#working on the outline for the third chapter as we speak

[setevulpo]

wip thursday!

tagged by @thiamsxbitch and @ksbbb! <3

"Afternoon," Josh said behind her, "I heard you got a room to rent?" His voice faded into a question at the end, but she was too preoccupied with the vast array of knives in front of her to turn around. She'd never been a huge fan of violence – of fighting at all, proven by Hayden's many failed attempts to teach her. But there was, admittedly, an appeal to the gleaming blades of the knives laid out on the table. Something delicate in the sharpness of the metal. Hayden's voice broke her out of her reverie, "Tracy? This guy's got a big knife." That's what made her look over her shoulder and – God, Hayden was not joking – fully return to her position next to the two of them. "It does not seem to be made of iron. Please recompose yourself." Hayden snickered lowly at Josh's effort to trick the owner – "Twenty two," he said, as if the man were a fool. She could feel a smile crawl into her face when he turned back to them, notably paler than before. It was satisfying, in a way, to see him fear something after the time he spent fighting her every decision. "Go on, then. Follow him."

no pressure tags: @aristarr, @wolfboy88, @theoceanismyinkwell, @honestlydarkprincess, @mmoosen

[discokicks]

EYE TO EYE (FOR AN EYE) - ROY KENT.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

PART FIVE OF ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: well, you've been parent trapped. forced to talk about things you swore you'd never speak of again, you and roy sit down for a chat to appease your fellow coaching staff. meanwhile, in 2012, the english men's team have lost, and you and roy have a chat that leaves you on an... unforeseen note.

word count & rating: 10.2k, R (we're heating up but we ain't there yet)

chapter warnings: swearing, allusions to sa and harassment, some sexual innuedoes, majorly charged eye contact and tension-filled pauses (these fucks are damaged and yearning), WHOLE LOT of dialogue i apologize there's a lot to talk about

author's note: well hello. for those of you familiar with the show victorious, i've been affectionately calling this chapter the 'take a hint' chapter since i outlined this series. there's also a fuck ton of dialogue in this one and can read like a shitty script sometimes, so apologies on that front. sorry this one took a minute, got stuck with it then got busy. hope you enjoy, love you tons! -mags

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

There are approximately four straight minutes of uninterrupted silence between you and Roy before either of you say a word.

The first minute, you believe, is just the two of you actually processing that this is happening. You’d heard the jokes about Richmond being a family, about work-life lines being crossed, about true professionalism being thrown out the window at the sake of having better, stronger connections with your team. However, you never imagined that something like this was on the horizon.

The next minute is spent unpacking the reality of it all. You were here with someone you’d previously sworn to never speak to again, expected to talk about something you swore you’d never speak about again. And it was to be done against your will, at a random pub in Richmond, with your two coaches watching you through binoculars through a window like it was a Three Stooges movie.

The next, you realize exactly what it is you two are expected to talk about. Your Stooge coaches want you to have the conversation-- the conversation you swore to yourself you’d never, ever have with Roy. They want you to just talk about it, like it’s simple. As if it’s some silly little dispute you had eight years ago, not one that could take days to fully get through (and frankly, should probably have some sort of third party involved. You’re not suggesting a version of couples therapy but you’re not not suggesting it). Nothing about this is simple. Nothing about this can be solved in just one conversation. But, you figure, if Roy’s suddenly game to start to get into it, you suppose you should be too.

That leads you to the final minute, which is spent attempting to find the right way to start this conversation, because, truly, how the fuck do you even start a conversation like this? While you and Roy were never inclined to beat around the bush, this is different. It's so, unbelievably different and you don't know how you're supposed to do this. Especially not now.

Throughout this time, you’ve glanced over at Roy periodically, who you think may physically hurt himself with how hard he’s trying to avoid eye contact with you. He’s focused on the TV at the bar broadcasting the highlights from the Richmond-Chelsea game. He’s staring at the bar top. He’s looking up at the ceiling. Anywhere but you and at anyone but you.

After those four minutes, you feel the tension in the air shift. It may just be your frustration at both him and this situation, it might be his own, but you suddenly can’t take it anymore. And to your surprise (and Roy’s, for that matter), you manage to get out the first word. 

“So,” you say lamely, trying your best not to cringe as it lands. “Uh…”

Roy glances over at you, expecting something else to follow. When nothing does, and he sees your mouth open and close, he huffs a laugh. “I bet you’re happy you signed with Richmond now, huh?”

You place your elbows on the bartop, face falling into your hands. “This is actually insane,” you say, words muffled by your palms. “I hated West Ham, but at least Shelley wasn’t Parent Trap-ing his assistant coaches.” You raise your head to look at Mae as she places two pints in front of you and Roy. “Thank you.”

Mae nods at the both of you, eyes narrowing at Roy as she notices his silence. “The offer for double the pay is still on the table,” he tells her.

“Richmond can’t win this year if their coaching staff is fighting like cats and dogs,” Mae replies. “Your money is as useless as your arguing here.”

The bluntness of her statement has you chuckling despite yourself. As Mae walks away from a now scowling Roy, you take a sip of your drink. Then another. Then another.

When you feel Roy’s gaze on you, you turn to look at him. “What? If we’re gonna talk about this, I can’t be sober.”

“We’re not talking about it,” is his immediate response, and he makes sure to keep his voice low, eyes shifting to where Mae is at the other end of the bar. 

Relief rushes through you at the idea that he seems to be on the same avoidance wave. You want to have this conversation even less than he probably does. However…

“They’re watching us,” you say, throwing your thumb in the direction of the window. “If we’re just sitting here in silence, they’re never gonna let this go.” You glance over your shoulder at your fellow coaches watching you. “And something about Beard gives me the vibe that he’s like, really good at reading lips.”

A familiar growl of annoyance escapes him. “Then we’re going to keep our backs turned and pretend that we’re talking to get those fucking muppets off our backs and get on with our fucking lives.”

Your lips purse. "What are the odds I get you to chug this with me?”

Roy huffs into his glass. “About the same as the odds of it coming right back up because of my new fucking acid reflux.”

Your nose scrunches up in a weary sort of agreement. “Ugh. Fair. Where’d that shit come from anyway? It sucks.”

“We’re fucking old, Fourteen,” he mutters. “That’s where it came from. We’re far from what we used to be.”

“Yeah, but you were ancient when I met you,” you reply, earning a deep scowl in return. “I used to be so young and full of life.”

“If by ‘full of life’ you mean doing boat races in a shitty pub in London with a bunch of degenerate athletes—”

“Oh, my God. Grandad. The kids got off your lawn in 2012, stop bitching,” you say as you bite back a laugh. When Roy rolls his eyes, you point at him. “And by the way, I vaguely remember you joining us in one of those boat races, so I don’t want to hear it from you.”

Roy scoffs. “I did it to shut Rivera up,” he replies, shaking his head. “Terrible fucking influence.”

A fond smile grows on your lips at the mention of your friend, remembering the state she’d been in that night. It was the night you’d won the Gold at the Olympics, and Mel had taken it upon herself to peer pressure your entire team not just to go out, but to start at a pub and start the celebration with that godforsaken game. To this day, you’re still not sure if she remembered leaving the pub.

“She’s the worst,” you agree, though your tone says differently.

A beat passes between you, a question hanging in the air as if Roy’s unsure if he should ask it. If he’s allowed or entitled to know the answer. He asks it anyway. “Where did she end up?”

You answer after you swallow the sip of beer you’d taken. “She and Paige are somewhere in Surrey. And I’m still trying to figure out the geography of this place, but I know that it’s kind of close to here, which is nice. They’re supposed to come for our first home game with their son.”

“Fucking crazy that they’ve got a kid,” Roy says. “I remember when she was making a fucking fool of herself in front of that girl.”

“You’re telling me,” you grin. “Luckily it worked. It helped that Paige was in love with her the entire time.”

That comment is met with silence as Roy seems to only be able to offer a nod in response. The following quiet is less awkward, but everything still hangs in the air. It weighs down the space that stands between you two and makes your chest ache. You don’t know how to continue. You don’t know what to say.

You feared this exact situation with him. Just the two of you, sitting in a room with each other, running out of talking points. No team to comment on, no coaches to add input, nothing left to expand on. Only the memories of your past and a million unspoken paths to go down— ones you had no interest in uncovering.

The TV in front of you transitions to Zava’s press conference, and suddenly, thankfully, you’ve got another thing to talk about. “You’ve never said your opinion on Zava.”

Roy’s brow pinches. “What’s there to say? He’s fucking good. He’ll help us be better. I didn’t think he’d go for us but I’m happy he did.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” you say with the roll of your eyes. “I’m asking for your opinion. Not Coach Kent’s PR response.”

He takes a brief pause, then scowls and looks down at the bar top. “I think he’s a self-involved, strange little prick. I think the shit he does and wears fucking odd, and I think the hero-worship our team’s got for him is going to be a problem.” Roy shrugs. “But he’ll help us win games.”

You find yourself nodding along. “Do you think we actually need him?”

Roy’s gaze slides to yours in interest. “I take it you don’t?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you turn your body slightly to face him. “I think he’ll help us win,” you agree, putting your chin in your hand as you look up at Zava (who’s holding a Richmond jersey with a smile) on TV. “But I’m afraid he’ll mess up the team dynamic.”

“How so?” he asks.

“Well, I’m assuming all future plays are going to be made around him,” you say. “Pass to Zava, get it to Zava, put Zava in a position to score. You guys have never done that before. You’ve never just focused on making everything work around one person.”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “We’ve done it with Tartt.”

“You’ve made plays for Jamie. But you’ve never relied on Jamie to be your focal point in every play of every game,” you explain. The intrigue on Roy’s face is something you haven’t seen in a minute. You continue, “Jamie’s your best player. Every team needs to have their best player. But that’s why, I think, Richmond works. Because you’re a team. You’ve got Sam, you’ve got Isaac, you’ve got Dani— everyone’s good at what they do and they know how to fill their role to work together.” You shrug and reach for your pint. “That’s how you’ve won in the past. I just think it’s dangerous to have the team play around someone else instead of playing as a team. I don’t think it’s sustainable.”

These points of yours are met with a quiet that tells you he’s considering your words. Not so much evaluating as he’s just… taking them in. It feels good to be heard. Not to be dismissed or waved off, told that your input would be considered as it had been for the last three months. 

You’re not sure if Roy’s going to respond to any of your points until he says, “Stop saying ‘you have.’”

You blink at him, not expecting that at all. “What?”

“You keep saying ‘you’ve.’ ‘You guys.’ ‘You’re.’ You’re distancing yourself from the team.” He shakes his head. “You’re a part of this now too. Richmond’s yours as much as it’s mine.”

“Oh,” you say. A strange mix of embarrassment and pride wash over you. “I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

Roy sighs. “You should have said something if that’s how you felt.”

“And what? Ruin the fun of the Zava train? Potentially be the reason we don’t pick up one of the best players in the league?” You scoff. “Pass. I don’t have the seniority to make a move like that.”

“You still should have said something,” Roy presses. “Ted would have listened. We would have listened.”  

“It doesn’t matter. It’s done now.” You wave him off, shrugging. “He’s with us and I’m sure he’s going to be great and help us win. I’m just being weird about it.” Roy looks as though he has about a million things to say to that, but he chooses to bite his tongue instead. At his silence, you add, “Be nice to Jamie if he asks for extra training.”

The scoff that leaves his lips is loud. “I’m as nice to Tartt as he deserves.”

“I’m serious,” you say through a chuckle. “Don’t shut him down if he asks. He needs someone in his corner.”

“And it can’t be you?” he asks.

It’s an innocent enough question, asked with a bit of levity and a teasing glance. But it makes your stomach churn. The memories of West Ham, the sessions you did, Tom’s new comments, everything— and it all hurts. You’re not sure if it’ll ever stop hurting.

Any trace of humor drained from your face and in an instant, Roy knows he said something wrong. Stupid, he thinks. Fucking stupid. You’d gone quiet when he last asked you about this. He should have known better. Watched his words more carefully.

“No,” you reply softly. You take a long sip. “I’d prefer that it wouldn’t be me.”

Well, now Roy feels like an asshole. Once again, he wants to ask. He wants to understand exactly what happened, understand who or what has affected you like this. He has his assumptions (ones that go into dark places he never even wants to consider for you— seriously, he’d fucking kill someone and wouldn’t blink), but if you can’t or won’t talk about it, he’s not entitled to know. He’s not entitled to know anything. Your relationship’s never worked like that, even when you were on good terms. There was no pressure, it all always seemed to come out when you were comfortable. It had never been like that before. That’s originally what drew him to you. That’s why he stuck around.

Roy knows if you do decide to talk about it, it’ll be on your terms. And while he doesn’t like it, he respects it. He respects you.

It’s why he chooses to move on to some other topic instead of pressing you. “Whatever they say about your press conference,” he begins, shaking his head, “fucking ignore it.”

It’s a clunky transition and it catches you slightly off-guard. The leap has you suspicious that Roy might know more than he lets on about your situation, but you don’t dare say anything about it. “They?” you ask.

“The media,” he expands. “The football fans. The pricks online. They.” He shakes his head again. “They don’t fucking matter. If they knew any better than you did, they’d be where you are.”

They’re kind words filled with a rough reassurance that he’s mastered. To hopefully get rid of (or procrastinate) the heavy feeling in your chest, you wave him off. “I’m used to it,” you say. Roy frowns at you and you shrug, “I commentated a little bit for ESPN after I got hurt. I did one Men’s game and made a joke about how much you guys overreact when you get fouled to get a call. Twitter ate me alive. I still get threats about it.”

Roy inhales ruefully, humor written across his expression. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing I haven’t said to you a hundred times,” you reply casually, hearing him huff once more. “I think it was something about how you guys have to be getting paid extra by the Club if you promise to make a scene when you’re hit.”

“You weren’t far off," he chuckles.

“And I still stand by it,” you tell him, leaning in as his lips pull into a small grin. “Though I’m not sure I should be talking to you about playing up a penalty.”

Roy’s brows rocket up. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that i’m sitting next to the only person in AFC history to ever get two red cards in a game,” you reply, and the instantaneous scowl that forms on his face makes you chuckle. “I don’t think there’s been a question about if you’ve ever actually hit someone.”

“Those calls were bullshit,” he mutters.

“Roy, you tackled Man City’s best midfielder and took out both of his legs. And then you kicked a different guy in the chest.”

“He ran into my foot.”

“There is literal video footage of you looking him in the eye and saying, ‘that wasn’t an accident, I kicked you in the fucking chest.’”

He stares at you for a moment, then shrugs. “At least I broke a record.” 

You nod at him. “And we’re all incredibly proud of you.”

That smile of his returns and you can tell he has to refrain from rolling his eyes. “You weren’t so fucking innocent out there either.”

A faux affronted sound leaves you. “I was an angel.”

“Right,” he draws out. “You never got into it with anyone, Mean Fourteen.”

Your nose crinkles. “I liked it better when you hated that name as much as I did.”

“It’s grown on me. Mainly because it’s right.” When your frown gets deeper, he continues. “Even before the Cup at those Olympics. You were fucking tough out there. They could never get you to stay down.”

You rub your finger against the rim of your glass as you glance at the the highlights of the recent Arsenal game on screen. “Damn right. Got tackled into oblivion by Caroline Singer at the 2012 Semi-Finals. Launched me ten yards and dislocated my shoulder. Got up the second after and had my shoulder set in time for overtime.”

Roy chuckles lowly. “I remember that game. You hit a full fucking Locust in the air when she sent you flying,” he says. “You deserved that one. You were a fucking menace to her all game.”

You gape at him. “I deserved that?”

“You did. If I’m Singer and I’m being marked by someone like you during that game? I’m breaking your fucking jaw.”

While you scowl at the idea that you ‘deserved’ that, you find yourself having caught something much more interesting. “Also, rewind. Full Locust?” you ask with a leading sort of intrigue. “Like… the yoga pose?”

Roy’s hiding in his pint again, trying his best at indifference. “Is that what that is?”

But you know him better. A wide, disbelieving grin pulls at your lips. “Roy Kent, do you do yoga?”

“No,” he immediately replies, but you’re already laughing.

“Oh, my God. You so do yoga.”

The scowl on his face is deep. “Fuck off,” he says. “What the fuck is wrong with yoga?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” you respond, laughter dying down despite the smile that remains on your face. “I love yoga. I just never imagined you’d agree.”

“Well, I fucking do.” There’s a beat, and for a moment, you think he’s going to end it there. But then, “I do it once a week with some local mums in their sixties.”

Your mouth begins to part as you stare at him, grin widening. Your laughter starts back up in an instant. “This is the best day of my life.”

(Roy can’t exactly understand what compelled him to admit that, or why he’s indulging in this conversation with you, but there’s a small, suppressed piece of his brain that knows he did it to hear you laugh some more.)

“I have—” you pause to breathe. “—so many questions.”

Roy’s hand shoots up as Mae passes by to ask for another round. “No, you don’t.”

“How did this… come to be?”

He’s scowling, but chooses to answer with, “I was newly retired and borderline suicidal. I found their flier and called Maureen instead of the hotline.”

Your elbow’s now perched on the bartop, chin resting in your hand to stare at him in awe. “Is this, like, at a gym? Is it at one of their houses?” You gasp. “Do you host yoga?”

Roy looks as though he’s regretted every decision that’s led him to this moment. “We alternate weekly,” he mutters. 

“Shut up. Tell me you guys hang out after. Like you grab drinks or do a book club or something.”

His hand goes up once more in Mae’s direction. “Yeah, gonna make that two, Mae.”

“Shut up,” you repeat. You don’t think you could be smiling any harder. “Do you drink rosé and read Colleen Hoover?”

“No,” he says, pointing at you like you should know better. When your brows go up, he shrugs. “We drink rosé and watch Lust Conquers All like respectable fucking adults.”

You do the math in your head and gasp again. “Does that mean you watched Jamie’s season?”

Roy’s lips twitch upward. “Yeah. Watched him be a proper fucking twat,” he says, then glances over at you in curiosity. “Didn’t realize you got that over in the States.”

“Jamie’s season was when it started getting popular there,” you reply with a shrug. “All my friends were in love with him.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “Not you?”

A snort escapes you, and you shake your head. “Uh, no. ‘The island’s top scorer, sexually’ wasn’t exactly my speed.” Roy’s smile grows at your poor impression of Jamie. “But they were into it. They freaked out when they realized I’d be working with him.”

“Not your speed,” Roy repeats, taking a long sip of his pint. His interest appears to be piqued. “And what speed is that?”

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you try to play it off with a roll of your eyes. “You know what my type is.”

That smile of his stretches into something more resemblant of a smirk. “It’s been eight fucking years,” he replies, feigning innocence. “Types change.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, fully ready to play along and be just as much of an annoying jerk as he’s being to you.“Right now, I’m regressing to my French swimmer phase. Going pretty well, actually.”

“Oh, is that right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer, biting back a grin. “Actually been talking with Luca for the last couple of weeks. It’s like we never left London.”

It’s Roy’s turn to roll his eyes, but it’s only half directed at you. “He was a fucking prick,” he says. 

“He was not a prick,” you reply. “You just didn’t like him.” Your eyes narrow, turning to face him with that same sort of feigned innocence he had. “Remind me why you didn’t like him again.”

“Because he was a fucking prick,” he repeats. “Fucking twat wouldn’t even watch your games. Couldn’t handle you winning something when he wasn’t.”

The scoff that escapes you is loud. “I forgot about that,” you mutter. “He was a prick, wasn’t he?”

“Fuck yeah, he was.”

You shake your head, raising your glass to take a small sip. “Whatever. Wasn’t like I ended up spending much time with him anyway.”

Roy’s lips quirk up into that same smirk, but there’s more behind it. “No, you didn’t.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks at that, and you continue to hide in your glass. Asshole.

Luckily, Roy seems to have more to say on the topic of Luca. “He was never your speed,” he tells you. It’s a matter-of-fact musing. “He wasn’t in your fucking race.”

You spare a glance in his direction. “No?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” he says as if he can’t believe you even had to ask. “You were riding light years ahead of him. He couldn’t keep up.” With a soft scoff, he adds, “Not many people can.”

That warm feeling returns and it spreads down your neck. You suddenly feel yourself getting shy. “Maybe I should slow down,” you attempt to joke.

Roy’s shaking his head before you can even finish your sentence. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

You don’t mean to do it. It’s completely unconscious, almost like an instinct. But you ignore the way that that makes your entire body go ablaze and look at him. You hold his gaze for a long while, longer than you have since you started at Richmond. And he stares right back at you. 

It’s hauntingly familiar and paradoxically comfortable. You don’t know if he meant to say that or if it just slipped out in the moment, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you. Even if he didn’t mean to let something like that out with that sort of sentiment, he’s owning it. It warms your heart and makes your stomach flip upside down.

It’s so fucking confusing. But then again, this entire thing has been confusing. You had been sitting here for just about a half an hour, and half of those minutes were spent going back and forth in the way that you used to. You didn’t think it’d be so easy to fall back into that with him. To talk to him like that again. To banter with him. Even to fucking laugh with him.

That realization makes you feel as though you’ve been dunked in a pool of cold water and allows a weird, foreign feeling to settle in your chest. You’re angry at yourself and at him for slipping back into it so effortlessly. You hate how easy it is and always has been with him. But you also miss it. You’ve missed this. You missed him.

It’s an absolutely horrendous, life-altering realization and it slants your world sideways. You despise yourself for it. It’s something you force deep down into yourself, hoping it dies a quick and painless death, but you know that it won’t be the case. Not if he’s still around. And not if you two continue like this.

Luckily, for both of you, the television at the pub chirps out a loud noise as a penalty is called for the game on-screen. You two snap out of it, promptly tuning in to distract yourselves from whatever the fuck that was. Old habits were easy to fall into. They were dangerous. You couldn’t wait to pretend like that never happened.

However, something still lingers. Something sits upon your tongue as you watch the scene unfold on-screen, as the medical and physio team run out to help the injured Arsenal player who’s clutching at his knee. You can’t explain your motive and you don’t completely understand why you feel the need to keep this conversation going, but you want to extend that same kindness to him, with something you’ve been holding back for years. So you do.

“I almost called you,” you tell him. He glances over at you, brows raised in question. “The game you got hurt. I was watching. And I sat on my couch for two hours trying to figure out if I should call you.”

Roy blinks, absorbing this, then turns away. He swallows thickly before bringing his glass to his lips. “Glad you didn’t.”

It stings. Like, really stings. You nod, trying not to show just how much, but your voice still comes out dejected. “Oh,” you say. “Right.”

Roy sighs at your tone. “No, it—” He wipes a hand down his face and the pint in his other lands on the bartop with a thud. “If you’d called that night, it just… It would have… complicated a lot of fucking things for me. And I might have—” There’s a brief moment where he meets your gaze, but he quickly drops it. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Oh,” you repeat, but it’s quieter. Your focus is drawn to your glass. “Right.”

That dreaded silence returns and it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced with him. What did he mean? What would he have done? What would you have complicated for him? The way he speaks gives you a pretty decent idea of how drastic his actions would have been, but you can’t figure out what he means. 

Would he have lashed out at you? Would he have wanted to see you? Would he have even picked up the phone if you had called? What did he mean?

You have millions of questions you’re too scared to ask, and you bite your tongue for fear of actually speaking them aloud. Roy doesn’t seem to like this and really doesn’t seem to like your answer, or lack there of (but truly, what exactly were you supposed to say to something like that?). You’re not sure if he thinks he upset you or made you uncomfortable, but when he speaks again, he’s taken on a bit of a softer tone.

“Just so we’re clear,” he begins. “I’m… happy you’re here.” He says it slowly, as if he’s testing out each word. “I’m happy you joined Richmond despite… well, fucking everything.”

You swallow hard, awkwardly shrugging. “I didn’t have a lot of other options.”

He gives you a look that tells you to stop being a smartass. You know it well.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he repeats, more sure this time. “I’m happy to see you again. But it…” Roy trails off, eyes locked on the bar top. “It’s fucking… strange. It’s strange to be here with you after I swore you off for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “It is.”   

“And I— I’m trying to be better at this,” he continues, still refusing to look at you. “Talk like this with someone. Be fucking open, or whatever. So, this is me being open.”

It takes him a minute to collect his thoughts, and you give it to him. 

He scratches at the inside of his wrist. “All of my past… relationships were…” He trails off like he can’t find the right word.

“Fleeting?” you try, earning a glare in response. “Transactional?”

That look in his eye doesn’t falter. “I’m trying to be open here, for fuck’s sake,” he grits, though the slight whine in his voice makes you chuckle. However, before you can apologize, he sighs. “But, for lack of a better fucking word, yeah. That. Nobody stuck around and there was no… love lost or-- fucking whatever. And if it did end poorly, I didn’t have to worry about seeing them. I could ignore them or get a fucking drink thrown in my face and it’d be… done. It’d be over.” Roy shakes his head and takes a long sip of his beer. “I didn’t have to be around them, I didn’t have to see them, and I certainly didn’t have to fucking work with them.”

There’s a beat between you. It’s brief, but it gives you time to absorb this, and for him to take a breath. He shuts his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, he’s looking at you. It’s a gaze that’s warmer than before, but there’s still that distress there. The confusion. Sadness.

He continues, “I really thought I was never going to see you again. And I had, I don’t know, fucking resigned myself to that idea? I’d come to terms with it. So, being here?” That’s when he decides to meet your eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck to do. I don’t know how to act around you. Not when I’m still so… fucking angry with you. Not when you’re so angry with me. I’ve never done anything like this—” He motions between you two. “—and I don’t know how the fuck to do it.” 

It’s a lot to take in, but you do so while nodding slowly. He doesn’t know how to do this? He doesn’t know how to act around you? This is confusing for him? 

It wasn’t a contest, but you’d argue that, given everything, you were in the worse position. You were joining his team, a team he’d clearly nested into and made a life for himself in. You had been forced to ignore everything he’d done to you for the sake of your career because you truly had nowhere else to go. How the hell did he think that you were or would be doing any better than he was? Did he really think you were dealing with this in a healthier, more stable way?

After you’ve collected your thoughts, you ask, “You think that this is easy for me? I’m fucking drowning here, Roy.” Your voice is gentle, and almost immediately, you can see the tension in his body resolve into something more open. “I think we’re the first people ever on earth to be put in this fucked situation. It’s like some sick psychology experiment.” 

“Sad fucking excuses for lab rats we are,” he mutters. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “What does it say about us that we agreed to it?”

“It says we’re masochists, Kent,” you say, and that smile grows as he shakes his head. You motion to the window where Beard and Ted still stand, taking turns with the binoculars every so often to check in on the two of you. “Who else would just go along with shit like this?”

Roy turns to the window. “Fuck. I forgot they were out there,” he mutters in disbelief.

You salute to Beard and his binoculars and he pulls them down to nod at you in response. “We’re sick, sick people who’d rather be uncomfortable than give this sport up.”

Roy huffs a laugh. “Cheers to that.” 

He tilts his pint to yours and it feels like a peace offering. It’s like you’re finally on the same page about something for once. When you clink your glass against his and sip with him, it ratifies that agreement. You bite back a smile.

“But there’s some truth in that, I guess,” you continue. Roy’s brow pinches. “I couldn’t give this up. I would rather be uncomfortable with this than let go of this opportunity. Because, I…” You take in a deep breath, scoffing softly as you release it. “I really thought I blew it. I thought my career was over after West Ham fired me. I didn’t think anyone was going to want the girl who couldn’t even last three months at an AFC club.” You can feel yourself getting choked up and you blink away the telltale burning in your eyes. “And then out of the blue, like a fucking miracle, Rebecca’s at my door asking me to join Richmond. So… yeah, Roy. This is so fucking weird. And you’re right, I’m still mad at you. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for what you did. And I don’t expect you to ever forgive me.

“But this… this job, West Ham… I couldn’t allow my career to end like that,” you say, and your chest starts to tighten again. Fuck, was it always going to be this hard to talk about this? “You were right when you told me I couldn’t let them take what I love away from me.” Your voice is quieter when you say, “I can’t allow someone to dictate my career for me. Not again.”

You see Roy’s eyes close out of the corner of your own. His head bows ever so slightly and as he mutters, “Yeah. That shouldn’t happen again.”

Now you feel like the asshole. You know it’s deserved, but the somber, regretful note in his voice makes your perpetual guilt complex rear its head. You’re getting emotional whiplash from the highs and lows of this conversation and you wonder how much time has really passed by. You can’t tell if it’s been twenty minutes or an hour. 

But, however long it’s been, you think it’s a miracle that you’ve been able to get to this point with such little time.

“I’m not…” The words get caught in your throat and then escape like a sigh. “...ready to talk about what happened yet. I don’t know when I’ll be able to, but it’s certainly not now. I… It’s too hard to, I don’t know, look at you and talk about that.” You look wearily over in his direction. “And I don’t think— I can’t be your friend,” you tell him softly, watching as he bows his head. “Or be whatever our coworkers want us to be. I’m not… I don’t think I can do that yet. And I think you feel the same.”

There’s a long, pregnant silence, one that drags out and makes everything between you two feel heightened. Then, Roy nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Not yet.”

You figured as such. It’s almost reassuring to know that you’re at the same point. However, after this conversation, after sitting here with him, forgetting about everything for just a moment to laugh and joke around with him for the first time in years, you’re comfortable enough to say your next words.

With a deep breath, you tell him, ”But, whatever comes before friends. Whatever that is, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Roy’s eyes meet yours. He lets that statement sit with him, absorbing it, then stares at you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. It’s as if he wasn’t expecting you to say that and can’t believe that you did. 

You’re not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing until he clears his throat and says, “You are?”

It’s something soft and sincere, asked with an uncharacteristic hesitance. “Yes,” you say. “Are you?”

You’re sure you’re imagining it, but you swore you could have seen the beginnings of a smile twisting at his lips. “Yeah,” he replies. “I’d really fucking like that.”

Unconsciously, you feel yourself copying the smile you’re positive was an illusion. “Good,” you say gently, turning back to face the TV above the bar. “Would have been really awkward if you’d said no.”

Roy’s laugh is one of surprise. “God-fucking-forbid things were awkward between us.”

“I’m just saying,” you insist with a shrug. “I wouldn’t have known what to say if you’d said no. Finish my beer in silence and just get up and go. Hand in my two weeks and head back to America.”

“Leaving two teams in under a month would have been a league record,” he notes, lips quirking as you narrow your eyes at him. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t have stayed just to spite me.”

“You’re right,” you agree almost immediately. “I’m much more vindictive than that.”

It’s then that Roy grins at you, and the look in his eye sends you right back to 2012. “Damn fucking right you are.”

You toe the line between hatred and acceptance as a familiar warmth spreads across your chest and makes a home there.

This, you know, will be impossible to shake.

LONDON OLYMPICS, EARLY AUGUST, 2012.

so sorry to see you boys lose, says the text you send to Roy after their penalty-kicks loss against South Korea. devastating way to go out. not sure if this is a bad time, but i do believe there was a standing deal that whoever lasted longer in the tournament got whatever they wanted from the other?

It’s a rather brutal text, especially after a loss like that, but you don’t care. He was so sure that your team was going to be knocked out before he was. It felt good to be better than him at something for once.

You’re sitting in your Olympic dorm room, perfectly happy to be alone for the night. After your win against New Zealand last night, you’d spent the night celebrating (or what constituted for celebrating in the Village, which was just staying up with your girls and watching bad British made-for-TV movies) and had not had a minute to yourself since. You were unfortunately a person who needed their alone time and having a career as time-consuming as soccer made it virtually impossible to not have people around you at all times.

Mel was out for the night, having gone upstairs to find Paige (the UK women’s team had lost in a gnarly game against Canada last night), taking advantage of the circumstances to ‘comfort’ her. Or, whatever Mel constituted as comfort.

(“She just so sad,” Mel had said, lacing up her shoes. “I told her I’d come up and cheer her up.”

“And how exactly are you doing that?” you asked skeptically from your bed. “You have horrendous bedside manner.”

“I’m going to figure out a way. I hate seeing her sad,” Mel said innocently. “Do you think restaurants deliver here? Maybe I can get her something to eat.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, she’s gonna be eating something, alright—”

You’re cut off by a memory foam slide slipper being chucked straight at your head.)

There was no way Paige didn’t see through her or what she was doing. However, it helped that everyone could see that she was totally into Mel, and you were thankful that your best friend’s mega crush wasn’t unrequited. Extremely thankful. Mel did not take rejection well.

Speaking of rejection, you think, as you feel your phone vibrate on your chest. The text from Roy stares at you from your phone screen and you can practically hear his words as you read them.

That was the deal if one of us won the tournament, he tells you. You’ve still got two games to go, Yank.

It’s the type of response you expected, but you’re unsure of the validity of his claim. i recall that deal differently.

His reply is lightning quick. Of course, you do. Your memory’s as shit as your jokes.

someone’s sounding bitter, you answer. i can hear you pouting all the way from chelsea. 

You don’t get a response for a moment, and for a minute, there’s a small part of you that thinks you actually may have pissed him off. There’s no way that he’d get upset about something like that, would he? You know how much he cares about football, but the Games are mostly just… fun. For the men’s side, at least. It means leagues more to the women.

However, before you can get too in your head about it, your phone starts ringing in your hand, Roy’s name popping up on your screen. You press your lips together to keep yourself from smiling too hard.

“Hello?” you say, the humor in your voice evident.

“I don’t fucking pout,” is his greeting, which earns him a soft chuckle.

“The fact that you’re calling me to whine isn’t making for a compelling argument,” you reply. 

“You know,” he begins, and the sudden accusatory inflection in his voice has you pushing your lips together again, “you’re being really fucking mean to someone who’s got the power to run you until you pass out tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, I’m terrified. Tell me, are you going to be breathing down my neck now that you’ve got nothing to do?”

“Thin fucking ice, Fourteen,” he warns, but you swear you can hear his smile. “One more fucking word and I’ll replay footwork day.”

That has your mouth shutting almost immediately. “Okay, now you’re actually scaring me.”

It’s then that Roy laughs, and the sound sends a rush through you. It’s such a rare occurrence that every time you hear it, it feels like an accomplishment. 

“I’m sorry you lost,” you finally say. “That was a tough game to watch.”

“Tough fucking game to play,” he replies through a sigh. “We shouldn’t have let it get to that point.”

You tilt your head back against the pillows stacked up behind you, attempting to get comfortable on your horribly uncomfortable, tiny bed. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you played well.”

There’s an uneven beat of quiet and the line crackles. “Yeah?” he asks. His voice is calmer and slightly warmer. You’re not expecting it. 

“Yeah,” you say. “You had a couple of good shifts in the second half. That last pass you sent up the field would have been an insane assist if Lowell didn’t miss.”

You hear him sigh. “That wasn’t Lowell’s fault. That sweeper was a problem for all of us.”

“Didn’t say it was his fault. We all miss,” you state. “I’m just saying if it had worked out. That would have been crazy.”

“It would have been,” he finally agrees, which you know is the closest you’re going to get to him complimenting himself. “You play Monday, right?”

“Yup. Canada. I’m supposed to be in charge of taking care of Caroline Singer which should be, y’know, a joy.”

Roy snorts. “She’ll start swinging at you before the half.”

“That’s the goal. I’ve been told to piss her off as much as I can.” Before he has the chance to make the layup joke you’ve just handed him, you beat him to it. “Which shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I’ve seen her play,” he says. “She doesn’t do well when she’s flustered. You’ve got a talent for getting in people’s heads. We can work more on that tomorrow.”

You grin. “So, no footwork?”

His voice is a low growl with a lilt of a chuckle. “Don’t push it.”

There’s a moment that passes between you two where you know you’re both smiling, sitting on the phone in your respective make-shift Olympic homes (one, much nicer than the other, you’re sure), knowing that this conversation is probably over for the night, but finding that you don’t want to hang up. It’s an odd, giddy sort of feeling, one you haven’t felt in years. You never expected to feel it again here, of all places, with fucking Roy Kent, of all people.

You don’t know exactly what possesses you to ask, but the question floats out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Are you really going to stay in London to train me until we’re out of the tournament?”

It was something he’d implied during your practices and once joked about, but he’d said it enough to make you think he was serious. When you’d once questioned him about it, he’d said something along the lines of making sure he saw through his investment or wanted to see your deal through. He’d called himself a man of his word, which you also had questioned, but again, it felt like he was incredibly serious about this. 

His answer catches you off-guard, but you suppose you shouldn’t have expected anything less.. “I thought you were winning the fucking thing.”

An abrupt laugh leaves your lips. “Roy.”

He sighs again and then replies with something more in-line with what he’d said previously. “I made a deal with you. We’re seeing this fucking thing through.” There’s a noise on his line that sounds as though he’s shifting. “And besides, you’ve got what? Two games left if you make it to the Gold round?”

“When we make it,” you correct.

You’re nearly positive that he rolls his eyes. But, he says, “I’m sticking around.”

The sentiment of it all fills you with a warmth that travels down your body. You’re still not sure what this is. You’re not sure why he’s doing this. You don’t completely understand why he seems to like you, why he’s sticking around to train you, or why he chose to train you in the first place. Everything about this is so out of left field and nothing about it makes sense. You couldn’t have predicted this if you’d tried.

There’s nothing about this situation that you completely understand, but you know one thing: you’re starting to become grateful it did.

You don’t question him. You don’t ask the things that are swirling around in your head, and you don’t verbalize anything you’ve started to feel the last couple of days. Instead, you just say, “Well. I suppose if you insist.”

He makes a low sound, something that you may think is a laugh of disbelief. He’s quiet for a second as if he’s going to say more, but he clears his throat instead. “I’ll let you get to bed.”

There’s a brief moment where disappointment swells in your chest, but you quickly shake it off with a silent scolding. “Yeah,” you agree. “Probably a good idea to be asleep when Mel gets back.”

“Back?” Roy questions. “Where’s Rivera?”

“Consoling Paige,” you say, air quotes implied. Roy huffs. “She’s consistent if nothing else.”

“She’s fucking relentless is what she is. I’ve never seen someone pine so hard for someone who clearly fucking likes them.”

You shrug, but then realize he can’t see that. “Mel’s not the make-a-move type. She’s more of a let-me-stare-at-you-and-telepathically-tell-you-I’m-in-love-with-you type. Which I get. But it’s still frustrating.”

There’s a beat between you, one that has you raising a brow. “You're not the first-move type, huh?”

Blood rushes to your ears and it spreads down your neck. His tone is leading, and it sets off every siren in your brain. “No,” you get out, and thankfully it’s more casual than you thought it’d be. “Never been my thing.”

“Huh,” Roy muses. “Good to know.”

Your stomach churns in anxious anticipation, once again not completely sure what he means by that. You’ve got an idea, but Jesus, he loves to be vague. You would have never pegged him to be coy.

Before you can respond, he’s speaking again, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Goodnight, Fourteen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He then hangs up on you, leaving you stunned with your phone in your hand, mouth slightly ajar, and the best kind of nerves coursing through your body. 

You can’t help but laugh at it all.

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

You awake to your phone ringing on your bedside table next to you. It’s a call that’s earlier than your alarm, one that has you throwing your arm to the table, slapping your hand around blindly to find it. 

Once it’s in your possession, you crack your eyes open to see Mel’s name on the screen. Your interest is piqued enough to answer. “Hello?”

Your greeting comes out as more of a groan, but you think Mel gets the message. Either that, or she doesn’t care. Because she leads with, “You want to tell me why I’m getting Twitter updates about you and The Dark Lord hanging out at a bar like it’s 2012?”

You open your eyes, squinting at the sun that’s peaking through your window. “Roy and I are relevant enough to be getting Twitter updates?”

“After that press conference you gave? Uh, yeah. You’re a bit of a celebrity to the football side of Twitter,” Mel says, sounding only slightly incredulous that that’s what you choose to respond with. “You’re relevant enough to have people spamming this picture someone took of you two last night.”

You hum. “How do I look?”

Mel scoffs. “You look incredible. The Dark One looks scary.”

“Scary how?”

“Well, he’s smiling for one, which is always a jumpscare,” she says. “And you’re smiling back at him which is even more horrifying. So, you know, just a scary photo all around.”

A huff of a laugh escapes you, and you put your arm over your eyes. “You wouldn’t believe why we were there if I told you.”

“It better be some fucking Twilight Zone, cosmic occurrence, because that’s the only explanation I’ll accept as to why you’re laughing with each other.”

“Will you take Coaches Ted Lasso and Beard Parent-Trapping and holding Roy and I hostage until we talked out our issues?” you offer.

You’re met with approximately thirty seconds of silence before Mel responds. You can picture the perplexed look on her face as she asks, “Do they understand the depth of your issues? And that trapping you at a bar without a neutral third party and law enforcement present is an outlandish and potentially fatal situation?” 

“We were actually very civil,” you reply casually. “Found out he does yoga now. Watches Love Conquers All.”

“Hmm,” Mel hums. “Does he do that before or after his day job of kicking puppies and burning down orphanages?”

The laugh that escapes you is involuntary. “Mel,” you whine.

“I’m glad you’re laughing. Because I’m certainly not,” she says, and the tone of her voice tells you you’re about to receive the scolding she clearly called to give you. “Because it sounds like you’re back on the Kent Train and I’m going to have to pick you up when he inevitably fucks you over again.”

“I’m not ‘back on the Kent Train’ or whatever the hell you just said,” you mutter, turning to lay on your pillow. “You knew that working at Richmond meant us working together. I knew that. Our coaching staff is insane, but they have a point. We can’t work well together if we’re fighting and not getting along.”

Mel scoffs. “You can work with people you don’t like. It’s called being professional. The only thing you have to be on the same page about is the team.”

“Richmond isn’t like that,” you tell her. “It’s unlike anywhere I’ve ever played or worked. These people are a family. And not in like, a corporate ‘we’re a family here’ way. They all really care about each other and spend Christmas together and do karaoke together. It’s actually really sweet.”

“And what? You’re scared they’re not going to accept you if you don’t join the cult and sing kumbaya?”

You shut your eyes in frustration at her words. “No, Melanie,” you say, and the edge to your voice has her scoffing again. “It’s not about joining the cult. It’s about the fact that I refuse to lose another job. Especially not this job. I can’t imagine any other club being as warm and accommodating as they’ve been. And frankly, no other club wanted me after the shit show that was West Ham.” Mel’s gone quiet and you exhale in resignation. “So, yeah. If that means I have to be friendly with Roy and sing their song, then fucking… hand me the guitar, I guess.”

Once again, Mel’s quiet. You think she’s hung up on you until you remove your phone from your ear and see the call time’s still running. It takes a moment, but she finally, finally releases a long and heavy sigh that lets you know she’s back on your side. “I just don’t want to see him hurt you again.”

“He won’t,” you say without hesitation. “I won’t allow him to. I’m never…” You shake your head. “I’m never going back to that. We’re colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You can hear her shake her head against her phone. “I really wish I believed that.”

“I mean it,” you insist. “You have full permission to kick my ass if anything else happens.”

Finally, you get something like a laugh from the other line. “Gleefully holding you to that.”

“I know you are.”

“Haven’t kicked your ass since 2015,” Mel says, sounding almost rueful. “I miss it. You’ve ignited a fire in me and it’s burning.”

“Does Paige know about your thirst for violence?” you ask. “I can’t imagine she wants Oliver exposed to that.”

Mel scoffs. “Not only does she know but he knows. I passed it on to the little fucker,” she mutters. You note the hint of pride in her voice. “Speaking of Roy, Oliver’s finally old enough for the baby leagues and he pulled a very Kent versus Man City move in his first game. Scuffed up the poor kid’s leg and everything.”

You snicker and roll on your back, eyes cast up to the ceiling. “I cannot possibly imagine my sweet baby boy doing anything of the sort. It must have been someone else,” you tell her. Then, you chuckle again. “Roy and I actually just talked about that game. He still refuses to admit that he did anything wrong.”

“Glad to see nothing’s changed on that end.”

You suppress a smile, but your voice comes out as a warning. “Mel…”

“Hey, you can be nice to him all you want,” she replies. “Never said anything about me having to.”

Fair enough. You know that this is the best your going to get from her, so you let it slide. “You’re still coming to the game this week, right?”

“Recent events have given me second thoughts—” Her response is cut short by your groaning, and you hear her sigh on the other end. “Of course, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss your first home game for the world. Or any home game for that matter,” she says. “I do draw the line at away games, though. Don’t love you enough to drive that much.”

“Understandable. And we’re still on for dinner after?”

“If you’re paying. That AFC coaching salary better join us at the table.”

You roll your eyes. “Good to know where your priorities lie.”

“I’m joking,” she says, but the way that the volume of her voice increases tells you that she’s not saying that for you, but for her wife, who must be in the room. When she speaks again, it’s much lower. “I’m not joking.”

“Oh, I know,” you respond. “Tell Paige I say hi.”

“I’ll do it when it’s less suspicious.”

You grin, shaking your head. “I’ll see you on Saturday, asshole.”

“See you then,” she says. However, before you can hang up, you hear her voice calling your name once more. When you put your phone back up to your ear, she says, “Please. Please be careful. I mean it.”

Her soft worry holds a certain weight that makes your eyes screw shut. “I will. I promise.”

“Okay,” Mel replies, a little more certain. “I love you, kid.”

“Love you too,” you say. “See you Saturday.”

And with that, you hang up on your best friend, letting your phone fall onto your chest with a strikingly heavy thump, letting each and every one of her words sit with you as you pretend that the new pain in your chest doesn’t exist.

The next morning, Ted Lasso gets to the Richmond Coaching Offices early. 

He’s even earlier than you, something of which has proven to be a difficult feat, as you’re typically stationed at your desk reviewing film before anyone else has even considered coffee or put on a shin guard.

But today, he’s done it. He has no idea when you’re going to be in, but to be on the safe side, he figures he should be quick. The wrapped book is carefully grasped in his hand, making sure not to fold or crease the bow he tied around it as he opens the door to your and Roy’s office.

It’s only when the book is placed on your desk that he realizes he forgot to write the message he’d planned on the outside of the wrapping paper. His face scrunches up as he scans your desk for a pen or some other writing utensil, but comes up empty. 

He then turns to Roy’s desk, hoping to find something there. Sliding over, he gives the tabletop a once over, frowning as he realizes Roy’s got nothing too. It’s then that Ted remembers something.

Roy kept pens and dry-erase markers in his top drawer. Ted only knows this because three days ago, he saw Roy pull one out to chuck at Jamie as he barged into your shared office unannounced. He figures he can let that one slide if Roy forgives him for going into his desk.

Ted pulls the drawer out to find Roy’s neatly organized stash of utensils, grinning as he picks up a pen. However, before he can shut the drawer, something catches his eye.

There’s a frame shoved into the back, showcasing a photo Ted had seen from afar on Roy’s desk a million times but had never looked at close up. It’s of Roy, who’s wearing the closest thing to a smile that Ted’s seen on him, his sister, and… you.

You’re positioned in the middle, grinning from ear to ear with your arms tight around both Roy's and his sister’s shoulders. It’s an older picture, one taken at the high-top table of a bar. Both you and Roy are younger, and while Ted can’t figure out the exact time period of which this was taken, something else catches his eye.

It’s something small, probably something that would seem insignificant if he didn’t know you two. It’s your hands. While your arms are draped around Roy and his sister, his hand is covering yours.

It’s something that could be considered friendly, but Ted gets the feeling it’s not. It’s only then that Ted feels as though he’s looking at something he shouldn’t and closes the drawer.

With the pen he was looking for in hand, he returns to the book he’s left for you and scribbles down the message he wanted.

No— I must keep my own style and go on in my own way. —Jane Austen.

He only hopes Persuasion isn’t too on the nose for your situation as he slips out your office door and into his own.

TAGLIST: @dark-academia-slut @tegan8314 , @csigeoblue , @confessionsofatotaldramaslut , @thatonedogwithablog , @hawkeyeharrington , @jamieolivia27 , @seatbacksandtraytables , @luvr-bunnyy

[bryngmemoney]

✁FASHION FLIRT✃

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

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tw: death joke

Writing in between messages!!

🪡Chapter Twenty-three: Zip-up

Megumi walked out of his room, all his essentials by his side as he made an effort to not disturb Yuji and Junpei working on their laptops, discussing their project. Todo was sat on a separate chair, simply being there for moral support apparently and a third voice of advice. Just as he was about to walk through the door unnoticed, he heard Yuji speak up.

“Where are you going? It’s like 7:30?”

“Gonna meet up with someone, i’ll be back later,” and before Yuji could reply Megumi was out the door.

“Move,” Megumi said gently nudging your shoulder with his as he attempted to reach a place on the counter. “This Kitchen’s tiny Megumi, where do you want me to go?” You tried to maneuver in a way where you could still be doing your task while allowing him enough space for whatever he needed to do next to you. While he was over, the decision had been made that both of you would try and make a dinner together with the limited amount of food you had at your place. “There’s a reason I always go to your place instead of being here.”

He just scoffed in reply, then turned to look at you pausing his movements. “Well, maybe one day, you could move out of here.”

“Well obviously I plan on it, not going to live in the college dorms forever.”

“Yeah, like if you had a super cool boyfriend who you’d get serious with one day you could move in with him. After some time of course.”

“Are you saying you’d eventually want me to move in with you Megumi?”

He simply hummed in reply, turning back to his task, however he couldn’t hide the red appearing on his face. You held his arm, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek, before also returning back to your previous chore.

You sat in class, sewing a detail onto your design. The sound of the chair pulling up in front of your table caught your attention, but you didn’t look up assuming it to be one of your friends like Maki, Nobara or even Panda. You were surprised however, when you heard Gojo’s voice

“Looking good Y/n, I see your all most done here.” He started, “There wouldn’t happen to be anything else your done with hm?” he asked. A bit confused by his question you looked up to be met with Gojo staring at you through his blacked out glasses.

“Sorry?”

He didn’t repeat himself, simply kept looking at you, before getting up, “Nothing just return to sewing.”

Author’s Note: looking at the outline i made guys we have around 7-8ish chapters left of the story and i just wanna say tysm for the support it’s been so fun to make this smau and im glad a lot of you have enjoyed it <33333

hope you guys enjoy this chapter as well!

Taglist below, feel free to comment or dm me to be added!!

TAGLIST

@iridescentrays @gumimegz @maya-maya-56 @mamafly @lunavixia @swissy23 @coltsgf @m00nglad3-mp3 @etsukis @xosren @qtnfer @oengleli @harek89 @y-sabell-a @morgyyyyyyy @getolvr @liliumaraneae @k3lbade @aiieera @dancedancey @get0sfav @chuyasthighs0 @hyssoplampflickers @kpopanimen @sad-darksoul @vivi-loves-penguins @kasumitenbaz @talkingsperm @nymphsdomain @inlovewithlondonn @rzcnlb @enchantingkitty @fuyuzemi @lysaray @ni-ki-ismyluv @renemy @frumira @mixzimi @miralunaela @dreamxiing @p3achiee @anianurst @nishii28 @arguendo @samutoru @hallothankmas @invisible-mori @aiserex @all-in-the-fandoms @milza12

[nerdyvocals]

9 People to Know Better (except I'm not tagging 9 people)

I don't normally do tag games, but I got tagged in this twice (by @jealous-kippen and @remmixx, my beloveds <3) so here I am! (also as I'm writing this out I am realizing that while both posts were titled the same way, it looks like they had different question prompts??? So I'm just gonna combine the two)

Favorite Color: Purple! Any shade will have my heart but I am partial to more red-toned purples. (PV, if that means anything to anyone who sees this other than me, you know who you are)

Currently Reading: Three things! In terms of actual books, I've been slowly making my way through the Riordanverse since my university did The Lightning Thief in my second year (first school in my state to do it once the rights were released!) since I somehow never got into Percy Jackson as a kid, and I'm currently on Son of Neptune. I'm also one like my third or fourth re-read of Eurydice by Sara Ruhl, since that's the play I'm designing the costumes for for my senior project. And in terms of fanfic, I woke up to a notification about this yesterday and Actually Screeched.

Last Song: Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan (ft. Post Malone), which was a bit of an accident. I use siri to request music while I'm driving and I asked for Dial Drunk and was singing along until I got jumpscared by the slight difference before Post Malone's verse. Although if you look at my spotify, the ROTPL album has been on repeat for weeks.

Currently Watching (Series): I've been hyperfixated on ROTPL and have watched it over a dozen times at this point, which is probably not healthy, so I put on NCIS last night for background noise while I ate dinner and accidentally watched like six episodes.

Currently Watching (Movie): Saw the Barbie movie the night before the actual opening with my coworkers (We don't cross picket lines people! I was not asked nor invited by any company, and I paid full price for my ticket. There's a one-screen theatre in the town where I'm doing summer stock, this relic from the 50's, and they were able to get access to the film a day early and did a special first come first serve premiere.) and we all sobbed the entire way through.

Current Obsession: Rise of the Pink Ladies. Full stop. I'd seen clips of it when it first aired in April but I was iffy on it in spite of how good it looked. Like most, I'm a little tired of reboots and remakes, and while I did clock Cynthia as being queer within two seconds, (I believe my exact words were "That's either a very butch lesbian or the eggiest egg to ever egg.") I was Convinced it was a queerbait situation. Plus I was nearing finals and didn't have time to get into a new show. But then Crushing Me was trending on tiktok and I realized this was not queerbait, so I put it on to have something playing while I packed for summer stock and it's been the only thing I can think about since mid May. It got me writing fanfic again for the first time in years, if that tells you anything. Speaking of,

Currently Working On: A follow-up to my previous fic, Steady, Steady! I wanted to have it up this week, but it is a behemoth. I'm a little over halfway through my plot outline and I'm at 10,441 words. Fun fact, this will be my longest single-chapter fic so far. Not just in the fandom, not just on AO3, but ever (so far!)

No-Pressure Tagging: @merely-a-player, @penguin-writes-books, @el-fandom-birb, @marley-barnes112, @isweartheyregayyourhonor, and @look-at-those-niceass-rocks (since I've already dragged you back to tumblr kicking and screaming)

[vivalas-vega]

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / part five

I wanted to get this one out quickly for y’all!! here is the much needed relief we all needed after that last chapter. as always, lmk what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist!

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / part five

add yourself to my taglist

prologue - one - two - three - four 

word count: 4.3k

warnings: language, angst, basically another grey’s anatomy ep so... medical inaccuracies and drama !!!

Sitting in one of the imaging rooms in your own hospital, a room you’d previously spent countless hours in and would go on to spend countless more, brought you a small bit of peace. You were surrounded by familiar faces and doctors you trusted and respected, and that made a world of a difference in your confidence for Mary’s outcome. Despite how close you were to the case no one was excluding you from conversations or keeping you out of the loop on anything, you were given just as much of a voice as Dr. Lewis in dictating her care as you looked over several of her scans and brainstormed a game plan. If this was truly your case you would have kicked your own ass to the curb several hours ago but the patience and grace everyone was extending you didn’t go unnoticed. 

“What if you try coming in through here?” you asked, and Dr. Lewis pondered your suggestion for a moment, trying to visualize before shaking his head.

“If I insert the probe here,” he said, illustrating the path with his fingers, “I’m going to disrupt something here,” he circled around Broca’s Area. “Do that and she’ll lose the ability to speak, she’s a teacher right?”

“Third grade, and she’s damn good at it,” you sighed.

“Then we aren’t taking any risks, I think our best course here is to go in this way,” he said, outlining a new pathway and you nodded.

“It’s still tricky but I think that’s going to be the best approach,” you agreed. 

“Why did you end up leaving neuro? You’ve clearly got a knack for it,” he asked suddenly, looking you over curiously.

“I loved neuro, did Dr. Adams tell you he used to call us the Brain Buddies?” you asked and he shook his head laughing. “He’d go around the hospital saying it like we were some superhero duo… I used to think there was no high like neurosurgery, but then one day there was this massive train crash. Most people were too unstable to move so we went to them. When we got there most had already died and the ones who hadn’t were one slight breeze away from following suit. There was this girl, about my age, who was bleeding out faster than I could control. Nothing was working and I began to panic… trauma is quick and dirty, there’s no time to gameplan or even think, you just have to figure it out as you go and be resourceful, so I used dirt,” you chuckled though it really wasn’t funny. “I just scooped a handful and packed the wound and it worked… we had to load her up on so many antibiotics she got C. Diff and the poor thing needed a fecal transplant but she made a full recovery,” you said with a smile. “That was a high unlike anything else, and I just never looked back. Trauma is where all the fun is.” 

“You sound exactly like one of my buddies who’s a doctor with the Army… you ever considered that path?”

“Briefly but… Jake, Mary’s son, is in the Navy. Every deployment crushes both of our parents and they worry, I couldn’t do that to them… I think they’d all lose their minds if they lost both of their kids to that life,” you said and he nodded.

“Well, let’s go give her some good news, let her know what the plan is.” Mary was surprisingly calm throughout the whole thing, she didn’t even blink when Dr. Lewis briefed her on all the risks (stroke, paralysis, loss of speech, death), all she had said was well, if I can’t speak there’s always sign language and death is better than a painful year of chemo. Really she didn’t care about any of it, she asked if you agreed with his approach and she’d said that was all she needed to know when you’d answered yes. She’d truly put all of her trust in you, she let go of the whole thing and just accepted that because you said it would be okay that it would… and that terrifies you beyond belief. You were a confident doctor, always had been, but right now with her looking at you with such pride and peace you felt sick, knowing that no matter how good a patient’s outcome looks going into surgery that can always change at the drop of a hat.

“That’s the attitude, Mary, keep that up… patients who go in with a positive outlook are much more likely to come out the other side,” Dr. Lewis said. You oversaw the interns in charge of her pre-op care and she had watched through amused eyes as you ordered them around and even called you a hardass… much like Jake had done when he’d visited you in Boston. 

“It seems mean now but Dr. Stevens will tell you his skills have improved since I came around to knock some sense into him. If you put the fear of god in them they’re much more malleable,” you joked.

“It must be working because they are terrified to disappoint you,” Mary said and you didn’t miss how proud she sounded.

“Jupiter is very tough, tougher than any of the attendings but I’ve learned a lot from her,” Dr. Stevens confirmed and you narrowed your eyes at him. “And she makes a mean chocolate chip cookie, I heard that was your recipe.”

“Stop kissing my ass and bring me her updated labs,” you said and he nodded quickly as we went to leave the room, “and just because I’m off duty that doesn’t mean I’m not doctor to you!” you called after him and Mary just laughed.

“I like seeing this side of you,” she said, looking up at you appreciatively and you gave her a warm smile. “If I’m being honest I thought wanting to be a surgeon at twelve years old was just a crazy phase… thought you maybe saw a cool doctor in a movie or something but looking at you now… I couldn’t imagine you doing anything else,” she said.

“I wouldn’t be here without you,” you said, giving her hand a squeeze and you noticed Jake enter the room without saying a word.

“You’ll be in the surgery?” she asked and you nodded.

“I’m not allowed to be involved in the actual operation… it’s too much of a conflict of interest, but Dr. Lewis has graciously agreed to let me be in the room with you.”

“That makes me feel better… knowing you’ll be there,” she said and you gave her another smile before you excused yourself to step into the hallway when Dr. Stevens flagged you down and you looked over her labs in relief.

“What do these tell you?” you asked, handing the paper back to him and he looked at you curiously for a moment, “I taught you better than this, Dr. Stevens, I know you can read labs,” you said.

“I just… I didn’t expect you to be teaching right now,” he said and you watched as he looked over the paper and processed the information. “These all look good, she’s in optimal shape to be heading into surgery,” he said and you nodded.

“Exactly, let Dr. Lewis know and page me when you’re taking her up.”

“Didn’t expect you to be teaching right now either,” you heard Jake say and you turned around to face him with a sigh.

“Your mom’s case is an incredible teaching example and Dr. Stevens shows promise within neuro. Your mom understands that, she’s thrilled he’s getting to learn from her and she wants me to take the opportunity to teach when I can, it’s my job.” you said.

“But you’re not working right now,” he said and you gave a soft nod.

“You’re right, I’m not… I’m just doing everything I can to make sure she receives the best standard of care and teaching when I have the opportunity to ensures that, not just for her but for everyone else’s mom that comes in after her.” He just nodded and you could tell that he was annoyed with you. “Jake, just talk to me.”

“We’ve already gone through the procedure, I don’t need to talk about it anymore,” he replied and you furrowed your brows.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I need you, J. I need you and you’re not here,” he said in a hushed whisper, trying to avoid the nosy ears of your interns at the desk just a few feet away.

“I’m right here,” you said but he just shook his head.

“You’re not. You’re making calls and teaching interns, or holed away in an imaging room and you’re talking to me like I’m just some patient’s family member. There’s enough doctors around here, I just needed you… I needed you to be my Jupiter through this and you were just another doctor,” he said with a disappointed look before stepping back into his mother’s room and any tension that had eased after setting the plan in place with Dr. Lewis was back in full force. Your heart ached and you wanted to go after him but you knew this wasn’t the moment… he was angry and scared and he didn’t understand where you were coming from and that was all okay. There was no way to rationalize with his mother heading into brain surgery in less than an hour and you chose to believe that when the dust settled and she came out the other side things would level out but as selfish as it was… you needed a moment. A moment to clear your head and think so you wandered down to the emergency department, you let your eyes rake over the space as you took stock of how things were holding up in your absence and while you stood in front of the patient board you jumped when the Head of Trauma, Dr. Fowles approached you.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, looking at you apologeticly as you placed a hand over your heart. 

“Needed a breather,” you said and he laughed.

“So you came to the pit for a little relaxation?” You nodded with a sheepish smile. “Want something to take your mind off it?”

“Please, I’ll take anything,” you said and he led you over to Bay Three and opened the curtain to reveal a beautiful laceration just begging for you to suture it. You introduced yourself as you gloved up and made small talk with her as you worked, taking your time to ensure she had as little scarring as possible.

“One minute you’re making lunch for your boyfriend, who is incredibly ungrateful by the way, and the next you’re in the ER because you zoned out wondering what your old college boyfriend was up to and sliced right through the avocado and into your hand,” she sighed and you chuckled.

“Never go down the college boyfriend rabbit hole, it’s never worth it,” you said. You finally felt like yourself, sure you’d been acting like a doctor nonstop for the past three days but it was all so deeply personal. This was cut and dry, you’d patch her up and send her on her way and likely never see her again. This was medicine without baggage and it felt so good. You hoped Jake was still somewhere on the other side of the hospital, if he saw you right now with that sparkle back in your eye hunched over this patient's open palm it would only make matters worse.

“You got lucky, I’m looking at the tendon here but you didn’t cut through… could be a sign… or a wake up call,” you suggested and she nodded.

“A sign to dump his sorry ass and find someone who will actually drive me to the ER instead of making me get blood all over my brand new car? Yeah, I’m one step ahead of you,” she said and you let out a soft laugh. 

“Well, you’re all good. Take the antibiotics, make sure you’re eating things with lots of good bacteria and fully finish the course even if it doesn’t feel like it’s doing anything… and please, don’t let him reel you back in the way they’re always so good at,” you said with a smile as you pulled your gloves off and went to the desk to update her chart.

“You’re a junkie,” Dr. Fowles said and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Takes one to know one,” you said, handing him the chart as your pager beeped and he wished you luck as you ran towards the elevator. You texted Jake to let him know you’d come out with an update once you had one and were on your way to meet them in the OR. Standing in the scrub room and overlooking them prepping Mary through the window you took a deep breath, you knew things would move quickly the second you got her here but it truly felt like one minute you were at the Hard Deck laughing with your friends and the next you’re here… about to step into surgery on one of the most important people in your life.

“I know you can’t tell through my mask, but I’m smiling right now,” you said as you approached her.

“I know, honey,” she replied and the anesthesiologist looked at you to let you know they were ready when you were. “Promise me something,” she said and you just shook your head.

“I’m not making you any promises, Mary, you’re not on your deathbed.”

“Promise me that when I’m out of the woods you are going to put me and John and your parents out of our misery and finally kiss that son of mine,” she said and you let out a shocked laugh.

“You are about to go under for brain surgery and that’s what you’re worried about right now?” you teased.

“You two drive me nuts! Just give me a wedding already.” she said and you shook your head.

“I’ll see what I can do… I’ll see you after, okay?” you said, nodding to the anesthesiologist. “Countdown from ten for me.”

“Ten… nine… give me a wedding… eight… seven-” she slurred as she fell under and you just chuckled to yourself as Dr. Lewis entered the room.

“Alright, Jupiter… I have been patient with you all day as you made me run through my surgical plan a dozen times and all but demanded to be in here, and I was happy to oblige because I like you, however there will not be a peep out of you from here on out, are we understood?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good, because I will throw you out so please don’t make me have to.” You watched as he began, your eyes intently flitting between his hands and the monitor that was displaying an aerial view of the surgical field and you felt nausea begin to creep in. You listened as Dr. Fowles narrated everything he was doing to Dr. Stevens, who you wanted to throw a bedpan at when they got eyes on the tumor… really you couldn’t be mad, his reaction was warranted and it was cool, but it would be a hell of a lot cooler if that tumor wasn’t in Jake’s mom’s head. You listened as Dr. Fowles changed his surgical approach, this was always a possibility. The scans give you a lot of information but any plans are just loose ideas until you actually get in there and see what’s going on, and you bit your tongue as you let him make his best judgment call on how to proceed. You were now two hours into the surgery but it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Alright, I think we’re ready to pull this sucker out, Dr. Stevens would you like to man the cautery?” Dr. Fowles asked and your heart stuttered in your chest.

“Absolutely not,” you said before your mind could catch up and tell you to keep your mouth shut.

“Are we forgetting you’re not to speak in this OR?”

“With all due respect sir, as promising as Dr. Stevens is, one wrong move with that cautery and all of this will have been for nothing.” you said and you watched as his hands stilled on the monitor.

“It seems Jupiter doesn’t want you to learn today,” Dr. Fowles said and Dr. Stevens looked between the two of you, clearly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“If it’s alright with you sir, I’ll just observe. She’s right, I’ve never cauterized before and I still have a lot I want to learn from her… I’d rather not jeopardize that by sending her best friend's mom to the vegetable patch.” he said and you nodded in satisfaction. You would personally see to it that Dr. Stevens scrubbed in with you on every one of your surgeries for the foreseeable future to make up for the learning opportunity you’d just robbed him of. Things seemed to be progressing smoothly until the monitors started beeping frantically and you watched as her BP suddenly tanked and you felt your stomach drop as Dr. Fowles started barking out orders that weren’t quite registering in your ears.

“No… no, no no,” you muttered, a tidal wave of panic crashing over you as you ran out into the hallway and braced yourself on a wall, trying desperately to get your breathing under control. You quickly hunched over a trash can and let the nausea take over, vomiting onto the pile of discarded gloves and trauma gowns as the door opened to reveal a scrub nurse.

“Dr. Fowles is asking you to come back in,” she said and you shook your head, fighting the tears that were threatening to fall. “Come on, just come see,” she said and you placed your mask back over your face as you tentatively followed.

“You missed the good part, Jupiter… the tumor is out.”

“Her vitals?” you asked, taking a small step closer as you looked at the monitors but you didn’t trust your eyes.

“She’s a fighter,” he answered and you sighed in relief. “I’m about to pack with gelfoam but it appears we are out of the woods. Would you like to go update them as I close?” he asked but you were already halfway out the door, ripping off your mask and sprinting down the hallways until you burst into the waiting area. Jake and John jumped up, looking at you expectantly and as they took in your tear streaked face and rapid breathing you watched as their faces fell.

“No! No no no,” you said, taking in a sharp breath. “It’s good, it all went good, they’re closing now, she’ll be in recovery within the half hour,” you said and they both exhaled in relief. 

“Oh thank god,” John whispered, pulling you in for a bone crushing hug. “Thank you,” he pulled away to place a kiss on your forehead. “There will never be enough thank you’s for this,” he said as he wiped his own tears. You looked over to Jake who had sunk into one of the chairs with his head hung in his hands and you crouched on the floor in front of him and gently placed a hand on his knee.

“Jake? She’s going to be okay,” you said and he lifted his head to look at you with glassy eyes, “it went as well as we could have hoped. We won’t be certain until she wakes up but I have a very good feeling.” 

“J…” he started, but was cut off by his own tears and you pushed him back in his seat to perch on his legs and pull him into your chest.

“I know…” you soothed, rubbing a hand up and down his back. He wrapped his arms around your waist and you just sat there as you held him, whispering reassurances into his ear. You hooked a finger on his chin, softly tilting his head to look up at you before resting your palms on his cheeks. “I’m going to call my parents, let them know… and Rooster too, everyone’s been really worried,” you said and he nodded. You placed a kiss on his forehead as you slid off his lap and you stepped away and pulled out your phone. Your mother had cried, sobbed really, and your dad told you to pass along their well wishes for recovery when he took over the call, you could hear the relief in his voice as he told you how proud he was of you.

“Please tell me she’s okay,” Rooster said as he answered and you let out a breathy laugh.

“She’s good… we’re in the wait and see portion, but I think we’re in the clear. Can you talk with Mav? She’ll be out of here in a few days but this whole thing has him pretty rattled. I know I don’t have the authority but I’m not clearing him for work just yet,” you said and Rooster chuckled.

“Doctor’s orders,” he said and you let out a soft laugh as well. “Mav said to take all the time he needs, there’s no rush to get back.” You thanked him as you hung up, telling him to pass it along to the rest of the Dagger’s as well for how supportive they’ve been throughout. Your pager went off as you approached the two of them and you gave them a reassuring look.

“She’s in post op now, I’m confident everything is fine but I’m going to head up and just be sure, okay?” you said and they nodded as you made your way to the elevator and you all but ran into the room, eyes immediately scanning the brain activity monitor.

“How’s it looking?” you asked a bit frantically.

“Looking good,” Dr. Fowles answered as you grabbed her chart from him to look it over. “You know as well as I do we won’t know for sure until she wakes up but I don’t think we should expect any deficits.” You dropped the chart into its place at the end of her bed and threw your arms around him.

“I know this is unprofessional but just go with it,” you said as you started crying again and he chuckled as he reciprocated and rubbed along your back. “I owe you big time, thank you for everything… I am available for any and every pro-bono surgery you need me for from here on out,” you said. 

“I think I’ll hold onto my favor for a little while,” he teased as you pulled away and you laughed as you wiped your cheeks and asked an orderly to grab Jake and John.

“Well, whatever it is it better be big, I owe you a lifetime's worth of thank you’s.” He slipped out of the room and let you know he would check back later and you felt the dark cloud that had been hovering over you the past few days begin to dissipate and with it brought the crushing weight of every feeling you’d been fighting off. You let out a broken sob and immediately turned to leave the room, not noticing Jake walking down the hallway as you hurried the opposite direction and shut yourself into an on-call room. He poked his head into his mom’s room, making sure everything was okay before chasing after you and he found you sitting on the floor with your back against a nightstand and your head between your knees as you tried to regulate your breathing. He was silent as he sat beside you and you lifted your head slightly.

“You don’t need to be here,” you choked out, “I know you’re mad at me, and it’s… I’m okay, really, go sit with your mom.” He didn’t respond, instead he reached around you to grip underneath your arms and pulled you to sit between his legs where he wrapped himself around you and it was the final straw to push you over the edge. You leaned back against him as he held you tight and fell apart in his arms… you’d tried to say something but nothing would come out around your cries, and Jake just let you get it all out.

“I’m not mad at you,” he finally said when your breathing started to even out. “I was but… I was wrong. I didn’t-” he stopped himself for a moment, taking a deep breath as he fought his own tears. “Not once did I stop and consider what this was like for you, I was selfish. You.. I mean, god Jupiter,” he let out a humorless laugh. “You swept in and had this handled in less than three days. I was so wrapped up in what you weren’t doing that I didn’t think about what you were doing, and that was everything… you held it together for all of us, you made sure she would be okay. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you sniffled.

“Yes, I do. I thought you weren’t there for me, but you were. You always are, even if I don’t see it at first. I’m so sorry that I made this harder on you,” he said, giving you another squeeze and you melted against him. “I was mad at you for who you are, and that’s… I say how proud I am of the doctor you’ve become and in the moment that you were doing everything you could to help my mom I was an absolute asshole.”

“You weren’t an asshole… I treated you like a patient’s family, and you reacted the way family does.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “Do you want to go check on your mom?” you asked and he shook his head.

“No. I want to just sit here with you for a little while if that’s okay,” he replied and you nodded, letting your head fall against his arm.

“Yeah, that’s okay.”

previous / next

taglist:  @mamaskillerqueen @clancycucumber230 @the-romanian-is-bae @dempy @alldaysdreamers @zzsloth @emma8895eb @novagreen04 @classyunknownlover @olliepig @purplevortexx @mayhemmanaged @ohgodnotagainn @smoothdogsgirl​ (if your username is struck through, I couldn’t tag you - sorry!)​

[thaidakar-is-hot]

Kelsier Essay Part 2

With this in mind, let’s jump into the criteria necessary for one (In this case, Kelsier) to be diagnosed with ASPD. While Kelsier waits in the waiting room, rather annoyed, let’s overview his case file. I will be pulling The Final Empire (TFE), Secret History (SH), and Eleventh Metal (EM). To make things clearer, I am using the Arcanum Unbounded version of SH and EM.

Failing to Conform with Laws and Social Norms

“Yes, he pocketed the gemstones in the vault, but that was more out of pragmatism than anything else.” (SH)

“Individual must show a pattern of Failing to conform with laws and social norms.” This one is tricky, as we are speaking of a fictional character in a brutal society hell bent on slaughtering those like Kelsier. Him becoming a thief was his way of surviving. While a thief, he was known as trusting, fair, just, and great to work with. When speaking to Vin after saving her from Camon’s beating, he explains just what sort of thief and crew leader he is, which puzzles her for quite a few pages as she notices the level of trust he places in other people.

“…Well Dox and I, we’re scavengers too, we’re just a higher quality scavenger. We’re more well bred, you might say-or perhaps just more ambitious.” (Chapter 3, page 56, TFE). After Clubs leaves in a huff, Yeden exclaims that he has to be dealt with, and Kelsier shuts him down.

“You’re just going to let him go?” “…I don’t work that way, Yeden. I invited Clubs where I outlined a dangerous plan-one some people might even call stupid. I’m not going to have him assassinated because he decided it was too dangerous. If you do things like that, pretty soon nobody will come listen to your plans in the first place.” (chapter 4, page 80, TFE).

Clubs, upon his return, remarks he’s heard that Kelsier would never use emotional allomancy to sway someone to his side. “You’re a smoker Clubs. He couldn’t do much to you, not if you didn’t want him too.” “I don’t like Soothers…Men like that…well you can’t trust you aren’t being manipulated when they are around. Copper or no copper.” “I wouldn’t rely on something like that to get your loyalty.” “So I’ve heard.” (Chapter 5, page 87, TFE).

If we mark his thieving and conning as a pattern in this trope, we also have to mark it against Dockson, Hammond, Breeze, Vin, and Clubs, not to mention hundreds of other Skaa and half-skaa that are just trying to live. Thus, this particular criterion is being ignored due to the outstanding circumstances of the Final Empire and how it was run.

Deceitfulness for Profit or Pleasure

“And the third…well, that was Kelsier’s favorite. It involved a tongue coated with zinc. Instead of a knife it used confusion, and instead of prowling it worked in the open.” (SH)

As a con-artist and thief, Kelsier throughly enjoys his trade. He made it a mission in life to con his way to the top of the thieving world, becoming the most “Infamous crewleader in Luthadel” (Chapter 5, page 89, TFE). He loved terrifying the Ire out of their possessions and the orb of Investiture. The man enjoys his profession in life; he didn’t fall into it out of necessity or trick. He even states, in narration of his own in the Eleventh Metal, that when he Snapped as a Mistborn, he immediately gravitated towards Zinc and Brass, as they could “manipulate other people’s emotions.” (Eleventh Metal, page 159). “We’re thieves, gentlemen- and we’re extraordinarily good ones. We can rob the unrobbable and fool the unfoolable…” (Chapter 4, page 75, TFE). That being said, he doesn’t lie to his crewmembers. (Ghostblood’s are a bit different, and I’ll get to that later.) He is upfront and honest with his crew members, never expecting them to go into something without all the information. He has never used emotional allomancy to manipulate his friends. “Despite what Breeze says, it’s bad manners to use emotional Allomancy on your friends.” (Chapter 11, page 212, TFE).

His dealings with the Ghostbloods get a little trickier. I do not think lying to them about having powers has anything to do with profit or pleasure, more, it has to do with his position and what he is. A little mystery aids his position, and I’m sure those closest to him know quite well he lacks powers. 

To sum it up, Kelsier does meet this criterion. He enjoys the con, lives for it.

Impulsivity with a Failure to Plan Ahead

“Oh hell,” Kelsier said. “There’s actually a God?”“Yes.”Kelsier decked him. (SH) Impulsiveness, in regards to ASPD, is described as someone who is not only impulsive, but also fails to plan ahead. To quote the exact text. “Impulsivity with a failure to plan ahead.” They lack any way of preparing for large tasks or what they are going to do in the future. In regards to Kelsier, he can certainly be impulsive. Heat of the moment decisions is one of his major strengths, along with one of his major flaws. He’s fond of brash decisions against those he deems slighted him or others (Punching Leras/Ruin in Secret History.) He will jump headlong into danger in order to save those in helpless situations. (Running to save the army, only to be stopped by Vin.) His foray into Kredik Shaw could be called impulsive, though I read it as him believing that since he didn’t plan at all, there was no way he could be betrayed, as had happened last time. Him taking Vin was certainly a foolish choice, though I wouldn’t call it impulsive.

Speaking of his impulsiveness, other characters are aware of it as well. Vin, inspecting the crates that will be shipped to the caves, says that “Even the new, more responsible Kelsier was an impulsive man.” upon learning he planned to go to the caves with Yeden to inspect the army. (Chapter 20, page 331, TFE).

His slaughter of the noblemen and women in the town of Longsfellow after they murdered a young girl could be seen as impulsive. He did it without regard for their plan,  which angered Mare.

That being said, Kelsier does not fit this criteria, despite being an impulsive man, as he does not fail to plan ahead. All of Kelsier’s life as a thief was nothing but planning; job after job, all planned out and discussed with his friends/crewmates.

“It was an unfamiliar experience for him. [faltering/indecision] He’d always had a plan, before. Plans upon plans…” (Eleventh Metal, page 152).

“…all those plans, all of those heists, all of his grand visions.” (Eleventh Metal, page 164).

Beginning in Eleventh Metal, Kelsier forms his plan that we see enacted in The Final Empire. Specifically, this line. “Nobody fights, he thought, Nobody thinks they can fight. But they’re wrong. We can fight…I can fight.” (Eleventh Metal, page 165). “A plan began to bud, a plan he barely dared consider for its audacity. Vengeance. And more.” (Eleventh Metal, Page 169).

This plan carries us into the main narrative of The Final Empire. Every major event, barring a few hiccups, is fully orchestrated by Kelsier. He planned for the House War, long before he sat down with his friends and discussed it in Club’s Shop. The beginnings of it were at Trestings Plantation, where he “stirred up a little trouble.” (Prologue, page 12, TFE).

His death, at the end of the novel, was part of a plan; hidden deep under other sets of plans, a hidden leaf of paper among many: A plan to get the Skaa to rise up.

I doubt I need to fully list all of Kelsier’s planning and plotting throughout the books; it’s extensive and would fill several sheets of paper. While we can all agree that Kelsier is an impulsive man, I believe a suitable picture has been drawn up that proves that he doesn’t fit this particular criteria.

[abbatoirablaze]

Behind Closed Doors, Chapter 19

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings:  slight angst

“Your honor, I’m just asking for a valid custody agreement that works for both of us.  It’s not like I’m being unreasonable in my requests,” Chris argued.  His lawyer pulled on his sleeve, and you frowned as he continued, “my ex and her new husband have three children together, and she’s pregnant with their fourth!  I don’t want my children being ignored or forgotten between all the new faces!”

“Ignored,” you asked, standing up to glare at him, “Chris, when’s the last time you actually saw your children?  I’m there every single day for Johnny and Shayla.  I know their favorite colors.  What foods they do and don’t like.  I know everything about our children.  Can you say that?”

“Enough,” the judge said, banging his gavel, “I will not allow my court room to be made a mockery of because of a set of bickering parents.  However, I would like an answer to one of Mrs. Stans’ question, Mr. Evans.  When is the last time that you saw…Johnny and Shayla?”

Chris visibly paled, “I-uh…it’s been a while.  But I’m always filming and-”

“Mrs. Stan?” the judge asked, turning his attention to you as he cut Chris off, “do you know when the last time Mr. Evans saw his children was?”

“Their kindergarten graduation,” you admitted, “but that was about two years ago.  They’re about to enter the third grade.”

“And did you have opportunities to see your children between then and now, Mr. Evans?  Or was your filming schedule too busy?”

Chris frowned and his lawyer stopped him from speaking when he stood up, “Mr. Evans has a busy life as he is an actor and is often out of the country making films, your honor.  That’s his livelihood.  He doesn’t do it to avoid seeing his children.”

“That was not my question,” he said firmly, “should I ask Mrs. Stan again?  I feel as though she may know the answer.”

Sebastian took your hand under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I have your honor!” Chris frowned, “But she’s poisoned them against me.  My daughter won’t even acknowledge my existence, and my son-“

“Mr. Evans, please,” the judge frowned, cutting Chris off, “we are here to determine custody arrangements for Johnny and Shayla.  Mrs. Stan, I see in the records there is no formal custody agreement save for this contract when you and Mr. Evans entered a relationship.”

“Yes, your honor…when Mr. Evans and I entered into a relationship, with the intention of children, it was outlined that I would be responsible for the children’s care on a day-to-day basis, and should we ever split up, I would retain custody of our children.”

“Has he ever paid child support, Mrs. Stan?”

“I don’t want money from Chris your honor,” you said quickly, shaking your head, “I-I never did.  I’ve never held Chris back from seeing the kids, but I think that it’s important that they are raised with a mother and a father in a stable home.  Sebastian has been with me since I left Chris…when I found out he was cheating on me after I gave birth to the twins, Sebastian was my rock.  Sebastian gave me a job as his personal assistant and allowed me to earn an income while offering a safe place to raise them.  He-he’s all but taken the twins on as his own children…and they have a loving, supportive, stable home life.  They get good grades in school and have friends, and are extremely sociable, sweet children.  I-I’m not saying that Chris can’t see them.  I just don’t want them ripped up from that from time to time and have to deal with being wherever Chris is shooting at…or dealing with unfamiliar people in nannies and tutors.  That shouldn’t be an environment that eight-year-olds are raised in.”

“That was not my question, Mrs. Stan.  Did Mr. Evans ever pay you child support?”

“No sir.” You said quickly, “but I don’t want it.”

“Mr. Evans, I’m going to be frank with you,” the judge said firmly as he looked between you and Chris, “you really lucked out with the woman you had these two children with.  She cares deeply for their emotional and physical well-being and has not been a hinderance on you financially or otherwise.  Most men in your position that come into my courtroom get chained with gross amounts of child support and little time with their children.  And it appears that Mrs. Stan is doing neither of those things.”

“Your honor-“

“As for your motion to have full custody, I’m going to deny it, as I do agree with Mrs. Stan,” he said firmly, “children should have a stable environment, and it appears that with her and her husband they have that, even with the number of children they have.”

“SIR-“

“As for your outbursts in my courtroom, as well as the police reports from both Mr. and Mrs. Stan’s wedding, and the incident report on the set of one of your films between Mr. Stan and his wife, and yourself, I am bound in my duty to discuss the welfare of your children should you have visitations with them.”

“What?”

You looked to your lawyer, “what is he talking about?”

“I submitted the police reports and incident reports to show the judge why Chris shouldn’t have the kids full time, but it could impact his ability to see the kids at all.”

Your heart ached as you looked at your ex.

He looked completely blindsided.

You stood, “your honor, I don’t wish to limit the amount of time Chris can be near the twins.  If-If he wants to be around them, I’m always willing to make it work.  I-“

“Mrs. Stan, these incidents show that Mr. Evans is prone to rage, and has taken it out on you and your husband more than once,” he frowned, cutting you off, “I’ve had cases where these incidents grow, and especially after proceedings like these, can impact the very children the cases are about.”

“I would never lay a hand on my kids!” Chris said quickly as he stood up, “I love Johnny and Shayla!”

“Chris would never physically hurt Johnny and Shayla!” you said just as quickly.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

“Mrs. Stan, I will leave it up to you, but if you want mandated, supervised visits for Mr. Evans, you are well within your rights.”

Chris looked at you. 

But you were shaking your head before the judge could even finish the sentence, “no.  No.  Chris would never lay a finger on Johnny and Shayla.  Th-that’s too far, your honor.”

“Hey…Sebastian…are you okay?”

Sebastian looked over at you, and gave you a simple smile, “fine…”

You could tell that he was lying.

“I know that look, Sebastian…talk to me.”

“I was just thinking about the court case again today…”he admitted with a frown, “Johnny was really looking forward to the camping trip that Chris promised him…and he no-showed again.”

You frowned as well, “he said that something came up.”

“Something always comes up with him…” he replied, “you know…I was looking into it, and when he wastes time like that, it is viewed as a controlling thing…he had you waiting around the house for hours.  If I wasn’t home, the babies would have missed their shots…”

“Sebastian.”

“You’re just…you’re too easy on him,” he admitted, “I mean, I know that he’s Johnny and Shayla’s biological dad…and you want it to work…but maybe it’s not meant to.”

“I know...but what can I do?” you asked, “I don’t want the kids to resent me.  And I don’t want them thinking that he doesn’t care.”

“We could always take him back to court?” he suggested. 

“For what?” you snorted, “ignoring Johnny and Shayla?  He can’t get in trouble for that.”

“Maybe…maybe he could sign over his rights.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at your husband, “what?”

“If he really doesn’t want to be a part of their lives…maybe he should,” he offered, “I mean, I know you were really upset when he mentioned it when we filmed for Winter Soldier, but maybe…maybe he should.”

“Sebastian…where is this coming from?” you asked, “if Chris signed over his rights…Johnny and Shayla would be devastated!”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he said quietly, “ever since he’d mentioned it originally…and I-I don’t know…I don’t think they would be so devastated…because I’d ask them how they would feel if I officially stepped up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Honey…I want to adopt them,” he explained, “I want Johnny and Shayla to be Johnny and Shayla Stan, not Evans…I just-it feels right.  Like that was what was meant to happen.”

“Oh Sebastian…”

“But I mean…that’s only if that would be something that they want, obviously.  I wouldn’t offer it right now…but when they were older,” he said quickly, “I-I wouldn’t want them to feel pressured by it.”

“Well, I know that Shayla would be up for it,” you admitted, “she’s always seen you more as her father than she has Chris…but Johnny…I think if Chris signed over his rights, Johnny would be destroyed.”

He nodded, “Yeah…”

“But it’s a sweet thought,” you added, reaching over to take his hand in your own, “it really is, Sebastian…you’re such an amazing man.  And you have such a large heart.  It means the world to me that you see Johnny and Shayla as your children.  I’ve seen you want to move mountains for them, even though Chris is their biological dad.  Honestly, your empathy and commitment to not only me, but our family is one of the reasons I continue to fall in love with you more and more every day.”

“I love you too, honey!” he smiled, “hey…I know that Johnny was hoping that Chris would come by and do the camping trip, but tomorrow is only Thursday…do you think he’d want to go still…with me?  I could plan a boy’s weekend, and take Johnny, Jack, and Jefferson to pick out a tent and sleeping bags, and other stuff and I could take the three of them for the weekend…and you and Shayla and the babies could do something, like go shopping, or meet up with my mom and have a few days without the noise of the boys.”

“I think the boys will love that…”

His smile lit up your world and he tapped his script, “alright…we’ll do it then.  Tomorrow morning, I’ll make us a big breakfast, and ask the boys if they want to do a camping trip…and we’ll go shopping then head out…”

“God, I love you…”

“Shit,” he said, eyes widening ever so slightly, “I don’t know where any campsites are…baby-“

“Already on it,” you laughed, opening a new tab on your laptop, “we’ll have this all figured out in no time.”

“What would I do without you?” he grinned.

“I ask myself the same question all the time!” you sighed happily. 

Chapter 20

[pony-central]

The PuzzleVision Theory

Hey, my fellow SMG4 fans and Theorists. I'm here today to talk about something that all of the fandom are trying to work out. The mystery of this PuzzleVision stuff that's been happening. So, let's talk about it. Keep in mind, we're gonna get to the analysis of the SMG34/SMG43 ship, don't worry.

So, in the trailer for the IGBP movie, we can see that the characters have been upgraded again. TBH, the designs are more nicer. Then we get to the ending of the trailer. We can see just how intense it's gotten. SMG4 looked like he was on the brink of insanity.

"It's gotta be perfect. It's gotta be perfect! IT'S GOTTA BE PERFECT!!!" was the Wham Line of the trailer, as it made him look more terrifying. Speaking of that, we get to the movie itself.

We know that SMG4 was corrupted by the keyboard. And we also see the tiny TV icon asking him to rate their experience after he's free from the grasp of the keyboard. This is our first hint of Mr Puzzles, and his scheme, which makes him the main storyline's villain.

In the WOTFI 2023 Mission Prep stream, we can see the boys planning the heist to get SMG3's Notebook back from Mario and Marty. What if Mr Puzzles was corrupting Mario to taking the Notebook, too? Well, you'd be wrong.

During the course of the entire WOTFI 2023 special, we find out that Marty was told that there was a secret pizza recipe in the notebook.

We get a glimpse of Marty's office in the TF2 video, and it doesn't look that menacing, right? Ha ha ha. WRONG! In WOTFI 2023, the place is overloaded with traps and heavy weaponry that can kill anyone who dares to trespass.

It is at the end of WOTFI 2023 that we get our first real look at Mr Puzzles. We can see that he looks pretty menacing. We'll get more into his depth RN.

So, during the whole of "No TV Make Mario Not Okie Dokie", the power goes out, and everyone freaks out. The crew all try to find a source of energy, until the end when the power comes back on. Happy ending, right? Ha ha ha. Nope. Turns out that the TV appears downstairs for some reason. But this is important, as it shows us that the next chapter of The Showgrounds Saga has begun.

The first of five shows is a Blue's Clues parody, which shows us that the crew are being forced against their will to put on a good show. "Mario's Mysteries" is about SMG4 and Dog Mario attempting to "solve" the mystery on where the spaghetti is.

So we get our first shot of Mr Puzzles in this Five-Episode Mini-series called PuzzleVision. He appears with a red outline, as he plans to make the show as perfect as he can. Huh. Sound familiar? (insert Insane SMG4 here)

It is here that we get our first clue that everything isn't normal. We see Meggy, Tari and SMG3 all stuck in the basement, shown on the TV screaming, hinting at their release. They want freedom. They demand freedom, to no longer be forced to act as little playthings in Mr Puzzles' shows.

Next is "Once Upon an SMG4", which has one of the deepest messages ever. The premise of this episode is that SMG3 is the princess, no surprise there, he IS a Tsundere after all. He wants a "Sugar Daddy" to be rich. The songs are great. Near the end, SMG3 says "I wish we could all escape from here", which means he's self-aware of the brainwashing.

Yeah, Mr Puzzles. A "programming malfunction". It's like he's trying to keep the SMG4 Crew from spilling the televised beans. Which he is, no surprise there.

The third episode is entitled "Scooby-Mario, Where'd You Go?", which is a Scooby-Doo parody, and not just any Scooby-Doo parody. But a funny parody, and the best one so far. The episode is about Chef Bob going "missing", and the gang have to find him.

At one part of the episode, we get a glimpse of some type of surveillance room. Here, we see snippets of the episodes playing on about 27 TVs, if you count the TVs hidden in the shadows. Another hint of characters being self-aware.

Overall, my theory is that Mr Puzzles wants to make sure that at least one episode gets a five star rating. Perfect episodes mean never ending entertainment. I've been wanting to make a post about Mr Puzzles and his antics since WOTFI 2023. But I needed more evidence to support my theory.

But, hey. That's just a theory. An SMG4 Theory!

[tryslora]

Nate vs. the Edits

I have a ton of posts partially written, and this particular one will probably touch on some of those themes. Particularly the concept of time (and how little of it there is in a week).

So. Apologies in advance for that. I have swiss cheese brain. I might not even remember if I’m repeating myself. Maybe y’all will forgive me, or maybe not. I figure readers are happy enough to click next/close and move on. <3

The topic I’m thinking about today is how editing and drafting can be inherently antagonistic.

It’s no secret that I owe multiple books right now. I have two that need to be drafted: the next in the Seven Lakes series, so my indie publishing life doesn’t fail before it gets off the ground, and the next Welcome to PHU book, otherwise known as Nate’s book, which uh… I should’ve started drafting two years ago.

It’s also no secret that I am working with Duck Prints Press to bring out paperback editions of the PHU books, starting with the Twinned trilogy. Commit to the Kick is already in print through DPP, and the second and third books are in progress. We’ll Kickstart print editions once they are edited and ready to roll.

Editing is… hard. I mean, it’s probably hard for everyone, but it’s really hard for me because it is one of my mental breaking points. My brain assumes that when something is drafted, it’s done, and making big changes (or even small changes that have big effects) is hard for me to do. I am more than willing to admit to this fault.

It means that when my brain goes into edit mode, drafting mode goes POOF and disappears. And well, vice versa.

Over the last year, I’ve done a lot of work in learning how to edit, and I’ve gotten better at it. I did a first round edit of Into the Split to handle some large issues before DPP starts working on it. I did a big overhaul of a short story and turned it into a much better version of itself that I could submit to a market. But during that time, I couldn’t draft.

Part of that was time being a finite commodity, and part of it was that editing makes me overthink everything. And for Nate’s book in particular, there is a lot to overthink.

Nate’s book (Run Together, or RT in acronym form) is a book where it would be very easy, and possibly even a good idea, to have multiple narrators. While I had considered it briefly for Pels’s book (Not Your Guardian Angel), in the end, that one was a stronger book for being a single POV. This one I can see all the ways that having all three characters allowed to speak could make it stronger. Cass internalizes so much. And Dax… we’ve hardly gotten to see into his head at all in the PHU ‘verse so far. We know about how he handles his Talent, and that he’s a football stats vending machine. But seeing into his emotional side would be nice, especially considering the things he needs to work through during this storyline.

Every time I started working on the book, I thought about all the pieces that had been broken in ITS and needed to be fixed, and I stalled. I couldn’t wrap my head around the best way to tell the story.

I dubbed this problem “Nate vs. the Edits” in my head, which seemed like a decent title for a bout going multiple rounds in my brain with heavy fighting and damage. Like. Yikes.

Editing makes me analytical, and drafting requires me to shove my analytical parts into the background, letting the foreground take inspiration without failing under the anxiety of the details.

I have always trusted my subconscious when drafting. I have a brain like swiss cheese—I can’t hold details in my mind on purpose, but if I trust them to be there (like programming to a base case for recursion—yes, I know this makes no sense to anyone but me) the story works. I can recall things if I don’t try to recall. Trust my subconscious to fill in the blanks.

Right now, I have “outlined” the first maybe… quarter? third? of Nate’s book. I split a few of my pieces of the timeline into enough information to be able to draft three chapters. Except I feel like they aren’t quite right. The pacing is off.

I’ve lost the ability to write for the joy of writing the serial, for the joy of rolling around in drafting fic about the characters who live in my head. Or, I haven’t lost it… not completely. But I’m struggling with it, and yes, continuing to second guess myself. I’ve become my own gatekeeper, constantly concerned about whether I’m doing it right.

Ironically enough, this also affects editing. I haven’t opened the file for MF that I received a couple of weeks ago because I’m a bit afraid of what I’ll see. Like. They are edits and there are already notes in there that I just have to either agree with, reject, or find a different way to do it. Easy peasy, right?

HAH.

Instead, I’ve decided to use blog posts as my palette cleanser. I’ve spent the last half hour after work accomplishing nothing more than eating dinner and reading half a volume of manga. I know I need to write something so here I am, putting words on a page in hopes that it breaks the fiction loose.

Nate’s rattling around in here somewhere. So is Adam (for the 7Lakes book). They are ready to roll. It’s me that’s stalling.

A part of me thinks that when I’m retired, it’ll be easier. Mornings for drafting and afternoons for editing, or vice versa. Chores as palette cleansers between tasks. I hope that turns out to be true.

But for the moment, I’m squeezing in writing and editing like a teenager hiding my viewing of racy videos—hiding in a closed office for thirty minutes and praying I can get to the end before the time is up. Stealing away and closeting myself with my tablet, spewing words onto the keyboard, spilling my mind like blood from a wound.

/exhales

Yeah. I’m full of weird analogies. 

I know that there’s no secret to this. Yes, we all believe that we have a muse when we write, but we also have to put in the work. Editing is work. The paralyzation comes with the territory, and it means I’m learning. I am discovering what I’m doing wrong (and right!) and I need to internalize it.

No magic formula, just… patience. Doing it anyway. Pushing through.

If I have to edit and re-edit the first chapters of RT, it’s okay. It’s a serial, but I always try to get 4-8 chapters in before I start posting. I have time to fix things.

And somewhere, somehow, I have to do the editing for MF, too.

Two entirely different parts of my personality vying for what little time we have.

Best let them get to it, then, huh?

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[outpost51]

The 51 Post

so. bad week, if the prolonged absence wasn’t enough of a clue. but! i did write a... moderate amount. listen, i've been coping with sims.

Contents:

Things You Might Have Missed

This Week's Jams

WIP Breakdowns

From the Skwad

Around the 'Blr

Things You Might Have Missed

get on my taglists for WIP updates, 51 post, tag games, and ask events!

BRHP: Chapter 17 posted; K A DM O S.

Unlikely Adventures, Ch 2 posted; it’s literally in the blurb but it hurt me to write too

BRHP: Chapter 16 posted; baby's first fight pit, and a family secret is revealed.

Murky Water: the 7th entry into the Lighthouse in the Fog shorts; our new Keeper finds her answers.

This Week's Jams

aliens (porcelain remix) || xylø, porcelain [spotify/youtube]

avoidant attachment || libby larkin [spotify/youtube]

fire fire || flyleaf [spotify/youtube]

no care || daughter [spotify/youtube]

let the flames begin || paramore [spotify/youtube]

devil’s teeth || muddy magnolias [spotify/youtube]

WIP Breakdowns

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

hngggg i am. behind. it’s all outlined but my god i was too tired to write much

Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself

[affectionately strangles zadimus]

Blinding Neon, Shades of Grey

[vibrates] hhhhhh i love the orville scene, i forgot how much i love the orville scene, yes i will post the orville scene this week if yall bully me (pls)

Stellar Parallax

elmorise.gif

Lighthouse in the Fog

8th short will be coming out some time tonight or tomorrow, it’s been an uphill battle to write today, anyway things have Developed in a Direction i was not Expecting

In the Works

i have noodled some of those random shuffle prompts. some of you are getting whacked with the emotions stick

From the Skwad

SSSC 006 wrapped up! see the entries here.

@thetrashbagswasteland posted a little too good to be true, a follow up to a little too much like me as their submission for MEBB 2023 and it is rife with snark

speaking of MEBB, @sparatus also published his triumphant return to His Original Bullshit: serpents in the garden and i am living. he also wrote skewed results for FFF208 bc we all need more teia

@uraniumwriting also wrote a submission for FFF208 in which caspian is forced to be a reporter for a day

we have FIVE updates from @teamdilf this week: a sweet piece in which adrien is offered some kittens, ch 20 of in-laws and the grandparents, this drabble that actually ripped my soul out through my eyes, ch 16 of man of many talents, and the first chapter of father, daughter, rocket launchers, and a side of wrex

@bambino1294 dropped the second chapter of upright tower and it was well worth the wait

@equusgirl has given us two more treats for sapphic summer: heaven or hell and if the bird likes it's cage so very much, why is the cage so tightly shut

@commander-krios wrote this squee-worthy despina/theron piece and also this stolen moment between jeff and john

@writernopal wrote a character study with mariel and sartor that i’m still thinking about actually, it’s wild to see how much the characters have developed between the first and third books

@asher-orion-writes posted another installment of fairweather YAY hhhhhh i fucked up and peeked at the last few lines before i read it and now i’m trying to wrap up so i can go eat it

Around the ‘Blr

@tabswrites blessed us with both the second chapter of ascension and chapter 4 of silver sentinels!!!

@vacantgodling’s art comms are open which i will be taking a look at given it does not fall through the holes in my swiss cheese brain, he dropped toph art that i’m OBSESSED with AND a lukewarm rejection sneep bc toph’s bday was the 7th. tell him happy birthday 4 me

bit over a week but i missed it last week — @autumnalwalker announced that the archivist’s journal is COMPLETE, so if you were ever looking for a reason to binge it, now’s the time (the anniversary is july 16th!). find it here @thearchivistsjournal

@captain-kraken dropped a sonhara lore masterpost oh my GOD

screaming crying frothing at the mouth over @liv-is’s fae headshots WOW

@void-botanist gave us the LORE on the revalo tailory & hotel and i will chew off my arm if tumblr doesn’t start giving me gd notifs about this

@artdecosupernova-writing dropped SO MANY shorts this week, so here’s the tag, go nuts; also a post on the planet holeph that i am eating with a spoon

we now have such amazing faces to put with the cast of @elshells’s agent ace (courtesy of @illjustpretend)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

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[crimeronan]

hi!! sorry if this has been asked before but i wanted to know if u had a specific editing process? ive read before that u edited ur fics for 6-8 hours and wanted to know what those hours consisted of, technically speaking, if its not too much trouble!!

hello!!

this is a really good question. i want to do it justice but breaking down every single detail of my editing process would take a VEEEERY long time. so i'll give more of an overview

some fics have a Much more involved editing process than others. so i can walk you through what both "processes" look like, step-wise. my most involved process produces the best work but is also the most time-consuming and exhausting.

to start, though: you gotta understand my first draft process. because whenever i tell other writers about how i draft, their responses range from "that's insane" to "that's so smart" to "that's insane. again."

i don't reread anything when i draft.

and i mean Anything. i don't reread a single sentence. i don't reread my phrasing as i'm writing it. i don't even check to make sure that my sentences make sense.

i just write out the entire story as i'm hearing / imagining it in my head. whatever moments, beats, dialogue, Whatever is most important to me. i don't edit as i go, i don't look back. if i can't think of details or lose my flow, i put [add X here] and keep going.

i usually have a bullet-point outline before i draft -- that's my scribbled concept sketch. my first draft is the equivalent to the slightly less scribbly concept sketch. it takes a MAXIMUM of one-third of my entire writing time.

the other two-thirds (or more!) are editing.

so basically. editing is where i reread what i wrote, identify weak spots and pacing issues, revise my dialogue, improve my metaphors, bulk up my imagery..... it's like doing all of the painstaking lining and coloring and shading of a very involved art project.

with my Most involved editing process, i open a new document beside the first draft. i write an entire second draft from scratch, using my first document as reference. that lets me keep all the important beats, rearrange stuff, go more in-depth with detail, etc. THEN i reread that second draft and do all of my fussing.

with my less involved editing process, i just reread and edit the first draft instead of creating an entire second draft. i also do fewer editing passes.

(the involved process includes editing the whole document once, putting it down for a few hours, then starting over from the beginning and editing the Edited Version all over again.)

it might be easier for me to show you the differences in fic quality, for you to get a sense of how the editing process affects things.... rather than trying to describe exactly what i look for / change / do / etc.

so. here's three recent (ish) toh fics

humans are friends. AND food - no editing.

why did love put a gun in my hand (and all other parts of this series) - basic first draft editing.

what we are is the sum of a thousand lies - 2 to 3 full drafts per chapter, 3 to 5 editing passes per chapter, ~30,000 words of outtakes beyond that.

with that vampire AU fic (#1), you can see that it's short, it's quick, it's silly and fun. it's not emotionally deep. it doesn't make much sense. it's very clearly based on Vibes instead of a fully considered story.

the princess luz fic (#2) is Significantly more involved. the increased detail here is partially because this is a horror series instead of a stupid humor romp, but the principle is the same.

all of luz's internal narration about her fear, the pacing of her interactions and confrontations with belos n hunter alike, the ugly body horror and the way she comforted the dying grimwalker... that's all from the editing process. the bare bones were there in my first draft, but my edits were where i got to make things Effective.

basically, i wrote the horror story the way i saw it in my mind. and then during the edit, i could ask questions like - what would make this worse? what is she really afraid of? what is the most LUZ reaction that she could have in this situation? what's the most effective way to show the differences between this luz and canon luz, and the similarities? etc etc etc. all those little details!

then you have wwaitsoatl. which is by Far the most energy-intensive fic i've ever written. that's part of why updates are so sporadic despite there being well over a thousand subscribers at the moment (FAR more than any of my other fics have ever had).

the reason that this fic requires so many drafts and editing passes is because of the sheer complexity of the characterization. the plot is pretty generic, as toh fics go - hunter gets kidnapped away from the castle and learns how to be loved, this fic has been written 100000 times before in 100000 different ways by 100000 different authors.

BUT. every single one of the four narrators in this particular story is unreliable in different ways. every single one has different priorities, motivations, baggage, feelings, levels of emotional intelligence. all four of them are in massive conflict with one another.

the conflicts Between the characters are similarly complicated, so i have to spend a LOOOONG time on all of the dialogue & interactions. these guys do a LOT of projecting, and arguing, and talking at cross-purposes, and making incorrect assumptions, and lying, and obfuscating, and on and on and on. clear communication is basically impossible.

the internal narration also requires a similar level of care. hunter and darius in particular have incredibly challenging POVs to write because all of their narration is tied up in denial, self-delusion, and facades.

hunter's nightmares, cognitive dissonance, and slow breakdowns take Hours And Hours And Hours to get right. same goes for darius's feelings and the things he says and the things he Doesn't say. i literally study every single individual sentence and rewrite it like 15 times, then study every individual paragraph and rewrite and rearrange them like 15 times. and if a scene isn't working, i cut it entirely, even when that adds up to 30,000 words of outtakes.

it's my most ambitious fic by a longshot and i'm confident in saying it's my best work to date. but hoo boy, it is WORK.

so. that's my editing process, basically! and how my editing process changes my final product.

[babyspacebatclone]

Outline below for my story based on my “Who opened the portal that brought Hordak to Etheria?” theory in SPoP.

Potential relevance to another topic I’m discussing elsewhere re: poorly handled character arcs slash treatment of traumatized characters in the series.

But mostly because I really, really do want to write this, and getting this done while it’s on my mind helps.

This fic is to be written in third person with a Queen Angella focused pov (aka observations are filtered through her bias, the only internal thoughts seen are hers).

I’m also now plotting out a second chapter from Hordak’s pov, because it turns out I figured out another connection these two have! Other than this expanded crack-fic idea I now hold as my personal fanon Angella had to make the horrible, painful choice to create a stable time loop and bring her own personal devil and tormentor to Etheria to prevent the planet from being consumed by the Heart.

Anyway, at the start of the fic Hordak and Entrapta have contributed research and tech to a device that eventually is able to bring Angella back from being between dimensions after the portal disaster.

It opens with Angella waiting to talk with Hordak alone, mentally reviewing every single reason she utterly hates him and every damage he has done to herself personally and her planet.

Suggestions for here welcome! 😊

Hordak enters, polite and professional.

Angella mentally reviews everything she’s been told about how he has acted since the defeat of Prime: submitting to a trial of his crimes, living with Entrapta, working with her towards the repair of Etheria, and taking an apparently reluctant leadership role of guiding his newly freed brothers to independence.

Outwardly, she acknowledges his contribution to her rescue.

Hordak similarly acknowledges this, but independently notes he did not do it for her sake.

Angella appears slightly shocked at this.

He clarifies that he has developed some warm feeing towards Adora (this would be explored in the second chapter, it’a a continuation of their finale scene and because I happen to like papa Hordak fanons. oh and shared angst you’ll see), and is aware of the impact the lose of Angella has had on her and her friends, further depressing Adora.

Hordak claims he performed his duty partially towards the betterment of Etheria as a whole, but personally worked diligently for the sake of Adora and by extension Glimmer.

He is glad that Angella is returned, but he believes she deserves his honesty about his motives.

Angella is silent for a moment, mentally reviewing her time in-between dimensions, although the audience does not get any descriptions at this time.

Then she speaks: “I was the one that created the portal that brought you to Etheria.”

Hordak is as shocked as any unspoiled reader would be, and cannot respond.

We now get the beginnings of scenes from Angella’s time in-between, when she first regained enough of her sense of self to recognize she could see all alternative timelines.

She starts with a timeline where Hordak does not come to Etheria.

It ends with Light Hope guiding an eager and willing - and utterly naive - Adora to initiating the Heart of Etheria.

Angella asks Hordak how much he knows about LH, and he admits he has not been told much. He acknowledges, however, he is aware she had something to do with the project of turning Etheria into to a weapon, which required Adora as the She Ra to activate.

Angella explains briefly how LH would have been able to manipulate basically anyone on Etheria into allowing an impressionable and vulnerable Adora to be trained by LH.

Throughout her explanations, we also get more details from her memories of these timelines - the more that is shown, the clearer it is that Angella didn’t just witness these timelines but to an extent experienced them.

When Hordak remains unconvinced the Horde was the safest place for Adora, Angella reveals what is admittedly fanon but ties in what I want with this overall fic.

That LH could - with admittedly time, effort, and motivation, but unquestionably the ability to - directly manipulate not just an First Ones tech on the planet to her own ends, but anyone attuned to a Runestone through them.

Anyone.

And we get the memory of Angella herself raising Adora, preventing her from ever meeting Madame Razz, and then gladly guiding her directly to the Sword and LH, proud and serene in her “mission” right up until the end.

While Hordak processes this, Angella admits she will never fully understand what being under Horde Prime’s control was like, as Micah does, but she also understands better than anyone who had not been chipped.

Hordak attempts to protest that while this may be true, bringing the Horde to Etheria seems excessive.

Angella counters with what the Horde gave to Adora in addition to time away from LH: training, a sense of responsibility….

And the experience of being betrayed, of being manipulated for the sake of Shadow Weaver’s own greed, of being lied to and needing to use her own critical thinking to confirm the truth.

Chapter 2 will show that this concept is going to have an angstfest impact on Hordak, and actually helps him understand Angella a lot better.

Hordak, a lot more subdued, again questions if traumatizing Adora had been necessary, and Angella admits there may have been an alternative time line she had not witnessed that may not have required it.

But she continues that it hadn’t just been the Horde itself she’d needed to bring to Etheria, but Hordak himself, shocking him again.

The memories here are focused on how Angella breeched reality for several crucial seconds to create the portal to bring Hordak to Etheria, in much the same way she described LH manipulating the thoughts of a Runestone Aligned princess/queen: gentle nudges against what already exists, pushing favorable thoughts/energies while repressing unfavorable ones just enough.

Angella doesn’t admit in her thoughts, but it’s implied to the reader that this all took multiple of her lifetimes to achieve, endless cycles of pressing a fragment of a nanometer against the wall of reality a cycle, the only substance she could even be tangible against.

Externally she describes how she had explored timelines where other clones had been transported to Etheria, and none had prepared Adora as successfully as the timeline Angella herself remembered. No clone but Hordak had had the precise combination of drive and persistence required to make the Horde a formidable threat, but also the singular motivation to return to Prime over conquest that allowed both Shadow Weaver’s machinations and the reformation of the Princess Alliance that shaped Adora.

Silently, she also admits that no other clone had successfully reconnected with Prime through a functional portal, and the reader briefly hears how Angella struggled with attempting to be selfish enough to not have Adora defeat Prime if it were possible, but Angella ultimately could not bring herself to not bring a savior to the greater galaxy when that timeline was already so clear before her.

(there’s one more point in Hordak’s favor, but that comes up in Chapter 2)

After Hordak processes this all, he surprises Angella - he calmly but sincerely apologizes that he and the horrors he had brought to her planet had ultimately been the best option she had found.

Reflecting Hordak’s earlier admission of his motives in rescuing her having nothing to do with Angella herself, the queen then tells him she still hates him with her entire being.

She, herself, even after the sacrifice she made the decision to make for the greater good, will never be able to actually forgive him, and she will not even try, even though Micah is.

Hordak appears amused by this to Angella; the next chapter reveals he actually finds it darkly funny to finally find someone not only willing to actively hate him but admit it to his face (Mermista is close but allows herself to be muffled by everyone else). It turns out he not only completely agrees with Angella’s assessment, but puts a chink into her inability to forgive him by pointing out another thing they have in common (completely without any desire to create empathy from her and totally towards his own mission of making amends to Adora and those close to her, oh how did chapter 2 turn even more angsty than this one so delightful….).

Anyway…

Hordak again apologizing that, as he will remain by Entrapta’s side and she is adamant about continuing to be Adora’s and therefore Glimmer’s friend, Entrapta’s going to end up dragging him to social functions Angella is present at.

Angella acknowledges this and points out she’s royalty - he is far from the first person she has had to remain civil towards in social settings despite despising, even of his is on a different level from anyone else.

This time, they share the amusement at the irony of them being perfectly attuned in this regard.

Not quite sure how to bridge this chapter to the next now that Chapter 2 exists in my brain, but I’ll at least give you my favorite part so far:

[Hordak cannot think how to brooch the topic he wants, trying to think of tactful ways to bring it up.] “Would I be mistaken to assume that there was a degree of - the desire for self-termination when you chose to sacrifice yourself to save Adora?”

The Queen’s head shot up and back even straighter, her eyes piercing daggers that immediately reminded him of His… of the betrayer’s fury.

I am so sorry Entrapta I am about to be executed on the spot I am so sorry I am an idiot please understand this was utterly my own responsibility please forget me and move on what in the deepest abyss was I thinking…

(it turns out, there are two reasons Hordak came to that conclusion; he silently acknowledges in this chapter that he fully intended for mutual destruction when he attacked Catra at the end of Season 4, let alone entering the purification pool…)

(As I said above, the memory of being controlled and witnessing the harm you were manipulated into doing to others you have responsibility over isn’t the only thing Hordak and Angella have in common….)

😈

[vacantgodling]

I have a burning question for you. One we all need answers to (only if you want to feel free to let this ask rot in your askbox for eternity you have my permission.)

is donut wip alive

KAT!!! i’m happy to see ya :’)

technically speaking donut wip & the entirety of the liminal space series as a whole are still alive! (i’m not a huge fan of killing off my wips i usually just shelve them indefinitely until i circle back to the idea) — couple of reasons it’s shelved rn tho

1. paramour brainrot >>>>>>>> like seriously this wip has made me insane idk what magical combination of tropes and ideas i managed to spark like 2 years ago but i have never been this abnormal about a wip ever i think lol. so a lot of my wips have been sidelined in favor of my Child.

2. i got Super Stuck. not just regular stuck where you get writers block for a bit then move on no, i mean Super Stuck as in i was stuck on donut wip chapter 15 i think for like a year and a half before i finally said “i cannot force myself to write more in this draft i have to take a break” so i stepped back from it and the series in general to figure out what was going on with me and my brain. and i think really what it came down to is at that time it wasn’t fun for me to write? it felt very much like a chore—despite all of its horror it seemed “safer” to write. it was the thing people were expecting out of me and i felt like i was writing more to fulfill expectations than to actually write this story because i enjoy it. AND I DO ENJOY IT!! that’s the crazy thing. i really like this story and the nuance i allowed to grow into it when it literally started as me being “fuck it write a horror novel just to finish something and don’t care about the characters” but i care about them so much now etc etc.

but because i don’t do well when i feel forced it just sucked the joy out of it for me. paramour in comparison, has never felt forced. it’s always exciting and stimulating to my brain because it is a wip that is so very Me all over it. and i wanted donut wip to have that same feel but i gotta give it more time. maybe i’ll try doing the outline to writing method that i’ve been doing and working for paramour so i can avoid getting stuck again.

however, i did actually rewrite donut wip’s chapter 1 proper back in may of this year—i wanted to see if i could come back to it and make myself write it Forreal and i could! i did! and i’m really happy with it! which is exciting! and as a treat you (and anyone else who reads this full nonsense ramble or remembers donut wip from eons ago) can read that revamped first chapter—first official piece of donut wip writing i’ve ever really posted. just cuz like tbh it means a lot to me that you care about that story weh ;3; and remember—

so without any more waffling: here is chapter one, uncensored from spoilers so u get drawn into the mystery 👀

Chapter One

I groaned when my guitar string snapped again for the third time today, the discordant twang echoing in my large dorm, up to the rafters. I heard Andres laugh from Tiffany’s bed.

“Oh yeah, making faces at it will help.”

“Fuck off.” I stuck my tongue out at him. “Toss me…” I waggled my pointer finger towards a stack of boxes between Tiffany’s bed and my desk. Opened and dangerously leaning was a box of replacement guitar strings, near empty and I’d only bought them a few months ago. “… Those.” Andres didn’t move though. I groaned again.

“Andre!” I snapped my finger and my voice at him. “Strings!”

“I’m not a dog. Besides, you’ve been at this for three hours. When are you finally gonna give up for the day and spend some time with your bestie?” He put emphasis on the word, but the trill of his voice was playful. “Hmm. I have been buggin‘ on this part a bit.” I pretended to think, tapping my thumb against my cheek. He seemed hopeful. I caved and laughed aloud. “Later!” I giggled at his groan. “I wanna make sure this melody’s flowin’ right before I break. Then we can play Spyro or whatever else ya wanna do.” Seeing as he couldn’t be bothered to give me my strings, I got up myself and toed my way through the mess that was steadily building up on the floor between the beds. I snatched up the box before Andres could knock it over with his outstretched foot.

“Oh, you watch it mister.”

“Sooooory.” He dragged out, but his grin told me he wasn’t sorry. I flipped him off, then flopped back down on my bed, quickly setting to work on restringing. More of them had begun snapping lately as I composed, but I chalked it up to stress. Finals wore me down this semester, more than they had in our first year, but it was bittersweet that they were over now. This year went by so fast, it’s like I blinked and it was December again. Beside me on the bed my bright yellow phone buzzed.

“Who’s that?” Andres asked. I flipped it open to look at the message.

from: vivi

Are you sure you want to stay for winter break?

from: vivi

Dad wanted me to ask again.

I tossed my phone back on the bed.

“Just my sister!” I said cheerfully. “Doing dad’s errands again. I told him I didn’t want to deal with him and Miss Borsche.” I wrinkled my nose. “He’s been buggin’ her to get me to come with them since I told him no.”

“Come with them… where?”

“Oh usually dad goes on some sorta cruise or vacation for the holidays. But, he never invites Vi. So I never go.”

“Why doesn’t he invite her?” The question was posed nonchalantly, and I looked over at Andres, who was looking down at his smartphone.

I’d venture to say that we’d become near best friends now after the past year and a half of knowing each other, yet there was still a lot we didn’t know about each other. I knew he had siblings, but not their names, and he knew about Juvia, but not anything more than that. I knew his family wasn’t rich but they worked extra to push him through school. He knew that mine was, but I had loans out the ass. We played guessing games every now and again—to get to know each other. But whenever there was some real-life line we went to cross in our blossoming friendship, he was always open and I always hesitated. It’s just how it were.

“She…” I tilted my head back and forth a bit. “It’s a bit complicated, I reckon.”

“Then take your time telling me. I’m not rushing you.” Our eyes caught, and he gave me a tiny smile that I couldn’t not return back. But things fell quiet after that, and I turned back to my strings.

Winter break was here, and the freedom that came with it curled around our slowly emptying building like the fresh blanket of snow that dusted our sleepy little college town. On the telly earlier, there were talks about a blizzard rolling in sometime between today and tomorrow. The snow for now was peaceful, and inviting. It crowned even my windowsill when I woke up this morning, and even if I wasn’t with Juvia in person, the holiday buzz still felt strong in the air.

A rap on the door drew me out of my thoughts.

”It’s open!” I called. The handle clicked then pushed open a crack, just enough for someone to poke their head in.

“Kelley.” Andres acknowledged the second I breathed out “Joaquin!” Our R.A regarded us with a lazy smile, and my eyes traced the curve of his handsome mouth. A flush of heat shivered through my body, and I darted my eyes away when they met mine.

“How are you two holding up here? Your folks coming soon?”

“Negativo.” Andres leaned back on Tiffany’s pillow, stretching one leg out into the air. I heard something pop and I made a face. “They’re back home and I don’t have enough money for a plane ticket there. So I’m staying.” Joaquin nodded easily, then he turned to me again. “Julissa?”

“Just Juls is okay!” I said quickly. I coughed. “Um, no, I’m also staying. If that’s alright?”

“No rules against it.” Joaquin flashed me a smile. “I was checking to see who’s still going to be here so I can send a final count to the director.”

“Is it just gonna be us?” Andres asked.

“No, there’s,” Joaquin paused to pop open the door a little further, and leaned against the wall. He counted on his fingers. “The three of us. Then, Daisy Kennedy, on the third floor. René Edwards, down the hall and….” He looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember. “Ah, Saul…Carson, I believe. Top floor.”

“Didn’t know you had someone named Saul on your floor.” I said, looking over to Andres. He snorted. “Me either. Aside from my roommates, I only really talk to you Juls.”

“You’re such a loner.” I teased, as though I was any better. Andres chucked Tiffany’s pillow at me.

“Hey!”

“Actually Kelley?” Andres started. I threw the pillow back and nailed him in the torso, making him choke on his next words. Joaquin’s quiet huff of a laugh distracted me for two seconds—enough for me to let my guard down. Andres jumped from Tiffany’s bed to mine and grabbed me in a headlock.

“Andre!” I shrieked, but he was merciless. His freehand dug into my side and began to tickle at my sides. It wasn’t long before I was howling with laughter, trying to desperately shove him off me. Amused, Joaquin waited patiently with his arms folded loosely over his chest.

Andres finally relented and let me go and I kicked his shin for good measure. “God, I can’t breathe.” I wheezed. Andres laughed jovially, then turned back to Joaquin. “I was going to ask if we had to stay in our dorms while we were here?”

“Well,” He looked between Andres and I, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think you need my permission, you’re both adults.” I felt heat swarm my dark cheeks and next to me Andres sputtered. “It’s nothing like that!” He snapped. “I just mean, I got a leak in my room and Juls offered to let me crash here. I just don’t know if the break protocol is different than during the school year.”

“A leak?” Joaquin frowned, reaching for his phone. It was similar to Andres’s, clear and sleek. He tapped a few buttons. “From the roof?”

“Yeah. I woke up this morning to snow dripping down my face.” Andres shrugged. “I don’t know how long the leak has been there, it’s been pretty dry this year. But I don’t want to deal with it, it’s literally right above my bed.”

“Like I said, you don’t really need my permission to stay wherever you’d like. But thanks for telling me, I just scheduled a maintenance request.” Joaquin tucked his phone back into his tight jeans. “Should be a few days but it should be fixed.”

“If it wasn’t snowing, I’d get up there and do it myself.” I hit Andres with my hand lightly. “That’s dangerous.”

“Wouldn’t want you falling off.” Joaquin hummed. “Now that I would be held responsible for.”

“Are you staying too, Joaquin?” I asked. Andres elbowed me. “He just said that. Earth to Juls, get your mind out of the gutter.”

“It wasn’t there in the— Oh, I hate you!” Andres and I began squabbling again and from the door Joaquin laughed. “I’ll leave you all to it!”

“Thanks for coming by!” I called after him as he moved from the doorway. Before I turned fully back to Andres, from the corner of my eye, I saw… something follow after Joaquin. I couldn’t get a good enough look at it, but what I did see looked like a cream colored tail.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

Someday I'm going to finish writing this story. It would help if I could actually remember where I put my notebook that had the outline and third chapter in it lol

This is a bit from the first chapter, setting up the main character, Dantes. For context, rulers in the kingdom of Hieracium are elected, and each takes the family name of the very first ruler of the kingdom -- an unlucky woman who was volunteered for the job because she knew how to do math related to switching currencies and nobody else did. So the Ulfric Clan isn't a bloodline, it's more of a title.

His father and mother had raised him to work as hard as any farmer or farrier or fisherman. Their particular branch of the ever-growing Ulfric clan had not always been rulers, the late Queen Mother had reasoned, and there had been no guarantee that Dantes would be elected as Maya's successor when she retired. Better to be a Jack-of-all-trades than to find yourself out of work with no practical skills.

But Dantes was more than happy to pull his share of the weight in both the capitol and the city. Perhaps his advisers did tend to gently poke fun at his habit of treating the staff like housemates rather than employees trying to do their jobs. And perhaps some foreign dignitaries looked down on Hieracium a little for having a ruler who was willing to scrub flagstones and scatter reeds with the scullion staff. But the Hieracia people loved him for it. It was a reminder to those within their kingdom and those watching from without that rulers were only mortals, like their subjects.

Dantes had just finished setting a cauldron of water to boil when the head cook shuffled into the kitchen. He smiled at her, dusted off his hands, and began to measure tea leaves into an enormous pot.

“Morning, Mrs. Bolton,” he said cheerfully, “Were the dormitories warm enough last night? I saw frost on the windowpane this morning.”

The elderly woman wrapped her pink wool shawl a little tighter around her shoulders and sucked on her teeth thoughtfully before pushing past the king to add several cups of dried oats to the cauldron. Her hands were not as steady as they once were, and she looked altogether too pale.

“Here, give me that,” Dantes said, trying to take the next cup of oats from the cook. “Sit down and warm yourself before you freeze!”

“Leave off, you!” The cook retorted, gently batting his hand away, “I’m a grown girl, I can handle it well enough.”

She made a face as the last of the oats for the porridge disappeared into the water, and held her hands out to warm them over the steam.

“Truth be told,” she admitted, “Twas a mighty cold night. I can’t speak for the others, of course. But me and Mr. Bolton, we do chill easier than we used to.”

Dantes tutted sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear it,” he said. “I’ve heard that in Nermorn they’ve begun using little coal stoves to heat rooms without fireplaces. Shall I order some for the dormitories? I’ve heard they’re a little messy, but efficient.”

Mrs. Bolton patted his arm with the bold familiarity of one who had known him for most of his life.

“You’re a dear, your majesty,” she told him fondly. “Now you seat yourself! And, and, take some breakfast while you can, afore the rest of my kitchen miscreants wake to scrape the pot clean! I’ll not have it said of me that I let a king go hungry.”

“Yes marm,” Dantes chuckled. He let her push him to a stool by the fire -- no mean feat for a little old woman half his size -- and hand him a steaming bowl of porridge. 

It was bland stuff. Dantes waited until Mrs. Bolton’s back was turned, and tossed two handfuls of nutmeg into the pot. He swiftly brushed his hand off on his trousers, lest the traces give him away, but his attempt at concealment failed anyway.

The instant the cook smelled the nutmeg, she crossed her arms and sighed. “Now sire, you know we need that for baking! You can’t turn every staff breakfast into something fancy.”

“I can try,” the king retorted, with a most unkingly pout.

A few of the other cooks, bakers, and kitchen staff trailed in as the fire warmed the stones. They each greeted the king respectfully, then collected their bowls of porridge and drifted away to begin their morning routines. There was bread to be baked, turnovers to be filled, and enough food to feed a castle to be prepared.

“Colin, get another pot of porridge going,” Mrs. Bolton ordered one of her assistants, “Tis cold enough to freeze the marrow this morn. Make up ten bowls for Jemmy to bring up to the night watch -- and mind you don’t let certain individuals meddle with the recipe!”

“We’re down to one more sack of oats, marm,” the flustered man warned, “All the rest went into the oat farls last night. For the upstairs’ breakfast, remember?”

“Nevermind,” Dantes interjected, pointing his spoon in Colin’s direction. “I’ll see to it that we buy more the next time we ride through Ainselv.”

The king visited the city of Ainselv often. It was only four hours’ ride from Iconos, the capital of Hieracium. As it was a little newer than Iconos, and a little larger, it had a much nicer library, and much nicer merchant stalls. Being so close to the shores of Lake Striga, they had first pick of the goods shipped across the lake from Nermorn. Being further east, Iconos often got what was left over.

“Ordering food is the cellarer’s job, your majesty,” the Assistant Head Cook said in mild reproof.

“Well I’m in charge of all the jobs, aren’t I?” Dantes defended himself, “I can give the cellarer less work today if I like!”

“Sure, and you’re not only looking for new tomes of frightful tales, your majesty?” Mrs. Bolton’s assistant teased.

“Now see here, Mrs. Poppy!” Dantes laughed, then spent an embarrassing two seconds cleaning bits of porridge out of his beard. “See here! That was one time! Heavens, come home with a book instead of a bull once, and you never live it down!”

“Who forgets an entire cow?!” Mrs. Bolton called from the dough table.

“A bookwyrm, that’s who!” Dantes retorted. “I’ll make that oat order, never you fear. Besides, I may as well find something new for the court intendant to read.” He made a face. “She’s up all hours like an owl with those tawdry war romances. May as well find her something with a little more substance, eh?”

“I...don’t know that the Lady Hawksbit is the sort who would care for your tales of knights and monsters, sire,” Mrs. Poppy muttered, but said nothing more about it.

Dantes poured himself a mug of hot mint tea, wished the kitchen staff a pleasant morning, and excused himself. “Off to work!” he announced, “It’s Thursday: out-of-doors work today.”

“Ooo! Mind you wear lots and lots of coats, sire!” squealed a scullion's child on the way to breakfast, “Mother said it’s wicked cold today!”

“And she’s quite right!” Dantes answered. “Oh, Charley, tell the butler I’m requiring a rotation of breaks by the fires today, won’t you? We want no frozen fingers here! Laundry will keep until the sun is properly up.”

“Yes sire!” the child chirped, “If there’s to be lots of breaks, will we get to play in the snow?”

“That’s a question for your mum, not me!” the king called over his shoulder. He took the stairs two at a time and came out in a cozy parlor that had once been an office.

Dantes had never really relished the idea of doing his share of the kingdom’s bookkeeping in the same windowless room his mother had favored. He found it unbearably stuffy in the warmer months. Upon taking the throne, one of the first things he’d done was to make sure his private office had windows that could be opened in the summer. That did incur the risk of pigeons coming to investigate the budget, but there were worse things in life.

Dantes hastily sipped his half-cooled tea as he backed out of the study and made his way up the north stairs to the grand hall. On Thursdays, instead of hearing from advisers all day, Ulfric Dantes was more accustomed to holding court for only four hours. Ministers of agriculture, water control, public health, and other departments related to the kingdom’s overall environment would present their reports to the king during this time. If anything was amiss, the king would ride out to personally contact whoever had been placed in command over the town named in the report. Married rulers usually delegated this sort of thing to their spouses, as that was the job of the vice-rulers. But Dantes remained cheerfully and stubbornly single, and liked to take care of things himself.

Thursday afternoons were generally spent in one of Hieracium’s six cities, holding town hall meetings with city government and civilians alike. They usually had much more specific ideas of what the royal court could improve upon than the advisers in Iconos did.

And, thus far, none of the civilians had tried to badger the king into some kind of political marriage. That was another point in their favor.

[ofmermaidstories]

some fic-related thoughts:

ok so im gonna make the feral goblin princess x knight iida thing a full thing. 🪄🐸✨ idk how long it’ll be or when the first chapter will drop—i’m closing in on the climax of the deku fic and also working on the regency fic (which has to be presented fully finished in march LMAO) so WHO KNOWS. but i’ve already done my broad outline of it and am very keen because i love a good fairytale/fantasy romp. 🥹 omg maybe we should make our little froggies some little hats??? 🐸👒🌷

speaking of the deku fic, if i keep writing like i have been i’m worried the final product might actually clock in, in it’s entirety, at just under 200k 😭 I HATE IT HEREE REEEEE saying that i think izuku pt. 2 will be doing the bulk of the heavy lifting but…. i mean, who knows who knows. i refuse to guesstimate when i’ll update, because i’m apparently too optimistic. 🤧 but i am at the end of what i’ve been loosely thinking of as the “first act”, so from here on out the second act should be a downward slide (with another uphill climb in the third act, because it is all action because i hate myself). idk idk idk idk. will i ever be free of the deku fic? 🥺 WHEN will i be free 🥺 i say this but i just know i will be a massive baby when the fic is done so no one look at me!!!!!!

[selfdiagnosedeyemotif]

Chapter Three (Aestia):

Takes place in Abershine, in the Stonelands

Aestia first goes to consult the greatest scholars to walk the land, they who have travelled the world and gathered the knowledge of many: her parents (mortifying: good ol' mom and dad are your best sources in your world-saving mission)

Fun banter, the parents convince Aestia to stay for dinner, have a very thinly veiled meet-the-parents encounter with Lylah

Mentions of their travels to the Farlands and their encounters with The Great Seer, amoung other topics ("Dad, you've told this story hundreds of times")

Specifically suggest that the two speak to the Archbishop on the matter ("That's strange, shouldn't he be meeting with the Pontifex? Why's he still here?")

Aestia and Lylah stay up doing some reading before the smash cut to the following day

The archbishop is nowhere to be found in the church, in spite of eyewitness accounts of him entering

Eventually discover a hidden door behind the altar, leading to a set of catacombs, also known as…

The Third Dungeon: Secret Study

Enemies: Ratkin, Elementals, Armour, rarely Revenants

Modelled similarly to the Forbidden Shrine from Temenos's Stormhail route but with lower ceilings and thinner corridors

Passing by/entering one room will trigger an infodump cutscene

Strange writings about uses of Sacred Flame that make reference to the same sickly green form Aestia encountered earlier

Experiments in converting living beings into "palimpsests", emptying them to be refilled with something else

References to Aschei the Great Seer as a source for knowledge that will be needed

Plans outlined for a "false break-in" in which Flamelit Paladins pose as heretics, raid the Flamecrest Cathedral, and kidnap someone to stir up fear

Most disturbingly, diagrams that appear to depict Lylah chained to a pair of braziers being burned by green flames, calling her "human test subject #1"

Aestia and Lylah conclude that Lylah was supposed to be kidnapped the day she arrived in Flamecrest and used in… this ("But why would the church do such a thing?" "No one better to ask than the archbishop, I suppose")

Enter the final room to find the archbishop talking to a figure in dark robes

The figure talks about moving on The Great Seer with Sir Eldroy and "obtaining the last piece we need"

He turns to leave, accidently showing his face to Aestia and Lylah and…

Wait.

Hold on.

That's him.

He was on the farm three years ago.

He was there the night before Mal disappeared.

He killed Mal Cheshire.

Aestia rushes up in a rage and alerts the archbishop and the mysterious figure, has to be held back by Lylah

The figure escapes through a back entrance, the archbishop turns to fight the duo

In-cutscene lobs a fireball at Lylah, who is pushed away by Aestia, right before…

The Third Boss: Archbishop Ronaldo Effiva, Unholy Experimenteur

Focus on fire attacks w/ some weaker physical attacks

Can inflict Terror and Silence

Has two brazier sprites present in the fight; cannot be attacked

At start of fight, Lylah runs into frame, tells the player to handle the archbishop while she handles the braziers, runs out of frame

Each time you break the archbishop, Lylah is able to knock over a brazier

With each knocked-over brazier, the archbishop's fire attacks weaken and physical attacks strengthen

Will favour physical attacks more as they get stronger

Has a boost mode attack with a name that also features the word Ending but I lack the details

Has lackeys but they don't protect his shields: 2 Ratkin Vessels and later Greater Embers

Vessels are similar in shape to Ratkin but have no features (blank skin in place of eyes/mouths) and are wreathed in green flame

Greater Embers are the same as regular Embers from CH1 but bigger

After the battle the archbishop pulls a pendant from his neck and smashes it on the ground

Flames gather at his feet and begin rising

"Why… why isn't it working?... What is it… no… no… NOOOO…"

He burns to death :)

Aestia and Lylah have a talk (divorce era)

Aestia returns alone to her parents, tells them of what has happened and asks what they know about The Great Seer

General vibe is mysterious, but thing is that they have seen Orsa and Finis

Leaves with very little knowledge but leaves nonetheless, heading for the Farlands

Divorce Era Conversation:

A: Lylah, what in the Flame’s name was that?

L: Aestia?

A: Why were you rushing in? You could have been hurt! [paused] You are hurt! What am I to do if something worse befalls you?

L: Aestia, I -

A: It was the same in Flamecrest! You know you’re not a fighter! I can’t… [pause] I can’t have you getting hurt trying to be a hero.

L: We can’t keep doing this, Aestia.

A: What?

L: Do you think I didn’t notice? I could have easily gotten away from the fire the archbishop threw at me. You didn’t need to push me out of the way.

A: But, Lylah -

L: You cling to others like a mother to her child. We’re not children, Aestia! We don’t need to be protected from even the slightest harm! [pause] And especially not if you’re going to hurt yourself doing it.

A: I know it’s selfish, but please, Lylah. I don’t want to lose you.

L: And what of my selfish reasons? What of my feelings, what of my peace? How am I supposed to handle your loss?

A: …

L: You are not an island, Aestia. Yours is a soul that shines with the light of the stars, and we would be at a loss without you. I would be at a loss without you.

A: …

L: If you refuse to take care of yourself, then I will be on my way. Farewell.