pose, watching the stars erupt, until the position hurts too much and you have to release.

Surroundings blur and then clear as your eyes readjust from their disassociation. You stare blearily at the random coffee shop you and your 'associate' chose for the night. It's just as generic as the last five visited, a thousand shades of brown and red and weary smiles the bored baristas wear just for a cheap check that'll barely cover their asses. It's worn and empty; no one's hear except the two of you and the workers who probably hate you for being here so late.

Normally, you would feel like an asshole staying so late. But you can't bring yourself to move, or even suggest to. It's all too heavy. And even if it's in brooding silence, you don't want to leave your partner. Not yet, you beg the universe, just a few more minutes.

And, speaking of—

"What's got you so blue today?"

You blink. Look over to him, only to see him already watching you.

There's really no point lying. He always unravels you too quickly, too easily — it's the detective in him, unravelling anyone and scooping their truths from shivering flesh. Some sort of childhood trauma response he developed into another super power.

You used to hate it. Now...if you concentrate hard enough, his sharp gaze feels like one of a lover's.

"Don't know what you mean," you tell him, foolish and flustered. "I'm just fine."

"Bullshit. You've sighed a dozen times in the last five minutes."

"Tch. No I haven't."

"Did too!"

His teeth glint, white and clashing against the full pink of his lips. You wish you could denounce all the times you wondered what it would feel like to have them graze against your keening skin — but not even all the gods could cleanse of you of those thoughts. Those desperate, pleading, melancholic memories stain; he can't see them, but you do when you look close enough. And you can't escape it, much as you try.

"Seriously, though. What's up with you?"

Your gaze falls down to your hands, eager to escape his allure, though it's not a great distraction. It only makes you more bitter, really, taking in all the flaws that litter your weaponised limbs. They're calloused from a million fights. Your knuckles are scarred, aching from wounds you reopen every other night. A thousand scars from a thousand scrapes, cuts, slashes and grazes linger on once perfect skin. You don't know how many there are, anymore, only that you wish you could wipe them off. Start over, have a clean slate. Erase all your mistakes and be beautiful again.

"I'm just tired," you lie. It's tense and pitiful; you know you've screwed it up the second the words leave your lips. "S'all."

"Ri-i-ight, and I'm the goddamn queen of England."

The absurdity of his retort makes your lips twitch. It's not enough for a smile, your self-inflicted misery makes sure of that, but it's a seed of something. "Wow. Didn't know I was in the presence of royalty."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it."

"My apologies, your highness."

"Shut up, you little shit," he grumbles, but it's as soft as you get from him. It's practically a cry of love — or your foolish mind paints it as such. You take his teasing insults as promises of adorations and his arguments are poems of lust and infatuation that tug on your heartstrings in ways you know they shouldn't.

You're partners, for crying out loud. Professional coworkers (if you call the bloody mess you two create work). You don't get to miss him, or crave him, or love him like you do.

"Something happen to you?"

You watch his own hands fold and unfold on the table. The long, delicate fingers stand out on a man like him; someone who paints himself in only sharp angles and cutting lines. But you think they match him well. They promise life. Bleed hope, even in the raised scars that lace his skin like your own. You've watched those fingers grip a blade, launch it into flesh, pull and push and dig and rip and take and committed acts of atrocity most people would run from. You know he probably thinks of his hands the same way you do. But you think they're beautiful.

"Nah. It's...it's nothing. Really."

You can't see his face, but you imagine his narrowed eyes and furrowed brows asking for an answer you're just not willing to give. "C'mon, just tell me. Can't be that bad."

Your body laughs. You hear it from some place far away. It's cold and hoarse; you wonder how long it's been since you've heard a genuine laugh from yourself. You wonder if he notices (and wishes he did, foolishly, frivolously...).

It's probably stupid, but you go for it.

"You ever miss having someone?"

Something creaks; his chair, groaning as he shifts his weight. One of his fingers taps against his empty coffee cup; idle music for a restless soul.

"Like, in what way?"

"I..." Your nails dig into your palms. This was a mistake, but one you have to follow through with. He won't accept silence after something like that. "In the cheesy, domestic sorta way? That whole, havin' someone to come home to, someone who you can talk to, someone who..." the words stick like molasses in the back of your throat. Try as you do, they refuse to give themselves to him, so you have to substitute. "Just, someone who likes you, past your body or, or whatever."

"Oh."

"Sorry." It's your turn to shift in your seat, awkwardly searching for something to occupy yourself with as this uncomfortable energy you've created carries on. But your cup's empty, and you don't have the cash to ask for another overpriced latte. "Forget about it. Let's talk about somethin' else, yeah?"

He doesn't answer that. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all for a moment, long enough to make you wonder if you've just crossed the line of no return. You can't bring yourself to look at him, hell your cowardice is painful enough to make you wonder if you should just make a run for it, say au revoir! to the bond you've built with this knife-obsessed robin hood and crush your heart forever.

It's tempting, and you consider it, but then he fills the silence.

"I miss Eudora sometimes."

Finally, your gaze tilts up. Your eyes meet his lips. He's not smiling anymore.

You guys don't talk about exes together. It's a forbidden topic, same as family or childhoods or the number of people that have cut you open and bled you dry for fun. It's too personal, and in this line of work, personal doesn't fly. But you know Eudora Patch, because this line of work requires a couple run ins with people like her, and because your partner in crime has never learned how to stop his emotions from bleeding into his expression.

"Not because I still love her, but y'know..." his fingers wave aimlessly. "It was nice, when it worked. I liked having someone to sleep with. In a non-sexual manner." His lip curls a little. "Guess the sex part was nice too, though."

You nod. "Yeah, I get that. It's...it was nice, having someone who knew you. Who wanted to make you feel good, not just for themselves but 'cause that sort of things matters."

"Mm."

"Y'ever consider pursuing that sort of thing?"

He shakes his head. His adamancy is a truck smashing into your heart — though you know you should have expected no less, it still hurts. "I can't. It never works, with people like us. Y'know?"

"Yeah. Makes sense." You want to say more. You probably should say more — but you doubt he wants to hear your woes about intimacy, and the pathetic ways you crave affection you probably don't deserve. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

His brows knot. "Why're you asking? Someone do somethin'?"

"What? No."

"Cause, like, if someone's hurt you, I'll—"

"I'm fine," you promise, and without thinking, you reach across the table to pat his hand. To reassure him like one would a lover. But just before your fingers meet his, the bitter reminder that he's not yours sets in and you draw back. Your hand falls a couple inches from his own. "And I can take care of myself, if I wasn't. Don't worry."

He chuckles mirthlessly. "Y'sure about that? You're still the dumbass that tripped over her own feet twice walking down an empty sidewalk, and—"

"—oh, you are such an asshole, why can't you just—"

"—so if you need someone to cut a bitch, I'm available."

You soften slightly. Try to smile, even if it's a false promise and probably hangs like a broken door on mismatched hinges. "I appreciate that. But I'm okay. Think I'm just tired, and a little lonely."

"What, I'm not good enough for you anymore?"

Bitterness seeps onto your tongue; it speaks before you can shut your lips around it. "You're fine as a partner against crime. But you're not anything otherwise, are you?" It feels like a taunt. You hadn't meant it to be — though, maybe you had.

If he takes your jeer poorly, though, it doesn't show on his face. He's still smiling and watching you, eyes simmering with a joke you wish you were in on.

"It doesn't matter though. Having someone's too complicated, 'specially for fools like us. Sometimes it's just..." you don't have a good answer. Not one he'd want to hear, anyways. "I just miss it sometimes. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to, or eat breakfast with in the mornings."

He nods slowly. "Yeah. Was nice, having another body around."

"Yeah. Ha. I," you stutter out a chuckle. Tug at your lip, nibbling at the cracked skin that comes with your long nights. "No one prepares you for how lonely adulthood is. Like, I'm half tempted to make friends with the takeout guys, just so I have a friend at all."

"We're friends."

"You know what I mean," you mumble, swallowing the bitter 'are we?' that almost makes its way off your tongue. "It was just nice when I had the time, to have a person around. Someone to like, hold hands with, or-or call me beautiful, sometimes. I-I can't remember the last time called me that, any..."

Fuck.

You hadn't meant for that last confession.

He wasn't supposed to hear that. It's too personal, too personal, too fucking personal for someone you don't even know.

Everything trembles; you're shaking like an avalanche, ready to sweep it all away under some snow drift. Never to be seen again. But you can't do that, there's no taking back the way your voice cracked as it reaches it's last word, and how your hand slips into a fist, ready to charge even though there's no punching your way out of this fumble.

You crack. Stumble out of your seat. Before he can talk you're moving, throwing a couple bills (too many for your poor wallet, you'll pay for that later) down and mumbling something about heading home. Your head's spinning and you just want to sit down again, pretend like this never happened and ask about some meaningless moment in a meaningless day that you wish could be yours and his, not just—

"—text me when you're goin' out again," you say, high and nervous. "I'll be around."

You turn.

"You don't have to leave."

"I got work tomorrow. Early."

"Thought you had the day off?"

Fuck, la deuxième acte. "Taking a shift for someone."

"Oh." He doesn't believe you. He would be a fool to. But he agrees anyways. "Okay."

"See ya, Kraken."

He doesn't answer you back. It's probably better that way.

BONUS

Many hours later, you're in bed, finally dozing off. You've rinsed off the filth of the night and resigned yourself to a barely adequate rest alone, too tired to consider what usually makes your mind race. It's been a long day; let future you contemplate all the ways you've screwed up.

Just as you're about to fall asleep, however, there's a small ping! that immediately wakes you up A notification sound reserved for only one person.

You groan but still roll over. Your heart may be a humiliated, burning mess, but it still beats for him, much as you've tried to stifle it.

kraken // 2:36 am. you available at 11p tomorrow?

kraken // 2:37 am. got word somethin going down at east docks, wanna check it out before it gets bad.

Relief is a sweet blessing. You exhale and smile into the darkness. He's still a professional, even if you seem unable to understand what that means.

you // 2:40 am. for sure. meet me at my place whenever and we can prep.

You leave it at that. Whatever he has to say after that, cannot be too important to waste your precious hours of sleep. So you roll over and shut your eyes and let yourself forget about the empty space that fills your place.

It's a decision you regret the next morning, when you wake up and realise what you missed.

kraken // 3:31 am. you ever get lonely for someone, feel free to let me know.

kraken // 3:32 am. might not make a great boyfriend, but i'll eat breakfast with you. so long as you're cooking.

A/N - I had a whole idea for two tired vigilantes (like what Diego does in season one, but partnered up) who both are really lonely and tired of life and all it's shit, and rely on each other more than they'll ever admit, and...I'll probably never write it, but this was a fun bit of that. two lonely emotionally deprived assholes who can't accept that maybe they can be loved and the person who wants to is right in front of them. :)

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

AO3 Link here 

Masterlist here

Their daughter enters the world squalling, tiny and pink and bloodied and somewhat wrinkled but healthy which is all that really matters), and Atsumu’s eyes widen before immediately filling with tears when the doctor places her in his arms.  

‘You did amazin’, darlin’ he whispers, running his finger against their daughter’s cheek reverently. ‘She’s perfect’. 

‘Make sure you count ten fingers and toes before you say that’, she manages to say before dropping her head back into the pillow, bone weary from her labour, and he laughs through his tears. 

They name her Shino, which means stem of bamboo. She reasons that if their daughter is going to take the Miya family name, she should in fairness have a name that represents her side of the family – and besides, she’d always been drawn to the whimsicalness of the tale of the bamboo cutter, but thought naming her baby ‘Kaguya’ might be a little on the nose. Atsumu’s grandmother isn’t terribly pleased, but her stoic father bursts into tears when they tell him, and immediately sends over a crate full of toys carved out of the bamboo from their family’s ancestral grove. 

The press has a field day when MSBY’s PR team releases news of their marriage and Shino’s birth, but thankfully the full weight of the team’s PR machine manages to twist the coverage to repackage Atsumu’s image as a wholesome family man, so the articles remain relatively positive. Still, they’re forced to sit through a number of photo shoots to keep the press happy, and she shudders at the office gossip she knows she’ll have to face when she returns back to work. 

His teammates crowd to greet Shino when she brings her out for one of their matches for the first time. Atsumu presents Shino proudly to his teammates - ‘look at what I made’,  he demands, dangling her in his hands so they can ooh and ahh over the little girl - ‘ I learnt it from one of  those kiddie cartoons I watched at night when she wouldn’t sleep!’ he tells her later when she scolds him for the precarious hold.

She has to shoo Hinata and Bokuto away when they try to hand Shino a volleyball, the ball looking comically big against the baby girl. Sakusa stands at a respectful distance away, but hands her an adorable onesie in MSBY’s black and gold, wrapped carefully in plastic. The corner of his eyes crinkle behind his mask when he tells her it’s so Shino can support them properly at their next game. 

‘Aww, Omi-omi! I always knew you liked me deep down inside’ Atsumu crows, bouncing on the balls of his feet and clapping his hands.

‘You’re insane to marry him’, Sakusa tells her, refusing to even acknowledge Atsumu’s tomfoolery.

‘Maybe I am’, she grins, warmth furling and unfurling in her chest. 

Despite her initial fears, Atsumu falls head over heels for Shino, and continues to allow their baby daughter to wrap him around her tiny finger. He wakes up without complaint for night feedings, spends nights pacing their little apartment coaxing Shino to bed, and straps her on his broad chest for what his pronounces ‘daddy-daughter’ adventures during the off-season when she’s away during the day for work. On weekends, they bring Shino to the park to watch the birds and the clouds in the sky, to the aquarium to watch the fish in the sea, and to the museum to marvel at dinosaur bones from a distant past. 

It’s at the museum that Shino says her first word, sitting between Atsumu’s legs in the museum sandbox, digging her chubby hands in the sand in search of fake fossils. 

‘Say that again’, Atsumu laughs wetly, pressing kisses to the top of their little girl’s head. 

‘Oto-san!’, Shino crows, the look on her face so reminiscent of Atsumu’s expression whenever he’s pleased with herself that she’s torn between feeling pride at her precocious little girl - and horror that she’s going to have her hands full with a mini-Atsumu. 

‘You’re daddy’s little girl, aren’t you, princess?’ Atsumu says proudly, and Shino claps her hands as he cuddles her close to his chest. He later tries his level best to empty out the museum gift store of toys to commemorate the day and she has to slap his hands from tossing in  ‘just one more toy’  into their checkout basket.  

‘Are you happy, ‘Tsumu?’ she asks him later, after they put Shino to bed. 

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he asks with a puzzled frown. ‘I have everything I need.’ 

‘Just checking’, she replies, her doubts forgotten when he tugs her into bed. 

For Shino’s first birthday, both their families squeeze into their apartment to celebrate by strapping a giant piece of mochi that Osamu made to her back, a tradition to rid young children of any impurities. Atsumu nearly trips over himself trying to capture a photo of the auspicious moment Shino falls over on her butt, and showers kisses on her proudly when she does not cry. 

They also carry out the erabitori ceremony, setting in front of Shino several objects symbolising the various paths she might choose in the future. Aside from the common items like an abacus, writing brush or books, her brothers insist on including a knife (sheathed, of course), earning raised eyebrows of Atsumus’s family. Osamu tosses in a kitchen spoon and Atsumu naturally places a volleyball right in the center of the spread. 

‘Cheatin’ pig’, Osamu mutters when Shino ends up picking the volleyball (attracted by its bright colours, he maintains), but Atsumu ignores him, tossing the little girl in the air in delight.

‘Darlin’, come take a look at this! Kageyama-kun’s playing his first game in Rome, and it looks like - I can’t believe this, why does his technique look better than before?! What - is the water he’s drinkin’ overseas magic or something? How’s he getting so good?’ 

‘Tsumu, could you keep it down? I just got Shino to bed, and I really need to finish the work I didn’t have time to do ‘cos I took over her pick-up today’. She replies wearily, typing furiously at her laptop. 

‘Sorry. I’ll pop over to chat with ‘Samu then, be back late!’

She nods distractedly as she hears the door click behind her back. 

‘I can’t believe I screwed up so badly at practice today’ Atsumu grouses, chin propped up on the wooden countertop of Onigiri Miya in between mouthfuls of food. ‘I kept missing my serves, and then that asshole Omi-omi dared to laugh when I ran around trying to get my head back into the game –‘ 

‘Tsumu’. Osamu cuts in, setting another onigiri in front of him. ‘As much as I want to listen to you complain about your no-good, very-bad day, could’ya help your poor wife out a little bit?’ 

‘Thanks ‘Samu’, she musters the energy to give him a distracted smile, juggling a bowl of rice porridge she’s trying to persuade Shino to eat and preventing said little girl from smearing rice grains all over the place.

Atsumu plops Shino onto his lap, and continues talking over her head. She takes the opportunity to stuff her face with food –  glorious food, and doesn’t notice when he maintains a sullen silence as they walk home. 

A hush ripples across the stands like a tsunami when Atsumu gets substituted midway during the last set of the match. She isn’t surprised, not when he started playing badly during the set – there was a little kid that screeched just as he was about to serve, and he’d hit the ball way out of bounds. That had been the start of his downward spiral during the game – his dump shots got picked up, his blocks weren’t quite on point, and worst of all – he’d somehow managed to misjudge the timing of a toss to Hinata-kun, the ginger haired spiker looking confused when the ball missed his hand. 

He’d stormed off the court the minute the referee’s whistle sounded, frustration and anger written all over his face and she’d made a beeline for the locker room, tucking a sleeping Shino into her carrier. She can hear him yelling (at himself, most likely) and the distinct sound of flesh hitting metal, and is about to burst in to comfort him when Sakusa steps neatly in front of her to block her way. 

‘Sakusa-kun’, she greets him, eyes darting towards the door. 

‘Miya-san’, he nods at her, face already hidden behind his usual mask. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to disturb him just yet.’ 

She opens her mouth to object, but Meian Shugo, the team’s broad shouldered, good natured captain, plants a hand on her shoulder to gently steer her away. ‘It’s not a pleasant sight when he’s in a funk’, he tells her quietly. ‘Let us deal with it, we’re used to him. Do you need me to call you a cab?’

‘He’s my husband – I should be the one to deal with him’ , she wants to say – but doesn’t, because Shino jolts awake and starts to wail. ‘It’s fine’, she does say, hushing her little girl. ‘I’ll hitch a ride home with ‘Samu instead’.

She meant to stay up to wait for Atsumu, give him his usual kiss and listen to him talk about his day, but she’s out like a light when her head hits the pillow (it’s been a long day, in her defense) , and she has to leave in the morning for work before he wakes.    

‘Everyone has their off days, but you’re an incredible setter, you know?’ she does tell him that night over dinner. Shino squeals and smashes her hand into the bowl of food. 

‘Of course I am’, he frowns at her, almost as if he thinks it’s odd for her to even feel the need to say that, and turns away to ruffle Shino’s hair.

She waits by herself in the lobby of her office building for five minutes before she gives in to her impatience and calls him. 

‘Tsumu? Weren’t we supposed to meet for lunch today?’ 

‘Oh shit – I’m sorry, doll, I promised Hinata-kun that I’ll come in for extra practice today. I’ll make it up to you some other day, ok?’ 

She sighs through her nose. ‘Ok – have fun dear’, she replies reluctantly, and he ends the call before she can say any more. 

She can feel the gaze of her colleagues on her back, and plasters a smile on her face before marching off to her favourite dessert place, comforting herself with a box of mochi. She buys an extra box for Osamu (they had a specialty flavour just for the season, and she knows he’s been dying to try that) , and drops it off on the way back home. 

Atsumu complains about only getting one piece of mochi when Osamu sends him a picture of her gift – she can imagine him gloating even though the picture is unaccompanied by any text. 

‘You don’t even like chestnut!’ she scolds Atsumu, and he sulks. 

‘Tsumu! Could you come help zip me into my dress?’ she calls, checking her watch impatiently. The babysitter should arrive in five minutes to take care of Shino for the night while they’re away at the team’s annual gala party.

‘Yknow’, we’d get there a lot faster if you hadn’t sold your old scooter’, he tells her, as he steps into the room, immaculately dressed in his best suit. 

‘I told you – it’s not practical to keep a scooter around when we have a young child’, she answers, already weary of a conversation they’ve had multiple times before. 

‘I’m just sayin’, he says lightly. ‘Oof – sorry, darlin’, the zip ain’t budgin’. 

‘But it fit perfectly fine the last time I wore it’, she frowns. 

‘You must’ve put on some weight’, he says absently, the heat of his hand burning on her hip even after he walks away. 

‘Tsumu, seriously? I told you yesterday morning that we’re out of milk powder and diapers!’ she growls into her phone, cramming her way onto the subway. ‘Fine – whatever, you go for training, I’ll deal with it myself’, she ends the call, dropping her phone like a hot stone into her pocket. 

She runs to the supermarket during her lunch break, cursing herself for wearing heels instead of more comfortable flats, picking up two packs of diapers, a double can of milk powder, and a pack of wipes on discount - all things Atsumu should have picked up last night, but he claimed he was too busy with training and club events to pay attention to a simple errand like this – 

She’s so lost in her thoughts she doesn’t notice when her foot misses the curb and lands on her knees in the dust, the contents of her bags spilling onto the road. There are scores of people on the street but no one stops to offer their assistance, so she ignores the searing pain to pick her precious supplies up before they’re lost in the crowd. 

The blood from the cuts on her knees drips down her calves, and she limps her way back to the office.  

‘Trouble in paradise?’ Yuna-san asks with a curious smirk on her face when she heads back to her seat, eyes red, knees wrapped with white bandages. 

‘No, nothing like that’, she answers the office gossip, keeping her voice deliberately light. 

Atsumu only grunts when she asks him that night how his day went, kneeling down to greet Shino with a hug. 

‘Won’t be stayin’ for dinner, got a team event at night’, Atsumu calls out to her, one foot out of the door. 

‘What? You should’ve told me earlier, I’m already halfway through preparing dinner’, she shouts back, hacking at the vegetables on the chopping board with a vengeance. 

His only reply is a slam of the door, which startles Shino enough to cry. In her hurry to get to her daughter, her hand on the knife slips, and she cuts open her hand. 

The space beside her remains empty throughout the night, and she falls asleep pretending the only pain she feels is from the bleeding gash on her hand. She’s so exhausted she does not wake until her alarm rings, not even when the surge of rain overnight batters her windows and water floods the streets.