#we are certainly getting into the real battles now aren't we

[haletostilinski]

Best Teen Wolf Ship: Round 4

[deanwinchestergf]

and why would an angel rescue me from hell? good things do happen dean. not in my experience. i'm not here to perch on your shoulder. i was getting too close to the humans in my charge. you. to everything there is a season. you made an exception for me. you're different. for what's worth, i would give anything not to have you do this. i learned my lesson while i was away, dean. i serve heaven, i don't serve men and i certainly don't serve you. but you guys aren't supposed to be there, you're not in this story. yeah, well, we're making it up as we go. i'm hunted, i rebelled and i did it all, all of it, for you. so what i'm thelma and you're louise and we're just gonna hold hands and sail off this cliff together? i need your help because you're the only one who'll help me. that's a pretty nice timing, cas. we had an appointment. what happened to you cas? you used to be human, or at least like one. but cas, you'll call right? if you get into real trouble? this is cas, guys. he has gone to the mat cut and bleeding for us so many freaking times, don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt at least? it sounds so simple when you say it like that, where were you when i needed to hear it? i was there, where were you? i'm doing this for you, dean. i'm doing this because of you. but we were family once, i would've died for you, i almost did a few times. i've lost lisa, i've lost ben and now i've lost sam. don't make me lose you too. cas, you child, why didn't you listen to me. you used to fight together, bestest of friends, actually. if you remember, then you know you did the best you could at the time. the very touch of you corrupts. when castiel first laid a hand on you in hell he was lost. i'd rather have you, cursed or not. well, i'll go with you. i prayed to you cas, every night. cas, we're getting out of here, we're going home. i mean you kept saying you didn't think it would work, did you not trust me? cas, it's me. we need you, i need you. i won't hurt dean. cause you didn't trust me? you didn't trust me. please, man, i need you here. nobody wants him here more than i do. you gave us an order, castiel, and we gave you our trust. don't lose it over one man. you really believe we three will be enough? we always have been. his true weakness is revealed. you draped yourself with the flag of heaven but ultimately, it was all about saving one human. i'm glad you're here, man. how are you, dean? and then you'll kill the angel, castiel. now that one, that i suspect would hurt something awful. and when you turn, everyone you know, everyone you love, they could be long dead. everyone except me. i'm not gonna send lucifer into battle inside cas, what if he doesn't make it? it's not an it, sam. it's cas. but you're always there, you know? i could go with you. you mean too much to me, to everything. i'm gonna cure you of your human weakness, same way i cured my own. it's a gift, you keep those. you mean we? yes, dumbass, we. we lost everything and now you're gonna bring him back. we got cas back, that's a pretty damn big win. just don't get dead again. it's good to hear your voice. so this is goodbye? but i swear if he did something to her, if she's- then you're dead to me. either get on board or walk away. i don't know what's god and what isn't, and it's driving me crazy. dean, you asked what about all of this is real. we are. you used trust me, give me the benefit of the doubt, now you can barely look at me. i think it's time for me to move on. you didn't deserve that. since when do we get what we deserve? maybe if you didn't just up and leave us. i left but you didn't stop me. i should've stopped you. you're my best friend but i just let you go. and i forgive you, of course i forgive you. i'm sorry it took me so long, i'm sorry it took me til now to say it. you did it cas. okay, cas, i need to say something. you don't have to say it, i heard your prayer. well, here's to being right. you know what every other version of you did after gripping him tight and raising him from perdition? they did what they were told, but not you.

[justdiptych]

The original Fallout had one group of raiders. That was the name the game map gave to them - 'Raiders' - but they were in fact known as the Khans. They were a relatively minor faction, being tied to quests in the first town the player is likely to visit, but we learn a lot about them in their brief appearance.

Many of the Khans are given names and dialogue, and will tell the player about their history - including how they came from the same place as the people of Shady Sands, Vault 15, and feel entitled to share in the town's wealth. Some see their raiding life as a way to claim control of the post-war world - ruling through strength and fear, believing that old ideas of morality died with the rest of the world. Others treat it as just another job - they support their group by trading, maintaining equipment, preparing food, and other everyday tasks.

In short, the Khans are a fully-realised community, as much a part of the story as any other. We learn that their brutal leader, Garl Death-Hand, took command after killing his abusive father. The player can kill him, or negotiate with him, or impress him with acts of cruelty, or even challenge his nihilistic views by convincing him that they're his father, back from the dead. Killing Garl and destroying his compound is treated as the best choice for the region as a whole, and is confirmed to have happened in the next game in the series, but it's certainly not the only option.

Fallout 2 has two groups of raiders. One - again marked 'Raiders' on the map - turn out not to be raiders at all, in that they're not attacking towns to steal their wealth. Instead, they're a mercenary company, hired by a disreputable businessman from one town (New Reno) on behalf of another town (Shady Sands again, now the capital of the New California Republic) to harass a third town (Vault City) to convince them that they need outside help in maintaining their defences. It's part of the game's major subplot about the three societies competing for control of northern California and western Nevada.

The other group are the New Khans, founded by Garl's son Darion after the original Khans' defeat. These Khans aren't nearly so fearsome as their predecessors - they mostly operate in secret, hiding behind a group of squatters who have moved into the ruins of Vault 15 and pretending to help them restore it for use. Darion is wracked with resentment over what happened to his father's crew and guilt for having survived, and his gang ultimately present little real threat to the outside world.

What I'm getting at here is that, in the world of Fallout as it existed in those early games, 'raiders' were not a major factor. There was one group who conducted raids as part of their regular economic activity, but only against particular communities - Shady Sands saw them as raiders, but to the Hub, they were just traders. Raiders only existed in a particular context - they had particular interests, beliefs and opportunities that would not always be possible or applicable.

Most of the games' conflict came not from the existence of raiders but from bilateral political and economic competition between groups with overlapping but not identical interests, which was reflected in their respective ideologies. We see this in Killian and Gizmo fighting to control the future of Junktown, and in the Master's attempt to reshape the world with the Unity while the different groups of New California try to retain their independence.

We particularly see it in Fallout 2, with its three-way battle for economic domination between the constitutional democracy of the New California Republic, the mafia-ruled narco-state of New Reno, and the elitist technocratic slave state of Vault City. Which of these groups continue to rule and expand, and which crumble, is what ultimately shapes the region's future - with control of Redding and its gold supply as the linchpin.

While the Enclave are the story's primary antagonists, they're chiefly characterised by their refusal to engage with this new socio-economic order - they believe that all outside authorities are illegitimate, and all outsiders non-human, and their only plan is to release a bioweapon into the atmosphere and kill literally everyone on Earth but themselves. The Enclave's defeat is necessary for New California's survival, but, otherwise, they change very little about how people live their lives. They're like Darion's New Khans on a larger scale - relics of a fallen order, robbed of their purpose, hiding in an old bunker and driven by nothing but resentment of having been left behind.

I might, in future, talk about the contrasting depiction of raiders in Fallouts 3, 4 and 76, and about New Vegas's use of raider and bandit groups like the Khans, the Legion, the Fiends and the White Legs. For now, I think I've made my point - that raiders are not a fact of life but a product of a particular place and time, and much less relevant to the universe of Fallout than other forms of competition and violence.

[memepocalypse]

Bardic Inspiration Starters pt. 2

[source]

"There is no sweeter music than the screams of our enemies. Now, go compose."

"As much as I would enjoy looting your dead body, I truly do want you to succeed here."

"If reckless shenanigans got us into this mess, then why can't they get us out?"

"If it weren't for a foolish attempt at glory, then nothing would ever be accomplished.

"You might fail, die even. But at least it won't be boring."

"They say laughter is the best medicine. Your face must be curing the world."

"Your roar didn't scare me. The stench of your breath did though."

"This a special occasion. I didn't typically engage in mental combat with the unarmed."

"You're proof that even the gods make mistakes sometimes."

"As it turns out, stupidity is a crime, and you have been sentenced to death."

"You will never face an opponent as great as I. In fact, you will never face anyone again."

"This isn't going to hurt for long. But oh damn is it going to hurt."

"We're not going to simply stand here poking fun at you. We're also going to poke swords and arrows at you."

"People told me you were terrible. It's not true. You're actually far worse than that.

"Some babies get dropped on their heads. You obviously were thrown against a wall."

"At first I thought that you were brave. Then I realized you're actually just stupid."

"You run about whacking things with a piece of metal. Truly, what an advanced being you are.""You remind me of an ape in armor."

"Typically I have to pay to see a freak show like you."

"As an outsider, how does it feel to have humanoids slaying you?"

" You fiends are most courteous."

"You are full of malevolence, wickedness, and evil. Soon you are going to be full of our weapons and spells."

"Fiends have been trying to take over the world for thousands of years, and you've failed every time. Are you noticing a pattern here?"

"You're probably too stupid to understand this, but worry not, the confusion will be over soon."

"If you shave a dwarf, all that's left is a nose and a beer gut."

"Elves live ten times longer than humans and accomplish ten times less."

"The only thing lucky about halflings is how they don't get crushed to death by real people walking around."

"I am not certain what it is that makes you so stupid, but it really works."

"Is this your first battle ever? Well, it's certainly your last."

"Blade with whom I have lived, blade with whom I now die, serve right and justice one last time, seek one last heart of evil, still one last life of pain, cut well old friend, and then farewell."

"I do not study the divine to imitate what they do. I study the divine to imitate what they are."

"The PCs aren't for the wine or storytelling, they are here for the gnome tossin' and dwarf wresslin'!"

"The secret we should never let the gamemasters know is that they don't need any rules."

"I was once a man, not a great man, not a saintly man, but a good man, and a man nonetheless."

"I did not choose to be a monster—a shell of a man—half-human, half-fiend. I am a tiefling. I am what I am."

"If it has walked these lands, I can track it. If it hasn't I will find it anyway."

"Because the wizard will eventually need a personal audience when slaying gods."

"That perfection is unobtainable is not an excuse not to strive for it."

"Words carry weight. Mine far more so than yours."

[biblicallyaccuratebrainrot]

Genuine

Gravity Falls x Male!Reader (platonic)

You opened up shop in Gravity Falls to sell your assortment of odd and strange items! It seems your genuine items of weird are overshadowed by the fake and plastic items of The Mystery Shack, sparking a competition between you and old man Stan Pines.

CW: Bickering, name-calling, not proof-read

"This is a hack!" "What a sham!" "It doesn't even look real!"

These words had an impact when you first opened up shop. Now, those words were the norm. You scoffed and rolled your eyes as the people insulted you, your products, and then left. You had the occasional pleasant interaction.

The occasional purchase. Those few times a regular supernatural believer came in to buy something were enough for you to want to keep the shop open. You didn't have employees, you didn't have a mortgage, and you didn't have a lot of expenses.

Most of all, there was one man you stayed open for. Mostly out of spite. "Stan Pines," you grumble at the old man in front of you in line. "Buying more glue and tape to put your fake product together?"

Stan turned around and stared with a blank look. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Seriously?" You scoff. "We've met several times over the past 30 years-- stop pretending you don't know me,"

"Oh!" Stan laughed. "You're the weirdo with the weirdo shop down weirdo lane,"

"Real mature," you comment sarcastically. "With a personality like that, it's no wonder people flock to your Mystery Hack,"

"Yeah, maybe you should take some notes," Stan taunted. "I could show you how to get actual customers-- but it'll cost ya... five-- no, ten bucks,"

"I may be the weirdo but you're demented,"

"Demented and making money,"

You nod. "I hate you,"

"Get in line," Stan chuckled. "You aren't the first and certainly won't be the last,"

"Can you say the same about making friends?"

Stan opened his mouth and furrowed his brows aggressively. "Next!" The cashier interrupted.

Stan grumbled and placed his items on the belt. You smirk and place your items behind his. Another battle won.

It wasn't a goal to put the Man of Mystery out of business. All you wanted was to do better than him, really. It didn't start out that way, though.

The door to your shop rung-- causing you to shoot up from your seat and crash into your counter to face the doors. You furrowed your brows and your eyes slowly looked down at the short figures that had entered.

"Uh? Are you kids lost? This isn't an arcade," you explain to the two.

"This is Mr. [Y/LN]'s Occult Shop, right?" The boy asked, looking around nervously.

You nod. "Yeah," you respond. "You two new? I never seen you around,"

"We're here for the summer!" The girl excitedly explained, a wild smile on her face. "Your shop is so cool!"

You chuckle. "Thanks,"

"We aren't really here to buy anything." The boy approached the counter, holding a tattered book. "We were wondering if you knew anything about this journal? I-- I found it in the woods and it's got a lot of weird stuff,"

He set the book on the counter. You stare at the emblem on the cover-- a six-fingered hand with a large '3' drawn in the centre. You hum and gently pick it up and examine it.

"I've never seen anything like it," you say. "It does document a lot of truth, it seems,"

You flipped through the pages, noting the familiar creatures. "You know about the weirdness in Gravity Falls?" The boy stared, wide-eyed.

You set the book down and laugh. "Look around, kid." You motion around your shop. "I sell most of the weirdness. And it's real! Unlike that junk at The Mystery Hack,"

"Hey!" The girl pulled herself up to the counter, a frown and furrowed brows now plastered to her face instead. "Our Grunkle runs that place!"

You squint. "Pines," you seethe. "Did your 'Grunkle' Stan Pines send you here? What is this, then, huh? You mockin' me?"

"No! No, no, no!" The boy waved his hands around. "I-I'm Dipper-- this is my sister, Mabel. Our Grunkle doesn't believe in any of this and I was really hoping you'd have answers,"

You continued your squinted stare. You placed your palms on the counter and released a deep sigh. "I'll lift the Pines Ban just for you two-- just this once!" You announced, holding a defiant finger up. "I can't tell you much about this journal. Dunno who wrote it or why-- I can tell you that most of the information in there is accurate,"

"We sort'a already found that out," Dipper explained.

"We fought gnomes!" Mabel exclaimed.

"Wow! You found out the hard way," you chuckled. "How did you find out about my shop? It's not really as grand as Stan's Mystery Shack,"

"Funny enough, it was Grunkle Stan who mentioned it," Dipper responded. "When we mentioned gnomes and weird Gravity Falls stuff, he told us we sounded as crazy as 'the weirdo who owns the weirdo shop down weirdo lane,'"

You groan. "That sounds about right,"

"How do you know our Grunkle Stan?" Mabel tilted her head as she asked.

You grumble. "It's a bit of a... story..."

○●○

I was fresh outta high school when I began collecting strange stuff. I hitched rides around the entire U.S., taking what I could find.

At first; it was just collecting-- no intention to sell at all. Then, I began trading. I had strange things that others wanted-- and, wouldn't you know it, they had something stranger I wanted.

I made all sorts of deals and trades. Finally, though, all my bags had been filled. I couldn't travel anymore with all that junk! So, I set up a small shop where I was; here! Gravity Falls, 1980. I believe I was... 20, at the time. It wasn't anything official-- I just needed to get rid of some of my things and make some money while I was at it. I fully intended on getting out the moment I could!

But then, I discovered the weirdness of Gravity Falls. It was everything someone like me could wish for! Not just strange items-- but strange beings as well! Strange places and strange people! I continued my trading within Gravity Falls and two years later, I officially opened up my shop!

That's when... Stanford Pines opened up his Murder Hut, or whatever he called it. He opened up his shop at the same time as mine! And he was getting more business than me! Oh! I was fuming! I-- I was, more rational back then, though.

Maybe, I was jumping to conclusions. Don't knock it till you try it! I went on over to that Shack and took a tour.

When I saw what he had, I couldn't help but ask; "Oh, you're running a tourist trap?"

He didn't let his facade drop for a second. "What? No! This is all real freaky stuff!" He responded joyfully. "I mean, just take a look at this!"

He held up a taxidermied badger body with a taxidermied mouse head sewn onto it. "Oh, right," I knew he didn't believe himself-- he knew I didn't believe him, either. "I-- I run my own shop about two miles from here. It's crazy, actually, we opened up on the same day!"

That's when he dropped his smile and the taxidermy amalgamation. "That occult shop? Here scopin' out the competition?" His cheer was gone from his voice. "Look, bub, I got important stuff to deal with. I don't need no occult freak here debunking all my work and takin' me outta business when I jus' got started,"

"I-- Oh, I don't intend on--,"

"--Get out,"

●○●

"And that's how I met Stan," you finished. "For the past 30 years, we've been competitors,"

"Wow," Dipper breathed out. "That... sounds exactly like how Grunkle Stan would react to your shop,"

"He's very unpleasant," you comment. "You guys aren't, though. Maybe there's hope for that old man if you guys stick around long enough,"

Mabel gave you a curious look when your words "that old man," came out of your mouth. "Well, how old are you?"

"Mabel!" Dipper harshly whispered.

"What! I'm just curious!"

You laugh. "You're bold, kid," you say, "I like it. I'm 52 this year,"

"Wow!" Mabel stared with wide eyes and mouth agape. "You look really young!"

"Kid, if you're trying get something free from me," you began, "it's working. You two are a pleasant change from ol' Gravity Falls. If you ever need anything for your weird adventures, you know where my shop is,"

"What sort of weird stuff do you sell here?" Dipper asked, peering around the shelves.

"Most of anything weird you can think of," you explain. "Live butterflies, demonic daggers, bidding boxes-- even got Dybbuk boxes,"

As Dipper and Mabel began to look around the shop, curious at the weird wonders your shelves held, the bell rang again at your door.

"Kids!" An unpleasant voice called out to the two. "What're ya doin' at this place?" Stan placed his hands on his hips while he stared down the kids.

"Ugh," you groan. "Mr. Pines, you know well enough you're not allowed within 100 feet of my shop!"

"My niece and nephew should know well enough they shouldn't be within 300 feet of this nut house!" Stan ushered the kids out before turning back to you. "Don't get these kids believin' a word of your nonsense! They shouldn't be anywhere near this,"

As he exited, you shouted. "It's not nonsense, Stan! I sell the real deals--!" The doors shut and you could now only watch the back of Stan lead Dipper and Mabel away from the shop. You clenched your fist and gritted your teeth. "He doesn't have a clue what he's saying,"

With their exit and your current frustrastions, you walked to your doors and locked them. You flipped your 'OPEN,' sign to instead display "CLOSED,' before pulling down your shutters and blocking the view of your shop.

"I liked him better when he acted sophisticated and smarter than everyone else,"

___

》 END

[utilitycaster]

What is the d20 meltdown about? 👀 If you don't mind getting into it

I literally don't know other than vague shit because I'm semi-avoiding spoilers. I'm making this nonrebloggable because we're in pure speculation country.

From what I have gathered, people are mad because I think the Bad Kids kill the Rat Grinders (another adventuring group that's been set up as their bitter, jealous rivals from the start) and they want...redemption or some shit? This is absurd to me like this party was set up as The Enemy from the start.

I am 4 episodes behind so I can't speak to this, and also I admittedly have a rather low opinion of the D20 fandom at large for a number of reasons despite being a big fan of D20 shows, but: I just by chance watched the scene that I would say counts as a point of no return for at least some the Rat Grinders. Like, actually some of the most villainous shit I've seen on this show amplified by how petty and small and purely fueled by jealousy the motivation is.

My guess as to why the D20 fandom is, per whispers on the wind/texting my brother who is caught up/talking to friends not avoiding spoilers, having a meltdown about it is because people have this idea of Brennan Lee Mulligan always making capitalism the BBEG, or occasionally religion or politics.

That is untrue. He does hate capitalism, and that is a theme in the (real-world-ish set) Unsleeping City, but ultimately the thing Brennan sees as the villain is a willingness to hurt, exploit, and dehumanize others for your own goals and benefit. Capitalism and religious corruption are two major examples of this, but in the end, the worst thing you can do is kill people out of a desire for power, or attention, or spite. What Brennan truly hates is what we on Tumblr call a tar pit.

Now. My much more pointed analysis? Kipperlily (and presumably the other Rat Grinders) are deeply entitled people jealous of the Bad Kids, who aren't as academically strong at times but who have leveled up through saving the world at least three times. How many people does killing rats so much that you hit the high levels of D&D save? or even help? Like congrats, you're level 14 from killing rats real good. These guys stopped the fucking Night Yorb. Of course they get the fame and glory, you entitled, self-absorbed little brats. Do you not understand how this fucking works? This is underscored by the fact that they've definitely murdered at least one of their own and almost certainly two (and a teacher to boot) at least in part to get at the Bad Kids.

And herein lies my feeling as to why the D20 fandom is really melting down. Because the loudest and most unpleasant contingent (which is probably why the server is, ultimately, shutting down all discussion channels) have always struck me as entitled self-absorbed little brats who demand precisely what they want when they want it (and also have the literary analysis skills on par with the 3/4ths of a stick of Monterey Jack cheese currently in my fridge) and they're seeing, in real time, that in this story, they're the villain.

But: I haven't seen the next 4 episodes and I could be getting the details of the plot wrong (not the first 15 episodes though, and I do not think the Rat Grinders are going to make the world's best Heel-Face turn in 3-4 episodes, and at this point they're so clearly the villains that to deny it is to admit truly earth-shattering levels of stupidity) and so: nonrebloggable. I'm hoping to catch up this weekend though on both the show and the hot goss, and if I'm right this will become rebloggable.

ETA: I am caught up making this rebloggable but I'm actually more confused, because as my posts indicated this was not even like, edgy. Like I assumed maybe there was a twist where the Rat Grinders appeared to regret their actions or something but failed to do anything about it, making this a little bittersweet? but no there literally was nothing, they went into the final battle still like hell yeah we're going to be the living worst.

[stressedbisexualtm]

[< - LOTS OF WORDS - >]

trafficblr, hear me out on this:

We've all seen the idea that the life series are seasons, right? I normally see it like this: third life - winter, last life - spring, double life - summer, limited life - fall/autumn. But I think of it more like this: third life - fall, last life - winter, double life - spring, limited life - summer. Listen:

I think it would be more interesting (and true to the series) if third life was fall. The main reason people say third life is winter is of course because of the "RED WINTER IS COMING!" line, but the truth is, red winter was on its way. Red winter was coming, but first comes fall. People are more tight-knit in third life, always staying true to their real, solid, established alliance, and we see this all the way until the end of the series. It reminds me of fall, but I can't explain how. I feel like the visuals of the season match up, with the lighter greens and browns that cover most of the server, the stone of the Crastle and Dogwarts, and the tans and yellows of the desert. People are getting nervous, scared, and towards the end, more bloodthirsty than before. As the final battle of dogwarts begins, you can see the first snows of a very, very painful winter. Grian, being the winner, shares some of these traits. He's quick to judge and slow to make allies, unsure of who might betray who next. He does keep his closest ally with him until the very end, where they decide theyre going to win together no matter what. Grian, at the end, is tired of the nervousness and painful loyalty that comes with autumn. He is ready for winter to begin.

And so we move on to last life. Here, at last, is our red winter. Death is rampant and vicious here, our first red name appearing in only episode 2. Everyone is cold this season- when you're red, you're out. There are no true alliances or friends, though people tend to fall into patterns when they need to. The reds are much more bloodthirsty this season, being unable to contain themselves around anyone else (though we see our one or two exceptions). So by the time the canary falls, this season's fate is sealed in a bloodbath. No one who has made it this far is arguing that winter this year is red. This season was much more muted visually, the world being covered in dark greens, browns, and greys, as well as the snow covering a decent portion of the map (again, playing into the winter theme). Scott started the series warm, and while he never did get that bitter edge winter has, he was certainly ready to grow outward again into spring.

Double life. A brand new season, full of hope and expectancy, though that fades as time goes on (like things that only bloom in spring). It's new, it's exciting, and for some, it's full of love (as spring is typically seen). Things get intense, but there's always this air of excited mystery. Everyone has played at least one game before, so they know what to expect. Or they think they do, because at every turn there is something new. Secret soulmates? Why not! Leaving your soulmate and choosing someone else? Wonderful! FISHING A WARDEN TO DEATH?! Well, anything for the content.... Pearl, to me, also fits her season. She starts out excited to meet her soulmate, albeit a bit nervous, but she's turned away almost immediately. And, well, who could blame her if she cried? (After all, 'april showers bring may flowers', or whatever it was) She picks herself back up (a plant budding after its flower falls off) and makes it alone. She makes it to summer. And if, in the end, she learned how to plant her seeds, who was going to stop her?

And, well, limited life. Alliances, while having establishing members, are flimsy and easily remade. Everyone is wild, and spontaneous, and most people aren't really gunning to win anymore. There are go-getters, and nobody likes losing (they'd like winning even less..), but no one is playing as seriously as they were before. Everyone has played at least 2 games by now, most have played 3, and this time around dying doesn't even cost you a whole life! It only costs you 30 minutes, which out of 24 hours? Basically nothing until you hit red. Alliances shift with the wind, and not everyone is quite playing by the rules. In the end, Martyn wins. Martyn is... a wild card. He could be like summer, if he wanted to. He could be like spring, or fall, or winter. He's a traveler, a shifter, a knight, anything he needs to be. And if that doesn't go with the fluidity and changeability of this season, then I don't know who else could have won.

[gay-for-the-snz]

Miscommunication (M, cold)

This was supposed to be short. This was really intended just to be a short silly little "haha, wouldn't that be funny if" sort of thing, and instead it is almost 12,000 words. Lol. Elliott accidentally goes on a date with a new coworker who may just be interested in him for more than just his personality...

Contagion ment, 11.5k

⁂

He's hunched over his lunch when he sees Bolormaa for the first time today, the new hire hot on his heels. He fondly recalls his first day, the trepidation and eagerness to make a good first impression. It's been a decade now, and he's showed his share of new hires around, but he's glad that today it's someone else showing her around, a little extra help for the holiday season. He could do it, and certainly would if anybody asked him to, but he's got an absolutely streaming head cold, and, really, he'd rather not have to spend the whole day talking and being the first friendly face she sees.

"You didn't really get to see it much when we came in this morning, but this is the break room, and the locker room, and the whatever else room. You'll clock in in the corner in the mornings, stow whatever you brought in your locker, and then won't be back here until you're on your breaks or your lunch. Smoke breaks are off property in the smoke shack, but if that's not your poison, you can--"

He's really trying not to interrupt, but he can't help the sudden jagged inhale. "hiH-! YISH'ue! hH'DZZHhue! 'DZZHhieww! Hh--huH-!? ...huH'UDZZHHyue!" He manages to partially suppress the first one, but the other three aren't so keen on behaving themselves, scraping roughly across an already sore throat. He gasps for a fifth, but it evades him, just leaving him snuffling blearily and fishing the crumpled tissues from his pocket and attempting to tend to his dripping nose as unobtrusively as possible. He offers a congestion laden, "excuse me" that doesn't do anything except draw more attention to himself.

A scattering of "bless you"s meet him, especially from the new girl, and Bolormaa puts a hand on her shoulder. "This," he gestures towards him with a flourish, "is Elliott. He does that. Pay him no mind."

He pockets the tissues again and offers a sheepish smile. "It's, uh, true. You'll have to forgive the lack of a handshake, I'm--well, I'm sure you can see. A little under the weather."

She reaches out and takes his hand anyway, and gives it a warm squeeze. "Don't be silly. It'd be rude to refuse a handshake, especially from people I'm supposed to be getting to know. Bless you."

He's so surprised he doesn't know what to say, shocked into a rare moment of silence, save for a somewhat incredulous, "oh! Uh, thank you! Elliott, it's nice to meet you."

"Marissa."

Bolormaa pulls the two chairs on the opposite side of the table out, but she seats herself beside him, and he decides it clearly isn't worth the battle to truly try and move her away from him. "You're taking a gamble if you wanna sit next to him. He likes sharing, including his colds."

"Oh, you're--don't listen to him, I'm not half as bad as he makes me out to be. I think there's a certain, uh, inevitability perhaps with it, but they don't catch half of what I drag with me into work. But you wouldn't know it, given the way he complains."

"Be SO for real right now. Even if I don't catch everything you do, even if it's, like, call it a quarter, that's still several things a year?"

"It is not that bad--"

"ELLIOTT. A sniffle happens to cross into your zip code and you've got it, and then some of us have got it."

"All I'm saying is, there's no telling for certain that it's always my doing, instead of just the, you know, seasonal sort of 'whatever' floating around!"

Marissa hardly seems bothered by the conversation, and remains where she plunked down next to him. "Ah, you know, I've got one of those immune systems of steel."

"Well he'll put it to the test then. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"You don't have to be so negative, it's not like I go out of my way to do anything!"

"And it's not like you try and keep it to yourself either? You KNOW I love you, dude, but you're, like, a gangly plague rat. You don't have to have your tongue down my throat or, like, sneezing into my open mouth for it to happen."

Marissa chokes on her bottle of water, a spluttering cough as she waves a hand to bid them not to pay it any heed.

"Look at what you've done. Bolormaa, you're going to kill her on her first day."

"Alright, alright, whatever. Consider it dropped. Just don't say that we didn't warn you."

He turns his attention to his own lunch, and leaves the two of them to do whatever they please.

"So, how are you, uh, liking it so far? I know it's not terribly glamorous, but it's good work. Good people and all--or most of them, anyway." Bolormaa doesn't look up from his phone, but sticks his tongue out from across the table.

"Oh, it's great! It's a lot different than I really expected, I think. I was picturing something a little more...I don't know, high tech?"

"Ahh, nah, it's just us, some power equipment, and a bunch of dusty pallets. Nothing super fancy, but it gets done. If you were in one of the Amazon warehouses or something, I'm sure they've got tech that'd boggle my mind, but we aren't really backed by any huge companies or anything. We're more of a storage and then distribution center for some of the local businesses that can't afford to have their own building." He wrinkles his nose, distinctly aware of the irritation trying to bud into a sneeze. "Like, there are stores around here, mostly mom and pop sorts, that are too big to just have everything all their product stored in the actual store, but too small to really be able to have a warehouse that's just theirs, so that's where they end up partnering with the Captain and sort of, like, renting the space."

"That makes sense. I guess I never really considered what people would need for that intermediary phase." She's got pretty eyes. The way they're locked on him makes him a little shy, because he's sure he's not saying anything that actually deserves this level of interest or enthusiasm, but he's deeply flattered by the notion that she's trying to be friendly. He doesn't envy having to be in that position again, where you've got to make new friends and do that whole 'get to know you' routine.

He, in return, wants to make a good impression on her, and he feels like he's probably not doing a very good job of it when the only thing on his mind right now, distracting him from what she's saying, is the fact that now he really needs to sneeze. He's never been any good at holding back, and the only way he can ever really stifle it is to do something physical about it, and that's really never a sustainable option. For two or three, he can survive it, but it never really satisfies that need to sneeze, so it never ends up just staying at two or three.

He manages to rush out a breathless warning, before he's pitching into tented hands, the little bedraggled tissue nest the only thing between him and blowing this. "Excusemeholdon--'DDZZHhieww! hyeEIZZHhue!" The double does nothing to actually sate the itch, so much as it merely makes it back down somewhat. He still feels distinctly sneezy, but it's not really actionable at this precise second. It will be, and probably soon, but for now he's just left wrinkling his nose hard and sniffling back the moisture threatening to leak from nostrils blushed a warm shade of pink.

"Bless you...quite the cold you've caught, huh?"

"Gosh, excuse me. This is, uh, actually not too bad. I'm sure it'll be a little more vicious tomorrow, and probably the day after, and then it'll be on the upswing." He can feel his cheeks match the same color as his nose as he gives the softest, most pitiful little blow he can possibly manage.

And she must be embarrassed by it too, because he can see that she's blushing a bit when she looks away to grant him a little extra privacy. "Is it usually bad for you, then?"

"I wouldn't say--okay, well, some people would say it's always bad, but I don't think it's usually too terrible. No worse than for most people, I'd think." Bolormaa looks like he's going to say something, so he preempts him. "But, I guess it depends on who you'd ask. All things considered, I'd hate to complain about something that's really more of a nuisance than anything actually terrible to deal with."

She pushes his mug of tea closer to him, and he doesn't need to be told twice to take a sip. He is nothing if not obedient. "So, is one of us going to have to make you some soup, then? Convince you to stay home and rest?"

Someone across the room laughs, a single, harsh bark of a ha! that startles the both of them. Niklas gestures towards him with his fork, waving a piece of broccoli like he's conducting an orchestra. "You'll need nothing short of about twenty feet of rope to tie him to his bed if you want him to stay there when he's caught something."

Bolormaa joins the prosecution, a partner to Niklas in their little imaginary law firm, he's sure of it. "He'll be here, rain or shine, sick or not, if he's on the schedule. He doesn't leave for anything, unless the Captain himself tells him he's being sent home."

"You're all horrible gossips, did you know that? I hardly think a cold is something worth calling out over--and besides, if I waited until I was in pristine health, I don't think I would ever leave my house again for the rest of my life. I've gotta strike while the iron's hot, and all that." He can hear them snicker, and occupies himself with pointedly ignoring them and sipping his tea. It's warm, all soothing and sweet in a way he can feel the heat permeate his whole being, not just in his belly.

She's looking at him so intensely that he freezes when he catches it out of the corner of his eye, unsure if looking back at her would make this more or less weird. He swallows his sip, and carefully sets his kitschy little travel mug back on the table. Her gaze is still locked on him as he tries not to sniffle, not to wrinkle his nose or do anything else that'd be gross while people are trying to eat--and especially when she's looking at him like...well, honestly he isn't sure what she's looking at him like.

With the same caution as one might defuse a bomb, he tears off one of the paper towels from the middle of the table and brings it to dab away the wet sheen that clings to his nostrils.

"Did you forget how to move?" He's suddenly aware that Bolormaa is staring also. "You're being...weird." He reaches across the table, hands him a fork with some kind of meat on it. "Here, taste this. Deenii made us some lunch."

"You know I'm a vegetarian."

"Actually, I know you enough to know you're vegetari-ish, so taste this or I'm telling her that you hate her forever."

He rolls his eyes, but takes a bite anyway. It practically melts in his mouth, tender and fatty. "I mean, it tastes like cooked meat. It's kinda plain, though, I feel like she's usually more...liberal with the spices, I guess?"

"Yeah, this is probably the most plain thing she ever makes. It's JUST salt, pepper, and caraway. But it's not bad, and I think she misses making it like we did when we were kids--not that we can do that in a duplex, but you know what I mean. It's got the like--okay, so when you make it, you've gotta--"

"heDZZHhue! hH'ZZhhyue!"

"--do hot stones and meat and vegetables like a fucked up lasagna, and then water, and it'll all start cooking itself in the milk jug. Or, in this case, a pressure cooker that we had on the stove, because we can't really have an open fire in the living room."

"Rea--hH-!? heEIZZHhue! 'ZZhhyue!--ugh, okay, I--sdf!--think that was it. Excuse me." He snuffles thickly, still reluctant to emerge entirely from the little nest of tissues he's shuddered into. "Reasonable."

Marissa's hand on his shoulder startles him, and he can feel the blush on his cheeks that's washing clean through to his ears. "Bless you...you've really got it bad, it sounds like."

"Aw, that's nothing. Four is, like, amateur hour." Bolormaa inclines his head towards a whiteboard on the wall by the sink. Among the cluttered notes about upcoming projects, reminders to schedule leave a month in advance, and a blurry and strange photo of the Captain taken like someone might take a photo of a cryptid, is a set of tally marks nestled in the corner. "See those?"

"Oh, Bolormaa, don't--"

"Four is nothing compared to how bad he gets sometimes. Seventeen is the current record."

"I keep telling you, it was not seventeen. It was, like, maybe eight, and then nine."

"And I keep telling you that if you don't come up from your sleeve or your hands or whatever in the middle, it counts as one."

Someone on the other side of the room butts in. "We're not starting this debate again. The Captain already made us lay this one to rest."

He's mortified to be such a topic of conversation. Not even him, really, just his nose. He is going to melt into the tiles to escape if the world is merciful.

Fortunately for him, while the world may not be merciful, the clock over the door chimes the half hour--and the end of lunch--and everyone begrudgingly begins to shuffle towards the door. He stows the rest of his lunch in his locker, and is almost back onto the floor when a hand on his wrist catches him.

"Hey, sorry, I just--" she glances sideways, like she's afraid of being caught, "--just wanted to say that your girlfriend seems really nice. She's done a good job of showing me around today."

He blinks in surprise. "Bolormaa?" The grin that splits his face is goofy, he's sure, showing off that little gap between his teeth that makes him consider trying braces again now that he's more stable and an adult (but, Lord, orthodontics are so expensive!) "Nah, he is really cool, but also unfortunately a lesbian, and married. I'm not seeing anyone right now."

"Oh, really? I'm surprised."

He snorts, a dangerous act with a cold that's settling in, but it works out in his favor this time. "I guess. But I won't keep you--I'm sure he's probably waiting for you, and I don't wanna be the reason you're not learning more. Have a good rest of your shift!"

What a nice woman!

⁂

He's absolutely in the thick of it when he turns back up to work on Saturday. He's breathing through chapped, parted lips, the skin around his nostrils a horrid shade of scarlet and raw from the constant moisture and rubbing that it's being forced to endure. He muffles a cough into his sleeve while he trudges through the puddles in the parking lot to shoulder open the door and avoid spilling his thermos on the cracked concrete at the threshold.

He's surprised to see Marissa here already--he hadn't thought she was going to be starting until closer to eight or nine, not here at six like himself and a scant few others. Bolormaa doesn't even work today. Perhaps that means she'll be his charge for the day, or perhaps it means she's been released to go do her own work without the need for a chaperone. Either way, she's here, and he offers a congested "morning" as he reaches over her shoulder to grab his time card.

"Oh my God. Elliott, you weren't kidding--did those sick days even do you any good?"

He huffs a mirthless little laugh, that becomes a cough. "They weren't sick days, but they definitely didn't." He wishes he could be buried in his blankets, snuggled in all cozy and enjoying the sound of the rain on the windows. Instead, he's in his steel toes and hard hat and shivering from the same rain he was listening to this morning. "Can I, uhmb, clock in?"

"If you're sure you want to be here today..."

"I am. I mean, it's just a cold. It sounds worse than it feels, I promise."

"Does it look worse, too?"

He smiles sheepishly. "It might be closer on that aspect. But I'm fine, it's really not a huge deal. I'll probably just go home and eat a can of soup and go to bed after I get off." The siren's song of his bed is already calling to him, especially when he won't have anyone else to feed or take care of tonight. Just him, some soup, and an early bedtime...

"Uh--listen, if that's the case, I know it's kind of sudden, but I had dinner plans tonight with a friend, and she canceled on me, and I've already got a reservation for two, so I was wondering if you might want to take her spot? I can pick you up, so you wouldn't have to worry about driving or anything, and it can be my treat. I'd just hate to see the reservations go to waste...I'm not really much of an 'eat by myself at a restaurant' type of person."

"Oh!" Well...shoot. There go the evening plans--or lack thereof, he guesses. He doesn't want to leave her hanging, but he also isn't really super enthused by the prospect of going out anywhere.

But...he also doesn't really want to say no. He knows how it is to have plans canceled last second, and also what it's like to not want to have to go by yourself out to something. And, besides, it should really be encouraged that she's trying to reach out and make friends with people. It won't do any good to punish behavior they want to see.

"Uh, you definitely don't have to treat me, and I don't need you to pick me up, unless you're really sure it wouldn't be a huge imposition. What, uh, time is it? What side of town?"

"Six thirty, downtown in a place I've heard has got some killer food and I've been dying to try out since I moved here." She offers him her phone, the screen pulled up to add a contact. "I'll text you the address?"

Gross. Downtown parking, and he won't have time to go home and shower after he gets off. "Uh--maybe I will take you up on that offer of a ride, actually, if you're sure you wouldn't mind." He would rather be boiled alive than have to try and parallel park on the street. "I can give you my address and I'll, uh, just rush home when I get off and meet you there?"

"Sounds perfect! Just text me your address once we've got numbers situated. They hold the table for fifteen minutes, so we've got a little wiggle room." She takes the hand that's holding her phone and gives it an affectionate little squeeze as she retrieves it, now freshly holding his contact details, and practically bounces off towards the receiving bays.

She is SO friendly! It's refreshing to get someone in here who isn't quite so curmudgeonly, and actually seems interested in meeting people and making friends.

He slowly makes his way over to his own little corner, because nobody else is putting these pallets up if not him, and if he doesn't start doing something then he's going to fall asleep standing up. He doesn't just want but needs to make it through this shift as painlessly as possible.

It's smooth-ish sailing, save for the constant intrusions of needing to smother a cough into his sleeve, or to duck down into the tissues and napkins he's hoarded together like a rat in its humble garbage abode with sneezes that are just viciously productive and ragged, both in sound and feeling. Ugh, goodness gracious, this cold is annoying. He is so much sicker than he really wants to be. He takes a couple of the rare opportunities of solitude to blow his nose, and he actually winces from the mere sound of it. He is disgusting right now.

Which is why he's surprised that he sees Marissa pop by every now and again, and he's glad every time she has something to do on this side of the warehouse, because aside from just being pleasant company, she always has a couple of tissues, or a stack of napkins, or something else on her person that she lends him. He takes them gratefully, every time, and this time is no different.

"Uh, sorry, this is--just gross." He blows his nose to try and gain some semblance of his consonants back, but also to try and do something about the wet congestion that's so intent on trying to drip, and not giving him any real way to try and sniffle it back. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were finding excuses to come over here."

She laughs, the sound of it so warm and bright and cheery. "Truthfully, I am. You looked like you were having a rough go of it, and I thought you might be in need of someone to come peek in every now and again and get you something."

"Oh! Aw, shucks, that's really nice of you." Well now he feels silly.

"I figured if you weren't taking care of that cold, maybe somebody else ought to." The grin she gives him is positively teasing, and he can't help but rub the back of his neck.

"Aw, man, it's really not that bad, I promise. I do appreciate it, though. You're really kind to be trying to look out for me." He slides off the forklift, stretches his back out and winces at the cracking of his joints. "I'll be good for dinner, I promise. I'm sniffly, but otherwise unscathed--and I promise I'll try not to make you worry about me."

"I don't mind it. You seem like you could use someone actually looking out for you." She hands him a little travel packet of tissues, the plastic decorated with some bright pink gingham and a little cartoon mascot he doesn't recognize. "I've got a bunch of these in my locker, if you ever need any and I'm not here."

"The old ladies back home would've called you just sweet as pie. That's a really generous offer--I'll try not to abuse it." He probably won't ever actually avail himself of them--going into somebody else's locker feels so taboo, but especially to pilfer something like this. He'll just make do with whatever napkins or paper towels he can get his hands on, or occasionally a couple tissues when he's feeling especially gracious to his poor nose.

And maybe she can read his mind, because she puts a tender hand on his forearm. "It's really okay if you do, I promise. I bought them to be used, I'd rather they do you some good than just sit in my locker doing nothing."

"Man, you've got me in a tough spot to try and refuse, huh?" He worries the plastic between his fingers, listening to the crinkle and watching the way it distorts the face on the little smiling bear. "I suppose I'll just have to say yes, then. Thank you."

"Aw, man, your poor nose is so red. That must hurt..."

He sniffles reflexively, and gently brings a knuckle to the tip of his nose. "It's not too bad, just a little sore. Nothing that, uh, a little lotion or something tonight before bed will have it good to go."

She reaches to take his cheek in her hand, and he instinctively leans away from her in surprise. He doesn't mind being touched, usually, but it comes so suddenly that he doesn't know what to do about it--to have his face touched so intimately, he doesn't know what's coming or how to handle it.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you--"

"No! No, it's fine, I was--uh--was h-? hH'DZZHHyue! eIZZHHieww!" He ducks into his tented hands, the feeling coming way too quickly to be able to actually get a tissue out of the packet in time. Now that he's here, though, he's mortified that he opted to do that instead of using his sleeve--and especially because the tissues are still halfway clutched in one hand, the spray shiny and slick on the plastic.

"Oh--bless you, are you-?"

"Don't--uh--" He grimaces, and awkwardly pulls his hands away, thankful to his core that this wasn't so messy as he feared it would be, just thin and liquidy enough to be able to avoid the most mortifying moment in a long while. "Excuse me. I didn't mean to, uh...do that...to--my hands, I mean--"

"That's okay, it happens. You don't really seem like someone who makes a habit of covering like that, you seem really conscientious of others." She fishes through her tool pouch, grabs a little squeezy bottle of hand sanitizer and offers it to him to squeeze into his palms.

"I really try, it's just, uh, kinda hard sometimes, I guess." He rubs the sanitizer into his hands, aware of the fact that his skin is getting dry here in the fall. Gosh, he should probably put lotion on when he gets back into the break room. "I really do my best, it's just sort of, like--I don't know, I guess there's only so much that can really be done? I really do wanna, like, make sure I'm not giving anything to anybody else, but it's kind of--it's sorta--" he falters, unsure of what to say to really convince anyone of anything. Maybe he's trying to convince himself more than her.

"I can only imagine. You're a really nice person, though, and so considerate. You've got a cold, it's not a crime. It happens to everyone, and there's really only so much that you can do for it." She scooches a little closer, gently wraps her arm around his waist. "I'm not concerned about getting it, at least."

It's reassuring, honestly, to have that acknowledgement. "Yeah, well, that's really sweet to say--and to think, honestly. You're brave, to be this close when I'm sick like this. I'm assuming you're still feeling brave enough for dinner, then?"

"Of course! Assuming you're still willing to come?"

"I'm not one to back out from plans I've made." He really does kind of wish he could be in bed tonight instead of dinner, but that's not the important bit right now. "As long as I've got enough time to get to change into something clean, it'll be nice to--to h-? hH-! hH'DZZHHhyue! 'DZZHhyuuee!"

He groans, the little packet of tissues now empty as he grabs the last couple from it, his nose streaming in earnest now. He can feel her tense against his side, and it finally clicks in his mind that he's still holding onto her. Oh, no?

He releases her from his grip, a panic washing over him as he sort of scrambles away a little. "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry--I didn't mean to still be--to, uh--"

Her brow wrinkles in sympathy as she looks at him. "Oh, Elliott, bless you. It's okay, you're totally good. I don't mind, you're sick, there's nothing to be sorry for. I was close to you, by choice, so don't even worry about it."

"Are you, uhmb--hold on--" He turns his back to her, and blows his nose, more vigorously than he'd really ever want to in front of another person, because he's so stupidly congested and drippy that he knows, for certain, that he wouldn't be able to get away with just some little polite thing like he'd hope to. "Are you sure you don't mind if I tag along for dinner? This is honestly kind of gross."

"Elliott." She takes his hands in hers, even though he's got the tissues still clutched in one of his palms. "I swear that I don't mind. I want to have dinner with you, and I want to be close to you. Please...just trust me that I mean it."

Oh. Gosh. Oh, Lord have mercy. He blushes deeply, especially when she gives his hands a little squeeze here. Were she a man, he thinks this may well be close to praise enough to get him hot and bothered. As it stands, he's still quite flattered--and rather embarrassed--to hear how adamantly she wants him there, and having to reconcile that with how he's so grossly cold ridden tonight. "If you insist..."

"I really do. I've gotta get back before the Captain catches me distracting you and lingering, but I'll see you tonight."

It's silly to be overwhelmed by someone just being nice, but something about it just feels so much, he isn't quite sure how to process it all. He watches her bounce back off out of sight, worrying the empty package between his fingers. He sniffles, thickly, and shakes his head as he goes back to work.

⁂

He doesn't have any time to shower when he gets home, his hair will be wet for hours if he does, but he's at least got enough time to change out of dirty work clothes and into something that doesn't meet OSHA safety guidelines. He does consider pulling his hair from the braid, if only because it's been tied back all day to keep it out of the way while he's working, but he thinks with a cold like this, having his hair in his face is just asking for trouble--he doesn't need it clinging weirdly to the moisture when it blows into his face, or comes into contact with his nose.

Someone knocks on the door, and he glances at his watch. Aw, Hell, it really is time to go, isn't it? He sniffs, shoves a couple tissues into his pocket for later, and swings the door open.

"Hey, you--wow."

She looks stunning. She's got her hair done up and curled, her makeup done with eyeliner sharp enough it could cut him clean through, some cute little heels that've got bows tied at the ankle.

She laughs, strikes some cute pose. "Yeah, wow? I'm glad somebody appreciates it, it's nice to have a chance to wear something pretty for once."

He feels so inadequate next to her. "You look great! I can, uh--I can go change, I kinda feel like something the cat dragged in--"

"Oh, no! No, you look fine, I promise!" She takes his hands and squeezes them between hers. "I don't want you to feel like you've gotta change, you look lovely, I promise. Besides, we've gotta get going or we're gonna be late."

He supposes he can't argue with that logic. If he'd realized this was more of a 'look nice' kind of dinner, he'd have put on at least something with buttons, not just a sweater and a pair of jeans, but she hadn't mentioned it was that sort of affair. He can feel that shame creeping up on him, that flush of embarrassment as he catches sight of himself in the hall mirror before he locks the door behind them.

"Thank you for picking me up, I really appreciate it. You're a braver woman than me to be able to park downtown--I don't think I've parallel parked a car since I took my driving exam, and even then I only got through it by the skin of my teeth." He grabs one of the tissues, chagrined to be needing to use one already, but it's a little chillier than he expected it to be, and his nose has been running like a danged tap since he woke up this morning.

Her car smells nice when he steps in, and his eyes instantly alight on the little bouquet in the backseat. "Oh, those are beautiful!"

"You like 'em?"

"I do!"

"Well good, 'cause they're for you."

He's dumbfounded by the statement. For him? He looks between the flowers and her in baffled silence, his mouth hanging open in the shock of it all. "They're for me?"

"They are! I was at a nursery earlier to get something to spruce up my new apartment a little, and I thought, y'know, while I was there I might as well pick up something for you, too. I've heard talk around work that you're a fan of flowers, so I got you a few. It's nothing super flashy, but, y'know, still nice anyway, I'd like to think."

"They're gorgeous! I--" he trails off into a surprised little laugh. "I guess I don't know what to say. I'm rarely speechless, but this is--man, this is so sweet of you, I can't believe it." He gingerly picks them up, the plastic sleeve crinkling in his hands as he takes them to be cradled in his arms like a baby. "These are just beautiful!"

"I'm glad you like them! I was a little worried you might be sort of, I don't know, put off by receiving flowers--I know a lot of my male friends wouldn't even dream of accepting any--but you seem...different. In a good way, of course!"

"I think 'different' is one of the nicest ways people describe me." He leans down, takes the deepest inhale he can manage, and sighs. "I'm sure they smell good, but I can't really tell right now." He pauses, briefly, to scrub at his nose with the tissues. "I've gotta say, I'm lucky that these are some of the ones that don't get me sneezing something fierce. Honestly, we're both probably lucky for it--I don't think you'd really want me in your car if I was in a state like that."

"You'd be surprised."

"Would I?"

"I don't think you'd be bad company in any state you're in."

"You may change your tune when allergy season hits, but I'm happy to enjoy it while you think so." Even without any real ability to smell it, and the fact that they don't really bother his allergies, he can feel that prickling irritation that's creeping back into his nose, front to back and everywhere in between. He pauses in his attempts at buckling his seatbelt, awkwardly setting the flowers on his lap and leaning them against the dashboard so he can grab his one, singular tissue and into tented hands in preparation.

"Are you--"

"hH-! eEIDDZZHhyue! 'DDJZZHhuue! hUH'UDDZZhyue! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph--" He can feel the moisture soaked through the tissue and into his palms, and he fishes through his pockets for the other few tissues he'd brought with to try and take care of the mess. He wipes the moisture away with a grimace, and then gingerly pinches at reddened nostrils with the remainder. "Excuse me."

"Bless you, you poor thing. Are you sure you're up to this? You can go back upstairs if you want to, it isn't too late..."

"No! No, I'm good, I'm just--it's just a cold. As long as you're still fine with having me, of course--I know I'm kinda gross. Or, more than 'kinda', honestly." He wants to sniffle so bad, but he's more afraid to upset this delicate balance he's got struck right now. If he sneezes again, it's gonna be a nightmare with nothing to really clean it up, so he just resolves himself to trying to very delicately mop it up and hope he can keep things in check until they get there and he can zip into the bathroom to wash up and take care of himself.

"I don't have any tissues, but I might have a couple napkins in the center console?" She gently nudges at his elbow until he moves it out of the way, and pops it open for him to peek. It is, unfortunately, empty, aside from a little container of breath mints and a lighter.

"Afraid not, but it's fine." He can hear as well as feel the congestion creeping into his voice, threatening to spill over the flimsy tissues. "It's not a super far drive, and I'm just sort of sniffly." He punctuates that thought with a little throat clear. "And, uh, sneezy, but that's sort of par for the course."

"So I've gathered." She reaches over and puts a gentle hand on his knee. He goes rigidly still, unwilling to move at all and risk her touch migrating anywhere. He would be mortified if she accidentally touched him a bit...sensually, especially if they both had to deal with the fact that her hand on his thigh would have him an absolute mess. No, that'd be weird. He can't let that happen.

Gingerly, he takes one hand from the bouquet, the other still firmly parked beneath his streaming nose, to grab hold of one of her bangles and gently pluck her hand away from his leg. "I'm admittedly not thrilled to know that it's a defining characteristic of mine. I'd rather be, like, nice, or funny, or generous, or something like that, instead of sickly. There's a lot more to me than just my respiratory system, but that seems to be what people notice the most."

"Well," she starts thoughtfully, fingers drumming over the steering wheel as they wait at the stop light, "I think it is pretty noticeable, but it's not the most noticeable thing about you. You're also pretty tall, and have really long hair. Those were the first two things I noticed. But you're right--you are really nice, and really generous, and have a good sense of humor--and it doesn't hurt that you're handsome, too."

He can feel the color flooding his cheeks and he looks away, a bashful little laugh rising up from him. "You're sweet to say it, but I don't think handsome is really the word most people'd use. 'Pretty', maybe."

"I'd use handsome. You've got beautiful eyes--and those lashes, ugh. I'm jealous. Do you know that even with mascara on, mine aren't as dark and thick and pretty as yours?"

"The women in my life do tend to be pretty jealous of them, yeah. I was always sorta--I don't know--not really ugly, but I think I've always been a little...odd, I guess. A little homely, the older ladies used to say." He trails off, wrinkling his nose against the irritation, and it's a move that doesn't really do anything to quell the irritation, but does remind him just how soaked these tissues are. He's verging on a sneeze, that feeling looming threateningly deep in his sinuses. "I'm, uhmb--" Oh, God, they're not gonna make it to this restaurant fast enough. "I don't know. Always just sort of long and thin and weird."

"Someone might call you graceful? Willowy, maybe?"

He can't fight it anymore--his breath scissors, and he shudders roughly into the bedraggled tissues with a trio of rough, wet sneezing. "heEIDDJZZHhyue! hiH-! hiIDDZZHhue! 'DZZHhieww!" It soaks the tissues to a useless degree, and he has to blink away the tears in the corner of his eyes. "Oh mby gosh--"

"Bless you! Oh my God, you poor thing." She gently rubs one of his shoulders, and looks over at him with a sympathetic frown. "Here, do you--I think I've got a bandana in the backseat from my hard hat, if you're not too put off by it?"

Oh, God. This is mortifying. He doesn't want to be so grossly sick in front of other people, especially someone who's so nice, but he really isn't being given any choice by his own body, here. "Excuse me" feels so inadequate for this, but he doesn't know what else he should really be saying for it. He turns away, unwilling to let her really be looking at him like this while he's practically drowning in his own fluids, and gratefully takes the bandana she offers him. He doesn't want to sound ungrateful, but, man, it probably would have been pretty helpful if he could've gotten this a little sooner to clean himself up, but he's not looking this gift horse in its teeth, for sure.

He's more or less cleaned up by the time they arrive, nostrils still deep red and wet, but not actively dripping anymore. "I would take your hand but I, uh, don't think I want to offer mine to anyone right now. At least until I can wash up, anyway."

"I'm not shy, but I won't push you on it." She does, at least, put a hand on the small of his back, and guides him into the restaurant. Her hands are warm, even through his shirt, and it's nice to be touched by another person.

The restaurant is warm, decorated handsomely. It's a little dimmer in here than he'd thought it would be, candles on tables and chandeliers hanging down and all sorts of little accouterments that make it sort of...intimate.

They're guided to a table in the corner, and he feels noticeably worse dressed than most of the other guests. There's a candle in the center of it, flickering gently and casting delicate light across the both of them, softening their lines and edges into something easier on the eyes. "Oh. Man, it's a little, uh--this might be a good date night spot, huh?"

"I guess so! I didn't expect it to be so nice, here!" She doesn't share that same wide-eyed wonder that he's got, but she does seem impressed by it.

He pulls her chair for her, and then seats himself across from her with a bashful smile. "I feel like I should've brought you flowers--or worn something a lot nicer." He glances towards the entrance, trying to decide where he thinks the bathroom might be. "If I leave you my ID, will you get me a glass of wine?"

"Yeah, white or red?"

"I know there's a method to how you're supposed to pair these things, but something red. I'll leave it up to you, whatever sounds good and isn't stupidly expensive--a ten dollar bottle tastes the same to me as a three hundred dollar bottle does."

"Ahh, maybe I'll have to dazzle you with some wine knowledge, then. Talk about tasting notes and bouquets and pairings."

"Consider me dazzled. I'll be right back."

He can't skirt around people quickly enough as he moves towards where he's pretty sure he saw a sign when they walked in, and slips into the men's room. He winces when he catches sight of himself in the mirror--ugh, Lord above, he looks just as bad as he feels, maybe even worse.

The red in his nose is garish, the color threatening to bleed down towards his cupid's bow with the way it's been running all day. The skin around his nostrils is shiny in the harsh lights over the sinks, the moisture catching the fluorescents, and it's starting to peel from the abuse. The shadows under his eyes are particularly noticeable, more so than usual, and he carefully turns his face this way and that to inspect the damage.

Boy. He really should've said no and just gone home to nap, especially since he's going to have to go from work tomorrow directly to Mass and then home for bed to be ready for work again. He regrets agreeing to work the overtime, but they could use the help--and, more than that, he could use the money. Raising a child is expensive, raising a teen even more so.

He grabs a handful of toilet paper, frowns at it as if that might make it thicker and less rough. One would think that a nice restaurant like this could spring for something that he wouldn't consider being well at home in a prison, but apparently all businesses fall victim to the siren's song of one-ply that may well have started life as sandpaper. It's not the most soothing thing when he brings it to his nose, but it's worlds better than the nothing he had earlier, and beggars can hardly be choosers.

He blows his nose, the sound of it grossly thick and productive, and he has to swap it out for a new handful to try again to finish the job. Everything still feels thick and wet and crackly in his sinuses, which is dumbfounding considering how saturated the sodden toilet paper is, but he supposes that's just how this cold is going to be. At least it seems relatively unlikely to try to become a sinus infection--he knocks on the metal stall door in lieu of any wood--and shoves another handful of toilet paper into the pocket of his jeans.

Okay. Okay. He can do this. He's just gotta make it through dinner, and then he can sleep this off and he'll feel better in the morning. Surely.

He pauses, glances at the door, and ducks back into the stall for a second. He can feel that he's going to sneeze, and it'd be better if he just waits for a second to do it here instead of immediately wasting what he's bringing with him. Besides--he hasn't been gone long, he can afford a little longer before he's been gone a weird amount of time. And, if he's being honest with himself, he's sort of savoring the alone time.

He wrinkles his nose hard and sniffles. Of course now, of all times, his nose is deciding that it doesn't want to cooperate and just sneeze. This is one of few times he's actively hoping for it to happen, and it's just being a tease. He can feel that spark of it, that gentle, shy little itch nestled deep in the back of cold-filled sinuses.

He juuuuust has to focus on that, to avoid doing anything that's going to actually soothe it, like trying to avoid blowing too hard on a little ember and snuffing a flame instead of nurturing it in a fire. He closes his eyes, brows knit in concentration, taking slow, deep breaths through his nose to try and nudge it a little further along. He can feel the moisture threatening to leak, and that little bump of irritation when he sniffles it back.

It isn't quite enough to be actionable just yet, but he can feel it starting to blossom into a sneeze. It's close--his breath hitches involuntarily, and he slowly brings the handful of toilet paper up in preparation to catch it. It's playing coy with him--he knows he's going to sneeze, so the fact that it's pretending it doesn't want to happen is frustrating. This must be how Florence feels--his sympathy for her plight deepens somewhat. This is torture just waiting for it.

He sniffles again--and oh, that did it--

His breath snags, a sharp inhale that has him scrambling to catch it. Even though he's had all this time to actually prepare, it still threatens to catch him off guard.

"huH-!? uUDDZzh'yue! eEIZZHhue! Hh...h-hH'ZZHhieww! hEZZHhyue!" He whimpers in the aftermath, the feeling of them scraping across an already sore throat unpleasant enough that it draws it out of him without his meaning to.

"Jesus! Bless you!"

When someone else came in, he has no idea, but he can feel how dark he's blushing, the hot shame creeping down his neck and bleeding clean through to his ears. He awkwardly straightens up from where he's just been standing there hunched over. "Uhmb--" it's a thick croak, beyond congested, and he has to make the mortifying decision to blow his nose again to try and regain his voice. "Excuse me, thank you."

He awkwardly clears his throat and goes to the sink to wash up, distinctly aware of the fact that now somebody is in here and just listening to all the sounds of him being horridly cold-ridden. He tries his best to keep things as quiet as possible when possible, but there's little to be done when he's so weirdly sick and in public. He just hopes that it isn't too off-putting, given that this is a restaurant, and people don't typically want to listen to somebody sneezing like their life depends on it while they're trying to eat.

He hustles back to the table, and Marissa lights up when they make eye contact as he makes his way back over. "Hey, you made it! I was starting to worry I'd have to drink your glass and order you another one before you got back."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Was trying to do something about this cold, get a little more presentable." After begging to sneeze, he's fairly certain his nose is accepting all the encouragement as an invitation. He already feels vaguely sneezy again, which is, to put it mildly, a massive pain in the neck. With the same subtlety as a brick to the face, he swipes at his nose with the makeshift tissues. "Did you get a chance to look at the menu yet? I was gonna try and remember to check it out before we got here, but I was so busy it totally slipped my mind."

"They look like they've got a chicken parm that looks pretty good, and if you're a seafood guy, I saw somebody else get a cedar plank salmon carried by and it looked delicious."

"Ah! Chicken parm might be good. I am, unfortunately, going to get my Dutch card revoked because I am very much not a seafood guy."

"You're Dutch?"

"I am! I mean, kinda, I guess. I've never been, but my parents were first generation, and that was pretty much all we spoke in the house for the first few years of my life. Enough English to get through schooling, but it wasn't my strong suit by any means." He grins, takes a sip of his wine. "I think it surprises people--they know I'm definitely not from around here, but they don't really expect the guy with the Southern drawl to bust out the Dutch."

"I've gotta admit, if you asked me to guess where your family was from, I wouldn't have said the Netherlands. I would've said, like, Tennessee, maybe."

"Ah, you insult me!" He sets his jaw, affects a thicker, slower drawl like a proper bumpkin. "No, ma'am, I grew up in Virginia, in the sort of town somebody from the boonies would refer to as the sticks. Our population was literally, like, a thousand or something. We have coworkers who had more people than that in their high school alone."

"Geez, I'm one of them. I think my high school had like three thousand kids."

"Yeah, it was definitely a podunk sort of town. It was not lovingly that most people called it BFE--though that's kind of crass. It wasn't a bad place, but it was...small, with all the small town stuff that comes with it, for better or for worse."

"What brought you out this way? Just needed something bigger?"

He winces. "Something like that. It's, uh, not really great dinner conversation. I don't wanna, like--what do they call it on TikTok--I don't wanna trauma dump on you. But suffice to say that I haven't been back in awhile, and I don't know that I ever will be unless something drastic happens."

Her eyes are impossibly sympathetic as she reaches across the table and takes his hand. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I guess the tl;dr of it is that after my parents passed, things were...rough, between my brother and I, and eventually I had to just get out of there. My boss called in a favor from the Captain, and I moved out here, and I've been here ever since." It isn't really a lie, so much as an omission of...most of the story. But it feels selfish and rude to, like, drop everything into her lap like this, when they've only known eachother a couple of days. Especially because he doesn't really know her--even if it wouldn't be weird and rude, it just feels too...vulnerable, maybe? to be telling someone things about his life like this?

"Your parents passed?"

"Uh, yeah. It's been awhile, though, it's not, like, recent. Not that I don't miss them! I don't want it to sound like I'm glad that it happened, or like I don't miss my daddy, but it's been long enough that I guess I'm not really...I don't know, I don't know what I'm trying to say here." He laughs, a pitchy, nervous thing that bubbles up from his throat of its own accord. Oh, God, he needs somebody to shut him up. He takes a much more indulgent drink of his wine than he normally would--not that he thinks he'll be really inebriated; he can hold his liquor pretty well--but if he paid for it, he intends to savor it, not to just waste it by immediately downing it.

"Do you wanna change the subject?"

He doesn't mean for it to sound so desperate when he answers, "please."

She's mercifully obliging when she gives his hand a squeeze and nudges his glass gently. "How's your wine?"

"Good! It's good. I mean, it's red wine, so it's hard to really be bad--well, maybe that's not true. I'm sure there are a lot of people who would wholeheartedly disagree with me. But for my intents and purposes, it's all good." It's also a little itchy, but it's hard to say whether that's the cold or the wine talking. Or, he thinks regretfully, probably both. He rubs his nose, his knuckle pressing in against the side of one nostril. He's probably gonna sneeze.

"I wish I wasn't so picky. I'm more of a--"

"holdonsorry--'ZZHhyue!"

"Oh! Bless y--"

"heEIZZHhieww! huH'UUZZHhue! UZZHh'ue!"

"Bless you! Are you done?"

He shakes his head, eyes still squeezed shut, brows pinched together at a desperate slant while he teeters on the brink of a final one, jaw slack and breath snagging unevenly. "H-huh! hH-!? hEEIIDDZZHhyue!" It scrapes his throat rudely, leaves him teary eyed in the aftermath of it, snuffling desperately into his destroyed tissues. His voice is thin and nearly whimpery when he finds enough space between sniffles to speak again. "Oh...excuse me."

She scoots her chair closer to him to wrap an arm around him, to pull him closer against her body. She's warm, even in a dress that isn't particularly covering, and he scrubs hard at his nose. "Elliott, God, bless you..."

There's a certain...something in the way she says it that feels reminiscent of something else in the back of his mind--someone else--but he can't quite place who it feels familiar from. It's really sweet, just--there's something else about it, too. "Are you--would you be terribly upset if we maybe...?"

"Went home early?"

"If you'd be willing...I wouldn't want to, uhm, stop your night early, especially because you were looking forward to this and we haven't even eaten yet--and even if we did leave early, I'd at least want us to get to eat before we go--but I'm not wanting to...stay out as late as we might otherwise." Especially because he's exhausted, and because he's so miserably cold-ridden. He wants to eat a bowl of soup and go to bed.

She brushes the hair away from his face, cups his cheek in her palm. He leans into her touch. Her hand is so soft and warm, holding him like he's the most precious thing in the whole world. "We can just pay the bill now and go. You were so sweet to try and come out for me, but you didn't have to do this."

He scrubs dejectedly at reddened nostrils, at the gross dampness that meets his hand there. "We'll have to try again another time. But we could, uhmb--" he sniffles thickly, and it crackles weirdly in his sinuses. "You're welcome to hang out at my apartment for a bit? I'll probably be in my pajamas, but I'm decent enough company, I think."

"I'd love to. You're going to be good company in any shape, I wouldn't mind sitting with you for a bit. Get you all comfortable and well taken care of before I go."

The drive home is pretty quiet, save for him intermittently sneezing, and she reaches over to touch his shoulder, his knee, his hair; anything she can reach on him to take hold of gently and grant some semblance of reassurance. Perhaps she was a little more tired than she'd let on as well, because he feels like they probably would be doing a little more chatting if she wasn't just sort of waiting to take him home.

Then again, he doesn't really blame her for it. Working this morning was a lot for the both of them, and he's hardly been the kind of company a lady ought to have for the evening. His momma would've smacked some sense into him if she'd seen his sorry excuse for this outing. He'll have to invite her out again next week when he's back in fettle.

He leans in to hug her, and is surprised when she puts a hand on his chest. "I meant it when I said I wanted to make sure you were set up well before I left."

"You're just begging to catch this off me. If your fate wasn't already sealed, this is gonna be the thing that does it." It's really silly to still be protesting like this, he knows, she's already got him holding his hand, letting him lead her up the stairs. She hasn't got any reservations about his cooties, and, honestly, she's probably already caught this anyway. He feels bad about it, but, who knows, maybe somebody else will have passed it to her, not just him? Or, even if they hadn't, maybe he should just accept her confidence as a sign to get some himself. He obviously isn't going to be swaying her from her decision at this rate.

He actually invites her in properly this time, lets her in from the little landing and into the apartment itself. He lets her go in first, holding the door open to let her go ahead of him (even though it's somewhat awkward to be leaning into the apartment to hold it while still waiting for her to be the first one whose feet hit the threshold) and then following in behind her.

It stands just as it did when he left it earlier, and he sets about flicking on a couple of lights so it doesn't look quite so desolate in here. Not that he's going to have them on for long--after a cup of tea and maybe a bowl of soup--he's starting to have second thoughts about how hungry he is--he'll be switching them all back off anyway and crawling under his blankets--but at least for now, while someone else is here to benefit from them instead of just navigating in the dim light of the streetlights through the window, he'll have them all on.

"It's cozy in here, I like it. It's got a certain "grandma chic" vibe to it."

"You know, you are not the first person who's ever said that."

"I'm not shocked. Your couch looks like it was bequeathed to you by a woman who never saw the year 1900."

"Aww, c'mon, it's not that bad." It is. It's a hideous floral that he is beyond in love with, complete with an antimacassar that the cat's spent his fair share of time lovingly tearing to shreds with his many, many, many sessions of making the most intense biscuits he has ever witnessed from a cat in his entire life. He should really replace it, but he found it for a steal at Goodwill, and replacing it feels like more hassle than it's worth, even though it looks kinda ratty, especially because he knows that anything new will end up in the same state as this one in relatively short order.

"Elliott, I'm pretty sure my Nana owned that exact couch." Her hand is still in his as she leads him further into the apartment, her eyes taking everything in. "Maybe what it needs is a woman's touch."

"It could probably use a little work, but I'm pretty happy with how it's turned out over the years." She drifts closer to the table when he pulls the pair of them closer to it to be able to snag a few tissues with his spare hand, awkwardly stuffing his keys into his pocket to have his hand free to be dedicated to nothing but the current task of sopping up the moisture that's begun running against in earnest at the temperature change. The apartment is pleasantly warm, and he's grateful to be home.

"Why don't I make you a cup of tea, and you," she lets him go to let one hand trail down his back, "go change into something more comfortable?"

"Oh! I couldn't ask you to do that."

"I want to."

"Well...if you insist, I guess it might be alright..."

"I'll bring it into you when you're changed."

"That's really kind of you to offer. Thank you."

She's so nice! Gosh, it just makes his heart feel so warm. There's really no need to be shy, then, if she's so insistent on doing something kind for him, but he has a hard time turning off that nagging anxiety that he's being needy, or rude, or just too much in some way or another. He doesn't want her to get tired of him already, especially once she realizes that he really was being truthful when he said that he's in this state pretty often.

He shakes his head as if it'll shake the thoughts loose, and heads in to go change. He's aggressively throwing the crumpled tissues on the nightstand and the floor into the overflowing wastebasket where they should've gone in the first place, trying to get this room into some semblance of tidiness before she walks in and sees it. If he'd known he was going to be having company, he'd have done something to actually clean up last night before bed, or something this morning before he left for work. Instead he's doing it half-frantically now, trying to turn this mess into something he can tolerate another person seeing.

He hears the microwave beep in the other room and knows he's basically out of time. He sheds his clothing in a pile on the floor and just kicks it underneath the bed--and prays he'll remember in the morning that he's done it when he wonders where on God's green earth his wallet and keys are--and tugs on his nightgown. It's the most comfortable thing he owns, and also the only pajamas he's got that aren't in the wash waiting for him to remember to start the load.

Unsure of what to do with himself, he's just weirdly sitting there on the edge of the bed when she walks in. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he folds them in his lap. "Welcome." Oh, God, that was so stupid. Welcome, to his bedroom, in the apartment she's already been welcomed into. Smooth. He laughs nervously.

Luckily, she seems more distracted by looking around than by what he said. He follows her gaze, to the little altar on the corner of his dresser, one of the half burnt votive candles still flickering.

"Oh--I know it's, uh, probably not great to leave a candle burning when I'm not home, but I've scooted everything away from it--" He gets up and sets the little snuffer over the top of it to let the candle slowly die out. "Don't worry about it, it'll go out on its own."

She gently sets down the cup of tea on the nightstand, gently nudging the box of tissues aside to give it enough space to sit. "Why don't you just lay down and get comfortable?"

He accepts her suggestion, if a bit awkwardly, and slides underneath the covers halfway. "I'm sorry that this is what our evening ended up being. I doubt you were hoping to watch me sniffle and sneeze through the first twenty minutes of a dinner." He snuffles, thickly, and snatches a couple of tissues out of the box to try and wipe at his nose, and it threatens to be his undoing. He can feel the itch rising sharply in his nose, and he fights to try and keep it in check as best he can.

"I don't mind at all, honestly. You give so much of yourself to everybody else, I want to be able to take care of you and do something nice for you instead..." She cups his cheek in her hand, and he closes his eyes and leans into her touch.

Her thumb brushes against the edge of one nostril, and he instinctively tries to jerk his head away from her touch before it's too late--but he fails. His nose, already on the brink of sneezing, isn't satisfied to just let this action stand without consequence. He gasps, unable to do anything else--

"hyeEIZZHHue! iIDZZHhue! 'DZZHh'huh!"

It's a drenching trio of them that he doesn't even get a chance to cover, only barely able to turn away from her to spray the bedding with the contents of his cold. He shivers, grabbing the tissues to swipe at his dripping nose. "Oh, I'm so sorry--I didn't mean to--my nose is so sensitive--"

"Bless you." She pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, and he nearly whines in response.

"Please don't, you're going to makemesneeze--? Hh...h-hH'HEZZHhyue! EDJZZHhue!" His lashes flutter shut and he ducks down into tented hands, the tissues struggling under the burden he's putting on them. Crimson nostrils flare and quiver as the itch consumes him. "H-huh--huH'UUDDZZHhieww! UZZHh'hue!"

Tears roll down his cheeks in irritation, his thick lashes damp and studded with tears. He snuffles, everything so wet and desperate, and he is deeply aware that this cold is sinking its claws into him in a way he won't be shaking it anytime soon. He looks up over tented hands, unwilling to want to pull them away just yet. "Excuse me..."

"You poor thing...you must be so itchy. Your poor nose is so sensitive, isn't it? All it takes is just a little touch to set you off..."

He can feel the blush wash through his features, a deep pink of self-consciousness. "It's usually not so bad, I'm just--it's just this cold." He can feel her eyes on him as he turns away, taking a couple of tissues to wipe away the moisture, and then when he turns away a little harder to blow his nose. It's a thick, wet sound that's so mortifyingly productive. He can see her sort of squirm in the corner of his eye, and he can't imagine it's with anything else except disgust.

"I can go wash up."

"I don't mind. If you want to, you're welcome to, but if not, it's nothing to me. This is your apartment."

"It is, but you're my guest here." He takes a little sip of the tea, and it's hot, and sweet, and soothing. The mug is one of his favorites--it's bright yellow, textured like a pineapple and green and semi-thorned on the handle. It's cute; he loves carrying it around the apartment and sipping anything out of it. "Did you know that this is one of my favorite mugs I own? My daughter got this for me."

Her expression is unreadable. He isn't sure what he should really say, what she wants to do. "Is her mom still in the picture?"

"Oh. I mean--kinda?" He coughs into his fist, some shy little gesture that ends up becoming an actual cough into his elbow, deeper and chestier and congested. "She's around, but not really. She's my daughter's mom, but I'm not her father--I mean--I am her father, but it's like--not biologically. I adopted her. Her mom couldn't care for her, so I ended up taking her in, with my husband at the time. We aren't together anymore, but we do co-parent."

She brushes the hair away from his face, tucking the locks of hair back behind his ears. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked. We don't have to talk about it, if you're not wanting to."

"No! I mean, it's fine. I'm just kind of--I don't want to make anything weird for you, especially because you're really nice, and especially because we're going to be working together. You shouldn't have to, like, deal with me being weird." He runs his fingers over the mug, his nails catching in all the grooves and texture of the whole surface. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can."

He looks over at her, their eyes locking on one another. "Was this a date?"

She laughs, but something about the way she does it just sort of confirms things. One of her hands finds its way into one of his, just holds onto it with a little squeeze. "Maybe I was hoping it would be."

His mind is a stew of thoughts that he doesn't know how to actually pick out anything coherent from. He just nods and breaks the eye contact to look away sheepishly. He's never had to really turn down a woman before--honestly, he kind of can't believe that anyone would ever look at him and think he was anything other than flaming. "You know, I do want to say that I'm really flattered. More than I really know how to say, honestly. It's just not really...in the cards, I guess. I don't really--there's a reason I have an ex-husband and not an ex-wife. But you're really nice--you're really sweet, and you're so pretty, and I do hope that you end up finding someone who digs you."

He's pulled into a hug, hard enough it almost sloshes his tea out of his mug, and he gently wraps his arms back around her. "I can't say I'm not disappointed, but you know how it is. I'll survive, somehow." Her smile isn't bitter like he expects it to be--she does seem to be okay with it, but he can feel the anxiety gnawing at his insides. She extends a hand. "Friends, then?"

"Friends, for sure."

She stands up, smooths out her dress, and gently pushes him flat against the board with a hand on his chest. "Good. Then you go to bed, and I'll see you at work on Monday--and if that cold isn't any better, you'd better believe I'm gonna hit you with some caretaking that'll knock your socks off." A kiss is pressed to his crown, and she's off to the front door. "Sleep well, Elliott. Thanks for dinner."

"The next one'll be better, I promise. We'll even get to eat something this time."

"I'm holding you to it!"

[whohasfourthumbsand]

hey kiddo - it's Slipshod, from MSMC. look, I don't usually reach out to folks like this, but... we gotta have a talk about GRAE. the more I learn about them, the less comfortable I feel with you trusting him as much as you do. I get it - you love your vlad (and GRAE) dearly, but there's something about 'em that just doesn't sit right with me

I hope you can forgive me for this, but I did a little snooping into your records from IPS-N, and what I found there was... questionable, to say the least. apparently you and GRAE (the records call him "TR-GRAE", which is either his full designation or an error) were taken into custody in the aftermath of a planetary collapse - does the name Leicester ring a bell at all? it's not one I'm familiar with, but then again, I can't imagine many people do know about it, if that caliber of disaster befell it

according to the files, you were 10 at the time you were taken in. this strikes me as a HUGE red flag - that's awful young for anyone to be messing around with an NHP, especially when the records say you were already treating GRAE like family when you got picked up by IPS-N. I don't know how long you two had been interacting for prior to being found, but - I don't know. this all just rubs me entirely the wrong way. the records don't say if GRAE was in cascade or not when you two were found, only that it was - direct quote here - "stable and fully compliant with IPS-N" when you were brought in

also, on top of all of this - GRAE has never once spoken publicly on here. not once. you say he's been really quiet lately, but to us, he's never spoken at all. it's like - oh, I don't know - he's in your head or something. it's really uncanny; if the records hadn't validated him as being real, I'd have thought you were making him up - er, no offense to GRAE. (or you, for that matter)

anyways, the reason I bring all of this up - I really don't think it's a smart idea for you to try and check your mech's serial number. the more I read about you and GRAE, the more it feels like there's a massive piece of the puzzle missing - and that you might not know as much as you think you do about not just GRAE, but your own history as well

old NHPs are on an entirely different level of consciousness compared to our modern ones (not to mention extremely dangerous), and if you really did find GRAE hidden down there in the depths of your planet prior to IPS-N getting involved, then there's almost certainly a history there that you haven't been told about. the choice is ultimately up to you, and if you think you can live with the consequences of whatever you find, be my guest. all I ask is that you at least think about it first

stay safe out there, kiddo. please.

-- Slipshod

+ ...it feels like.. such a stupid idea now.

+ It's such a trivial thought- checking your mech's serial number, I mean. You take a peek into an inanimate object's history, read a few dated files, find a photograph or two of battles you didn't even know happened- and then you close the tab, either burdened with the discomfort of knowing your hands rest where some ancient angatonist's did- or content, satiated by the mundanity of your discoveries. This isn't the sort of thing that life-changing discoveries are supposed to come from, right?- You aren't- you aren't supposed to question everything over some outdated, poorly-kept book-keeping-

+ ..I remember Leicester. I was born there. I had- a family, there. A real one, not that "found family" rhetoric some squads proclaim, or a test tube, or a printer. I remember what the air smelled like, the color of the sunrise, the crunch of the gravel underfoot. I wasn't ten when Leicester collapsed. I was seven. + Carina was our opportunity to escape. To start anew. + GRAE has- always been here, with me. Always. I cannot remember a single part of my life where he hasn't been there, present, comforting, reassuring, infallible- And yet I know he wasn't, logically he couldn't have been, not until the city came down.

+ I won't check my serial number. + I know better; I know some crises are better saved for rainy days.

+ I don't know enough about NHP to make heads or tails of any of what you're saying- My default response to troubles like this is to ask GRAE for advice or guidance, but he- he's never told me anything I didn't already know. I bring him with me everywhere, we talk constantly, I-- + I haven't felt lonely since we met. + Isn't that a good thing?

[aku-soul]

WARNING P5R SPOILERS AHEAD GO PLAY THE GAME FOR YOURSELF AND SKIP THIS POST IF YOU DONT WANNA BE SPOILED

So anyways I finished persona 5 royal a couple days ago, here's my thoughts:

Absolutely amazing game, I loved it so dang much and I'm so sad it's over. And now, onto the character reviews

Ren Amamiya (protag): It's me! But man do I feel even worse for what he had to go through. Seriously, going to jail twice, temporarily losing his memory and hoping that he would get stuff right... Dude the scene where akechi shot me gave me chills it was done so well. I was seriously about to cry thinking I messed up. Also, if I was joker at the end of sem 3 after I graduated I would immediately come back to leblanc because coffee dad duh.

Sojiro Sakura: HE CALLED ME FAMILY, COFFEE DAD CALLED ME FAMILY OH MY GOD BEST DAY EVER. I love dad so much. It was so sweet when he cried after I left, that almost made me cry too.

Ann Takamaki: Yeah she sure does exist, uh huh. I barely interacted with her... I don't think her phantom thief outfit helped at all with that issue.

Morgana: Congrats on finally becoming human for a while dude. Also him being part of the velvet room was not something I expected. At all. Also when he was about to disappear I almost freaking cried what the hell. You can't do that to me game. AND THEY DID IT TWICE. Those scenes made me realize how much I actually care for morgana the cat (cue "I AM NOT A CAT")

Futaba: SISTER SHE IS MY SISTER! I am going to feel so weird when I romance her for completions sake... I love the bond her and I have as siblings. She did such a good job growing up within such a short amount of time, I am so proud. Also holy hell was she smart with the akechi phone thing. No wonder she did something so out of character in that moment.

Makoto: I am going to beat up Eiko's boyfriend so hard. I never finished her story though, I got up to level 8 with her. Eh whatever there's always next playthrough. Her heals are pretty good, to bad I hardly ever use her.

Igor (both false and real): Dude I could not get over the real igors voice, please give me back the fake igors voice that one sounded so much better seriously. Also I checked and igor is indeed voiced by dad from fe3h love that. The boss fight for him though freaking sucked, like can you please stop giving my cat lust with your gun, seriously?

Haru: I'm gonna be completely honest, I didn't start her confidant till like 5 days before the final battle because I thought I'd need her for true ending (I thought true ending required all confidants, better save than sorry). Honestly, no real opinion on her. She certainly does exist. I wonder if the vegetables she grows are any good... If they're for sp that'd be nice because sp recovery items are so hard to come by.

The twins (and lavenza): Dude I nearly cried when I had to execute the twins, it felt so sad. But hey, at least I got lavenza out of it. I'm guessing she's the one who wrote the list then. Also her avatar in persona 5 tactica is so cute.

Ichiko: Drunk aunt type. I got close to finishing her storyline but didn't. Whatever. I hate how she's an option for romance but my harem bois aren't??? What is this atrocity.

Kawakami: Yeah look I don't care if you're getting threatened by the mafia or loan sharks or whatever. Please stop texting me "Hello master!" when you said yourself you don't want the history on my phone to be available. I only got two things in because my god am I super uncomfortable with calling my teacher up for maid services...

Hifumi: If I didn't hc joker as super gay for my harem bois (I will explain who those people are later) she'd probably be the one I'd ship him with. I like her a lot honestly, she might be my favorite romanceable option.

Tae Takemi: Her ex boss fucking sucks, get off your high horse dude. At least we managed to change his heart and get her back on track. I'm hc'ing miwa chan as continuing to visit Tae even after she gets better and eventually following in Tae's footsteps and helps out around the clinic.

Iwai: GUN UNCLE GUN UNCLE. Him giving me a gecko at the end had me tearing up. He considers me family too oh my god. Also hell yeah I got a cousin out of that deal. I love uncle Iwai so much.

Mishima: I maxed him out and then promptly forgot about him. Seriously, when the scene of him petitioning for signatures happened I immediately thought "oh shit yeah mishima is a person who exists". Sorry mishima...

Yoshida: Yeah, I started him and that was about it. I really don't care about him at all if I'm being honest. I will have to eventually level him up though... Next playthrough

Shinya: Woo younger brother alert. I'm so proud that he gave back the money he took from other kids and apologized too. Good job Shinya, you did good.

Maruki: Ugh his character arc was so good. Dude the 2/2 reveal broke my heart I was so tempted to take the offer, but I knew I couldn't. But dude. Why are you a taxi driver at the end. What is the reason for that what.

Ryuji: HAREM BOI NUMBER ONE BABY!!!! The numbers don't matter it's just when we got introduced to em. I love him so much. In tactica I was able to "marry" him and I was so excited that I took screenshots. Dude when he saved us in shido's palace and we thought he died I almost cried. I love Ryuji so much.

Yusuke: HAREM BOI NUMBER TWO BABY!!!! He is so gay I love him. At the end when he gave me his painting I teared up. I absolutely love him so much. A great addition to the harem bois. Best artist boi.

Akechi: WHY MY GUY FUCKING WHY! HAREM BOI NUMBER THREE!!!! You were the reason why I was so tempted to take Maruki's offer, don't treat your life as if it was nothing. Also you don't hate me you love me admit it. Robbie Daymon does such a good job on everday akechi I love it so much. I leveled him up as soon as I could. Also because of the ending he's still alive and no one can change my mind, I *need* him to be alive. Dude I bougth tactica and the dlc just so I could see him again. I love akechi so freaking much. Also his official va and joker's official va made a cover song together and it's so good I am obsessed and I have seen some good things made out of it.

I think that's all? If anyone wants me to give my opinion on anyone else I will. Anyways back to playing tactica and once I finish that it's onto strikers

[ewingstan]

So there's a few ways we've seen the public hostility to capes be framed.

There's complaint 1, the general "all parahumans are more trouble than they're worth," which has been something that's at least been brewing since Worm (a lot of Cauldron and the PRT's activities being focused on tamping down on this perception). A fairly common trope in superhero media. You see it everything from the X-Men to the Civil War comic event. Hell, its popular enough that the last two comics I've read (Chainsaw Man and Clown Corps), which are pretty much as different as you can be while still being in the same vague genre and medium, both had "Villains try to get everyone to fear superpeople indiscrimantly" plots.

But then there's the more specific complaint 2: "cape heroes aren't justifying their presence because they directly cause violence without lowering the amount of crime and violence overall." Now, Capricorn is obviously framing it in these terms because he's trying to appeal to the police he's talking to; he knows that's a complaint made about cops and he wants to make them feel like they're on the same side fighting the same battles (and in turn kinda claiming that both capes and cops are "against" a public who criticizes them). But I'd also say that the text itself wants us to consider complaint 2. Worm basically endorses it; a lot of the book reinforces the claim that capes/cops are integral to how a system gives rise to villains/criminals and largely fails to deal with such problems in a useful manner.

The question is whether Ward is best interpreted as making the opposite claim, endorsing Tristan's argument against complaint 2. Its certainly sympathetic to the frustrations of the "don't tell us we didn't make a difference when you weren't there to see" crowd—it almost has to be, given our narrator. But whereas in some parts I read Ward as saying "yeah its frustrating, but they're right, you aren't making a real difference and are part of the problem" other times it does portray Breakthrough making real changes for the better that couldn't have been accomplished other ways by fighting ontologically evil enemies (see: Teacher).

Again, kinda hard to do a story from this POV and completely avoid that. Disco Elyisum probably does the best job of it and I've still seen people argue that it doesn't avoid it entirely (still unsure where I land on that). Zdarsky's Daredevil (man I need to catch up on that) tries to avoid it in a way that doesn't really cohere; largely because it tries to be anti-prison while still framing characters like Spider-Man as paragons. Though in that at least it kinda works with Matt Murdock's whole pattern of righteous violence followed by intense doubt and guilt followed by newly directed righteous violence. I guess I'll have to keep reading to see how things ultimately land.

[jazzcat247]

Hey king cobra and dough cookie. This question is for both of ya since I kinda wanna hear both sides of two stories:

1. How did you two meet?

2. How did you become a couple? Because ngl you two look cute together!

I really try, Doughy. But with all the political scandals roaming around the grapevine, I just don't understand why such darling cookie's surround themselves with fighting, and brawling, and-!

Meep-!

Ooooh dear....

Pardon my rudeness, Gingy! Doughy & I were just, ahh- Reminiscing! Yes, reminiscing on old times~!

Reminiscing...? You mean you guys.... Used to fight in an arena?

w-Well.... yes! Believe it or not, these two emphatic exotics before you were once rambunctious fighters of our very own Colosseum! But when I met Dough Cookie, I knew I couldn't bear to fight another soul in the ring. So we packed up our things & left, aiming to make a new life for ourselves in a whirlwind romance~!(Right, Doughy?)

MmHmM!

Huh.... Soooo, you guys aren't big fans of the arena's cuz of your love story?

Aww, man. That's too bad.... Purple Yam Cookie said you too could be real cool fighters if you "Stopped acting all lovey-dovey." Heh, but I guess you guys aren't dropping that anytime soon aren't ya?

Hmph, certainly not Gingy! Now run along home now.... Oh, and have a Merry Christmas!

YeAh, MeRrY cHrIstMas...!

Heh, Merry Christmas King Cobra! You too, Dough!

(Warning: Mentions of fighting rings, Objectification, and Ab*se)

Ladies and Gentleman! Cookies of every rarity! Witness the majesty of the Toybox Witch's menagerie of half-breads, freaks, and abominations! Place your bets on our two highest contending fighters as they finally battle to the crumbling end!

On the left, we have the scaled, the smoking, and the sensual King Cobra Cookie! Onlookers are told not to stare too long at this boxum beast, for any who lay eyes upon him or his hideous haired cohorts shall be frozen to stone.... Though, he is said to fight quite well when you gaze upon his bountiful body, though it may give you a fright! You may even garner good luck if you can map out the brand mark on his backside!

On the right, we have the Hideous Dough Cookie! Crafted from our great witch herself, is he truly cookie? Is he truly cake? We may never know! He may not be as entrancing to look at compared to our viper king, but be warned: his lucid state is the only way to keep him from ripping apart any who get too close! Behind that slothful, oafish facade, he is a cold-blooded crumbler!

Place your bets ladies and gentleman! Do you think our Succulent King of the Snake Charmers will win or perhaps will the Crazed Amalgamation of Dough have his next meal? Whoever wins will have another jewel embedded into their collection, all rewarded after conquering previous, now crumbled adversaries!

[averydavery]

‼️📣 FX'S SHOGUN RENEWED FOR SEASONS 2 & 3 ‼️📣

You know what that means... time for some fan theories!

This should go without saying but SPOILERS BELOW! If you aren't caught up don't read!

For those who don't know, FX's Shōgun follows James Clavell's original novel pretty closely with some deviations, but it starts at the beginning of the novel and ends at the end of it. This leaves some major wiggle room for the continuation of the series and the writers certainly have their work cut out for them if they plan on going on for two more seasons. However, as definite the ending is, there are some loose ends to deal with and at least two directions they can head with it.

Future Plot Theories

The two ways I believe the story will go- IF THEY DECIDE TO NOT ADAPT CLAVELL'S OTHER NOVELS WHICH I HAVEN'T READ AND CONTINUE THIS PLOT- and they're pretty easy to see: either a prequel season or a season that continues the story. Let's start with the former.

At the end of S1 Mariko, one of the protagonists of the story, dies a martyr to enact Torinaga's plan to win over Ochiba's support for the incoming war. Mariko is played by popular drama actress Anna Sawai, which leads me to believe that the writers would want her character to return- if only for the sake of keeping one of their stars. While only Hiroyuki Sanada (Toranaga's actor) has reportedly signed on for the future seasons, if this is the case and Sawai signs on we can expect a prequel season episodes that explore the characters' pasts prior to the events of the first season. For Mariko, that'd likely be a look into her family and their history. As for Toranaga, a look at his rise to power should be expected and maybe a story about the his divide between him and his brother. On a grander scale, this perhaps could mean looking at life before the power vacuum that was left after the death of the previous leader and at how the Portuguese made their way into Japanese society.

Why I think this isn't all that likely: I'm starting with this theory because I think it's the least likely of the two. The main reason being how S1 ended. The first season ends with the Battle of Sekigahara, probably the most infamous battles in Medieval Japanese history. With such a bang, it has really left the viewer wanting and wishing for more, since war = action. This glimpse at the fate of the war is brief and spoils that Toranaga's faction will win overwhelmingly with the support of Ochiba and the heir's army, regardless it also leaves the audience wondering what life in Japan will be like following the decisive battle. Therefore, if we get any "prequel content" it'll likely be in the form of flashbacks or a flashback episode. Although, backstories and a prequel season could be in store for S3, just not S2.

Alright, now with that outta the way- my real theory for season 2.

As I said before, it's clear that we'll be looking at the Battle of Sekigahara and its consequences. However with major characters like Mariko, Yabushige, and John either dead or sidelined... it's to be believed that this season will be Toranaga-centric. This likely will be a season answering "what now?" since we already know Toranaga wins and seizes power. Toranaga's most loyal advisor committed seppuku, so it could tackle the issue of where he can find who to trust and how he'll deal with the former regents and the church. More political intrigue blah blah blah... but if I had to guess (and this is me hoping here): the biggest addition to the plot would be adding in Miyamoto Musashi as a major character. (I will talk about this at length under the "new characters" heading).

Returning Characters (Besides Toranaga since I yapped enough about him)

John Blackthorne

Probably one of the bigger characters who has an unknown future of him is the anjin himself! All we know of John is his remorse for Mariko after her passing and that eventually he ends up back in England as an old man. He's promised his ship to sail again and either complete his mission or return home. Based on his change as a character, I believe he does not complete his mission. But it is possible that he stays for just a bit longer to see what the future will hold under Toranaga's rule. However, since a literal war breaks out I doubt he'll stay for that. Perhaps he leaves and returns? I really believe that John will be fizzled out since his character arc has concluded.

Father Martin & The Rest of The Portuguese

Similar to John, now that Mariko is gone I doubt Father Martin will reappear and if he does it won't be for long- likely to confide in John as they both lost someone they cared for but that moment kind of already happened. However, the more important thing that may happen if they take a more historical stance with this, will be the closure of Japan's ports for another 200 years, effectively cutting off trade and influence from the Portuguese. However, Toranaga is established as a more "open-minded" ruler so I doubt that he will take this stance as well? It remains to be seen.

Kiko, Gin, & The Courtesans

A simple theory but one that may prove important is that Gin's tea house will become a massive source of income and power in Edo and I think she'll end up being a close ally to Toranaga as his influence spreads. I can see her and the courtesans establishing a sort of information and spy trade within the city.

The Regents

This is probably the area where I am most clueless as to what they plan to do with this. I'm thinking Toranaga might just "buy them out" or give them their regions as long as they pledge loyalty to his up and coming empire. There likely will be some in-fighting, but seeing as they ended up siding with Toranaga at the end of S1, I think there just kinda pushovers...

BUTTTTTTTTTTTTTT I do think a whole faction will spring up either stragglers from Ishido's army or something else, there has got to be some kind of threat to Toranaga's reign... I just have no idea what that could be 😭

New Characters

Miyamoto Musashi

Probably the most infamous ronin of all time and a character/historical figure I am way too educated about, Musashi makes his name at the Battle of Sekigahara and is an incredibly popular archetype from Japanese history that's used a ton in fiction- hell, Hiroyuki Sanada has PLAYED Miyamoto Musashi in HBO's Westworld! So adding him would even be a bit of a nod to Sanada's past roles.

Regardless, since a lot of the major character's plot lines have seemed to tie up nicely by the end of S1, introducing a new major character with a lot of "lore" is likely what the writers are looking for. For those unfamiliar, Musashi is regarded as one of, if not the, greatest samurai in history. Known for his unique two-handed swordfighting style and how he was undefeated in ~61 duels, Musashi actually fought for the losing clan in the Battle of Sekigahara as a samurai-for-hire which rendered him a ronin looking to better himself solely in the way of the sword. Musashi also was a talented artist and writer, authoring the "Book of Five Rings" which was his knowledge on the ways of war and the blade.

The character of Musashi was a legend for centuries, however his first instance of being a folklore character was in Eiji Yoshikawa's aptly titled book series Musashi (1939) which cemented him into the popular zeitgeist and still is one of the most popular book series to date. There have been hundreds of adaptations of the series and stories with Musashi in it from shows to video games, with the most praised version (and my favorite manga ever...) being Takehiko Inoue's manga Vagabond.

However, its for this reason that I believe if Musashi does get introduced his story will be greatly changed from the fictional myth to something that will fit into the context of Toranaga's and the greater plot of Shōgun at large. This could mean making him closer to the historical figure, more of a disgruntled sage than a hot head. If this is the case then I think he will be the new advisor to Toranaga that I mentioned potentially being of importance to the plot earlier. Historically, after his rise to fame, Musashi has advised Tokugawa Ieyasu, the actual shōgun who won the Battle of Sekigahara and who Toranaga is modeled after. So it would make some sense to put him in this role. Also when I go over Kojiro, there's another bit with that kinda fits the tone of Shōgun.

Sasaki Kojiro

Given that Musashi is introduced as a new character, they would have to include Kojiro, his "rival".

In terms of historical fact, Kojiro was kinda of the shit while Musashi was still a rising star and Musashi's victory in a duel against him was what cemented his place in history as a legend. Yet, the way he killed Kojiro was incredibly undignified for someone of his status and just the kind of insane death we've already seen in S1 of Shōgun. A la the shocking death of Toranaga's son Nagakado, (WARNING: GRAPHIC) Musashi rows up to Gānryu island late to their duel and after sharpening his oar into a staff, he slams it atop the skull of Kojiro and affectively bludgeons him to death. That is the end of the great samurai Sasaki Kojiro.

EDIT: I didn’t look over this at all for typos and my autocorrect changed “Sasaki” to Salami 💀

If a more historically accurate Musashi does get included in the next season the writers would be remiss in not including this conclusion to their duel. As violent as it may be.

But that's just a theory... a film theory 💀

[dia-the-fangirl]

Disney doesn't lie. It's okay to adapt fairy tales. That's what they do. and they certainly have the characters far more agency and personality than the Grimms or Perrault did, which I think is nice

yes, but you have to admit that several Disney fairy tale movies are about as accurate to the original versions as the Percy Jackson movies are accurate to the books. I know that they aren't copyrighted anymore, but the original tales teach better lessons than the Disney movies. That's all I was getting at. extremely long book quote under the cut for more thoughts

"Once upon a time. These are the most magical words our world has ever known and the gateway into the greatest stories ever told. They're an immediate calling to anyone who hears them - a. calling into a world where everyone is welcome and anything can happen. Mice can become men, maids can become princesses, and they can teach valuable lessons in the process.

"Fairy tales are much more than silly bedtime stories. The solution to almost every problem imaginable can be found in the outcome of a fairy tale. Fairy tales are life lessons disguised with colorful characters and situations.

"'The Boy Who Cried Wolf' teaches us the value of a good reputation and the power of honesty. 'Cinderella' shows us the rewards of having a good heart. 'The Ugly Duckling' teaches us the meaning of inner beauty.

"Sadly, these timeless tales are no longer relevant in our society. We have traded their brilliant teachings for small-minded entertainment like television and video games. Parents now let obnoxious cartoons and violent movies influence their children.

"The only exposure to the tales some children acquire are versions bastardized by film companies. Fairy tale 'adaptations' are usually stripped of every moral and lesson the stories were originally intended to teach, and replaced with singing and dancing forest animals. I recently read that films are being created depicting Cinderella as a struggling hip-hop singer and Sleeping Beauty as a warrior princess battling zombies!

"I wonder if the world would be a different place if everyone knew these tales in the way the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen intended them to be known. I wonder if people would learn from the Little Mermaid's heartbreak when she dies at the end of her real story. I wonder if there would be so many kidnappings if children were shown the true dangers Little Red Riding Hood faced. I wonder if delinquents would be so inclined to misbehave if they knew about the consequences Goldilocks caused for herself with the Three Bears.

"There is so much to learn and prevent for our futures if we just open our eyes to past teachings. Perhaps if we embraced fairy tales as much as we could, it would. be much easier to find our own happily-ever-afters."

-Mrs. Peters, The Land of Stories: The Wishing Spell by Chris Colfer

[yutaholic]

Thank you for even making that post because I honestly feel like I’m going to explode!! Championing every issue is EXHAUSTING. I have such empathy fatigue. Bombardment of “rules”, behavioral guidelines, services, companies, networks + food brands & PEOPLE to boycott ALL THE TIME. Fandom is space many of us come to unplug from reality…it’s certainly my hyperfixation & ppl be like “well then get another one because you shouldn’t support–” IT DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT. Fuck. I can’t take it anymore. Calls to action being in EVERY single place have weakened my mental state even more than it was before which was already on “pending disability” level of severe & now I’m just. burned t-absolute-f out….at everything!! I can literally FEEL myself unraveling. Kpop stans & their toxic activism can go to hell. They’re so worried about making sure to condemn others for “not doing enough” or being bad people, that they don’t even realize their actions are making them into bad people. This shit takes a toll on mental health, there is science behind this, it is real and what happens to human beings when inundated with constant terrible news, and it’s not just being ~too privileged to care~ but these performative mfs have no concept of blacklisting anymore and just want to assume the absolute worst about someone, call them names & wish harm on folks who are at the end of their ropes! It’s maddening! So even if compassion fatigue isn’t why you didn’t go out of your way to Denounce and Drag™️ him (bc you totally have the right to simply not want to do that on a fanfic blog!) I’m just glad someone else stated that this is supposed to be an ESCAPE. fuck.

Baby, burnout will fuck you up. Don't do that to yourself. Take the time you need and recoup. Life is a constant war and you can afford to lose a battle here and there to focus on your own health and well-being. Getting yourself back into a good place mentally will be a huge win. We both know the ppl obsessed with performative activism aren't doing anything from a place of compassion. The real ones are out there making change, not sending people death threats online from the comfort and safety of their mommy's basement.

When I posted the pic of NCT Dream and Big Time Rush, I wrote in the tags how BTR was something my sister and I loved and bonded over. We watched the show even though it was obviously a kids show and we were both adults. It was just something that gave us joy. My sister passed away years ago and anything BTR-related will make me teary because I think about how much we laughed together over it.

So the first thing I get are messages over how problematic BTR is, that I should delete the post or I'm pro-genocide if I don't dislike them. Ngl that made me so upset because I got a bunch of faceless people trying to taint some precious memories of me and my sister. If they came at me trying to educate me on things I didn't know that would be different, but it's straight to judgment and hatred toward me over something I posted that was totally innocent.

Meanwhile I get criticized for posting about a kpop group instead of reblogging every call to action post. I donate my money to these causes, but I don't post about it because I don't need my ass kissed for doing what I know to be right. I am 1000% sure the anons in my inbox that try to police me have never given a dime to anything, but are policing people's blogs for not reblogging posts or talking about it more.

I feel bad that I haven't been very active on here this year so I try to come on when I have some free time to interact with you guys. I make a silly post about Doyoung and get anons tearing into me for it like I'm his social media manager. Okay so because the world is going to shit we aren't allowed to enjoy anything?? Can't make jokes about anything. Can't show support for anything. Just wrong on every fucking count.

Believe me I am so goddamn aware of how lucky I am that I can sit here and say I'm very privileged that I live comfortably in the life I have. I know what's going on in the world and I do my part to help where I can, but I also have to keep functioning. I don't want every minute of my life to be seeped in anger, I did that for a long time and it not only eats away at you, it makes you ineffective in actually changing the things making you angry in the first place.

This was just supposed to be a blog where I posted my stories. One of the few places I could go and not constantly be reminded of how fucked up the world is. I've always said that people who told me reading a fic of mine made their day a little better or helped them escape for a bit were always my favorite. That was what I came here for and I loved being able to share the tiniest moments of peace and quiet with others through stories with guaranteed happy endings.

I'm frustrated because I have 4 drafts ready to go next year. I got the story posts done and made all the headers. But I don't want to post them. I have no problem admitting I'm selfish and spiteful. Even though I can turn off anon, I can't block these miserable people and I don't want them reading my stuff. They don't get to consume my content and then tell me to off myself right after.

A massive fuck you to those of you that ruined this blog for me.

[team5ds]

nothin if not consistent

Summary: "If we for real get haunted on our anniversary, I'm breaking up with you. I'm serious this time."

"You're the one who keeps hanging out with people who believe in ghosts."

Rating: G

Ships: Mai Kujaku/Aileen Rao

Author’s note: written for the prompt of "paranormal investigation" for @sapphic-september

read on ao3 / support me on kofi (battle city & up supporters get early access) / join my discord (18+)

Mai did not believe in ghosts, but Aileen did. And well, she didn't just believe in ghosts: she liked to go ghost hunting. She wasn't sure what Aileen expected to find in the run down houses that she dragged her to, but so far they'd turned up empty at every corner. Was there really any point in continuing to go to these places? Well, somehow she got dragged into planning  a trip to a haunted mansion for their anniversary. "If we for real get haunted on our anniversary, I'm breaking up with you," Mai deadpanned as Aileen went over their bags. "I'm serious this time. Bad enough Yugi keeps telling us about how he was possessed for a while."

"You're the one who keeps hanging out with people who believe in ghosts," Aileen retorted with a teasing grin. A sparkle in her eyes - she wasn't taking any of this seriously. "Besides, if we get for real haunted, you owe me."

"What?"

"Remember? You said that if I could prove ghosts were real, you'd owe me," she said, zipping up their suitcases for travel. "And I believe that you said you always pay your debts."

She sighed, blowing her bangs out of her face. "Okay, yeah, I do recall saying something to that effect," she grumbled, remembering how Aileen asked what she'd win if she could prove ghosts were real. Not that she expected this trip to contain any actual haunting. For that to happen, ghosts would have to be real and they weren't. Except for the times they were in those old houses and it felt like something had her hairs standing on the back of her neck... almost like the time she'd passed out after losing at Battle City... and like the big blank missing memory she had from three days that felt like she emerged totally altered. "But since ghosts aren't real, I'm never going to have to pay up."

"If ghosts aren't real, then you have nothing to fear about this new house I want to explore," she teased, hopping into bed with her. "They say it's haunted by this person who had been killed."

A vengeful ghost. Not exactly Mai's idea of a fun time, but well... Aileen was right. Ghosts weren't real and they certainly weren't going to interrupt their nice day. "Fine," Mai said with a roll of her eyes. "But I'm telling you now: I'm not going to owe you anything but a good time. Let's go."