#time it’ll be a step in the right direction for other healthy habits

[mads-is-tired]

me, trying desperately to lower my screen time: oooo look the tumblr app. oooo look tiktok. oooo look google rabbit hole

[saphirered]

If you want some individual character asks how about Caleb with a Druid s/o who will wild shape into a cat if he seems sad to try and make him feel better.

Here you go! Enjoy 😘.

Not only out of components to return Frumpkin to his preferred cat form but also having loaned the now owl familiar to Beauregard as part of their agreement Caleb feels lonely, lacking the comfort of the orange fur ball to keep him company. There’s always been something about having the only creature aware of everything he had gone through and still look at him the same as they had always done that gives him hope there might yet be redemption and salvation for him and it’s something he really could use right now. All that’s left for him is to retreat to his room and wallow in sorrow until he falls asleep, gets the components to turn Frumpkin back, this feeling passes or a distraction big enough to have him focus on something else comes along.

You’d noticed Caleb silently retreat when the others were still around. Caleb may be good at covering up anything beyond a surface level of emotion but you know him well enough he’s not in the greatest shape when he just wanders off in the middle of the day. Things had been harsh lately and he’d been struggling. You’d been doing your best to be there for him but Caleb struggles even more with accepting help from others when he’s like this and prefers seclusion until he sets himself straight. It’s not healthy, you’ve told him but it keeps him going so you’ve come to terms with it offering him little gestures of kindness whenever you could if only to ease his pain a little bit.

When Caleb disappeared into the background making sure the others were too caught up in whatever they were doing you sat around, staring in the direction he left in half paying attention to the people around you and your mind debating wether or not you should do something, anything. After Caleb hadn’t returned in an hour you excused yourself and went after him searching for wherever he went. Your first guess had to be right. Not many places he could or would go.

There you are standing in front of the wooden door fist raised hesitantly to knock. Maybe this was a bad idea? Maybe you should just leave him to himself. If Caleb wants to be alone then you should respect that… but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t check in on him… Because what if you could do something? It doesn’t have to be much or fix everything because you know that’s not the goal but the tiniest difference between Caleb wallowing in his own pain and having something or someone to bring him some comfort; that would be enough.

So you knock. There’s a silence and you don’t expect a reply of any kind. You try again, a little bit harder this time. Still you wait patiently. You’re about to turn and leave when the door opens and Caleb peaks out. He looks tired, exhausted even but musters a half smile upon seeing you.

“What can I do for you?” Caleb tries his best to not falter in his usual habits but he knows there’s no hiding from you. You wouldn’t be here if he had succeeded in the first place. No use in keeping the facade going.

“I came to see if you’re alright.” Again there’s the pained half smile. You pity him so much. You know Caleb does not want your pity but still you do. You can’t help yourself but feel sorry for everything he’s been put through and the scars left from the past. No one should have to suffer through such terrible things.

“I’m fine.”

“No, Caleb. You’re not fine.”

“I will be fine. I just need… time.” Caleb sighs holding onto the door. You clasp your hands together and give him the sincerest look you can muster.

“I know you will be fine but I also know you won’t ask for help unless it’s a last resort so I’ll ask you. Do you need my help? Is there anything I could do for you?” Caleb bites his lip, steps aside and allows you to enter. You do and the door is closed behind you. The room is as simple as ever, the sheets slightly crinkled and pillow sunken, giving away he’d been sitting in bed staring into the abyss for who knows how long.

Caleb sits on the bed hands clasped in his lap and nods to the space next to him. You take the hint and sit down. Hesitantly you reach out your hand towards his but stop and are about to pull away hadn’t Caleb grasped your hand to enclose it between both of his own. The grip isn’t too tight or lacking any strength but feels like him holding on to a lifeline no less.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” You ask as the wizard keeps his eyes on your hand between his. There’s something about the gesture to him that brings him comfort and keeps him tethered to this plane. You’re like an island in the middle of the ocean and he’s been swimming from sharks out to get him but not even you can stand up against a flood. Caleb shakes his head.

“Is there something you usually do to make things easier?” You know of some of the coping mechanisms of Caleb but he wouldn’t have retreated if they worked. Caleb’s smarter than you are and knows himself best so while you may come up with some ideas, you’ll let him try first.

“Yes but not now. Not unless you happen to have about ten gold worth of incense on you.” Caleb laughs sarcastically.

“If you need Frumpkin back I can go retrieve him from Beau if you don’t feel comfortable doing so yourself. Don’t worry.” He appreciates your willingness to take the pressure off any social interactions he doesn’t have the energy for but sadly that’s not the reason.

“Thank you but Frumpkin as he is now won’t help. I need my cat. Not my cat shaped like an owl and it’ll still be a while before we get somewhere I can get enough incense to turn him back.”Caleb looks at you and can see the cogs in your head turning. A realisation has hit you but he cannot place it so instead he awaits for you to elaborate.

“You need a cat? Would any cat do or just Frumpkin? Maybe a cat that looks like Frumpkin?” You try your best to get the clearest visual of the orange ball of fur you can to make sure you could get this right.

“I think so but I’m not sure?” Caleb tries to figure out what you’re hinting at.

“Would this help?” You close your eyes and focus on the image in your mind. Next you open your eyes the world is different. You’re staring up at Caleb with a significant height difference. Your senses pick up on things you did not before and you’re hit with an overwhelming scent of a mixture of spell components, smoke and something more earthy. It’s not uncomfortable and actually pleasant.

Caleb is at loss for words. He knows about your ability to turn into animals but never considered the fact you’d be able to turn into a cat. While he certainly sees some dissimilarities between you and Frumpkin they are minor, he would not have expected you to know exactly where Frumpkin has that little spot shaped like a bean or where one of his whiskers is just a little shorter than the other above it.

Reaching out as if to pet you Caleb hesitates. He knows it’s not Frumpkin or another cat. He’s fully aware this is still you and you’re still fully aware of your surroundings, retain your memory and everything you knew as a person. He can see it in your eyes; they are unmistakably you. When you nudge up into his hand allowing him to stroke his fingers over your head Caleb reads this as you giving him permission. The head scratches turn over to your cheek and just under your chin and you can’t help but feel yourself beginning to purr just like Frumpkin does when he receives the same attention. It’s actually very comfortable and you get why the fey cat likes it so much.

An arm guides you to Caleb’s side and the fingers brushing through your orange fur continue. You don’t know wether or not it’s the cat senses kicking in or your own but you can feel the anxiety beginning to lessen from Caleb. That’s a good sign.

Slowly, little by little your positions change. One moment you’re half leaning against Caleb’s thigh, the next you’re curled up in his lap. Eventually you find yourselves laying back on the bed, you rolled up comfortably on Caleb’s stomach, the fingers brushing through your fur continuing until they become slower and slower and eventually cease, Caleb’s breathing growing heavier and slower. He’s asleep. You look at him careful not to twist too much but he looks peaceful and much less bothered by whatever haunts him so. You don’t want to wake him up so you’ll stay. You still got plenty of time left on this wild shape so maybe you’ll close your eyes for a bit too and you too fall asleep.

When you wake up you feel whatever’s under you stir so you open your eyes and make eye contact with Caleb who looks mortified for some reason. You wonder why. Had you done something in cat form? Wait, you don’t feel as small as you did anymore…

When Caleb woke up he found you in your normal form supporting your head on your crossed arms laying on his stomach fast asleep, his fingers intwined in your hair and the other hand somewhere between your shoulder blades. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. You hadn’t agreed to this and what if the reason you still being here was because his grip might have been too tight? Nevermind the awkwardness of this all. He doesn’t do well with most physical touch but just like you in cat form, this feels comfortable and he’s ashamed to admit he could very well get used to this, though he doesn’t have the heart to ask you himself.

You sit up supporting yourself on your hands on either side of Caleb. You saw his response to the position the two of you woke up and you know what he’s like when it comes to physical touch and after the emotionally intimate moment you shared with him finding comfort in you, you hope you hadn’t ruined it by falling asleep not keeping track on when your wild shape would end. You blurt out apologies as you sit up and begin removing yourself from on top of Caleb. Caleb stops you as you’re on your knees and rises himself to a sitting position.

“No, I should apologise. Thank you for your kindness. I should have been more considerate. I did not mean to keep you or put you in a, no pun intended, tight spot.” Caleb grabs one of your hands lightly as if afraid you’d slip away and he’d be alone again. Your initial fear you might have overstepped yourself falls away.

“Do… you want me to stay?” You’re almost afraid to ask but you have to, if not for your own sake then for his. Caleb nods sheepishly but when you wrap your arms around his waist pulling yourself close to him once more. His hands find your hair and begin to loosely brush through carefully getting rid of any tangle that might have been there.

“You know I could turn back into a cat once more if you’d prefer.” You mutter into Caleb’s stomach and you can feel the slight tension and release of his abdomen signalling a silent laugh.

“While I very much appreciate the offer and will hope it still stands in the future, for now I am very much content with this.”

[deltastorm101]

things i learned about myself during my second year living alone.

- time management and good planning is everything. and i mean everything. - get in the habit of using an actual spectacle cloth instead of your scratchy shirtsleeve. your glasses WILL thank you. - you know how time and dates stop being real when you're on holiday and you sleep and wake and do shit whenever you feel like? changing work shifts are like that too, even if you do sleep roughly around the same time and just your free time slots alternate. you'll find this really cool for some time. stimulating. new. different. until it gets a little too blurry, but that's okay because your life isn't a complete pile of shards anymore and you can stomach minor inconveniences. - "eat healthy, be active, sleep enough, don't do drugs, take your meds"... it all sounds cliché but oh my GOD is it ever so true. fuck. some rules you just should not break and caring for your body is one of them. - don't eat too close to bedtime. - you can sleep longer when you get into the habit of getting out of bed faster. - i dislike tea with cherry in it. practically everything with artificial cherry. just,, ew. - train your intuition. be in tune. listen. - i can be cold-blooded if something is pissing me off for too long. - fruit is amazing. it's sweet, easy to eat, colourful, full of vitamins. mother nature's candy. it's great. - your time perception changes the older you get. a few years ago, a year seemed long. two years, three years, did you mean eternity? now it's like... oh going to uni might take 6 years? why the hell not, i've got time, it'll pass, let's go. - go outside! - things end. some things should end. letting go of bullshit is good. life has seasons, cycles, phases. embracing this is hard, but worth it. - i still hate vaccuuming, but i found out why... i don't know how to change a dust bag. the more i vaccuum, the higher the chance it'll be full and i can't do anything about it. is that pathetic? you decide. - my right knee is weaker than my left. i should probably get that checked out sometime lol - you’re doing great. cut yourself some slack. life is hard. compare yourself to others only if you think it’s doing you good, but stop immediately if it doesn’t. - maybe the people were right when they said heat is worse than cold. i still hate winter for how it makes me feel, but summer is definitely not as good as i remember.

happy september. i think i would really like to be awake for it this time, which is a huge step in the right direction.

[dukeofonions]

The Problem With Asides

Before I get into anything I want to clarify that this is not going to be a criticism of the two Asides episodes we’ve gotten so far. This is a critique of the concept of Sanders Asides as a separate series from the original Sanders Sides. A second note I want to make is that this is, just as all my other posts are, a personal opinion. This is not meant to be an attack on anyone, just a general criticism from a confused writer and viewer of the show. 

And final disclaimer: A lot of what I’m going to say is based on information that I no longer have available. It’ll mostly be me recalling things I heard and if I at any point get something wrong please feel free to let me know. 

That being said, let’s get into this, shall we? 

(Fair warning this post is very long hence why I’ve divided it into parts so feel free to read then come back as you wish)

Part One: The Concept of Asides

Some time ago last year, I believe shortly after Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts came out, was when the idea for Sanders Asides was first announced. The basic concept of it being shorter, more lighthearted videos focusing on the Sides outside of the main storyline. This format would allow them to give us more Sides content in between the long waits for the main series since those episodes were beginning to take more time to produce. 

Of course, everyone was eager for more Sides, so the majority of people were excited. Not only that but due to the main series tackling heavier themes, the episodes were becoming more angsty with less time for the characters to just relax and goof off with each other. The idea of having episodes reminiscent of the low stakes, sillier, happier content of season one was a welcome break from the more complex episodes and would be a nice return to form for the series. 

We were also informed that these episodes would be much simpler than their main series counterparts and wouldn’t disrupt the work being done on Sanders Sides, which meant we didn’t have to worry about long gaps between the main story episodes, right? 

(Another disclaimer: I am perfectly aware of the main reason why we were not given as much content last year and am not blaming Thomas or the team for doing what was necessary to keep themselves safe and hope they continue to do so as this continues into the new year)

Jump to November 22, 2019, where we got our first official episode of Sanders Asides, roughly five months after DWIT came out. Which, for this fandom, was record time to get more content and I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly they were able to get this out. Though at the same time, I wondered why it took five months to make what was meant to be a short, simple episode. 

So imagine my surprise when I went to watch the episode and saw it was nearly 20 minutes long. Which, okay, isn’t that bad when you compare it to the lengths of the more recent Sanders Sides episodes. But at the time, I was under the impression that the Asides would be, well, much shorter. The longest I expected would be maybe 15 minutes, but you know what? It’s the first episode and it has been a while since we’ve had Sides content, so maybe they wanted to give us a little extra due to the long wait. 

I started the episode and at first, I was overjoyed when I saw the first shot of all the Sides sitting in the living room in their onesies about to have a movie night. This was exactly what I’d been hoping to see from this series! It’s pretty much a staple thing in the fandom for the Sides to have movie nights together, and now it was happening in canon! 

At the moment, I had high hopes for this series and was filled with joy. 

Then that hope and joy were immediately crushed when I realized this was yet just another Virgil-centric angst episode. In fact, this entire episode was, well, exactly like a regular Sanders Sides episode. Sure, there were some jokes here and there, but the tone of the episode was no lighter than the last Sanders Sides episode. If anything DWIT felt lighter in comparison to this one. 

Which leads me to ask, what the heck happened? 

Part Two: Literally the Same Show

At this point in time, we’ve only had two episodes of Asides. Usually, I try to hold off my judgment of a series until I’ve had at least one other episode to see if my original criticisms still stand. 

To be fair, I did think Flirting With Social Anxiety was a step in the right direction. More comedy, a lighter tone, yes. Perfect. But again, just like with Are There Healthy Distractions? This episode quickly dove right back into the angst pool, and just like ATHD it was a pretty long episode, clocking in at almost 25 minutes. 

Not only that but again, both FWSA and ATHD don’t feel any different from the episodes we’ve been getting in Sanders Sides. 

1. They’re just as angsty.

2. Roughly the same length as Sanders Sides episodes.

3. Take about just as long to produce.

4. Contain a lesson to be learned. 

Which, okay, you can have lessons in lighter shows too, but we’re already getting that in Sanders Sides and Sanders Asides was described as, well, being less plot heavy. Yet so far both episodes are still tied in with the main plot. 

ATHD deals with the aftermath of DWIT, not directly but it’s pretty obvious that the whole thing with Virgil’s reveal at the end of that episode is being addressed in the background. Which, kind of takes away the impact of that ending, but I’ll get to that later. 

Then FWSA takes place after Putting Others First and again, is dealing with things from that episode in the background. Again though, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It makes sense to see the characters dealing with things from past events.

So why is it a problem here? Because, again, Sanders Asides is meant to be a separate series, and all the subtext brought on from the episodes in Sanders Sides makes the plots in these two episodes confusing. 

For example, I was perplexed during my first watch of FWSA because I couldn’t understand why the focus of the conflict was lying. I didn’t understand why Virgil and Roman came to the conclusion that Thomas’ reason for being unable to approach Nico was because he was lying to himself, when both the title of the episode and what we were shown points more to, well, social anxiety being the problem. 

(Quick note: One could argue that this was done purposefully to have Virgil putting the blame on Janus since he doesn’t like him and wouldn’t want to admit that he was the one responsible, but this series has had a bad habit of favoring Virgil in the past so until we get more answers I’m gonna leave this on the backburner) 

It didn’t help that I had no idea when this episode was meant to take place in the timeline, and I originally thought it could take place a bit after season two since Roman and Virgil seemed to be doing better, but more on them later.

All of this bugged me until I found out that FWSA takes place after POF, and after watching the live stream that followed and getting some more context, the lying thing made a bit more sense, but the fact that I was as confused as I was just caused more frustration to build up. And I wasn’t the only one who got thrown off by the “Lying is wrong” message of FWSA so I had to ask again, why was this episode a Sanders Asides when apparently, you need information from the last Sanders Sides episode in order to understand it?

So you’re telling me, that the second episode in what is supposed to be a separate series that isn’t meant to be a part of the main plot, is now integral to the plot of the main story you’re telling in what is, as you have said, a separate show? How does that make any sense? 

Okay, one could argue that Thomas getting a love interest doesn’t really fit with the current storyline that’s going on in Sanders Sides, and that is a fair point. The problem with that is, FWSA takes place right after Putting Others First. 

You all remember what happened at the end of that episode, right?

Part Three: Intrusive Plots

At this point we’ve all become rather accustomed to the long waits in between videos, it’s nothing new to us, and for the most part they haven’t done anything to harm the current plot of Sanders Sides. Sure, the length of time between videos can cause people to lose interest, but for the most part the tone of the last three episodes of Sanders Sides hasn’t differed much and the story flow is still going along smoothly. 

Let’s start with Selfishness vs Selflessness, which is the episode that sets up the big climax for season two. It’s still got its jokes and funny moments, but the overall tone is far more serious than previous episodes have been. This carries on into DWIT where Thomas has been so stressed out lately that he’s begun to have trouble with his intrusive thoughts. 

Virgil even gives a pretty good summary of Thomas’ current mental state: “He recently realized he’s a bigger liar than he thought he was, he doesn’t understand himself, he’s committed to skipping a big callback, and he’s sleep-deprived. So yeah, he feels like a piece of dirt who has no control over his life.”

And all that was a direct result of the ending of SVS, despite DWIT not being the direct follow up to that episode the two are still intertwined. Remember that for later.

DWIT ends with the long awaited reveal of Virgil having been a “Dark Side.” Even though the majority of the fandom had figured it out by as early as Can Lying Be Good? That didn’t take away from the emotional gut punch that this scene was and it’s one of my favorite moments from the series. I may have to make a whole post breaking that scene down but what matters is that this scene was a turning point for Virgil’s character.

We’ve seen him trying to hide the truth from Thomas ever since Janus and Remus started popping up, and there were close calls with both of them nearly revealing it themselves and continuously dropping hints to Thomas. Only for Virgil to admit it to Thomas himself, and leave before Thomas can even say a word. 

We don’t know for sure how Thomas is feeling in this moment, but it’s clear he’s been shaken by this. He doesn’t really have a lot of time to process it before he remembers to acknowledge the audience and close out the video. 

This comes up again once we finally get to the monster of an episode that is POF, the follow up to SVS that everyone had been waiting over a year for. Right away we see that Patton and Roman will be at the forefront of this discussion with Logan popping up every now and then, but who doesn’t show up in this episode despite having played a role in SVS? 

Virgil. 

He’s nowhere to be seen and his absence is definitely felt. Why wouldn’t he be part of this discussion? He was there in SVS and had a lot to say on the matter, he was even part of the decision to choose the wedding over the callback! So why wasn’t he there? 

Well, just look at the ending of DWIT and there’s your answer. Of course he isn’t about to show his face after that. Not when Thomas is already under so much stress already and he isn’t sure how Thomas will react to seeing him-

*insert random voice whispering off to the side*

 Wait, Virgil has seen Thomas since DWIT? When? 

*whispers continue*

Oh, right, they interacted in Sanders Asides. How did that go again? 

*whispers explain*

Huh? Thomas said he’s cool with Virgil despite revealing that he’s been hiding something from him this whole time? That “something” being the fact that Virgil was once considered part of the others that were currently making Thomas’ life miserable?

*whispers confirm*

Really? They’re both okay with each other now? Well, good for them. 

So wait, then why didn’t Virgil show up in POF? He was there during the first discussion and honestly he’d have more of a reason to show up than Logan who wasn’t really present at all in SVS. 

*whispers explain* 

He just wasn’t need there? Hm, alright. Guess that makes sense… 

Well okay, Virgil and Thomas are on good terms once POF rolls around, Virgil isn’t present during the conversation because he isn’t needed and I suppose his presence would make things worse. Especially once Janus revealed himself, he wouldn’t allow him to get a word in. Even though Janus could probably silence him but I digress. 

Fast forward towards the ending of POF, remember when I said to remember how SVS and DWIT were connected? Well DWIT is just as important to POF, acting as a bit of bridge between to the two episodes. 

Janus brings up Remus (both directly and indirectly) twice in this episode.

First here:

 Notice how Roman’s breakdown is already being foreshadowed here, the camera focusing on him while “Logan” says this isn’t an accident. 

The second time Remus is brought up is at the very end after Janus has revealed his name:

“Oh, Roman thank God you don’t have a mustache. Otherwise between you and Remus, I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is.” 

(No I am not posting screenshots of this scene I already got emotional over the last one)

As we saw at the end of DWIT, Roman does not have a good relationship with is brother. So much so that when Thomas refers to Remus as such, Roman creates a different analogy that compares Remus to a mirror, reflecting everything Roman doesn’t want to be. 

Roman desperately wants to distance himself from Remus, not wanting anything to do with him. We’ve only gotten a glimpse of just how far this loathing goes, and part of that comes from Roman finally breaking down after being told by Janus that if it wasn’t for a mustache there’d be no difference between him and Remus.

This shook Roman more than anything else in the show has so far, moreso than him being the one to decide that Thomas should give up the callback. He was the one that pushed Thomas to make that decision, believing it was the noble thing to do, only for it to only make Thomas feel worse and then be told by Janus that his “noble sacrifice” was all for nothing. 

Janus, the one who had been supporting Roman throughout SVS, buttering him up and encouraging him to go after his dream, told him that his sacrifice was worthless. Then to top it all off Janus admits what he did and brushes it off as a joke. He doesn’t apologize to Roman, leaving him in the dust, then when Roman responds by laughing at his name he’s shot down even lower. 

And when he looks to Thomas and Patton for help, for answers, anything.

They stay silent.

Patton tries to reassure him, telling Roman that they love him, but he doesn’t believe it. He sinks out, and that’s the last we see of him.

Selfishness vs Selflessness, Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts, and Putting Others First are three of the biggest (and dare I say most important) episodes in the series. The three almost act like a trilogy, with POF leading to something bigger, the season finale. Which will be culmination of all three of these episodes. 

We’ll be seeing Virgil’s reaction to Janus having been accepted by Patton and facing his own past as a “Dark Side.” Then we’ll find out what has become of Roman after he disappeared at the end of POF, and how it now affects his relationship with Thomas.

*whispers return and begin to whisper*

I’m sorry what?

*whispers repeat*

Virgil already knows about Janus getting somewhat accepted? Well okay I guess he would, wish we could have seen his reaction to that but oh well, no big deal. At least we got the Roman and Thomas confrontation to look forward to. 

*whispers whisper*

Roman has already interacted with Thomas since POF? When?!

*whisper* 

In FWSA? Oh yeah, how did that go again? It was super awkward right? Since Roman doesn’t really trust that Thomas loves or values him?

*whisperly whisper*

They get along just fine as if nothing happened? 

*whispersty*

It looks like he might still be upset with him since he’s being a bit passive aggressive? 

*whisper* 

Can’t really tell because the three are too busy trying to talk to a cute guy at the mall? 

Okay, I guess that all makes sense… 

Looks like Roman and Virgil still aren’t on the best terms with Thomas but are able to push that aside to help him talk to this handsome stranger, and hey, it worked! Thomas now has a boyfriend! Just look at Roman and Virgil at the end, they’re both so happy with Thomas! 

Looks like now they can focus on this new chapter in their life and leave the events of POF behind them. I mean, now that Roman and Virgil seem pretty cool with Thomas it would just feel weird to suddenly have them angry with him again, wouldn’t it?

Part Four: The Problem

Sanders Asides was originally described as being a series separate from the main storyline of Sanders Sides. Promising us shorter, less complicated episodes to give us a little something in between the longer, heavier episodes in Sanders Sides. This was a great idea that ended up falling apart the moment it began. 

When I was going through SVS, DWIT, and POF I mentioned that the three of them felt like a trilogy. All three of them link together to tell one bigger story, and on their own they get the job done. They set up the season finale perfectly to the point where you have an idea of what to expect and what to look forward to. 

The main things being the aftermath of Virgil’s reveal and Roman’s breakdown, which would most likely cultivate in them teaming up against Janus. This would also involve Virgil coming to terms with his past and Roman having to face Remus. 

Of course, none of this has been officially confirmed, but given everything we’ve seen up to this point it just makes sense. 

The story for season two is nearly complete, all we’re missing is the conclusion. 

Then Sanders Asides showed up and threw everything off course. What was supposed to be its own thing crept into a story that was already (for all we knew) set up and being put into place. 

We were told that the Asides wouldn’t do anything to disrupt the flow of Sanders Sides, yet it’s been confirmed that there will be one or two more episodes of Asides before we get the season finale. 

Why? Why are these episodes necessary when everything was set to move forward after POF? If these episodes are that important that they absolutely have to be made before the finale then why are they simply not part of the main series? 

You could say “Well they’re not directly tied to the main plot, that’s why.” But need I remind you that Asides as a concept was just intriduced after DWIT came out? These episodes were written specifcally for Asides, which unless I’m wrong means that they were just added into the main story with no planning whatsoever. 

FWSA honestly feels like it should have been the start of season three, something that should have waited to be introduced after season two wrapped up because it’s just too much. 

We already have so much to unpack from SVS, DWIT, and POF now we also have a new love interest on top of that? 

Virgil and Thomas’ resolution doesn’t even feel all that special because it wasn’t talked about directly between them. Thomas was indirectly letting Virgil know they were still okay, so what does that leave for us? All that build up about Virgil being a “Dark Side” only for it to be brushed over like it was nothing, and this happened in an Asides episode, not even in the main series. 

It also makes Virgil’s absence in POF confusing when they had already set up the perfect reason for him to be absent in DWIT, but according to the first episode of ATHD Virgil and Thomas are okay with each other. Sure, Virgil being there might have made things worse but at that point everyone was making things worse. 

We no longer have a confrontation between Thomas and Roman to look forward to because in FWSA we see them interacting as normal. Even the passive agressiveness isn’t anything new to Roman and really, it all just sounds super petty which he had been known to behave like that even when nothing is seriously wrong. Not only that Roman is overjoyed at the end, having finally gotten something he desperately wanted, the happy ending he deserved.

All that’s left for him is to fave his feelings towards Remus, but what would even happen there?

The problem with Asides isn’t the quality of the episodes, FWSA is actually one of my favorite episodes. The problem with Asides is that the team is taking what should have been something small and turning it into a far too elaborate for what its original purpose was: To give us more lighthearted content to enjoy in between the waits for the heavier episodes.

Instead it just feels like they’re adding onto something that really didn’t need adding on to, creating more work for themselves when it just isn’t necessary, and that worries me.

Final Thoughts

Honestly, it’s hard for me to make all these judgments when no one has any idea what the finale is going to be like. And usually, the team is able to excede my expectations and create something amazing. 

But with all these new Asides episodes that feel like they’re just being crammed in at the last second, it makes me wonder how the rest of the series will go if they continue down this road. 

Season two started September 1st, 2017, it is now January 3rd, 2021. Throughout season two the production of episodes became more elaborate, and there have been complications that arose from trying to make these videos as a result that sent production screeching to a halt. And on top of that, these Sanders Asides have been added to create even more work for Thomas and the team.

I don’t understand why they’d do this to themselves when it’s already become more difficult than ever to make videos in general, not just Sanders Sides. 

We were offered something simple that would have satisfied everyone during the difficult times, only to be given something that honestly, wasn’t even needed. I do appreciate Thomas trying to get us more content, but I don’t think he or the team realizes just how content we’d all be with just a five minute video of the characters we love just doing something as simple as hanging out and having fun, especially with how dark things have become all around us. 

We don’t always have to be watching these characters struggle, sometimes we just need to see them be genuinely happy.

(Thanks to everyone who took time to read this monster of a post, I did not mean for it to get this long but it’s been dwelling on my mind for a while and I wanted to make sure I got out everything I wanted to say. Again, this is all just a personal opinions and you are not obligated to agree with me. If you have an objecting opinion I would not mind hearing it but please keep any discussions civil.)

[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 20

The dinner was just as Jason expected, bland, dull, a lot of formalities in which Bane was visibly struggling with and did not even bother to pretend to know the difference between steak or salad forks. Jason, Dick, and Tim managed to keep the conversation alive and light, somehow without offending the formality of the dinner. Good thing, Jason thought, that The League had taught him of formal dinner etiquette and whatnot, otherwise he would have been slurping the baiwang with the soup spoon instead of the Chinese soup spoon provided by Alfred - like Bane.

Dick, for all of his lack of etiquette education, won in the manners division - regardless of the fact that Tim was helping him by pointing out which cutlery should be used for what. At the very least, he was not beneath asking what he wasn't sure of. 

The day after was a little duller. Alfred merely informed them that the police were there along with the District Attorney, Harvey Dent, to arrest Bane on several counts of murder. Bane was arrested nearly without a fight - he had been purged of his venom strength and knew that he had no chance against some of the cops who were ready to taser him.

Jason was... frankly, a little disappointed.

"Would've been nice if there was a brawl or something," Dick voiced Jason's thought out loud just as he walked outside.

"Oh, goodness, I'm just glad this is over," Bruce commented, glaring apprehensively at Dick's back as the latter walked away with Damian. There was a good long silence before he added, "I presume now that Bane is out of this house, Damian will no longer need you two? I mean, he has me now - and his grandparents." he pointed out.

"I have vowed to guard Damian until he is an adult," Jason replied simply. Ignoring Bruce's sudden change of expression. "it is my order."

"Well, Talia... no offense. But Talia won't-- is no longer around to hold you accountable." Bruce argued.

"No, she's not. But Damian is." Jason looked at the child, sitting under one of the Manor's massive trees with a thick sketchbook before him. Dick, Jason knew, was on the tree. Even with Bane arrested, Oracle had warned that as long as he's not fully incarcerated in a maximum-security facility, he could still either get out and hurt the Waynes - including Damian. Therefore Jason asked Dick to remain with them for a little while longer. Thankfully, Dick didn't mind.

"He's a child. Children adapt well with changes of environments," Bruce said. "and if you're afraid that Bane would come back, I can hire some bodyguards for him."

Jason managed to hold back his smirk. People always thought that he was there to protect Damian; not realizing that he was protecting others from Damian's temper. Instead, he smarted, "like you protected your parents by sending them overseas."

"Oh, now, that's not fair." Bruce protested. "It was... we all thought that... at least mother and I..." he didn't finish his sentence as he exhaled exasperatedly. "His DNA check is back," he continued after a few moments of silence.

"Obviously, he hasn't a drop of Wayne blood in him," Jason suggested, a little dryly. "Something anyone with knowledge of the molecular structure of DNA would have known right away. You accepted Damian right away because you saw he has your mother's ears, in spite of his green eyes. Yet you doubted your father's denial in spite of the fact that there is nothing on Bane that resembled any of you - including about all of the portraits of your ancestors.

"And then there's something else I realized. Bane came with nothing; whereas Damian came with the Al Ghul wealth. You were more accepting because Damian would not equal splitting the Wayne wealth..."

"That is not true!" Bruce growled. "I would not have turned Damian away even if he was not Talia's child. He is my child, and I know that he is!"

"Then we're back to my initial point: You were unable to defend your parents because you did not have 100% faith in their virtues. The Al Ghuls are known leaders of the League of Assassins, to which the leadership shall now be Damian's. What will be your argument, when he decides to take over the League fully? 'Oh, I can't be associated with criminals, even if said crimes were just allegation and not a video recording of someone snapping off another person's neck'?" Jason sneered. "Now, Mister Wayne. I also would like to remind you, that I have Damian's legal custody. If you insist I should leave, I shall bring him along."

"You can't do that," Bruce scowled. "He's my biological child..."

"You have studied your country's laws, Mister Wayne. But you forgot the one crucial thing: Damian is not your country's boy by any means other than your claim." Jason mentally realized that he has placed one of his ace cards onto the table. But he honestly prefers this kind of conversation not to be had when Damian is present. And from the looks of it, he has packed his sketching materials and was making his way back indoors. "Do not try to deny Damian's access to me, or the League, Mr Wayne. He is not yours to manipulate," he added softly while Damian was still out of range.

"Hey guys, Damian and I are hungry," Dick announced as they went past the door. "Think Alfred would let us have cookies?"

"He's the one who is hungry, Todd," Damian told Jason. "I shall wait until tea time for the cookies. It is only a mere hour away."

"Why don't you scrub up a little? Tea should be ready by the time you're done." Bruce suggested.

Damian's scowl could have killed a cobra. "While I am planning on refreshing myself, father, it would be kind of you to cease directing me as if I am an imbecile," he stated, and for the second time in less than 10 minutes, Jason bit the inside of his cheek to stop a snicker.

Bruce, however, was not amused at Damian. "Well! That is not what a child should say to his father!" he admonished.

"Todd," Damian glared at Jason. "Did you not inform Mr Wayne here that I merely referred to him as 'father' due to common societal practices?" he asked with air quotes around the word 'father'.

"I have informed him that, Damian," Jason assured him.

"Do remind him on a daily basis that I am not obliged to remain here beyond what is demanded by his country's societal norms." Damian continued.

"I shall, Damian," Jason replied.

"Very well, I shall be in my quarters until tea time. You might consider feeding Grayson here, Todd," Damian said dismissively.

"I actually have some matters to discuss with you, Damian, if you don't mind. I think Grayson can fend for himself just fine," Jason told him.

"I don't mind. Let us, then." Damian said, leading the way back to his room.

Jason nodded politely to Bruce and motioned Dick to join him. "Mr Wayne, Grayson."

As they left Bruce, still standing in confusion - probably - Dick remarked, "ouch," softly.

"Go on and get your own cookies, Grayson," Jason remarked.

"I need to discuss something with you, too. You two, actually, somewhere safe." Dick said. Both Jason and Damian paused their steps. "Yeah, and we might need to call upon a certain bird for backup," Dick added, almost nonchalantly. It was not until then that Jason noticed the tenseness on his shoulders. He remembered that Dick, too, was trained to keep an eye out for danger.

"You go on ahead with Damian, I'll ask Alfred if he may have tea in his quarters." Jason decided. Damian nodded, realizing the urgency in Dick's posture, and stepped a little closer to Dick as Jason turned the other way.

Whatever it is Dick has to say, Jason could be certain now that besides himself, Dick would protect Damian fiercely. And/or protect other, possibly innocent people, from Damian's tempers.

He was just wondering why did it seem that Bruce Wayne was so intent on removing him.

And why Dr and Mrs Wayne would suddenly take a trip to Europe right after they were proverbially and literally freed from Bane.

Alfred, as usual, was in the kitchen preparing for tea time. In spite of being Americans, the Waynes seemed to like the habit of afternoon tea time.

Jason told Alfred of Damian's request, and Alfred nodded slowly. "Is Master Bruce still in the sun-room, then?" he asked.

"Last time I saw him, yeah."

"Ah, then... young Jason, may an old man request something from you and your vast knowledge of herbs?" Alfred's face was as impassive as ever when he said that, just a shade before he returned to his task of preparing some small sandwiches. But Jason was a little confused. Why would Alfred ask him for herbs? As far as Jason could tell, he was as healthy as... well, someone Jason's age, which has got to be at least a third of Alfred's; half at most. Jason didn't think that Alfred was any older than mid- to late-40s.

"Sure, how can I help?" he answered, anyway.

"Oh, I was wondering if there is any method you may suggest to... how do I put it... Chafe off surgical remains within oneself? I have had work done for my nose, you see, on a whim as a young lad; and I do not believe it looks becoming on me as I age. I feel as if it makes me look like another person is inhabiting my body, as Master Bruce was wont to say."

Jason blinked, and partially wished Dick was there to confirm his thoughts. In spite of being the exact same height as Jason, Alfred was bowing his head a little as he spoke; and Jason knew that there was a surveillance camera that would be able to record their conversation in the kitchen. His shoulders were tenser than the task of cutting bread would have required.

"Well, wow... okay. I'll need to actually search my books. You know some of the ladies back then would apply something to their skin for scars or bruises. But I'm not sure if it'll work on surgical stuff. I'll let you know?" Jason replied carefully.

"Thank you, Jason, for considering. While it shames me for being vain, it is... rather crucial." Alfred smiled at him.

"No problem, Alf," Jason patted him on the shoulder and made his way back to Damian's room - where each and every surveillance device has been disabled and/or misdirected by the combination of Tim, Barbara, and Damian's own skills.

Once Jason walked in and closed the doors of Damian's room behind him, he was greeted by both Damian and Dick's voices.

"That man is not my father, Todd! I believe my grandparents may still be in danger!" Damian exclaimed as Dick stormed over and announced 'There was an increase of drone activities outside, that's why I brought Damian in!' - followed by Damian and Dick glaring at each other, and Damian said, "Todd, we might need to acquire some new exit strategy!" at the same time as Dick saying, 'I've sent a text to Tim, but he hasn't answered. I've texted Babs, though!'

Jason cringed at them. "Whoa! Hold up! If this is how you two kids report, nobody would need surveillance equipment to hear you from Gotham Harbor!" he snarled. The two promptly stopped and glared at each other again, as if they both were hoping to have Superman's laser vision or something. "Okay, I've heard you both, and I'm upping the ante. Alfred just asked me practically for a method to dissolve foreign objects inside someone's body and allude that someone in the house is not who they seemed. And said someone might be Bruce."

Damian threw his fist to the air, stating, "I knew it!"

Dick's eyes were wide as saucers. "Okay... I would... I've wanted to say the same thing since we got in. But I was kinda scared I might be wrong. What makes you sure?"

"Alfred referred to Bruce in the past tense when talking to me," Jason said. "You? --wait, no, Damian first."

"He looked and behaved differently than the videos mother had shown me," Damian replied.

"I second Damian on this. Well, dude... we need to communicate better, don't we?" Dick said, telling the last bit toward Damian. "I've only met him once, way back when-- when my parents were... you know. But like I've told you, I remember everything from that day as if it has just happened. I remember Bruce Wayne was there with a blonde girl wearing chinchilla fur, a 50s hairdo, and an actual pearl pin. But when my parents... right after, I saw him directing traffic of people out of the tent calmly. His presence then was literally calming, like, everyone was looking at him for direction. This Bruce... generally, looked too nervous on everything; if that makes sense."

Jason thought a moment. Dick was really good at reading people's body language - even the most stoic Alfred. Before Bane was removed, Dick's assessment of Alfred was that he was uncomfortable with Bane, yet very welcoming of Damian. Thus his immediate trust in Alfred. However, since Bane was arrested and proven to not have been a Wayne; Jason hasn't got the chance to ask Dick to re-assess Alfred.

"Okay, I'll retrieve the video footage of your dad from 10 years ago from the League's servers. We'll cross-check. We'll tell the Birds once we're sure, yeah?" Jason suggested.

"Agreed," Damian nodded slowly.

"I'll have Tim keeping an eye on the Doc and Missus while we're at it, though. I mean, you know, precautions and all." Dick suggested.

"Okay, call Tim. If he doesn't answer, call Babs or his mom. I'd like this whole thing settled quickly before Bruce can do anything to harm Damian." Jason huffed a breath slowly, wondering what the hell is it with the Waynes that seemed to run on endless conspiracy theories, anyway.

[permian-tropos]

Daniil - Liberosis

Didn’t think this prompt word would become so poignant so soon. The subject matter wound up kind of surreal and taking whatever path I thought might be interesting but sometimes it’s nicer to let other people search for meaning in something. 

IDK yeah I just wanted to publish this. Contains canon-typical misery.

Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.

-

It rains again, always with that damn rain, and inside of each puddle in the street is the reflection of a man with cold eyes. They’re a little bit sardonic, as if the protective cloth tied over his mouth obscures a world-weary smirk. They track movement deliberately, and never dart or flash.

When did this happen? When did his features freeze in place like this? It’s interesting. The last time Dankovsky saw his own reflection, he was burned out like a candle stub.

This is better. You’d rather see a second wind from the Capital doctor on his rounds, a man who cares less and does more, even if what he does isn’t much use to anyone. It’ll give people less reason to panic.

The plague is spreading on the wings of panic. That’s why the patrolmen show no mercy to the sick, those shambling mummies, when they stray into the streets.

Dankovsky never gave such an order. The man in the puddle wears his intentions well: But I wouldn’t countermand it.

When you think about it, the only way to fight the plague is to resist your natural human desire to seek help, or even the comforting touch of another; instead you must succumb in solitude, to save others.

The nature of epidemics really is to target the most precious aspects of our being…

“What do I do? What do I do? I’m lost…”

Dankovsky first expects that wheedling voice to come from a child, but it’s too knowing, like it’s playing a game.

Sometimes they’re called mimes, but they talk too much. They’re more amused by the circumstances than the name Tragedian suggests. Subconsciously, Dankovsky has gotten into the habit of treating them as if there is not a human under that patchwork black cloth, but paper stuffing, or an animated wire frame. They’re an oddly useless counterpart to the orderlies, and they certainly don’t answer to the Bachelor.

“One of you?” he sighs, backing up a few steps. “What do you want from me this time…? Get it over with.”

The masked man dawdling under the streetlamp tips its head slowly one way, then the other. “His Excellency thinks I spoke to him?”

“I’m the only one on the street. Unless you’re raving, in which case I have no time for lunatics.”

“How cruel. In any case… I’ve lost my mask.” The Tragedian shields its eye-holes from the rain with a hand, and looked far and wide.

“It’s right on your head,” Dankovsky grouses. “Now what’s my reward for finding it, a bag of marbles? Or wait, you’ve lost those too.”

“Oh, no, not this. This is my face. You see how blank and plain it is? It wants a character, a role to play. A mask, a mask.”

Dankovsky folds his arms. “What about playing a man who doesn’t leave his house… wherever he comes from, his burrow, his den, and doesn’t get himself into trouble?”

The Tragedian offers an apologetic shrug and spread palms. “I tried it but alas, it weren’t for me. I didn’t know my lines, and came too late…”

The Bachelor mutters, “You’ll be a dog soon – playing dead.”

“I’ve lost a mask of careless cruelty… I think it would be fun to wear a while. It grins at simple victories and doesn’t shed a tear for those less fortunate. I’d like to be the one who laughs in Hell…”

“Fine, I’ll look for something like that… I suppose.” It wasn’t the first bizarre request he’d taken, and been able to fulfill despite not understanding it at first. Whatever the Tragedian was looking for, it would turn up eventually.

Now the Tragedian was clasping its hands together, pleading. It was remarkably expressive for having, as it said, such a blank face. “But if perhaps you’d let me borrow yours…”

“That’s completely unsanitary.” What kind of idiot request was that?

“I mean the one behind the cloth, the visage that regards the world so icily…”

The Tragedian pokes an impudent, spidery finger right between the Bachelor’s eyebrows, which pinch together in great chagrin.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at… but I get the impression you’re not asking for a real object.” He slaps the finger away. “If you want to wear my face, playact all you like. Just don’t impersonate me to anyone important, or use my name for any stupid ventures. Or you’ll regret it.”

Dankovsky leaves the actor to mime out his gratitude, head fervently bowing, clasped hands pumping up and down. He’d expected to get something out of this exchange, but perhaps it’s a longer-term investment. Or it’ll be quite the farce when the thespian starts wandering around the town pretending to be him. He’s not sure what he’s given away.

Signal fires mark the start of an infected district. He tightens the cloth around his mouth and nose and rushes in. There’s one house in particular he has to visit, so he very much intends to keep his head down all the way there.

His ears are assaulted by wails of the dying, carried far even by stagnant windless air.

At first he doesn’t understand why his skin is prickling. Senseless paranoia.

I gave away my mask…

It doesn’t mean anything!

But something’s changed in him for sure.

Even though it’s illogical, he’s shivering like ice has been poured down his shirt.

His eyes catch movement and he jolts away at first, because he’s learned to flee whenever a human shape stumbles across his path in districts like these. One filthy touch from any of these walking corpses could pass on the infection.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t come near me…”

“Help us…” the mummy gabbles. It’s sobbing under the linen wraps, but those cries might be of relief as well as pain. “Please, please, you’ve got to help us… I’ve been looking all over for a doctor… You’ve got pills, haven’t you? Kind sir… spare us something… even just a sleeping draught…”

Dankovsky should be fleeing, and he’s frozen instead. He should do the compassionate thing and put a bullet through this faceless cloth-wrapped head, and he cannot. He has the unsettling thought he would rather turn the gun on himself.

The supplicant takes his inaction as permission. Its hand has seized him and is crawling up his forearm, creeping as surely as a mold on a wall.

“There must be something…” the infected one pleads. “If only to… I just wanted to… oh, but it’s so… my head’s spinning… I can hardly hear myself, can you hear me? Am I speaking? Are you there?”

More dying souls are shambling out of the alleys and either they can smell healthy skin like sharks smell blood or they’re spotting him through the gauze over their eyes and immediately recognizing him. Two have emerged from behind one building… a third and fourth from a park…

The dead come to drag him down into the earth. Rain pours down his cheeks.

“Hey!”

There’s someone behind him, shouting, but he doesn’t realize it’s directed at him until—  

“What do you think you’re doing, dummy? Dummy Dankovsky!”

“Hah?” He’s unstuck when that strident childish voice pierces his ears through the white noise.

In comes charging none other than the wandering saint girl, shoes pattering and splashing through the sodden pavement. She spreads her palms out like she’s pushing out a great wave of force from them, some kind of heavenly wind, and even though no immediate magic goes off with a theatrical bang and puff of smoke, the sickened townsperson withdraws.

Clara catches Dankovsky’s arm. Her grip is mighty steel.

“You didn’t think you could heal them with your touch, did you?” Her tone is either mocking or heartachingly sincere. She’s too peculiar to ever be one thing or another, so maybe it’s both. “Don’t… don’t get those funny ideas into your head, okay? You’ll make people worry about you…”

Of course he finds her words ironic, but not surprising. It’s the usual way that young people parrot the things they’ve been told by others, as a way of expressing concern.

Especially ironic now that she’s extending her free hand towards the bandaged wretch, with a strained but beatific smile, flashing white teeth. Her fingers unfurl, flexing, preparing for an incredible sleight-of-hand.

“Don’t be scared,” coaxes the Changeling. “I’ll take care of you!”

“Careful—!” the Bachelor croaks, voice stolen by panic. But he still waits with bated breath, wondering if he’s about to witness a miracle.

But as soon as Clara’s palm brushes the gauze-wrapped fingertips, the infected person’s hands turn to claws. They gasp and clutch their chest, rocking on their heels, head bobbing.

It’s almost as if they’re trying to express a profound devotion and love that cannot fit inside them. Then they exhale without a word, collapsing in a heap, like a thread over their head has been snipped.

Clara’s smile shrinks by millimeters. Water droplets slide off it, dropping from the corners of her lips.

“Why…?” Her query is a quiet chime, a small tolling bell.

“Leave it, leave it. It was a myocardial infarction,” Dankovsky mutters. “Plainly, a heart attack. It’s usual for them to die like this in the end… Perhaps they were startled by us… Overwhelmed by a moment of hope.”

“I thought I was the one who healed…” the girl says, eyes fogged with confusion. “I mixed it up… Even we can’t tell us apart anymore…?”

Damn this… The girl’s delusions are only going to worsen now. Whoever’s been letting her roam about without supervision needs to rethink their priorities. She used to irritate Dankovsky with her proud preaching, and he was afraid she’d be able to stir the town’s population into a fervor. They come out of their homes in search of her sometimes.

Still, it’s possible she’s been witnessing frightening things for days — or longer? who knows where she came from or what she’s suffered to be without a family now — and has convinced herself she must have a purpose. Whose mind doesn’t falter like that in the face of an insane world?

The Bachelor doesn’t think he’s nearly as paternal as his rough-and-tumble counterpart, the favorite of the orphan underclass, Burakh. But Burakh’s not here right now.

Dankovsky slings a strict enclosing arm around Clara’s shoulders.

“You didn’t do it, Clara…” he commands her to believe, as his heart keeps minutely panging in that new way that he’s not accustomed to. “Don’t think about it. Pull that ratty scarf over your mouth and nose and keep moving.”

She’s stumbling after him, reluctantly keeping apace. “But can’t you see I’m not her…?”

“Whoever you are, I don’t care,” Dankovsky mutters. He stares only ahead, at the distant waterlogged signal pyre marking the invisible border between poison and safety.

[dadsbongos]

Mommy Issues

Movie/Game/Show: Umbrella Academy Dynamic: Five Hargreeves/Reader (Platonic) Warnings: you’re a mom of two, maybe might be sad? Summary: Five has to pay a visit to the old lady. ~~~

“Come on,” she held out the can of beans, shaking it around slightly when the boy refused, “You have to eat, Five.”

He shook his head, continuing to mark up the book in his hands, “Too busy.”

“You’re never too busy to fucking eat,” (Y/n) huffed, grabbing the book from his hands and replacing it with the can of beans, “It’ll all be here when you’re done.”

Five pursed his lips but decided to not argue with the woman, “You’re lucky you’re the only person left in this hellhole.”

“How so?” (Y/n) crossed her arms, desperately attempting to hide her starvation, “I get to take care of a little boy?”

“I’m not a little boy, first of all. I’m thirteen, technically a teenager.”

The woman snickered, “What’s your second point?”

Humming through his chewing, Five quirked a brow, gesturing for her to continue.

“You said ‘first of all’,” she shrugged, reaching for the bottle of wine settled amongst the rubble of an old library, “Did you have a second point to bring up?”

When the boy didn’t respond, (Y/n) quietly laughed before looking at the book Five was so focused on since he found it. Extra Ordinary by Vanya Hargreeves, her brows furrowed as she picked it up and began flipping through it. Five nearly choked on his beans, “Careful with that.”

“I will be,” she calmly replied, tone softening at the shared surname between the two, “Was she your mom?”

Five shook his head, taking the book back, “Sister.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” (Y/n) forced on a smile, reaching into her tattered pants’ pocket, “If it’s any consolation, I lost some people too.”

Just as he went to retort, a picture of two children was forced into his hand. A boy his age and a much younger girl, and suddenly he regretted every time he mockingly called her mom. Her sad smile was still painted on her lips as realization sunk its claws into Five, “Your kids?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, sitting up straight, “I took all the pictures in the house before packing up.”

“Since we’re learning about each other,” he held out Vanya’s book, “I think you should read this.”

(Y/n) nodded, opening up to the first page, “If you want, for whatever weird reason is in your genius brain, you can keep the picture. I have a lot.”

“Thanks,” he pressed the photo into his blazer pocket, “you can’t keep the book. I want that back when you’re done and don’t write in it.”

“Naturally.”

Silence broke over the pair until (Y/n) spoke again, much quieter than before.

“What?”

“Stop zoning out, creeper,” she ruffled his hair.

“Don’t baby me, (Y/n),” the thirteen-year-old boy snapped, still clutching his mannequin companion to his scrawny body.

In response, the woman rolled her eyes, “I’ll baby you all I want, Five, because in case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a wasteland and I’m the only adult alive.”

“So far,” the boy glared, “There could be some lonely Australian man across the ocean and we have no clue.”

She shook her head, “Well until we find him, I’m still going to baby you - because that’s what you are to me. A little baby in need of mothering.”

Five grumbled under his breath, “You’re more annoying than anything else at this point.”

(Y/n) didn’t verbally reply, only pulling up the scarf acting as the boy’s mask before continuing down the road. She turned when Five didn’t follow, nudging her head down the way, “Come on, I think there's a wagon we could find to carry supplies!”

A wagon there was, but only one. At least at that point. The grown woman huffed while looking around, “Put Dolores in, you’re rolling the thing with you.”

“What?” Five looked up at her, “But you’re the adult, aren’t you?”

“Which means I get to tell you to roll it around.”

The wagon would go to him then. The boy.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Five’s brows furrowed as he walked, lugging the dirtied thing behind him, “What are you talking about now, (Y/n)?”

She simply stared at him, a blank, empty stare, “What are you thinking about?”

Her eyes made him nervous now, they were devoid of any kindness and warmth they usually held when looking at him. Less like a loving mother-figure and more like the mannequin he held close at night. But even Dolores smiled every so often.

“Five!” she suddenly shouted, no longer walking. She rushed over, grabbing his shoulders, “Five!”

There were no hands on his shoulders, just the old, wrinkled one between his own hands. He blinked a few times, shaking his head before looking down to the elderly woman on the floor, “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“As spacey as ever,” (Y/n) chuckled dryly, coughing a few times between the laughter, “I asked what you were thinking about.”

“Oh, nothing much,” he lied easily enough, “Just how much I’ll enjoy you not bossing me around.”

The dying woman shook her head, using what little strength she had to smack his arm, “You’ve been a rude little boy since we met.”

“Well,” he shrugged, letting a soft silence fill the heated air, rubbing his thumb over the weathered bones in this old woman’s hand, “What about you? What are you thinking about?”

“My kids,” she smiled faintly, “I’m excited to see them again.”

Little Joan and Lacy, he’d heard about them countless times. Joan was about his age when the pair first met after the Apocalypse, dark hair and light eyes with freckles spread across his cheeks. Lacy was on the younger scale with little curls sprouting from her head and brown eyes like honey pots with a birthmark right on her forehead. Adorable kids, from what few pictures survived the fall of humanity.

“I wish I could’ve met them,” he grinned down at the faint woman.

(Y/n) nodded weakly, eyes fluttering shut every now and again, “You three would’ve been so cute together. Them trying to make you smile and you just being grumpy; like something out of a sitcom.”

Five’s eyebrows rose at the sentence, “Now I’m not so sure.”

“Stop,” she wheezed, patting at her chest, “You would’ve loved them…” it was quiet for a few more moments, “I’m worried about you too, you know? Being all alone after so long, I don’t want you to go completely crazy.”

“I won’t be alone,” he attempted to reassure, nodding towards their plastic friend, “I have Dolores, don’t I?”

“God, don’t get me started on that…”

“I really will be fine,” he gripped her hand a little tighter, “Don’t be worrying about me, I can handle myself, old lady.”

“One day you’ll be an old man, and then who’ll be laughing? Me, from the afterlife.”

Five wouldn’t admit it, but the thought of (Y/n) still being somewhat around comforted him, “I’ll be counting on it.”

“Better be.”

. . .

Five rubbed at his temples, stopping the Apocalypse built up a headache worse than surviving it. He pushed the doors to Griddy’s open, not having had one of their coffees since his first night into the present. He slid onto a stool at the counter, giving Agnes a nod when she waved at him.

Agnes went into the back and after a few murmurs, he assumed a new waitress would be serving him.

Looking to the right, two familiar faces came into view. His eyes widened, hands fumbling for the photo in his blazer pocket. After (Y/n) died he made a habit of keeping it around; felt wrong to go without it. He looked between the picture to the children.

The doors from the back opened up and a painfully familiar woman stepped through. She smiled at two kids, ruffling the boy’s dark hair and pinching at the girl’s cheek before going over to Five. 

(Y/n) shot him a grin, pulling a pad of paper from her uniform, “What can I get you today?”

Five didn’t answer immediately, stare fixated on the living, breathing, not-dead woman in front of him. Unlike in their years together, her skin was less dirt-covered, hands less crusted in ash and soil, hair more well-kept. She seemed healthy, happy. After realizing he was staring for far too long, he cleared his throat, pocketing the photo, “Sorry, I’ll have a coffee. Black.” 

“No donuts?” she teased, “I know they’re not top-of-the-line, but I never miss an opportunity to snag a few for my kids,” she pointed her pen in the kids’ direction.

“Well, I suppose I could get…” he looked over the menu before continuing, “a lemon jelly donut.”

(Y/n) wrote down the order, “Funny, that’s my son’s favorite.”

“What a coincidence,” of course, he knew that. He knew it fifty times over.

Nodding, she tore off the paper before walking towards the back, stopping at the two kids. The tiny glances from both child in his direction made it obvious he had been mentioned. Giving Joan and Lacy each a kiss on the forehead, (Y/n) made her way to the back kitchen.

Lacy looked between her older brother and the strange boy before getting down from her stool and skipping over to the brunette. She gave him a broad, pearly smile, “Hi.”

Five smiled slightly, turning in his seat to look at the girl properly, “Hello.”

Joan followed after his sister, smiling apologetically to the boy about his age while taking the girl’s hand, “I’m sorry about her.”

“No, she’s fine,” he waved off the other boy’s sympathies, “She's pretty adorable.”

(Y/n) returned from the back, carefully setting down the steaming coffee followed by Five’s donut, “Hope my kids aren’t bothering you. They like making friends with the customers.”

He shook his head, “Not a problem.”

Joan slid onto the stool beside Five, holding his baby sister in his lap, “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Five nodded slowly, wrapping both hands around his warm cup, already feeling his headache begin to dissipate, “I used to come here a lot when I was younger.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Gonna Be Home Soon

Time’s passed and things don’t feel better. It’s like settling, accepting, the new normal. But sometimes exceptions can be made to the rules. 

My fingers slipped. Part 2 of Away for a Moment. 

Enjoy my masterlist

Support me on kofi

________________________________

When Calum’s phone rings at 8:05 am, he doesn’t waste a second to answer it. He’s been anticipating this call ever since the two of you talked last night and you mentioned errands you needed to run in the morning. And there you are, grinning into the camera, the morning sun bright behind you.

“Morning,” you chirp.

“Morning, love,” he returns, falling back into the mass of pillows on his bed. “Waiting for the bus?”

“Nah, the store’s not too far and I’m already half way there.”

He nods, a hum falling over his lips. Your breathing is a little heavy. He can hear the pants as you walk. There’s a bit of a hill on the way there, if his memory serves him correctly. “Sleep okay?”

You shrug, ducking under a tree to take a short cut up to the concrete steps that lead you into the tiny shopping center. “Slept alright. Woke up in the night sweating my ass off.”

“What about your fan?”

“It was on. I had just cocooned myself and got to hot that’s all. What about you? How’d you sleep?”

Calum starts to answer but like his body knows, a yawn interrupts him. “ ‘Cuse me. Slept okay. Still trying to wake up even though I’ve been up for a while.”

“I’m sorry, love. I can let you go. You need rest.”

“No, no, I’m okay.” He doesn’t it say it but you know just by looking at him that even if he were dead tired he’d answer your call. And you know it’s because of the two incidents you told him about while just out. Approached once by men who was too chatty for your comfort—asking too many questions about you personally. And then someone asked for directions which wouldn’t have been weird but they never got off at the stop that you gave them directions for. So when you got off at your stop in front of a gas station you marched right into it and lingered until you were sure the bus had passed.

You don’t regret telling Calum about these strange encounters. And Calum knew you could defend yourself but he didn’t want you to have too. He didn’t like that you had to be on alert and that you were always looking over your shoulder. He knew you would and did still do it in LA with him. He knew all the times you had gone out without before. But he had always been close by. And now he’s not. He’s miles away, across state lines and though he’s not too far it’s still far enough for him to worry more than he did before.

You walk into the Wal-Mart and grab a basket, cradling your phone in one hand. “Wow, it’s kinda quiet in here.”

Calum remembers previous how packed the place was when he helped you move and how you recounted going on a Saturday and immediately regretting it.

“Better hurry,” he teases, looking to Duke who’s now waiting at the edge of the bed. His ears are perked up. Calum picks him up and sets him on his chest.

Your screen when you glance back down is full of Duke’s face and his fur hiding away Calum. But that’s perfectly fine by you. “My boy! Is pops treating you well?” 

Duke barks in response to the question. His snout pressing into the screen almost as if that will bring you closer to him. You don’t even realize tears are welling until one falls and hits your screen. “Love you Duke.”

He barks again at the sound of your voice, leaping off Calum to unearth your sweatshirt he buried into the sheets.

“Oh Duke gets tears but I don’t? I see how it is.”

You quickly wipe at your cheeks. “Shut up. I didn’t realize how much I missed him until just then. I know I miss you.”

“Hey, no, I’m just teasing. Is too soon for a visit?” 

Calum knows it’s only just over a month. Maybe a full month and a half since the last time he visited. He’s not really sure. All he knows that the days are long. All the clothes you’ve left behind have lost all your scent. Big’s too big and most nights Calum falls asleep on the couch. You text him though well before he falls asleep to make it to the bedroom. You beg him really, knowing that it’s better to have a healthy sleeping schedule. Sometimes he makes it, even sends a selfie from underneath the covers, pouting of course. 

In the studio, things feel normal. He can focus on the tasks at hands. And he still can crack jokes. The guys know though. They can all tell that Calum lingers around his phone more so than usual. He takes every call, even the ones that he’d normally ignore because he can tell they’re probably spam. But he takes them know because he can’t be sure it’s not you. Sometimes, he wishes it was you, instead of some bullshit car insurance scam. 

The other guys can tell Calum’s a little down in the dumps because when they ask him if he wants to join for dinner, he declines. And it’s not like he couldn’t shoot you a text saying that he’ll have to push back the FaceTime until later, or just hold off until tomorrow. It’s not like you’d flip your shit. But instead, he holds to those FaceTime dates. He holds for the times even if he’s writing, he can glance to his phone and see you riding the bus or walking into your classes. 

It’s the new normal and though Calum misses the way it used to be. It’s his new normal that keeps him mostly sane. It’s this new normal that helps Calum orient his days. Monday you text early in the morning to head into your office and you message at every stop too. And then around 2 he can call, after you’re done with one stint of classes. On Tuesdays, you morning starts early but he can call during your morning commute. Wednesdays he knows that it’ll mostly be a text day, you have meetings all in the morning and then classes well into the afternoon. Thursday start to lighten up and you can FaceTime most the day of the day minus the tutoring hours you’re putting in. And Fridays, Fridays are Calum’s solace. He can wake early, knowing you’re up early too, and he can be there for just about everything. It’s your reading day too. So you two talk mostly in the morning while you run errands. 

Like today, as you pull out your grocery list, Calum watches you smile at the folks passing you by. “What’s on the list today, love?”

“Batteries. Restock on the veggies and figure out what’s for dinner for the next couple of days. I found these two recipes that I want to try. Just can’t decide on which one.”

“What are they?”

“One’s a chili recipe. Other one is a one pot spaghetti recipe.”

“I vote chili. You can freeze part of the portion for next week.”

You nod, with a hum. “Smart call. Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Calum laughs, scooping Duke back up into his arms. “Not my devilishly handsome good looks.”

“You’re hot, don’t get my wrong. But it’s what? Two years in now? Good looks don’t make a relationship. But they do help.”

“I see, loving me for my brains. I can’t say I’m upset with that.” The aisle aren’t clear as you walk down. But you pause. Calum can’t really see where, thinks it might be the clothes or close to it. You hold up a cartoon sports bra, wiggling your eyebrows. Calum whistles. “Hot.”

You snort. “I’ll pair it with my school sweatpants.”

“Doubly hot,” Calum snickers.

 As you wonder about, you show small things to Calum, laughing together as you goof about in Wal-Mart. You show Calum a T-shirt that says ‘I can’t people today’ stating that you need that saying tattooed to your forehead. Even though you’ve gotten into a routine it’s still hard some days just to deal with any other human being. Calum’s always enjoyed watching you, even if it’s just you reading the ingredients lists on the back of box. And you do it out of habit now, taking the time to make sure nothing has changed in the ingredients list. Depending on what it is, sometimes there’s a recipe. 

“How many bags of mango slices do you go through in a week?” Calum asks, watching the package fall into your cart. 

You duck your head, speeding down the aisle even though you’re reaching back for another bag. “We do not talk about that.”

“You’re going to have a whole mango budget!”

“At least it’s better than you and your Oreos,” you sass back, waiting for the elderly couple to cross in front of you. “How many packs are you up to in a week?”

“Two,” he states through a mumbles. “But I’m cutting back!”

The giggles dissipate and you warn Calum that you’ll have to put him in your back pocket while you check out. It’s not a bad haul and you’re glad for it. You’re trying to keep the weekly grocery spending low, since the rent’s a little high at your place. With all your groceries bagged, you find your reusable bag and then head for the bus stop. Though it’ll take it a little far out of the way, it beats hauling your groceries up two hills and reduces it to one. 

The morning’s growing warmer and Calum can see the beads of sweat as you walk down to the stop. He knows he ought to get up too. He should think about getting grocery, and washing the bedsheets, and scrub the bathroom. He doesn’t want to. He wants to wrap his arms around you and bury his nose in your neck and inhale the smell of your shampoo and body wash. 

Once you’re safe into your apartment grocery sitting on the counter, you say your goodbyes. It’s in Calum’s eyes. The way the tears don’t fully form but they do glaze over his eyes and you know. It’s going to be a hard day. And if it weren’t for the 200 pages you had to read between your classes, you would’ve stayed longer on the call. You almost ask if he wants to stay on as you read. It almost crosses your lips. 

But Calum sighs. “Guess I gotta let you go, but we’ll talk throughout the day?”

You don’t know if he’s got a busy day or not. It’s Friday and while it’s your easy day, Calum might be buried in some work. So you nod. “Of course.”

The groceries are easy to put up. You settle down for the first half the reading, pen and highlighter at the ready. Calum drops the phone into the sheets and turns onto his stomach, face buried in the pillows. The day will be long if he stays like this. But he can afford himself a little misery, a little grace so that he can sigh about how much he misses you but eventually get his own ass into gear. 

Between the grocery, scrubbing the bathroom, three loads of laundry, Calum doesn’t even realize more than half the day is gone and there’s nothing much else to do. But that ache of saying goodbye to you finally comes back and he took today off from the studio. Which might’ve been a mistake. But it’s too late now, so Calum walks into his own office and picks up his acoustic guitar. 

He was only going to send it to you. But he didn’t want to inundate you with the same old sad sentiments. And sure, this one was a little different, him strumming as his voice is just above a whisper, to let himself finally release the yearning. But still, he didn’t want to bother you. The texts were less consistent than normal but he also understood when you had reading days you were focused on nothing else but the readings. 

Your phone buzzes an alert to let you know about an email. You check it, not sure if it was a student making an appointment for tutoring, but it’s just from the school’s bookstore. “Fucking, now I have anxiety about my email,” you chuckle to yourself. 

Then your fingers wonder, you exit the mail app and tap onto instagram. Right in the bubbles up top is Calum’s icon. You tap onto it and see, or hardly see the  lamps illuminating him. And it’s dark back at home much like it is where you are. His voice is soft as he croons, his cry out for a return. The semester is halfway done and you know even though you’re going to be soon buried in work for midterms, though mostly for the tutoring and teaching and less of midterms for you, you text Calum. 

Gonna be home soon. Just for the weekend. I’ll book a train ticket.

Almost immediately after sending the text, your phone buzzes with a phone call from Calum. “I can come to you,” he rushes out. 

“Well, it’s not home.”

“Home’s not a building, not a place,” Calum whispers. “And I know some people are going to say it’s not smart to find home in other people. But it’s too late for me. You make me feel at home.”

“Literally, I’m crying into my books,” you return, wiping your cheeks. 

“What time are you free on Thursdays? After 6 is good, right?”

You nod, “Yeah, after 6 I’m free.”

“I’ll see you then. We can try that Indian place you pass on the way to class. And I’ll be there to remind you to drink water when you’re grading.”

A soft exhalation of laughter escapes you. “I definitely need that. See you Thursday.”

[theoriginalladya]

I need some good fluff after last night's buzz kill. Not saying any names *Glares at you*

Kiss prompt: in the rain (Admiration).

from this prompt list

Full story on AO3 here

Thank you so much for this prompt, my friend!!!!  If dropping angst means I’ll get fun prompts back, I’ll be sure to do it again sometime soon! ;)  Hope you enjoy!

~~~

2185

“Okay, we need a break.”

Kaidan exits the head, dressed in his briefs and a towel over his head as he rubs the excess moisture from his hair.  Rhys, leaning against the wall next to the fish tank, dares an appreciative smile while the other man cannot see him.  Arms folded across his chest, hat tipped slightly forward and ankles crossed with the boot tip resting on the floor – it is almost like being home.  

Home.  He sighs softly, thinking about Evelyn and Callum Shepard, wondering how things are going for them.  He really needs to send them a message soon, maybe even call, just to let them know he is safe.  

Kaidan interrupts his thoughts with a reply, but it’s impossible to understand him with the towel over his head.  Rhys laughs mostly to himself, before advising, “Try it without the filter this time.”

The towel comes down and Rhys’ grin widens.  “Kaidan Mikhail Alenko,” he drawls in poorly hidden amusement while his lips twitch at both corners, “how on Earth do you keep that mane of yours tamed?”

Kaidan snorts and glares daggers in Rhys’ direction. “First of all, you aren’t my mother, so stop with the middle name.”  

He says nothing, but the grin remains in place as he lifts the front of his hat just enough off his head to be noticed.  Kaidan rolls his eyes as he walks by, descending to the lower level and digging a t-shirt out of his storage.  Rhys turns, keeping his eyes on him.  “First of all?”

“Second,” Kaidan continues, pulling the t-shirt over his head then reaching for his pants, “what I said was, ‘Who is we?’”

It is the break Rhys hoped for when he began this conversation. Sauntering down the steps, he stops beside one of the chairs and leans his hip against it.  Kaidan continues dressing; the last mission out was a messy one for everyone involved.  Rhys is thankful he was not a part of it.  “You.  Me. The crew.  We’ve had a couple of rough missions of late – we’d all do better with a break.”

Kaidan looks over, a bewildered expression on his face. It even reaches his voice as he asks, “After everything they’ve done to harass you, you’d go to bat for the crew?”

Rhys shrugs.  “I’m not in this for the crew, I’m here on behalf of your squaddies,” he clarifies. “If it benefits the rest, so be it. My concern is for those who are helping you, directly.”

Kaidan yanks on a boot and laces it up out of habit rather than by any particular attention to what he is doing.  “Sounds like you have something specific in mind.”  He reaches for the other and repeats the process.  

Rhys nods.  “I do. It’ll require shore leave, though.”

One brow arches at him.  “Really?  How long?”

He shrugs.  “A day, maybe two, no more.”

Kaidan sighs, rising to his feet and returning to his desk on the upper level.  Rhys recognizes the sound; a hint of exasperation mixed with a healthy dose of ‘I know I’m going to regret this,’ and sprinkled with a bit of ‘just how many people will I have to convince to make this happen.’  Kaidan Alenko, soldier, Spectre, over-thinker.  If Rhys ever needed proof that this is the man he’s always known, he has it right here.  “Where?”

Rhys waits patiently for Kaidan to turn so he can watch his expression when he finally answers.  It takes a minute before Kaidan peeks around the edge of the wall at him. “Mindoir.”

Kaidan blinks, eyes widening when full recognition sets in. “Mindoir?  Why there?”

A grin streaks across his lips without conscious thought or effort.  Really, the man is making this too easy.  “Two words – The Barn.”  ...

Full story here  //  People Like Us series here

[thepetulantpen]

(A short addition to my blind!Geralt AU! Bit of a sickfic, this time.)

“You’re sick.”

Jaskier startles at Geralt’s voice, bed creaking beneath him. He’d been writing in his notebook- hard at work with another song, if Geralt had to guess- apparently thinking Geralt was asleep.

“What? No, I’m not.”

Geralt sits up and thumps Jaskier lightly- though, not lightly enough judging by his responding grunt- on the back. The vibration rattles in Jaskier’s chest and reveals exactly what he’s already smelled. 

“Yes, you are.”

Concentrating, Geralt can hear Jaskier’s mouth turn downward in a frown. It’s not very hard- he’s not sure whether the exaggeration is a product of Jaskier’s personality, or an attempt to make it easier for Geralt to “see”. More likely a healthy mix of both, coupled with Jaskier’s considerable need for attention. 

“And how can you tell that?” Jaskier sounds genuinely curious, but doesn’t wait for an answer, “Can you hear the mucus? Smell it? Feel the tiny bacteria in the air?”

“Something like that.” Geralt smiles, hearing Jaskier’s heartbeat pick up in a way he’s taken to interpreting as indignant. 

“I won’t stand for this blatant invasion of my privacy. Keep your witcher-y senses to yourself, you-”

Geralt hums and pulls Jaskier towards him, against his chest, making him interrupt himself with a surprised yelp. He bats at Geralt’s hands weakly, laughing as they trace up his doublet, feeling for the pattern. 

“I’m not exactly reading your diary, Jaskier. I’d find out later, with or without your confession.”

“I’m not convinced you wouldn’t read my diary, if you could.” Jaskier shifts Geralt’s hand slightly, moving it to an embroidered flower. “It’s gold, by the way.”

Geralt nods, satisfied he’s solved the mystery of Jaskier’s fashion choices for the day, and gets up, using one hand to push Jaskier back down when he tries to follow. “You’ll stay here and rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“For now, maybe. We’ll see how you feel tonight.”

Jaskier groans and falls back against his pillow, the thump echoing through their small room. He grumbles under his breath about boredom, but he may as well have said it out loud- it’s all the same to Geralt. 

Convinced that Jaskier isn’t an immediate flight risk, Geralt turns to pack up his bag, running his hands over everything to double check. It’s well-organized, which he can thank Jaskier for. He wouldn’t have thought to rearrange it with a less visually dependent system- he hadn’t changed much, in recent years, figuring his senses would compensate. 

Jaskier, to put it lightly, had thought this was lunatic. 

“Why not give yourself shortcuts? You’re taking an extra minute to do something when you could just help yourself out beforehand.”

“I don’t need-“

“It’s not about need, Geralt. Let me show you.”

One of many instances of Jaskier improving Geralt’s life through sheer force of will. He’s adopted an insistence on convenience and efficiency that Geralt can’t- or won’t, to save himself the indignity- argue with. 

He’ll be able to return the favor by taking care of Jaskier today. With any luck, it’ll be a simple cold, cleared up with rest before it truly sets in. He’s going to run errands, pick up human medicine, and be back by midday to check on him. His hunt can wait until the afternoon, once he’s confident Jaskier will be alright.

“Think about it as a chance to rest your voice.” 

Jaskier flicks him off and Geralt doesn’t bother letting him know that he can sense that. 

…

Before he even enters the room, Geralt can tell Jaskier’s gotten worse. The scent of sickness is stronger, his breathing worse. He’ll need to check Jaskier’s temperature, and make sure he hasn’t taken a drastic turn for the worse.

It’s challenging, between the barrier of the door and the relative lack of sound in the room, but Geralt focuses on the draft as it bounces against things, outlining the scene and giving him an idea of what he’s walking into. Jaskier is curled up on the bed, writing quietly in his journal- slower than the fast, presumably messy, scratches Geralt is used to. 

Jaskier must hear him step up to the door because he tenses, writing coming to an abrupt stop. Geralt opens the door before he can worry and starts pulling out what he’s bought, kicking the door shut to keep his hands free. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier greets, voice more hoarse than it was this morning, “how’d it go?”

“I’ve got stuff for tea.” 

He has... something for tea. The store had been so packed with herbs it was difficult to distinguish between them, and he didn’t want to sniff every ingredient with the owner watching. He thinks he’s found the right things, more or less. 

Jaskier pulls back the covers and climbs out of bed, crouching beside Geralt and his bag to supervise. “Your tea is always nasty.”

“My tea is healthy.” He pushes Jaskier’s hand away, knowing he’s just going to complain about whatever he ends up putting in.

“For someone with a great nose, you really haven’t grasped human taste buds. Would it kill you to add some honey, once in a while?”

“Well,” Geralt tries not to smile, turning away to start mixing, “I was going to use a little of this fresh honey I bought, but I think I’ll have to save it for someone more grateful.”

“Geralt-“ Jaskier starts, but breaks off with a cough, ending his whine before it can reach the truly annoying, high-pitched range. It would be a blessing- if the coughing stopped. 

Geralt pats Jaskier on the back through the coughing fit, fumbling for his water-skin with his other hand. Jaskier finds it first, unscrewing the cap with shaking hands and almost choking from drinking too fast. 

When he’s done, Jaskier pauses to regain his breath and goes quiet- it takes a second for Geralt to concentrate enough to realize he’s smiling, trying to reassure Geralt. 

Geralt frowns and puts the tea aside to face Jaskier- for all the good that’ll do. “I’ll stay with you tonight.”

“No, no,” Jaskier coughs again, and clears his throat, forcing his voice to sound almost normal, “Your hunt is more important. It’s just a cold.”

“Jaskier-“

Jaskier puts his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and leans on, so their foreheads touch. “Geralt. The people here need you more than me, right now.”

He takes Geralt’s hand and places it on his chest, under his shirt. The skin is warmer- slightly hotter than it should be- and the rhythm of his breathing isn’t great, but it’s steady. It’s a cold, nothing that Jaskier can’t handle, after these years of travel. 

“I’m still going to make you tea.”

Jaskier laughs, the sound broken up by his sore throat. “I suppose it wouldn’t be that easy to get out of, would it?”

Geralt doesn’t respond, just adds a more generous dollop of honey.

...

It’s a miracle that the hunt ends successfully at all- he’s distracted the whole time, thinking about Jaskier. He gets lucky with a few strikes, more reckless than wise, and ends it quickly, collecting his coin without counting it. 

The smell of sickness is obvious at the top of the stairs, from the opposite end of the hallway.

Jaskier is in bed, under the blankets, and shivering, despite the heat of his skin. It permeates the air around him; Geralt doesn’t even have to touch him to feel the temperature. He puts a hand to Jaskier’s forehead anyway- running a fever, but not a dangerous one, yet. Any higher and he’ll have to seek out a healer, but there’s no point dragging Jaskier out of bed for the same tea they can make here, where he’s relatively comfortable. 

His teacup sits empty at his bedside, and Geralt picks it up to fill it again, mixing stronger herbs, this time. Jaskier stirs and props himself up as Geralt works, blinking slowly, blearily. 

“Ger-“

He cuts off with a cough, a deep, harsh sound. It makes Geralt’s ears ring, and he almost doesn’t notice Jaskier waving, gesturing for something. 

“What is it?” He hates to make him talk, when his voice is clearly shot, but he can’t tell what he’s pointing at. 

“Candle.” Jaskier clears his throat, trying again, with more success, “Some light, please.”

He spends a second debating whether Igni is too dangerous for a small target, then another fumbling with a match. He’s pretty sure he’s lit it, based on the heat around the wick, but Jaskier makes a low hum, confirming. 

Once the candle is placed on the bedside table, next to a new cup of tea, Geralt sits at the edge of the bed, all his senses focused on Jaskier. He helps Jaskier sit up and drink, then goes still as Jaskier leans against him, under Geralt’s arm. 

“I’d read you a bedtime story, but,” Geralt waves, vaguely in the direction of Jaskier’s notebook, now abandoned, “well, that’s usually your job.”

“Next time, I’ll slay the drowners, and you write the story,” Jaskier rasps and laughs, a breathy exhale. 

They fall into silence for a few minutes, none of Jaskier’s usual chatter to fill it. He’s still awake- Geralt can tell from the pattern of his breathing- probably too uncomfortable to fall asleep. In the meantime, he’s making a valiant effort to drain the teacup. No amount of honey disguises the bitter medicinal herbs, and Jaskier’s sore throat makes him wince with every swallow, so it’s slow going. 

“I’ll tell you a story, anyway,” Geralt offers, before he can second guess himself, “Of one my older hunts. Before I was blinded.”

It’s a strange memory to relive- the details are fuzzier than he thought they’d be. He’s struggling to recall the visual elements that Jaskier tends to prioritize when describing things, by habit. He does his best, and decides the color of the monster doesn’t actually make a difference. Jaskier has never been picky- always happy to know how things sounded, how they smelled, how they felt. 

“Your world,” Jaskier told him, once, “is so vivid. I can’t even imagine it.”

“It’s missing a little something, too,” Geralt joked, only half-kidding. 

“No,” Jaskier insisted, “it’s all of mine and more. Sounds and smells and textures I’ll never experience, except through you. Thank you, for sharing it with me.”

Jaskier hums contentedly now, starting to nod off halfway through the third story. His hands twitch, as if aching to take notes, but sleep finds him before he can fidget too much. 

Geralt sits by him all night, carefully monitoring his breathing, heartbeat and temperature. He’s listening carefully for any change for the worse, but the medicine in the tea takes hold and Jaskier only improves as he sleeps. 

(In the morning, Jaskier uses his newly healed voice to yell at Geralt for staying up all night, lecturing him again on taking care of himself. 

It’s worth it, just to hear his voice again.)

[mbtiofwhys]

Makoto Niijima

ISTJ

Functional Order: Si - Te - Fi - Ne

Spoiler warning

This article will cover Makoto’s analysis, so it’ll contain spoilers from both her confidant and the main game.

Perceiving Functional Axis

Introverted Sensing (Si) / Extroverted Intuition (Ne) 

Makoto shows her dominant Si throughout the entire game. As a perceiving function, Si focuses on acquiring and storing data, especially sensory ones, and it figures them out to broad its internal, subjective ‘database’ of experiences and knowledge. 

Makoto does this incessantly with a methodical approach to problems and life in general. She relies on past experiences when making a choice, because this represents a solid cluster of information and it’s used to evaluate the present. 

When analysing Makoto, it’s clear how she carries her father’s memory and how this influences her life. However, there is a line to draw between what’s a negative past experience and how it’s perceived by a person. Makoto isn’t a Si dom because she mourns the loss of her father -this is a common and natural human reaction. Makoto is a Si dominant in regard of how she specifically perceives this past event and how she uses it as something to define her approach to problems and life in general. Since her father’s actions are part of Makoto’s experience and knowledge, she uses them as a reference model to shape the present based on what worked in the past. 

Going to the core of high Si, we noticed how Makoto is methodical and cautious. Thinking comes before acting, and details are vital. As a J, Makoto needs structure, which is mainly provided by her dominant Si, relying on a subjective cluster of knowledge. A present event or situation is compared to what happened in the past and approached following a trusted pattern. 

Her Si is tied with an underdeveloped Ne -at least at the start of her story arc.

When the Phantom Thieves meet Makoto, she lives following a known pattern. For her, things need to be done in a specific way: busting the Thieves, going to a top college, honoring her father’s memory and following her sister’s will. During her confidant though, Makoto develops her inferior Ne, helped by the protagonist. First she admits to herself how she lived with a narrow-minded view of the world, and thus she’s willing to try new experiences and be less judgemental. Healthy inferior Ne is all about supporting past knowledge and experiences with new ideas, patterns and options. Makoto starts to see how the world can’t be confined in a rigid and strict scheme and then accepts that to gain a better understanding of said world, one needs to step out of the comfort zone. As a Si dom, this is also useful to gain new data and knowledge to evaluate the present. 

Judging Functional Axis

Extroverted Thinking (Te) / Introverted Feeling (Fi)

Makoto’s methodical approach to problems and her attention to details are enhanced by her auxiliary Te - she’s rational and follows the most practical and efficient way to solve a task. 

As a phantom thief, Makoto easily becomes a powerful asset to the team, as her Si/Te paired together allow her to quickly evaluate a present situation ad to compare it to a past one (Si), finding the most practical and effective course of action to take (Te). Even if the protagonist is the leader of the group and supervises them, Makoto aids a great hand in regard of scheming and planning.

When Shujin’s principal tells her to discover the Phantom Thieves’ identity, she starts to tail the protagonist in her free time as a way to find clues -an immediate and direct approach. More importantly, the reason at the root of her behaviours are tied to Te: Makoto needs the Phantom Thieves as a way to please the principal and gain access to a prestigious college. Te comes before Fi and,at first, Makoto doesn’t think about how she feels or what she finds right, she only obeys in order to reach her goal as fast as possible. 

When we first see Makoto she hasn’t a well developed Fi. Even if tertiary, Fi should give at least a sense of right and wrong and a sense of self-identity and purpose in life. Makoto initially bypasses her emotional side, always focused on goals established by others for her. Makoto, in fact, awakens her persona when Kaneshiro puts emphasis on her obedient side and thus, when faced with reality in this dangerous situation, she can no longer escape from herself and shows her rebellious spirit.

During her confidant, Makoto not only tries to broad her view of the world by living new experiences, she also fights for a cause. Eiko’s case is something she cares about both on a moral level and on personal level, because she knows the person involved and everything is similar to past cases solved by her father. At the end of her story arc we finally see a more aware and grown Makoto, finally ables to use her Si/Te paired with a healthy Fi and Ne: Makoto knows what she’s fighting for and why, the Phantom Thieves are more than a tool to protect her sister and they become a group of friends. 

Also typed as: INFJ

Makoto is sometimes typed as INFJ. We always try our best to assess types properly and are open to discussion, so here is why we don’t think she’s an INFJ:

First we’ll focus on the dominant function. Even if Makoto finds her way at the end of her story arc, this doesn’t have to be confused with high Ni. Si must not be simplified with relying on the past and having a good memory, those are mere stereotypes. Following the same thread, dominant Ni isn’t about choosing a career or making plans for the future. Ni is about conceptualizing the future, trying to find abstracts patterns and using them as a realistic guideline to proceed in life (or in a job, or a certain situation in general). Makoto thinks about the future because she starts developing her inferior Ne, thus she evaluates new options and possibilities and, using Fi, she clears her mind and decides what she really wants to do in her life.

INFJ implies Fe. Fe, in high positions, cares about social harmony, absorbs the emotional atmosphere of social environments and is all about shared values and collective wellness. Makoto, even if initially subordinated to Sae and Shujin’s principal, lives in that situation more because of a lack of Fi development than because of auxiliary Fe. Her obedient side shouldn’t be confused with an immature Fe tendency to please people as a way to keep social harmony at all costs - it’s much more an unhealthy habit of not properly asking herself what she wants and how she feels.

[jimlingss]

The President’s Son [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 2.5 OR Chapter 3

➜ Words: 3.5k

➜ Genres: 100% Fluff, Slice of Life, Bodyguard!AU

➜ Summary: Kim Taehyung is the President’s son, mischievous and playful, and infamous for being a troublemaker. When everyone’s given up, they call for you to be his personal guard. There’s no other choice when your dad’s assigned you to it and surprisingly Taehyung doesn’t mind either. Maybe because you happened to grow up with that brat.

➜ Warnings: Slowburn.....

“You know, if you hate me so much, you should just punch me.”   Taehyung’s trying to aggravate you again. You can tell with that pout on his face. Maybe he’s sad about something.   But he continues to peel stickers off the sheet and smack them onto your hair, knowing full well that it’ll be a pain to pull them off later. You don’t tell him to stop. You don’t say anything, move, flinch, blink. And you know it makes him more upset that you don’t indulge in what he wants — a reaction.   “Dad said I’m not allowed to punch anyone,” you say out of the corner of your mouth, continuing to do your multiplication homework. It’s hard to do the questions without using your fingers or the chart — but dad said you don’t need them. You can do it in your head.   It’s still hard.    And Taehyung can’t even help you. He can barely add and subtract.   “Why are you such a goodie-two shoes?” He whines, getting mad and he sticks a rainbow sticker harder to your scalp, knocking your head in one direction enough for it to hurt. You still don’t move away from him. “You’re no fun. You don’t need to listen to adults all the time.”   There’s silence.   Your pencil scratches against the paper as you solve the whole page of questions. Taehyung continues his antics with sticky fingers until he runs out of stickers and huffs, arms falling into his lap. He looks up to find your hair decorated in sparkles, slices of cake, rainbows, stars, unicorns.   It’s pretty, but he almost feels bad. It’ll hurt to brush them out later.   In his full frustration to squeeze a response out of you, he shoves you with all the might in his arms. But you don’t waver. Not pushed. Not flinching once. Like a wall. A wall of focus and concentration at age eight, miraculously continuing to do your homework like he didn’t even touch you.   Taehyung wants your attention. He wants you to look at him.   He wants to cry. But he won’t. Or at least, he’ll try his best not to.   “I know you can beat me up, dumbo! Just do it! Just punch me and I’ll leave you alone forever!”   The corner of your mouth moves again. “Dad said I’m not allowed.”   “You’re stupid!” He tosses the empty sticker sheet at you, but the paper is light in weight and doesn’t even come close to hitting your face like he intends. It flutters to the ground in front of him and he falls onto his back, onto the floorboards and whines, kicking his legs up in a storm of anger.   Three times six is eighteen. Ten times seven is seventy. Five times nine is forty five.   The pencil in your hand never stops moving.

[Present Day]   Bang!   The Glock 17 semi-auto pistol in your hand lowers — it’s a simple handgun, but one you’re used to using. The bullet hole is right in the center of your target, exactly where you were aiming. You’re relieved, having been afraid that your skills deteriorated without practice, but you’re glad you came here to brush up on it.    “Nice shot. You got good. They do a lot of firearm training there?” It’s a rhetorical question and the brunette smiles, his foot coming to kick yours out and make your legs spread wider, knees bending. “But you’re still not in proper stance. Looks like even the academy couldn’t change that. Old habits die hard, huh?”    You scoff, standing straight. “I can probably shoot better than you can.”   “Maybe,” he hums, sincerely considering it. “But at least I don’t look like I’m trying to be part of an action movie. Who stands at an angle with one arm extended more than the other?”   “And you’re still competitive, aren’t you, Jungkook?” There’s a small smile and you put your gun in your holster, taking off your earmuffs as you walk out of the shooting range.   “Can you blame me?” Your old school friend grins, eyes shining. “I’ve pushed myself this far cause I like beating others.”   “That’s healthy,” you remark in sarcasm, but your smile doesn’t waver. “You should’ve joined the army or marines. You would’ve done well there.”   “Nah, I’m happy working in Security Service. There are better benefits,” he quips with bubbling laughter. “You should join too.”   “I’m not here looking for work, Jeon.” You grab your duffle bag, swinging it over your shoulder.   “Then what are you here for?”   “Not to work,” you throw it right back at him. But with the drawn out pause, you take a good look at the male standing in front of you. Jungkook is less boyish than before, grown up. The agent is tall, seemingly reliable with stronger eyes. You still remember when you moved away to live with your uncle and you ran into this weakling classmate of yours. Never would you have guessed that he’d eventually come to the capital and you’d run into him again like this. “How have you been? It’s been a while.”   “It’s been a hell of a long time. Congratulations, by the way. I never got to say that.”   “You did. You sent me a letter and delivered a bouquet. You do that to everyone?”   “Only friends I went to school with for three years and taught me how to throw my first punch.” Jungkook grins and when you thank him for the gift, he nods and asks, “How are you?”   “I’m good. Still haven’t decided where I should stay yet or what I’m gonna do.” The small talk wanes away and you can’t help your next question. “Why are you here, Jungkook?”   The man in his black suit shrugs. “Why are any of us here?”   “No, seriously. Why are you here?”   The corner of his mouth tugs upwards, unable to continue deflecting. He retreats and admits his purpose. “Your dad’s looking for you.”   You don’t want to go, but you have to acknowledge that the older man knew what he was doing sending Jungkook to fetch you.    The Presidential Security Service is responsible for protecting members of the Blue House, the president and his family, as well as anyone deemed important enough to protect. There are hundreds in this house alone and you’re aware that the career carries a job culture, a hierarchy, complicated in its own way. You’re not sure why the chief would want to see you when you have zero affiliations with the organization.   “There’s a job for you here,” he says it bluntly, sitting across from you.   “I already said no,” you repeat, “I’m not qualified.”   “You seem qualified to me.” Your dad puts his briefcase onto the table, popping the latches open. He pulls out your resume and you’re not surprised he has it. “You have a high school diploma...says here you worked at the National Police Agency as an officer for three years, went to the police academy for six months prior for proper training. A background in taekwondo, know first aid, firearms training…..”   He lowers the crisp page. The way he reads it is not because he’s proud or he’s particularly happy with your achievements. He assesses you. It’s a job interview for a job you don’t even want. “You have the necessary qualifications for the assignment I have in mind.”   It’s quiet. You stare at him. He stares at you.   A deep breath is taken into your lungs. “No one who starts off in the protection bureau gets an instant promotion to become the primary bodyguard of someone from the president’s immediate family.”   “It’s a special case. You’ve been personally requested by the family.”   “Even so, I can’t accept such a high position because I have connections. It’s unprofessional and may even be deemed as nepotism,” you reject for the second time. “If this is all, I think I should leave.”   It remains silent as you stand. Perhaps he’s accepted it — he’s always been calm and composed after all. But he calls after you, not for any loving words, not to ask you questions a father should ask, not to address things other than job prospects. “You should at least join the protection bureau. Even if you don’t want to accept this assignment. You have merit for it.”   You turn away, closing the door.   //   Unfortunately, you don’t even get a chance to consider it. There are no nights or days spent dwelling over the proposal and weighing the benefits and consequences of the job.   The old man’s blood works on efficiency and he won’t have time wasted on you considering if you want it or not. The worst part is that he knows you well, knows your weaknesses, and he’s already planted someone else to persuade you before you can even leave the premise.   This time, it’s not Jungkook who’s come to convince you or fetch you a second time, keep you from leaving. It’s a certain someone that you run into that has your eyes growing wide, your heart stuttering for a second as a rare smile spreads onto your face.   “Is that who I think it is?” The older man is dark-haired, carrying shining eyes and a playful smile, yet retaining a mature air around him.   “Seokjin?”   “Hey there, chickpea.” His hand plops on top of your head affectionately before it slides off, arm returning to his side. He takes a step back and nods. “Look at you! You’re so tall now!”   “You’re the one to speak. You look….great.”   “Psh. I know.” Jin grins, ears reddening from the complement. “But I’ll admit, you’re the one who looks even better. I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve shaped up to be real pretty and sturdy, huh? How about we go catch up? There’s a coffee shop downstairs by the gift shop. It’ll be my treat.”   It’s hard to refuse the offer.    Ever since Jin enrolled in the same taekwondo class as you years ago and your dad began teaching him as well, you’ve admired him. He’s kind, sweet, compassionate, capable…..and it’s probably inappropriate to stare at him for too long.   “I heard you were my dad’s protégé. Aren’t you the team leader for one of the main groups?”   “Something like that.” The two of you are sitting on the concrete stairs outside. It’s quiet with no one around this early in the morning. “It really isn’t that impressive.”   “That’s not true.” You turn to look at him. At this angle, the sun shines in your eyes and it forces you to squint — he’s too blazing. “You’re gonna get the vice position, aren’t you?”   Seokjin laughs, sound sweet and endearing. “I got a long way to go, chickpea. Maybe in a few years...or decades. There’s a whole hierarchy and those old guys aren’t gonna die any time soon so, it’s gonna be a while for me to get there if I ever do get there. Hopefully I won’t break my back.”   “You won’t. And someday, you’ll get the job. You’re….great.”   “Thanks.” Jin smiles and shifts to lock his eyes with yours, still nursing his coffee cup in his hands. “But how about you? I heard you made one hell of a police officer. Did you switch branches to come home?”   “Well...not really.” You learn forward, taking a sip of your warm drink. “I’m taking a break.”   The suited man hums and leans back, considering the hue of the sky. “That’s good. I was worried about you, y’know. Seemed like life was moving fast for you. I’m glad that you’re slowing things down a bit. But are you doing anything here? Any plans?”   “I don’t know yet,” you respond truthfully. Right now, you were staying at a hostel. You had to figure out your housing arrangement, look for a job, and decide how you were going to approach the reason why you decided to return home.   “You should join us then,” he says suddenly, breaking your train of thought. “The Presidential Security Service. It’s a good job. You’d get to work with me too.”   Your small smile matches his and you look off to the street. “Did my dad put you up to this?”   “Kind of. But I wanted to see you too, chickpea. I missed you. It’s been like what? Close to nine years? I know we kept in contact, but it’s different now that you’re here. Better. I think it would be a lot of fun to work with you too.”   “You mean for me to work under you?”   Giggles bubble up his throat again and it’s infectious, making you smile. “I swear I won’t boss you around. Why would I? For all I know, you might be better than most people who work for me.”   The two of you laugh and as you take a moment to contemplate, Jin adds, “It’s a good thing for you to do even if it’s temporary. You could do it for now before deciding what else you want. It’s a good job, I promise.”   It means a lot for someone like Seokjin to be personally requesting you and genuinely at that too. “I’m used to working on important cases,” you tell him, “I don’t want to work as a bodyguard for someone. I don’t think I suit babysitting.”   Jin smiles, making you feel at ease. “Promise you won’t have to babysit anyone, chickpea.”   //   Nothing official has been decided. In the span of a single day, you don’t want to make a hasty decision that you’ll come to regret later. For now, it’s empty words of maybes.   People have been on a wild goose chase for you and as flattering as it is, you can’t help but feel bothersome to their lives. They call you here and there, catching up, trying to convince you to stick around. If you knew you were so popular, you would’ve had a reunion party. Then again, probably not. You’re not one to like attention drawn onto you.   But what stands out amongst all those who want to speak to you is someone who is arguably the most important person in the country.   The double doors open, security personnel surrounding him, but with a nod, they take their places a few meters away and the doors close. It’s just you and him, and probably a hundred other guards around the premise.   Still, you’re honoured that he scraped up time in his busy schedule to see you.   “Mr. President.”   You bow your head.   “Oh, please, Y/N.” Taehyung’s father laughs heartily and comes over to squeeze your shoulder and tell you to sit down. His eyes are crinkled, more wrinkled in his face that showed just how many times he smiled over the years. His presence is still warm and inviting, reminding you of all the times he used to give you snacks and juice boxes and helped you with homework. “Didn’t you used to call me uncle all the time?”   It’s different now — that’s one thing for sure. But while much time has passed and you don’t know his new wife well, you can certainly sense that he hasn’t changed one bit.   Taehyung bears a striking resemblance to his dad, but the latter is much calmer and more diligent and less….everything that makes Taehyung noisy. As if to prove that point, he quietly asks you how you've been doing, considerate enough to inquire if everyone’s been treating you well, where you’re staying — everything a parent would want to know.   You talk about going to the academy, what life was like as an officer for three years until you decided to come back home. To which he says it was the right thing to do. You’ve been gone for so long.   “And is everything alright for you?”   “It’s been busy.” He nods and sips his tea, choosing his words carefully. “Taehyung’s certainly a handful.”   As gentle as the man can be, he’s still a politician. He knows how to speak well. How to get what he wants. And as he stares from the corner of his eye, you give a polite smile, choosing to skirt around the issue. “I bet.”   He switches tactics, deciding it’s safe enough to be upfront and direct. “Y/N, the reason I wanted to speak to you today was because I have a request. A favour. Your dad probably already told you about it and I know you rejected the offer, but I want you to reconsider.”   “I’m….not sure if I’m the right one for the job,” you answer sincerely.   Taehyung’s dad smiles and leans back into the sofa across from you. “Taehyung doesn’t have a lot of friends. Not now, not when he was growing up. He’s energetic and outgoing, but unfortunately not many like him. It’s overwhelming for them. They get annoyed. They treat him poorly. And he’s too honest. He won’t lie to make others like him.” The old man seems tired and he sighs. “It’s both a bad and good thing.”   “Even now, he’s having a hard time,” he continues, “It’s my fault he’s constantly surrounded by security personnel. But he wants someone more discreet. Someone who can allow him more room to breathe and he won’t be...looked at so often. He wants you to be his personal bodyguard.”   “If I can be frank, sir.” You address him in a distant manner, awkward despite how he’s told you to be comfortable with him. But in your new positions, it’s easier said than done. “Taehyung’s request might not be in his own or yours best interest.”   “Hmm..” The polished man’s expression is tinged with amusement and curiosity. “Why do you say so?”   “If given the opportunity, I believe he will undermine my position and attempt to get his own way. It would defeat the purpose of what you’re trying to achieve.”   Taehyung’s father smiles and nods. “If that happens, I don’t think you’d allow him to do so.” He phrases it in a different way when he sees your hesitation. “He wouldn’t undermine you because you wouldn’t let him. But your father tells me you’re concerned that this wouldn’t be seen as…..impartial.”   “I don’t want to achieve things through connections,” you express.   “And that is a kind of integrity I respect.” He shifts in his seat, keeping his body language open and friendly. “It’s also a pleasure for me to tell you that your exceptional credentials and your prior history with Taehyung is enough to validate this position, even without any connections.”   “Sir, my history with Taehyung is a connection on its own.”   “Then it’s a connection that will be well leveraged in this position,” he affirms. “It’s a benefit. I insist, Y/N. No one is better suited for this than you. I know you and Taehyung had some issues here and there, but you’re the only one who’s stuck by the longest.” The President, no….the old man that you’ve known for decades bows his head and asks for a favour. “I trust you, Y/N. So, please, if you can. Protect my son.”   It’s bewildering. It makes you baffled, speechless. You watch him, not knowing what to say.   You’ve never been so sought after before, but there’s really no excuse you can make, no excuse you can think of. There was nothing for you here, nothing for you to do. An opportunity has presented itself and while you feel relatively apathetic towards the job, the desperate request has you re-considering for a long second before responding—   “What will I need to do?”   //   “Taehyung...he was fond of you,” his father said. “He talked about you a lot. Even when you were gone.”   Somehow, you doubt that.   The blonde college student is pacing in front of you with hands behind your back. You’re unimpressed, expression washing over with impassiveness. While Seokjin promised you wouldn’t be put on babysitting duty, there’s no choice now that you’ve accepted this particular job.   It’s hard to believe that the Taehyung you grew up with is this Taehyung. If not for his eyes, smile, and general mannerisms, you would’ve never guessed. He looks shabby, unemployed, like he hasn’t showered or looked at himself in the mirror in a couple of days. But maybe that suits him best — carefree, free spirited, doing what he wants without worrying about what anyone thinks.   At least you can admire those qualities.   “So….you’re my bodyguard now?” At your ongoing silence, Taehyung stops. “Why don’t you answer? Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore your boss?” He stares and you look at him blankly.    Taehyung sharply inhales. “Listen here, dumbo. You have a lot to learn about me and my life, okay? So you’re gonna have to listen carefully. But for now, I guess it’s only right that I welcome you to my life. So welcome!”   “Can you move?” you interrupt his theatrical introduction, “I’m trying to get to the washroom.”   Taehyung’s grin falls as you brush past him.   He follows after you, complaining, until you shut the door.   It’s déjà vu — five minutes and you’ve already given up, letting him do whatever he wants.

[beesonestopcurioshop]

By the pricking of my thumb, something wicked this way comes.

Chapter 4: Can’t Look Away

Photo/Gif Credit: @murphyaddiction

Warnings: I’m pretty sure this chapter is quiet in this area.

Note: Hi y’all! I hope you’re safe and healthy. I’ve been able to get some writing done recently. I hope you enjoy it! I’m excited to hear what you think! Especially now that I have @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes beta reading it for me! She’s been a tremendous help so far.

••

Thomas had chosen a slow pace to walk from one end of town to the other. Ellie wouldn’t have minded but it was freezing after that rain. She had already been out in it long enough with the Lee boys. She rubbed her hands together when she noticed her fingertips starting to turn a light shade of blue.

When he felt the movement of her hands, she felt his hand drop away. She hoped he knew she wasn’t going to run. She wasn’t in the wrong. She had nothing to run for.

Ellie gave him a side glance. His energy seemed different. It wasn’t the usual “own the room with silent dominance” bravado he carried. It was quiet. Small almost. Something she never thought she would describe anything of Thomas Shelby as.

His eyes were far off as they strode to the other end of town to find Johnny. Thomas seemed to have thoughts cycling through his head in an awful loop that he was trying to forget. Ellie thought about it for a moment and then it hit her.

The horse. The gunshot. It had to have been that. The sound of the gunshot that saved her life, had ended another. How she had seen Thomas with the horse before, Ellie realized, she had seen a softer side of him. Horses had a special place in his seemingly chained up heart. Now she understood that what she was seeing was Thomas Shelby, distraught.

“Do you have something to say, Miss Byrne?” His smoke-laden voice disturbed the silence and a small gasp escaped her lips.

Ellie contemplated in silence for a moment. She had been walking on eggshells from the moment she realized she was in Zilpha’s presence. She was tired and frustrated over the events of the night and into early this morning. Her head and face hurt. She didn’t want to be careful anymore.

“No, Mr. Shelby. I was goin’ ta ask ya if you were okay, but then I realized what had happened.”

Those ice-blue eyes moved over to her, almost looking accusatory but somehow still impassive. “He looked at me wrong. No one looks at Thomas Shelby wrong and gets away with it.”

“I’m sure they don’t, Mr. Shelby. I’m sorry about the ’orse. I would have told you but, well, we know where I was.” Ellie’s face scrunched up from the pain in her cheek and she looked downward. She used her cold hand to gently lay it on her cheek. She hoped it would help calm the pain and heat.

Eleanor hadn’t noticed Thomas stopped until she felt his hand gently grasped her arm. His grip caused her to gently change direction and she walked back toward him. Ellie squinted at him in confusion while lowering her hand.

Thomas brought his hand up to assess her cheek but she flinched. “Let me look.” Ellie looked at him carefully but leaned back.

His hands were soft and surprisingly gentle as he tilted and turned her face. It startled her how gentle he was. She knew it wasn’t right to judge someone by their surface, but with a man like Thomas Shelby? She couldn’t help it.

She watched his eyes inspect her face. He was focused. Hyper focused almost. Trying to distract himself from outside variables. He had control over examining her cheek. The cold water blue of his eyes bounced around and looked for any sign of weakness in the structure of her face. Her distraction was welcomed greatly and silently. If she wasn’t up close and personal she would have thought he was frustrated.

“Does any of that hurt?”

Ellie shook her head, “I can feel the pressure though.”

Thomas poked and prodded at a few spots around the bottom of her cheekbone. It was when he got to the top, close to the outer corner of her eye that she hissed and drew backward quickly.

“Found it. We’ll get it taken care of when we get to Johnny.” Ellie placed her hand over her cheek protectively but nodded. She was so curious as to what exactly was going through his head because this is not the kind of treatment she had expected. She hadn't expected to be slapped around or anything but she didn’t expect the gentleness of it all.

“Mr. Shelby, listen. If you’re taking me somewhere to have me “taken care of,” could we just pause for a minute?”

“Do I have a reason to have you taken care of?” There was a concealed smirk gracing those dangerous lips of his.

“To the best of my knowledge, no. Ever since the fair and being seen within five feet of you, it seems like giving me a hard time, or potentially killing me has been on people’s list.”

“We’re just going to talk to Johnny. Nothing more, nothing less.” Thomas tossed his head in the direction of the flat they were heading for. The small motion of the man’s head made her stop and look.

The noise around Eleanor dulled as 6 Watery Lane came into view. There was a haze of fog not only out on the street but in her mind as well. She had seen this flat before in a dream. She was almost certain. It hadn’t been her eyes that experienced it though. She recalled being a bird. It wasn’t a habit of hers to be on this end of the city so that must have been why she remembered the place down to the kind of trim along the bottom of the window. Thomas tugged her along and the movement shook Ellie from her trance-like state.

They both noticed the only other moving being out on the street just happened to be the man in question himself. Johnny was making his way hurriedly to the abode.

Johnny went to knock but they were close enough that he heard their footsteps. He spun around on his heels when he saw the pair making their way to him.

“Eleanor stars above! I thought somethin’ had happened to ya!” Johnny rushed over in a flurry of motion and grabbed Ellie by the upper arms. “You’re freezin’!” He took off his jacket to sling across her shoulders.

Ellie chuckled gently at his flurry, “ I’m fine, Johnny. Really. Mr. Shelby and I were just lookin’ for ya.”

“Let’s go to your van, Johnny,” Thomas suggested with a swing of his large hand. Johnny was looking between the two of them, and even in the dark, Eleanor could tell he was confused. She couldn’t blame him. If he had been missing and all of a sudden turned up out of the blue with a friend of hers in the middle of the wee morning hours, she would be confused too.

She wasn’t sure how long she was knocked out for, but she had been gone for most of the day considering it felt like early morning. Johnny had probably tried to check up on her, he did every so often since her parents were so far away. It was nice to know that someone was looking out for you on the other end.

Ellie looked to the right and saw that his van was in fact, not far away. ‘At least it’ll be warm in there.’ She glanced between Thomas and Johnny and since they weren’t moving, she started to leg it over to the carriage.

“Well c’mon, gentlemen. The van isn’t gonna float over to us.” Ellie just wanted to get this show on the road so she could go home and sleep for two days.

Her steps faltered when a commotion of noise happened behind the door to 6 Watery Lane. It ended with a loud bang that caused her to jump. She assumed the person behind the door had overestimated the distance in haste and hit the door against the wall. All three of them turned to face the door as they were greeted with a woman who exuded authority. Ellie gave Thomas a passing look and clearly, he knew the mysterious woman. She sought Johnny out, and he knew her as well from the looks of things. It seemed that she was the odd man out.

Her voice rang loud and clear with a low smoky undertone, “Well, bring the poor girl inside!” Her tone left nothing to be argued about.

Eleanor inspected Thomas and watched as the muscles in his sharp jaw twitched. She felt his large warm hand come to hover over the small of her back and to direct her into the house. The heat from his hand gave her a shiver up her spine causing her back to arch away slightly. Not because she didn’t want it there, it was the fact that she didn’t mind that bothered her.

A sigh of comfort left her rosy lips as she finally made way into the sitting area. It was warm and she was very grateful for it. She had been damp and cold for long enough. “Thank you, I was beginnin’ to lose feelin’.” She let out a breathy laugh that seemed to twinkle in everyone’s ears.

“I’m Polly, and who might you be?” The lady waved her over to the fireplace that was still in view. Eleanor was confused at the hospitality of it all, but she wouldn’t be disrespectful in the woman’s house. From the looks on Thomas and Johnny’s faces, they weren’t expecting it either. Ellie came to stand right up against the hearth. She put her hands out to start pulling in warmth from the small fire.

“Eleanor, ma’am. A pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry for the late hour.” Ellie reached out for the extended hand.

Polly scoffed and waved her hand dismissively, “These boys have no concept of a late hour.”

Thomas watched the interaction with analytical inquisitiveness. He wanted to understand just what his Aunt was trying to figure out about their unexpected guest. Glancing over at Johnny made him feel even more suspicious because Johnny had a small smirk on his face while the women talked quietly. He pressed his lips together and felt his jaw tense.

Thomas cleared his throat lightly to catch Polly’s attention. He wanted to move this along. She flashed her eyes in his direction and nodded. He held out his hand pointing to the spot in the back of the kitchen where the meeting room was.

She fixed her gaze on Eleanor before nodding to the doors behind her. “Head through those double doors behind you there.”

Ellie turned on her heel following Polly’s nod. She could see the room Thomas was pointing at. She fell into apprehensive steps behind Johnny. He had lazily started making his way into the meeting room. The dread of how this conversation could go was slowly sinking into the pit of Eleanor’s stomach. The footfalls of the Shelby’s behind her sounded like judge and jury. The room had a large table and some chairs that could almost act as an informal court.

She realized that she was being dramatic. Thomas was just validating information for himself, as well as the safety and livelihood of his family. If she had truly been a thorn in his side, he would have already taken care of the issue. He wouldn’t have brought her to his place of residence for a chat if he thought anything severe was going on. Especially since he didn’t know her aside from the last few days.

Breathing a deep huff while motioning to a chair, she asked, “May I?”

She didn’t have much of a choice as Johnny grabbed her arm and the chair, plopping her down causing a small ‘oof’ to escape her rosy lips. “Easy on, Johnny. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“You’ve had enough adventure to last a while. ‘Bout gave me an attack when I started havin’ trouble findin’ ya, Ellie girl. Where’ve you been?” Johnny placed his palms on his knees and locked his elbows.

Ellie chewed on her lower lip for a fraction of a second and sighed. “Zilpha had me.”

Her eyes moved back and forth between Johnny and Thomas. Johnny wore a look of shock. Eleanor wasn’t involved with the Lees. He couldn’t understand what the Queen would want with Ellie. Thomas has his left eyebrow raised just slightly. His reaction was more curiosity than shock. Ellie had a feeling that it took more than the events of the last 24 hours to drop Thomas’s jaw.

“I had noticed them messin’ with Mr. Shelby’s ‘orse. I wanted to leave and not be noticed. I didn’t want to be involved,” Ellie’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Between her head and face pounding and still being awake in the wee hours of the morning, she was tired.

Her eyes panned around the room at her audience, “I didn’t wanna be involved because to each his own, but I did want to tell someone. The poor horse didn’t deserve to get caught in the middle.” Ellie’s earthy-toned orbs landed on Johnny, but she didn’t get the chance to finish. Polly spoke up from the opposite side of Thomas.

“She was on her way to find you, Thomas.”

“Well, it was him since it is his ’orse, or Johnny because I knew it would get passed along.” Ellie found that Polly’s fixed stare had her rooted to her seat. It wasn’t a challenge, but she was sizing her up. The small smile that graced Polly’s nude-colored lips, made Ellie squirm a bit until she finally forced her eyes to look toward Thomas. Which the weight nearly leveled her making her just about regret it.

“That’s how I ended up gettin’ a good crack in the face. Like I said, I normally stay to myself and don’t run with anyone.”

Thomas interrupted her, “Then why did you involve yourself this time?”

“Out of respect for the loyalty you and Johnny have for each other. We see where that got me, though. A black eye and suspicion.” Her eyebrows rose a little bit at her audacity. The pain was starting to get to her.

“Eh?! Suspicion? Tom, is that why we’re here? Ellie bird only helps me out sometimes. She has nothin’ to do with the Lees. Nothin’ to do with that horse.”

Tom acknowledged the statement but pressed on. “What did you and Zilpha talk about?”

Ellie looked between the three sets of eyes all examining her in different ways, “She questioned my intentions. Which I don’t appreciate, Queen matriarch or not. I may have lied in self-preservation, telling her I wanted to leave Mister Charlie’s yard out the back because I was still upset from being let go from the Guns, and I was. Not as much as I let on though. The pub is under your protection,” her distant gaze landed on Thomas, “and the only reason Richard kept me around was because I wasn’t involved with any of ya’s. That meant he didn’t have to worry about trouble from me.”

“I have half a mind to go give Richard a piece. He didn’t tell me none of that.” Johnny was flustered and started to rise out of his chair.

Eleanor smiled in his direction and reached out a hand to stop him, “Johnny that’s very kind, but no. I can find another job just as easy.”

Ellie continued her explanation, “Zilpha then asked me about why my name has come up in conversation every time yours is mentioned recently. To which I have no idea. All I know is that someone at the fair saw me sayin’ goodnight and goodbye to Johnny that day when he was with ya’s then told Zilpha and my boss that I was all of a sudden conspirin’ with those Peaky Blinders and the devil Thomas Shelby himself.” Ellie rolled her eyes. Yes, he wasn’t the most innocent in the bunch, but he wasn’t awful. Someone that became that distraught from having to put a horse down had some humanizing qualities left.

Thomas paused for a moment. His breath caught in his throat. He realized that was the first time she had ever spoken his name aloud. He enjoyed the way it sounded as it softly left her lips. There was an intense locking of blue eyes that looked like they could be made from oceans and brown eyes that were as grounded in the earth like roots from a tree.

Polly leaned her elbow on the table placing her hand on her hand and her face fully engrossed in the silent collision happening in front of her. There was more to this girl than met the eye. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was an engaging air to her. On the surface, she appeared angelic, pure almost, but scratch just a little bit below and you could see she was familiar with certain devils. What devils were they, Polly couldn’t be certain. What she could ascertain, however, was that this small bird of a girl wasn’t frightened by them.

Johnny asked, “How did Tommy find ya?”

In the blink of an eye, the eye contact was broken and the spell was over. “The Lee boys Zilpha had with her, she eventually got tired of me not having the answers she was lookin’ for. They took me out near Mister Charlie’s yard. It was just ta scare me, but one of ‘em got bad-tempered and almost took me out.”

Looking through her lashes at Thomas, another spell was cast, “your gunshot, along with me actin’ mad, scared them off. So I have you to thank that I’m not in more trouble than I could have been. Divine timin’ an’ all. So thank you, Thomas.”

There it was again. His name floating in the air in a dulcet tone that made him want to sigh and believe for a moment that everything would be alright. There was an almost imperceptible nod from Thomas, but Ellie picked up on it right away.

“Is Stevie okay?” Ellie asked.

Thomas said, “yes, and you still have a place to keep him.”

Ellie scrunched her eyebrows. He had taken the question right out of her mouth. Thomas held her gaze, and she could have sworn he looked amused. It was a flicker in passing, but she had seen it in those mirrors that were as calm before a storm at sea but just as wild as one.

Polly cleared her throat, “Thomas if you've gotten enough from the poor girl, let me fix up her eye.”

Polly stood and walked behind Ellie’s chair, gently tapping her shoulders, convincing her the meeting was adjourned and she could follow along. Polly didn’t need permission from Thomas.

Ellie stood quietly and let herself be ushered along by Polly. The doors clicked shut behind them and the women made their way into the kitchen outside of the doors.

••

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed, and are enjoying it so far!

Taglist: @hazelnmae | @boogiewrites | @reyloshipper-starwars | @deanscroissant | @justanothershelby | @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes

Anyone who wants to be added, just let me know!

[marshmallowprotection]

So I've been reading some of your imagines and I just can't stop smiling. The fluff with Saeran is A+ and I'd like to request sth as well (if request is open,I hope). How about Saeyong, Saeran and V (+ Jumin,Yoosung if not too much) with a S/O who has the habit of refusing to eat when she's really angry or sad (empty?). Like "I don't need (your) fucking food!" or "I don't deserve it." But she's normal again the next day. I'm like that 2 n I know it's bad but I just feel bad eating smts.

This is pretty much how I experience life, except I usually don’t eat with people because I’m basically on a liquid diet for the rest of my life. It can be really weird with how society makes everything center around food, seriously, think about some fun functions and you can’t hardly think of anywhere food isn’t a serious part of the thing. I understand people trying to make you eat with them for the sake of it not being weird, or like, they think they’re doing you a solid by asking you to eat but they usually aren’t. Haha. It’s a little different for you because you just can’t do it when you feel bad, but don’t feel bad, others understand where you’re coming from. Sometimes it’s a little frustrating and you lash out at others because they just don’t get it. 

also sorry this took forever

Saeyoung Choi

”I’m not in the mood, Saeyoung.” 

“Well, if you’re in the mood, then neither am I.” 

This is what you call a stalemate, my readers. Two people staring each other down at the table with a sharp look in their eyes that simply cannot be defeated. 

Seven is going to try to sweat this out with you as long as humanly possible. There’s no stopping him and you just have to accept that he’s about to get under your skin big time. This isn’t something that occurs all that often in your house, but when it does, boy, Saeyoung is determined to get the route of the cause and get you to eat something. That, however, isn’t something that he’s capable of doing the first few times that this happens. 

Seven has always been pretty bad about taking care of himself. I think that’s something that most people pick up on without even knowing him for very long. 

It’s not that he’s punishing himself, or actively trying to not eat anything when he screws up. He just often forgets to go and get actual food into his system when he’s working, and usually just goes off what he has at his disposal while he’s working. It’s a lot of work to get up from his computer and work in the kitchen. 

He’s fortunate that Vanderwood took pity on him and helped him out when he needed actual nutrition. 

It’s a long night when you’ve had a bad day and try to shut down, and while he hates seeing you trying to sabotage yourself, he realizes after his few screw-ups that he needs to help you slowly, rather than try to make you do something you don’t want. He’ll be a lot softer, and not throw a fit to make you eat. The thing that you need most during this time is somebody that understands and can not try to mother hen you with directions. 

He’ll sit there with you while you’re upset, and do what he can to make it easier for you. Seven is relieved when the next morning comes and you’re feeling much better about yourself. He’s going to try his best to make sure these bouts are few and far between, but when they do happen, count on him to hold your hand and reassure you. 

Jihyun Kim

“I just don’t want anything, Jihyun. Leave it at that.” 

“…I understand.” 

As opposed to Saeyoung’s reaction, Jihyun is actually pretty bad about doing this himself except he doesn’t lash out at others when he does it to himself. He just closes himself off to the world and punishes himself by not eating a bite. He really doesn’t think that he’s deserving of such a thing when he feels like he failed both of the Choi boys. It’s just one of the many ways that he uses to get back at himself for feeling like an awful person.

It’s not a great thing, though. It’s something that you both of you need to objectively work on, and try to get better together. That’s just how it’s going to get easier in your house. He’s gotten better about it because you’ve been so persistent with him to take better care of himself because he really needs to be nicer when he’s speaking about and to himself these days. 

Because at one point, you were trying to do the same thing for him that he’s trying to do for you now. 

It’s just different when it comes to helping yourself, he realizes that very fast. Jihyun gives you your space when you find yourself in a mood. He’ll be gentle, and remind you to at least drink something if you are going to forgo eating something that evening. He’s always in the background, making sure that you have anything else that you might need, and when you’re willing to speak with him—

he’s always there waiting for you with open arms. 

He may not always know what the right thing to say it, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t try his best for you. While it’s great to see that he can help you through the night without hurting himself, and seeing you back to your usual self in the morning is great; He really does want to understand why you’re struggling in this way. 

If something’s bothering you, then he wants to be able to help you work through it like you did for him.

Even if it feels like baby steps on the road to recovery rather then big leaps. There will times that he’ll fall back into a bad habit, or you will do the same. It’ll work out as long as you have faith in yourselves and keep trying to find a healthy headspace. 

Saeran Choi

“…I appreciate the effort you’ve made. I just don’t think I deserve food right now.” 

“Y/N…” 

There’s always this pained look in his eyes when he realizes that he can’t do anything for you to make this easier to handle. 

Look, there have been times when he has denied himself food at all for the sake of his work. He was made to believe that he wasn’t worthy of that unless he proved himself during the day or with his work. So this kind of thinking that you have isn’t all that far away from what he’s dealt with before in his life. So, he’s definitely somebody who understands where you’re coming from when you say that. In fact, 

I think he gets it better than anyone else. It doesn’t mean that Saeran likes it when you think so poorly of yourself. 

For a long time, he believed that you were perfectly alright, and the things that you told him to do—

were things that you practiced in your own daily life. He never did imagine that someone like you could be struggling with your own demons. You’re just as human as anyone else, he realizes, and it’s that realization that really helps him start to work to harder at treating you like that. 

He’ll give you space if you storm off in a huff. 

If you stick around, then he’ll do his best to take your mind off of whatever has bothered you to this point. He’ll try just about anything to make a smile come back to your face, if he has to play something for you, or if he has to read something to you, this boy is dedicated to your mind, body, and spirit, he’s out here pulling out all the stops when he can. 

There are times when he doesn’t have a lot of energy either, and he wants to shut down as well. Those nights are the ones where it’s hard for you both to cope. 

that’s when you guys just sit in the dark and talk about the things that are bothering you until they’re gone like the wind. 

It’s a long process of trial and error, just like anything else in life, and as long as the both of you are trying to work on yourselves together, then things will be okay. 

💜 Mod Kait 💜

[whisker-biscuit]

If You Can’t Beat ‘Em: Chapter 2

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: The water guns are back. And Alastor has come to visit. This won’t end well at all.

It had been about a week and a half since the water gun incident. The event itself had been fun, messy, and borderline homicidal, but cleaning up the lobby (as well as three hallways, a bathroom, and Angel Dust’s entire collection of adult film props) left everyone less than enthusiastic to repeat the experience.

It was around this time that the hotel got a fairly frequent visitor. Whether that visitor was fairly welcome was another matter entirely.

“Charlie-dear! Always a pleasure to see you in high and healthy spirits!”

Alastor breezed through the open front door with more pomp and grandeur than should have been possible. Patting Charlie on the head as one does a young child, he slid calculating eyes over every inch of the room.

“My, that’s a lovely new painting. Did your mother loan that one? She always did have an eye for quality.” The Radio Demon twirled his microphone staff clockwise as he circled in a slow counterclockwise. “You’ve cleaned as well, how darling! It almost looks respectable now.”

His gaze fell on Vaggie, who was standing in the nearest doorway with her arms crossed and her back rigid.

“Hello, my dear. Are you going to threaten me again?”

“No,” she said curtly, “but I still don’t trust you.”

The response was a leering glint to the ever-present smile. Vaggie bristled but didn’t say anything else.

“Ah, I’m sorry to sound rude,” Charlie stepped up in an attempt to peace-make. “It’s uh…good to see you but, we weren’t really expecting this today? To see you here, I mean. Is there a reason you’re here? Maybe?”

Alastor tilted his head. “I’m simply here to check in on my associates! What other reason could I possibly entertain?”

“Sure, because ‘checking in’ is what you’re known for.” Vaggie made parenthesis with her fingers.

The Radio Demon’s eyes became half-lidded, and he gave a mock bow in the girl’s direction. “You’ve caught me at my best today, I suppose. Charlie, should I expect everyone else to be this discourteous?”

The princess opened her mouth to give a reassurance, but it was this moment that Vaggie was pushed out of her spot in guarding the doorway by a spindly, spidery hand.

“Why you blockin’ the way, Toots? Some of us got somewhere to be!” Angel Dust sneered at the girl he’d misplaced. She caught herself before she hit the ground and spat a Spanish curse at him.

“Angel,” Charlie clasped her hands together. “We have a guest, please be polite!”

The spider demon locked eyes with Alastor, who leaned lightly on his cane and gave a derisive little wave.

“The hell are you doing here?”

“Angel,” Charlie wrung her hands together. “Be nice.”

“It’s quite all right, my dear,” the Radio Demon said, looking down his nose. “He’s welcome to express himself in whatever vulgar, childish manner he desires.”

Angel huffed and crossed his top arms over his chest. The lower pair was planted on his hips. “I’ll have you know I’m only childish on Wednesdays, so there.” He stuck his tongue out for good measure and sniffed the air.

“Anywaaaay,” the princess sing-songed, trying to get the conversation back together. “You said you came by for an update, right? How about I…give you a tour of what we’ve changed since you were here last? Does that sound? Okay?”

“Downright darling, dearie,” Alastor purred. He grinned at everyone in the room. “Although I must ask; will it be an entourage today? You know I love an audience, but these listeners rarely tune in to my particular program.”

“Um, well?” Charlie turned towards her partner. “Do you mind sitting this one out? I’m sure everything will be just swell.”

Vaggie glared at the floor a moment before coming to a personal compromise. She sighed and nudged Angel to get his attention.

“You’re going on the tour with them.”

“What? No I’m not, I’ve got better things ta do!” He stared at her, incredulous.

“Sure, and the best thing is knowing what’s new with the hotel so if someone asks you about it, you can tell the truth for once in your life. Besides,” she held up a finger when he tried to protest, “you still owe me for bailing you out of that bad deal with your client last weekend.”

Angel made a frustrated noise and threw his hands up in the air. “Fine! Fine. You just want me to play bouncer for your girl, I’ll do it. But we’re even after this.”

“Fine with me,” Vaggie put a gentle hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “I’ll be making lunch down the hall, don’t…be afraid to let me know if you need me.”

“You know I won’t,” the princess gave a reassuring smile in response.

The demon girl hummed and, with a final distrustful glower at the unwelcome guest, left the room. The three remaining demons stood in silence until they couldn’t hear angry footsteps any longer.

“Well then, let’s get to it!” Charlie announced cheerfully.

So that was how they went from room to room; Charlie pointing out improvements made since Alastor’s last visit, the Radio Demon cocking his head at each display without saying a word, and Angel trailing behind the whole time like a pouting child. Soon they reached the door to the hotel pub.

“Oh, and we’re almost done renovating the bar, too! We just need to change some of the wallpaper and it’ll look good as new, Husk has been so excited about it even though he won’t admit it.”

“How marvelous! You won’t mind if I go take a look, would you, my dear? And Husk will be over the moon to see me, I’m sure.”

The princess started playing with her suspenders. “Well, funny thing about that, you can’t talk to Husk cause he’s –”

“Uhh, sweet cheeks, the guy’s already gone,” Angel drawled, pointing at the large doors leading to the bar. They were swinging closed.

Charlie wavered only a moment before shaking her head and striding after the Radio Demon. She found him standing in the middle of the room, clearly looking for his former associate. The girl stepped behind him and cleared her throat as the spider demon sauntered to her side.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to talk to Husk for a while.”

“Half-seas over, I take it?”

“Uhh…” She looked over at Angel, who mimed chugging a drink. “Oh. Well he actually went out a few hours ago sooooo I don’t think he’s drunk? Or I hope not. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I do know that he’s not here.”

“Lovely! Some other time then, perhaps.” Alastor made his way behind the bar. “I see he still keeps everything disheveled back here. I had hoped you would curb him of that habit, but – oh, what might this be?”

He bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle and stood back up holding a water gun. Charlie felt her brow furrow in surprise as she joined the Radio Demon behind the counter. There were five or six of the colorful toys hidden past a line of Jack Daniel’s. There was also a post-it note, scrawled with ‘find where Niffty hid hers.’

“I was wondering where these went,” the princess said, stooping to grab one herself. “Why’d Husk take them?”

Angel Dust snorted and sat down on a barstool. “Cause he fucking hates getting wet. You try having fur that thick and soaking for hours, it sucks ass.”

“But you were playing with us that day. You’ve got a lot of fur too.” Charlie set the gun onto the bar counter and eased her elbows along the polished wood, putting her chin in her hands.

Neither of them paid any attention to Alastor, who turned the toy this way and that with his head angled in their direction.

“Cause it was hot as balls and someone shot me! I ain’t about ta be insulted like that.” The spider demon fluffed out his chest. “Already got wet, didn’t have nothin’ else to lose.”

“You almost lost your…adult paraphernalia.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault! Niffty was the one who went after my stuff, the dirty cheater bitch.”

Charlie glanced nervously at Alastor, worried he might have objections to his associate’s name being slandered, but the Radio Demon only grinned. She gave a weak laugh and turned back to Angel.

“Well that’s why I wanted us to play outside, but you wouldn’t listen. And now you know better, so you can’t be complaining anymore.”

“I wasn’t –”

Whatever else Angel meant to say was cut off when a spray of water hit his face so hard it knocked him backwards off the barstool. He crashed onto the carpet and wheezed. Charlie whipped her head around to see Alastor hefting the water gun with an intrigued slant to his smile.

“My, what a remarkable contraption! Water for bullets, what will they think of next?” He spun the toy into the air and caught it with his cane, balancing it on the microphone top.

Charlie pursed her lips and peeked over the counter to see the spider demon wiping liquid out of his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck no I’m not okay!” He snarled, craning his head to glare up at both of them. “The fuck was that for?!”

“An investigation, my fine fellow, merely a formality.” The Radio Demon spun the toy again. “Are you going to try to shoot me back?” He looked incredibly smug.

The princess of Hell shook her head frantically as Angel’s face closed off. He glanced her way briefly before turning to Alastor.

“Maybe I will, huh?! Maybe I fucking will!” He hoisted himself up by the barstool to a standing position and snatched the water gun Charlie had left on the countertop. He lifted it –

And got blown back again as the Radio Demon shot him point blank in the chest. Angel skidded against the carpet and blinked dazedly while the princess spun around to Alastor.

“How are you doing that! Stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what, Charlie-dear?” He chuckled, turning the gun her way when she took a step towards him. “I’m only partaking in this intriguing game you’ve been playing of late. I wonder why no one was cordial enough to invite me.”

Charlie jumped as Angel ran to the end of the room and pulled open the doors.

“Don’t just stand there, Charlie! RUN!” And then he was out of the bar into the unknown.

She jumped again when Alastor placed a feathery touch to her shoulder. He was watching the swinging doors with something ancient and predatory.

“Your client is savvier than he first appears, I must say.” The Radio Demon hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose I can give him a sporting chance for that. Charlie-dear, I can’t expect you to play along if you aren’t abiding the rules. Be a bird and arm yourself, will you?”

Whistling a merry tune, Alastor spun the water gun once more around his microphone and stepped towards the doors, leaving Charlie confused and vaguely terrified.

Vaggie was in the kitchen when she heard Angel scream for Charlie to run. Adrenaline burst through the girl’s every muscle and she shot out into the hallway, nearly running into the spider demon as he blindly tore past her. She managed to grab his arm and forced him to stop.

“Where’s Charlie?! Is Alastor hurting her?!”

“If that fucker got her then it’s not my fault!” Angel snarled breathlessly. “I warned her to run!”

Vaggie would have shook him hard to make him reveal where Charlie was, but her brain stalled as something shiny and colorful in the spider demon’s hands caught her attention.

“What – what’s this?”

“Oh, oh yeah, you probably think she’s dead now,” he finally stopped panting and showed her the water gun. “The Pink Pimp found these and wants to play, I guess. But the stuff he shoots fucking hurts! I’d say they were made of wood or some shit if I didn’t know better.”

“So she’s safe? She’s alright?”

“Hell if I know,” Angel looked nervously down the hall. “But I’m not sticking around to find out. I ain’t getting shot again, so either help me or get out of my way.”

The girl opened her mouth, then closed it as she heard the distinct sound of Alastor’s boots treading along carpet, somewhere out of sight but still far too close for comfort. She shared an honest look of unease with Angel.

And that was how Vaggie found herself crammed beside the spider demon in the hotel dumbwaiter.

The door was closed, but there was a small opening slot where Angel had taken up watch with his water gun held under his chin and ready to fire. It was rare to see him so serious, but Vaggie wasn’t going to say anything, stuck here like this. Instead she pretended not to stare as a black eye blossomed around his face and felt the way they both trembled.

It didn’t take long for the Radio Demon to enter the kitchen. He was spinning a water gun by its trigger around his cane, looking for all the world like a dapper gentleman on a Sunday stroll. He paused once as if considering something, then made a motion with his hands and conjured up a shimmering green symbol. It disappeared almost immediately, but there was no time to consider what it was meant for.

Vaggie watched as Angel took the shot carefully, lining up his nozzle right between Alastor’s eyes. She held her breath, afraid that the spider demon might die for such an action but even more afraid that Alastor would catch them first and they’d lose this chance.

The spider demon’s eyes narrowed and he pulled the trigger. They watched as the stream of water went sailing for the Radio Demon, who saw it far too late to move out of the way.

He dodged it a different way. His head snapped backwards until it hit his spine, and the water flew harmlessly above him and into the far wall.

Angel and Vaggie watched in abject horror as Alastor reached behind him and physically pulled his head and neck up to something more autonomically possible. He cracked his head towards one shoulder, then the other, and stared at the two of them through their little slot.

“Commendable effort, truly, but you’ll have to try harder than that.”

The Radio Demon advanced towards the dumbwaiter and Vaggie grabbed ahold of the pulley rope, frantically tugging at it until she and Angel were propelling to a higher floor. They heard delighted laughter echo up after them.

“Very well, a strategic retreat! No doubt we’ll see each other soon, and continue the game again! Best of luck to you both!”

“Move faster!” Angel hissed in the girl’s ear. “He’s gonna try and cut us off!”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” She hissed back, frantic and frustrated. The spider demon growled.

“Here, just let me do it!” He grabbed the rope with all four hands, then with a sickening squelch another pair grew out of his body, just above his hips. Those hands also took hold of the pulley and soon the dumbwaiter was flying up through floors.

“What should we do?” Vaggie gripped the corners of two walls as best as she could, trying to maintain her balanced crouch.

“I dunno, I’m the shoot-first-get-high-later kind of guy, not sharp in the smarts kinda way.”

“Oh I’m well aware of that fact.” She ignored the following insult hurled her way. “First priority is finding Charlie and making sure she’s safe. If we find Niffty, we’ll warn her too.”

“Okay, alright, I can work with that!” Angel stopped pulling the rope and they squeaked to a halt in a dilapidated-but-once-fancy room. The two hopped out and surveyed their location.

“Alright then,” Vaggie rubbed her shoulders, then held out one hand. “If I’m going to protect anyone, then I’ll need a weapon too. You help me get to wherever the water guns are stored and find Charlie, and I’ll watch your back. Truce?”

The spider demon stared at the offered hand in clear surprise. Then he gave a grim, dark smile and took the handshake. “Truce.”

Meanwhile, Charlie was running herself ragged trying to find a sign of where Alastor – or anyone really – had disappeared to. She couldn’t let someone get hurt. She couldn’t let Alastor hurt anyone was the priority, honestly, because whatever he’d done to the water guns was enough to be dangerous from the way she’d seen Angel panic.

She ended her search on the fifth floor with no luck and ran into the stairwell, only to catch Alastor inside with one foot paused in the air. His head was twisted around in her direction; no doubt he’d heard the way she was tearing through the building. With a little whistle he turned to face her directly.

“Still not armed I see. Oh well, if you insist on refusing to play by the rules then there’s no choice but to leave you to your disadvantage!”

“Alastor, please, I’m not here to fight! I just wanted to talk!” Charlie pleaded as the Radio Demon advanced towards her. Her hands were held up in defenseless desperation.

“Talks of peace? Why you’re cute as a bug’s ear, dearie! But that’s not quite enough, I’m afraid.”

He took another step, eyes flickering pitilessly, and then suddenly went very still. His head tilted exactly forty-five degrees to the right, and Charlie heard what had caught his attention – Niffty was giggling somewhere up the stairs. There was no doubt she was watching them.

“Well! If it isn’t one of my associates! I should swing by and say hello!”

Alastor grinned wide as the giggles cut off abruptly, and he turned to head up to a higher floor, leaving Charlie once again. Except this time she was much more terrified. And much more determined to protect her hotel residents.

She sprinted up the stairs after him.

“My oh my, where could everybody be? I’d assumed this was a hunting game, not a hiding game. Oh, but I suppose that’s the same thing when you really think about it!”

Alastor took a right and found himself in an unfamiliar hallway. Here he caught Niffty, hanging off the doorknob of an open door a ways down. She shrieked and slammed it closed, and he approached only to find she had locked him out.

“Phonus Balonus! Barricading yourself away isn’t sporting!” He tapped the door twice with the water gun, then proceeded to smash it through the wood completely, providing an open hole for him to stick his head through. “I thought I taught you better!”

Niffty was huddled in the left corner of the room with her own gun in hand. The moment Alastor’s grinning face appeared she screamed-giggled at the top of her lungs and pulled the trigger, a demented smile smudged across her visage. The Radio Demon pulled his head out just in time to avoid being hit, then knocked the door down completely.

From down the hallway, Charlie skidded to a halt just in time to see Alastor step into Niffty’s room. The screaming inside raised in pitch and then tapered off like an omen. The princess, fearing the worst, ran to the doorway and ended up colliding with the Radio Demon as he emerged again.

Charlie fell back on her butt, hands splayed behind to keep her upright. She stared up at Alastor, who hadn’t even flinched from the hit and was leaning lightly over his microphone with a reserved smile on his face.

“I suppose I have a confession to make,” He purred, eyes half-lidded. “You asked me why I came to visit today, and I gave a sort of half-truth. I was not simply interested in the wellbeing of my associates. I also arrived in the hopes to find some entertainment.”

“E-Entertainment?” The princess squeaked.

“Precisely! You have such a knack for it, and these last few days have been so dreary, I couldn’t resist the temptation. And lo and behold! Here you were, partaking in an enchanting little game of mayhem. How could I say no?”

“But, we weren’t actually playing that game anymore though, it – we finished!”

“Oh dearie, how you slay me!” Alastor raised his cane and tapped Charlie lightly on the nose. In the same motion he pulled a water gun from behind his back. “But it’s never over until the canary is dead.”

The gun was cocked. His face split in two.

“And frankly, songbird, you’re still moving.”

Two hours later, Alastor was in quite high spirits. He nimbly tapped around splintered wood and a limp spider demon, making his way to the hotel’s entrance.

He whistled a jaunty tune as he removed the curse from the front door, watching its shimmering green hue dissipate into nothing. With a sadistic lilt to his grin he opened it and then paused, one foot half-forward in the air.

Husk stared back at him from the porch, keys dangling in one paw and a baseball bat in the other, raised as if to smash at the door.

“Oh it’s you,” the drunkard remarked idly, gaze flitting from Alastor to the entrance and back again. “I couldn’t get in. Thought maybe someone was tryin’ ta prank me.”

He hefted the bat over his shoulder and stepped to the side as the Radio Demon resumed his march forward, smile wide and self-satisfied.

“How insulting. Me, spending so much effort on mere mischief? You know me better than that!”

“Alright, alright, don’t get your horns in a twist,” Husk grumbled. He watched the other practically glide down the porch steps. “What the hell were you doin’ then?”

Alastor stopped and looked back. He tilted his head and his eyes flickered like a broken digital watch.

“Merely mischief.”

And just like that, the Radio Demon went on his merry way. Husk dug the handle of the baseball bat into his forehead to make the headache disappear. Then he walked into the hotel lobby, intending to head right to the bar to get a much-needed drink.

This plan was thwarted immediately when Husk stepped onto soaking wet carpet. He froze, painfully aware of the damp beneath his feet as he took in destroyed furniture, smashed paintings (except for that newest one from Charlie’s mother, strangely enough), and all the hotel residents laying unresponsive throughout the room.

It would have been enough to make him worry, if Vaggie hadn’t stirred and groaned in that exact moment, drawing Husk’s eyes to her and allowing him to spot the melted water gun in her listless arms.

Oh. Oh.

“Idiots,” Husk declared to the carnage. “Idiots and children, all of you.”

 A/N: So someone suggested a while back that I do another chapter with more characters, and the thought couldn't leave my head. I sat on this chapter for a long time until there were more snippets from the show and I could get a feel for Alastor's personality. Gotta say, he's a blast to write. What a swell and absolutely terrifying guy.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

P.S. if you have any ideas for more Hazbin characters in this weird little series, let me know! I'd love to add Sir Pen or others but I'm kinda stalling on how that'd happen haha.

[belladxne]

words are knives and often leave scars | chapter 1

[see notes for Ao3 & ff.net links] pairing: Jay/Mal words: 3.4k description: The problem is, Jay has no idea what he’s doing or why he’s doing it. The problem is, Mal doesn’t ever want to push him away but she can’t disappoint her mother either and she’s never been any good at compromise. The problem is, in a fairytale the prince would kiss the princess and they’d live happily ever after, but on this island of sinners and thrown away things, a prince of thieves kisses a princess of darkness and all it gets him is spiteful words and all it gets her is heartache

    Jay’s stomach rumbles as he traces his way through the familiar shadows of all the forgotten alleys and and unwatched side streets that make up his well-worn path to the Bargain Castle, but he’s too busy mentally cataloguing his haul for the day to pay it much mind. The whole point of going to see Mal is to filch some of her food, anyways, so his hunger isn’t more pressing than making sure he has a decent enough score to dodge another shouting match with his dad.

    He counts his acquisitions by the sounds of their clinks in his pockets, by the weight and feel of them where they press against his skin in any place he’d found to tuck them, trying to gauge if they’re enough.

    A charm bracelet he’d snagged off of one of the step-granddaughters from school—with enough polishing and a gullible enough customer, they can probably pass the cheap metal off for real silver. A somewhat grimy tricorn hat he’d triumphantly snagged off of Harry Hook’s head before he even saw Jay coming, with a real, if somewhat battered, feather sticking to the brim—and Jafar can still be scary when he wants, so Harry will have no choice but to pay a decent price for it. (Unless someone else buys it before Harry can reclaim it, a concept Jay finds equally hilarious.) A chipped and battered teacup gilded with real gold leaf, the only gold Jay’s ever seen in his life, even if it’s almost entirely worn away—it’d be worth more in a set, or with at least half the gilding not rubbed and chipped off, but the only gold he knows of on the island has to be worth something, however little of it there is. About a dozen other almost-worthless trinkets and baubles.

    So, is that going to be enough for his dad? A vaguely shiny teacup isn’t exactly the nonexistent big score that his dad’s still looking for, but it’s his best find in a long, long time, so he guesses it’ll have to be enough.

    He’s so wrapped up in his appraisal of his day’s work that he doesn’t notice the shouting at first, not until he’s close enough to recognize the infuriated, venomous voice leaking through Mal’s cracked window on the balcony above as Maleficent’s. He stops in his tracks, a healthy dose of fear trickling through his veins before he slinks a little further into the shadows, even knowing that he’s already well out of the sight and awareness of the pissed off, malevolent fairy who rules the island. Anyone with even the smallest amount of self preservation skills would be eager to remain out of Maleficent’s focus when she’s fired up, and he’s been pretty damn good at keeping himself alive and unscathed for a pretty damn long time by now.

    Even straining his ears as hard as he can, he can’t make out any of what the tyrannical woman’s shouting, but he finds that he can just barely pick up on Mal’s voice as she tries to protest. Whatever’s going down between the mother and daughter just then, it sounds bad, and he’s always been more cautious than curious—this isn’t any of his business, and he doesn’t want any part in it. He can come back tomorrow morning to try to get her mind off of it, but before then? Count him out.

    Of course, no sooner does he decide that than the sound of Mal’s bedroom door slamming booms through the slightly opened window, and it’s not a moment later that Mal is suddenly shoving her window open and climbing out in a flurry of forceful, rough movements. Jay watches as her backlit silhouette half-stumbles to the parapet of her balcony in an apparent rush to put as much distance between herself and the argument as possible, slamming her hands down onto the stone and hanging her head.

    Jay worries his bottom lip between his teeth, weighing the odds that he’s missed his chance to bounce, and avoid this whole situation.

    But it’s not like Mal knows that he’s here, and he knows his skillset well enough to know that he can get just about anywhere without being spotted—anywhere including away from this highly awkward, messy scene. He edges a foot back the way he came, then starts another step away as he turns—

    The problem with his plan is, Jay wasn’t counting on how distracted seeing Mal like this—so completely opposite from cool and collected in a way that she doesn’t even get when she’s well and truly furious—would make him, and while he was counting on not being spotted, he wasn’t thinking hard enough about not being heard.

    All it takes is one movement that’s slightly too quick, and he finds himself wincing as the teacup in his pocket clinks against a tiny mint tin which clinks against a plastic brooch which clinks against the step-granddaughter’s charm bracelet—and when he freezes in place, they all take the opportunity to jangle together merrily.

    It’s a precise little chain reaction of fuck you, Jay, and he watches as Mal’s head snaps up and swivels to look towards the shadows in his direction. Well, shit. He’s officially in the awkward, messy scene now.

        “Jay?” she practically demands into the dark, and the choked, unsteady sound of her voice sends ice spiking into his veins—because Mal doesn’t sound like that, Mal never sounds like whatever the hell that is, so whatever just went down with her mom must have been bad. Really bad, and now she knows he’s here, so there’s no creeping back into the shadows to pretend he’d never seen or heard any of this. Unless she decides she was just hearing things—

    An impatient huff pierces the silence above him and cuts off his thought, and Mal’s voice is still uneven when she snaps, “Are you coming up or not?”

    Honestly, at this point, he doesn’t know why he ever expects to get away with anything when it comes to Mal; she knows him, and his habits, way too well. He reconsiders his option to slink back into the night and act like none of this ever happened—it’s not like she’d hold it against him; they’re rotten kids, the both of them, and she wouldn’t expect him to be invested in her situation right now any more than he’d expect her to be invested in a similar one of his.

    But he can’t keep the strain in her voice from echoing through his head, and an uncomfortable feeling tightens in his chest, and something about that feeling has him moving towards the Bargain Castle and, invested or not, reaching to scale the wall the same way he’s done at least a couple hundred times before, hunger completely forgotten. He’s already here and he’s already caught, he justifies, so this may as well happen.

    He’s swinging himself up over the parapet of her balcony with practiced ease in no time, and he tries his absolute hardest to not look as uncomfortable as he feels when he proceeds to lean back against the cool stone of the low wall. It’s quickly beginning to occur to him now that he’s up here that he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing here or what he thought he was going to do once he made his climb, and that he probably should have split when he had the chance.

    Mal’s facing away from him, her arms crossed as she looks out towards Auradon, and he can’t make out her expression in the dark as she takes noticeably unsteady breaths. Still though, he can tell she doesn’t have much intention of speaking first, which leaves this on him. He’s regretting a lot right now.

        “Sooo...” he tries lamely, hoping with some amount of desperation that he’ll find the rest of his sentence along the way. But as he opens his mouth to say who in the hell knows what, Mal turns to look at him, and the words die in his throat as the light from her window hits half of her face.

    She’s not exactly crying—he’s pretty sure if he caught Mal of all people actually crying it would be, like, The End Times or something—but her face is slightly blotchy and red, all the more noticeable for how pale she is, and her eyes are red-rimmed and so full it looks like it’s taking every single ounce of her willpower to keep tears from spilling over. Which, honestly, is, like, world-shakingly, pants-shittingly terrifying once it sinks in, because Mal is possibly the most infuriatingly, obstinately willful person he’s ever met, and if even her unending determination is barely enough to hold the tears back then he doesn’t even know what the world’s coming to.

    Forgetting in his shock that he’s supposed to be indifferent and detached right now, Jay gapes as he pushes off from the parapet and takes a step towards her. “Jeez, Mal, what the hell was all that with your mom about?” If it’s bad enough to turn the Mal he knows into this, he’s not sure he really even wants to know, but apparently the rest of him isn’t on the same page as his mind on this, because he can’t stop himself from asking.

        “The usual,” she tries to scoff as she turns away from the light again, but the sound is… off. Not right. And Jay can’t help the skeptical quirk to his eyebrow, because the usual absolutely does not result in this.

        “Yeah, so, I guess that’s why you’re—”

        “I mean,” Mal cuts him off, not even letting him finish expressing his doubt, “she’s always said I’m not evil enough to live up to her name, that’s not new, so, whatever.” (Her tone really doesn’t sound very convincing on the ‘whatever’ front.) “And it’s not like this is the first time she’s told me she thinks I’m turning out weak and soft, so, you know, I’m used to that.” (Except it’s never affected her like this before.) “And, I mean, I’ve always known she finds me a huge disappointment, because it’s not like she’s above reminding me at every turn that at my age she was out raging hell and the worst I’ve managed is graffiti and to fuck up the one right thing I ever did with an act of kindness, so I know that, I have known that, it’s fine.” (It absolutely does not sound fine.)

    Jay keeps his eyes trained on her face even though he can’t make it out in the darkness, working his jaw as he tries to piece together what exactly has Mal in this state and—well, why he even cares. Not that he does care. It’s not like villains do that sort of thing.

    Even villains who couldn’t bring themselves to steal from their friends when it mattered. Even villains whose friends did selfless things to save each other. Those were just flukes, or whatever.

    Mal uncrosses her arms and lays her palms against the parapet again, Jay watching her every movement as she does. “It’s just time to grow the fuck up, I guess. I thought—I told myself, I mean, despite everything she said, her curse couldn’t hurt me. So that meant—I’d proven myself, even if I didn’t bring the scepter back. I just had to wait for her to see that I had.”

    He hears her catch a sharp breath that shouldn’t feel like it makes something clamp around his heart but it does, before she leans her head back and turns her gaze skyward. Her voice gets quiet and it shakes and the whole thing makes him uneasy. “Fuck, I was so stupid. Mom’s never going to see past my dad and she’s never going to see past what I did to get the scepter and she’s never going to see me and it shouldn’t matter because I know what touching the scepter proved but I just—I just thought—if I didn’t give up and I gave it some time—”

    Her voice catches suddenly as she whirls on him—he doesn’t remember closing this much distance, when the hell did he get so close to her?—and when the light catches her face he sees her eyes are wide both in alarm and accusation. Like she’d forgotten he was here, almost, and she’s blaming him for the fact that she told him so much. And he’s… completely at a loss.

        “Mal,” he starts, because… because he can’t just say nothing. He doesn’t know what he can tell her, because Jay’s never been like Mal—he’s always been a realist and maybe a bit of a pessimist and he’s always known that they were never going to be enough for their delusional parents and he’s made his peace with it. He can’t tell her she just needs more time for her mom to come around, because, sure, villain kids lie through their teeth about a lot of things, but not to make someone feel better.

    He shakes his head. If lying will make her feel better right now, then he’ll just… have to tell the truth. “Whatever she said, it’s crap, and you know it.”

        “Yeah,” Mal scoffs doubtfully, her gaze tracking upwards and away from his face, and her eyes are less watery, if only barely. “Sure.”

        “I’m serious, Mal,” he insists, and if his tone is colored with annoyance, it’s only because he doesn’t think she’s above this, he knows it. Mal’s never given a shit what anyone else thinks. “You’re the scummiest person I know. And not by a little bit.”

    She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, and he interrupts her with a pointed look. “You literally locked Evie in a closet full of live bear traps because of a grudge from when you were six. You would have beat the shit out of our principal if Evie hadn’t stopped you. You have people running scared at school and groveling at your feet on the streets, and if you told someone to jump off a cliff, they’d be too scared of you not to do it.” He barely feels like he’s exaggerating there. “You’re mean, Mal. You’re awful. You’re bad news, and everyone knows it. If your mom doesn’t think you’re every bit as vicious and evil as she is, it’s only because she’s never seen you in action. So fuck her, and fuck whatever she said to you.”

    And… that’s it. That’s his big speech. That’s all he’s got to say, it’s all he’s going to say, and now it’s up to Mal to take it or leave it.

    He watches as her brow furrows and her mouth falls open like she’s going to say something, but then she falters, and her mouth snaps shut again. She works her jaw for a moment, staring at him with her eyebrows drawn low, before she finally seems to find any words at all. “Why…” Her voice fails her, and it’s another couple moments of her averting her gaze before she seems to be able to meet his eyes and try again.

        “Why are you being so...” She gestures vaguely as she trails off, because she can’t exactly finish the sentence with ‘nice.’ That’d be about the worst thing to say to someone on this island, and aside from that, describing to someone in detail all the ways that they’re a shitty person isn’t exactly something you can describe as nice. Just another reason he never wants to live in Auradon, where the goal is to be nice to everyone.

    Her hand falls back down to her side after her gesture, and she looks away, towards her room, her mouth drawing into a frown, and Jay finds himself coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that he probably has to answer. Why is he doing any of this? Saying any of this?

        “Because...” His brow slowly furrows and he’s not sure where he’s going with this. He can’t say he cares, because he shouldn’t. Doesn’t, not really. Isle kids don’t care about each other. And she wouldn’t want to hear it if he did. But… he has to say something, and even if he’s not sure of the whole truth, he may as well not start lying now.

        “I mean, Mal, we’re still basically kids, and you’ve already got everyone our age and half the people older than us wrapped around your finger and scrambling to stay out of your way and doing whatever it takes to avoid having you pissed at them. It’s obvious you’re gonna be running this joint some day, just as ruthlessly as your mom does.” She’s still looking away from him, so he lifts a hand to her shoulder—just to make her look at him, that’s all—and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he continues, “And I’m smart enough to know I should be on your good side when that happens.”

    Mal stares at him, her expression hard and her lips pressed together tightly, and he meets her gaze because he doesn’t really have that much choice; he’s already gotten himself into this mess. Her eyes trace over his face like she’s searching for something, but he has no idea what it is, and he has no idea why some part of him is actually kind of terrified she might find it, whatever it might be. It’s all he can do to hold onto his flippant, self-satisfied expression instead of squirming under her gaze.

    Finally, though, Mal’s shoulders slump and her expression softens before it crumples into something that just looks resigned and tired. She crosses her arms and lets her head drop forwards until her forehead hits his chest with a muffled thump, and Jay blinks, honestly thrown as his smirk finally fades and something more confused takes over his expression.

    It becomes apparent after a moment or two that Mal’s… not moving any time soon, and his hand is still resting on her shoulder, and he’s not really sure why he does it, but after a brief internal debate he decidedly feels like he lost, he hesitantly slides his hand around to her back.

    And when she doesn’t pull away or try to shrug him off, he wraps his other arm around her, too, trying to figure out why doing that feels more like wrapping his arms around a trenchcoat stuffed with venomous snakes than around his partner in crime. But vague terror or not, Mal barely moves, and she doesn’t seem to be particularly bothered by this, so… he tightens his arms around her with a fair amount of uncertainty, because this entire night has already been weird as hell, so this might as well happen, right?

    And he tries not to focus on the fact that them standing here like this with her forehead pressed to his chest and his hands resting on her back feels a lot like comforting her, because villain kids don’t comfort each other. Or on the fact that the uncomfortable tugging feeling in his chest as her hair tickles his chin feels a lot like empathizing, because villain kids don’t empathize with each other.

    The problem is, when he does force his focus away from those thoughts, there’s not a lot left to distract himself with. Just the fact that he can’t stop thinking about what it’d feel like if he pulled her even closer, and moved his hand up to thread through her hair, and tucked the side of his face against the top of her head, and—and he’s gotta stop.

    But that’s just his inner flirt thinking these things, right? It’s not like he actually wants to do any of that with Mal. He’s always gotten his kicks from stealing hearts, it’s practically a hobby, so really, he’d be thinking this kind of garbage with any girl if they were standing this close. It’s not because it’s Mal, and it’s not because he really wants to.

    Right?