#i just want some fucking sympathy not a giant lecture where you make it into who’s wrong who’s right

[prettyboysmlm]

counting the fucking days

#note to self never tell my mom anything ever #i have an ap art course next year and the summer homework is that we have to keep a sketchbook #and so my mom took that to mean that i have to give up digital art for the whole fucking summer #and every piece of art that i do on the ipad instead of the sketchbook she gets on me for #bitch i guarantee you that it’s not as big and important as you think it is #in fact i know that it’s not that important!! bc my friend took the same class and said that you literally spend the first day on it #and then never talk about it again #i’m still gonna do it bc it’s good practice but still. #she’s making too big of a deal out of it #i also got two hours of sleep last night #and when i told her she just blamed it on the fact that i took a nap yesterday and that’s why i couldn’t sleep #like?? ok i get that??? #but that’s also not something i can control??? #like if i’m exhausted then i’m exhausted and i’m going to sleep #i just want some fucking sympathy not a giant lecture where you make it into who’s wrong who’s right #just so you can feel better about yourself #god i just wanna be out of here #idc how i get out i just want out of this hell #k.txt #vent tw

[hyperfixationtimego]

the three wingmen of thh; Leon (chaotic), Kyoto (lawful), and Hina (neutral)

Kyoto was 100% the reason Celeste is dating Junko, it’s canon now. She is extremely involved in seating for extracurricular activities (i.e. the tea parties), and commonly puts them together. She finds putting Taka and Mondo apart...helps them?? She has no idea why but if they’re seated far from each other, they are immediately cuddling once they leave the room.

Grey-hair and Blue-hair girls are dating, no I do not take criticism (grey hair has braids I think and protects a mob guy?? and blue hair is the mastermind ig, she has black glasses apparently) - queer eye anon

oh my god yes???

Leon and Chihiro were some very powerful masterminds behind ishimondo ngl 👀 like chihiro’s brainpower combined with kuwata’s sheer strength of will?? UNSTOPPABLE those gay bitches never stood a CHANCE

although to be fair, most of their plans DID involve using a digital lock and/or utilizing alter ego to somehow force them into an empty room and keep them locked in there until they finally confessed 💛

Leon ALSO wingmans for sayaka because they’re besties who hate each other ❤️ he’s constantly cracking jokes with her about how she should just text Mukuro that she wants to fuck, or jokingly advises her to use raunchy pick-up lines on Sakura. He’s come very close once or twice to just. Blurting out “HEY MUKURO! SAKURA! SAYAKA’S GOT A HUGE FUCKING CRUSH ON Y-” only to have the idol clamp a hand over his stupid dumbass mouth <3

it’s okay because sayaka absolutely gets her revenge when she has to wingman for him and makoto (the only reason she doesn’t completely fuck up kuwata’s chances and embarrass him is because she’s besties with Makoto, too, and knows the poor guy’s ALSO got it bad. There’s a lot of Sayaka (and literally everyone else too) having to deal with some gross oblivious loveydovey pining from these fucking dorks, so she gets her fill of teasing)

And Hina wingmanning for Sakura???? Bruh okay u have no IDEA how much serotonin platonic sakuraoi gives me simply because????? Them?????? They????? Love???????? I love them???

And basically Hina’s just the right amount of empathy/sympathy and logic!! Her main, go-to piece of advice is “just talk to them!” And - surprise - trusting her on this usually leads to having fun and making good memories with the object(s) of affection !!

She’s such a sweetheart??? And like yes ofc she doesn’t have an answer for everything, because her heart is just a lil bit bigger than her brain sometimes (ok but mood tho like no shame this is both kin and projecting) but she’s trying her best!!! As she always listens to whoever needs her at that moment and gives the best advice she can - which isn’t even limited to romantic situations!!! She’s one of the go-to students for when someone’s having, like, an everyday problem or feeling stressed because she’s so non-judgemental and soothing to be around!!!

It’s Hina appreciation hours 💛

Anyway, Kyoko-

she also (unfortunately) is forced to wingman for Makoto and Leon, which means a lot of listening to naegi ramble on about how cool and nice and interesting and pretty and blah blah blah kuwata is (don’t get Kirigiri wrong, she adores Leon, but a girl can only take so much, y’know?)

and requests for Makoto to simply......TELL LEON are almost ALWAYS refused because nope no way in hell absolutely not and so she’s like great I’m gonna go bang my head against a desk because I seriously cannot take the two of you anymore

eventually she (secretly) goes and talks to Leon, without betraying Makoto’s trust or disclosing any information she feels he would not be comfortable with, does her best to subtly hint at the fact that hey. koto’s got a crush. you should fucking ask him about it before I go completely insane. Leon doesn’t fully get the hint but does go talk to Makoto, which FINALLY prompts some goddamn CONVERSATION about it thank GOD

also sorry sorry not to ramble but I just????? an idea hit me like a gd truck and I need to talk about it because I love???? I love????? I love

sometime after all this, Kyoko gets inadvertently wrapped up in co-wingmanning with Makoto for Komaru and Toko/Jill. Except. Those three have no clue about the fact that there is any wingmanning going on.

so kyoko’s like “why are we doing this”

and makoto’s like “because she’s my sister and she’s in love and I want her to be happy!!!”

“Okay but shouldn’t they work this out on their own”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!!!”

“*Sigh.* Goddamnit.”

And then Leon eventually hears about it, as well, because of course makoto’s gonna talk abt it with his boyfriend, why wouldn’t he, and anyway kuwata’s like OH?? POG??? because he and Toko and he and Jill are friends!!!! So he’s like I’ll totally help omg Fukawa and Syo are gonna STOKED

(Makoto does not comment on the fact that Toko most likely will not, in fact, be stoked by the idea of kuwata meddling in her love life, but does at least advise his dear 0-braincell partner to be careful ❤️)

okay okay sorry I’m a simp for tokomaru and syomaru on main but anyway back to kyoko and seating charts-

YEAH ON GOD???

And poor Kirigiri already has trouble comprehending how social interaction works that this kinda shit just???? Completely breaks her?????

“Why.....do people.....react different.......like I will accommodate for it but.....I do not.....understand......”

does not fucking compute

(Also shhhhh don’t let Korekiyo know that there was something about human behavior Kirigiri didn’t understand because somehow they will materialize from the shadows to go on a softly excited special interest infodump ramble/lecture that lasts hours and hours)

But yeah???? Ironically enough, she’s honestly the only person from her class who’s able to, for the most part, figure out how Celestia’s mind works, and so she’s able to use that to her advantage when setting her up with Junko!!! (The thing with Celeste was that it sort of became a case to Kyoko!! Celeste was so Obviously different in her behavior and mannerisms than everyone else that Kirigiri basically ended up treating learning about her the same way she would treat trying to solve a crime or something similar!!)

For ishimondo she chalks it up to “absence makes the heart grow fonder???” she guesses????? seriously she has No Clue

also she doesn’t pick up on it but they DO give each other pining puppy dog eyes from across the room the whole goddamn time like they’re just [y e a r n]

And OKAY ANON???? HEY ANON????? WHERE ARE YOU HIDING THE FUCKING GALAXY BRAIN JUICE???? HELLO???????

I. how is it possible to not know the games and yet,,,,,,,conjure up a concept so incredible????? Pekomugi,,,,,,,,,my g o d

Ok ok ok ok ok hold on hold on lemme gather my thoughts because holy fuck

FIRST OF ALL, Tsumugi is a GIANT nerd, so the thought of having a SWORD GF???? A GIRLFRIEND WHO IS A SWORDSMAN???? HOLY FUCK?????? she can live out her wildest samurai anime fantasies,,,,,,,because she quite literally has a swordswoman girlfriend who would protect her with her sword oh my g o d

SECOND OF ALL, Tsumugi also????? fucking loves sitting in on Peko’s training sessions to watch her beautiful incredible wonderful darling partner spar??? and use badass techniques and strategies???? Literally Tsumugi is always blown away??

and she ALWAYS comes and barrels into Peko to give her a gigantic hug and shower her with kisses once training’s over!!!! And Peko doesn’t understand because

“I am hot and sweaty. I am currently very gross, why are you kissing me,”

“No!!! You’re stunning and perfect and charming!!!! You make me swoon!!! Oh, dear knight, hold me in your sweet embrace....”

meanwhile peko’s just like babe pls let me go take a shower

and okay final thing I promise, but....Peko is absolutely astonished by Tsumugi’s cosplay abilities???? Like with a lot of her works, Peko can hardly even believe that that’s her gd girlfriend????? Like sweet JESUS her datemate is damn good at makeup and disguising herself and whatnot

“cosplay is an art and you have perfected it,” like catch tsumugi fuckinf crying

#pekomugi.....anon ur MIND #dragged me down to rarepair hell but Y’know what it’s fine I’ve been here before #hell I’ve made my goddamn home here at this fucking point sndbsndbdbd #queer eye anon #queer eye au (danganronpa) #danganronpa #leon kuwata #Sayaka maizono #chihiro fujisaki #kiyotaka ishimaru #mondo owada #ogamikuzono #makoto naegi #aoi asahina #Sakura ogami #sakura oogami #Kyoko kirigiri #Komaru Naegi #toko fukawa #genocide Jill #celestia ludenberg #junko enoshima #peko pekoyama #tsumugi shirogane #makuwata #tokomaru #syomaru #ishimondo #celeshima

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

@thecorteztwins

Hello, once again I got a scene idea for your alt-Marauders stuck in my head and couldn’t rest until I wrote it, this time with Pyro and Shinobi making fun of Sebastian for being a wine snob.  Starts out light and funny, takes a sharp left turn into angst, then lightens up again at the end.  Sorry if I write Sebastian as too much of a villain here; I have a lot more sympathy for Shinobi and Pyro than I do for him, but I don’t want to straw-man the guy. 

It had been Sebastian, Shinobi, Madelyne and Claudine participating in the wine-tasting competition.  Haven had demurred that she didn’t know enough to participate, although Pyro wondered how true that was – she’d grown up surrounded by luxury, hadn’t she?  She must have had plenty of the good stuff.  Pyro had also admitted that he could barely tell red from white in a blind taste-test, much less differentiate between a Pinot Noir and Merlot.  Besides, he’d added, ignoring Shaw’s backhanded comment about how “it was sensible of him to know his limitations,” he’d rather drink wine than spit it into a bucket.  And someone had to help Haven pour.  

Of course, drinking the wine meant that he was more than a little soused as the contest wound towards its conclusion. Claudine had approached each wine with a detached, scientific analysis, speculating on fermentation techniques and breeds of fruit.  Madelyne was surprisingly knowledgeable for someone who hadn’t grown up filthy rich, and seemed to think the whole thing was great fun.  Shinobi, true to his background, had a refined palate, although he kept slowing things down by reminiscing about exactly where (and with whom) he’d first tried the various wines.  He’d missed a Château Leblanc because apparently “it tasted different when drunk out of a super-model’s high heels.”  It didn’t help that he’d also been drinking the wine, because “spitting is disgusting.” Of course, Sebastian had dominated the game, correctly guessing every wine, making a show of sniffing the aroma, then rolling it around in his mouth with great relish, giving extended lectures on the flavor notes of each wine, the grapes, the vineyard, what foods to best pair it with, and generally just being a pretentious dickhead. Unfortunately, Haven had turned down Pyro’s suggestion to have Sebastian drink out of the spit bucket, despite Pyro’s insistence that it would just be a hilarious, harmless prank.  

And it would take Shaw down a peg or two. The man was puffed up like a soufflé, and Pyro was dying to see, just once, the famous Shaw pride collapse into a soggy mess.  It didn’t even really matter.  Wine-tasting was a useless skill, as far as Pyro was concerned, and exactly the kind of spoiled over-indulgent nonsense he’d expect from the wealthy.  He just hated to see that smug fucker win at something again. Why did he have to be so damned good at things?  

But when the competition ended with Sebastian’s inevitable victory (Claudine in a surprising second place, apparently the scientific method worked), the group had broken up to various parts of the ship.  Haven was headed back to her cabin to read for a bit before bed.  Claudine and Madelyne went up top to look at the local constellations.  Pyro liked the mythology behind constellations, he was a sucker for a good story, but the stars themselves couldn’t hold his attention longer than about ten minutes.  Sebastian had fucked off somewhere, probably back to his own cabin to reflect on what a very smart and important businessman he was.  Pyro hadn’t been paying attention.  

Which left Shinobi and Pyro back in Shinobi’s room, where the contest had taken place, rather tipsy, and both a bit horny from all the “wine and sex” stories that Shinobi had been telling.  Slumped together on Shinobi’s spacious designer couch, Pyro rested his head against Shinobi’s shoulder, and let one hand drift down to the other man’s thigh, and things took their natural course.

Some very pleasant time later, they were both slipping back into their clothing, sweaty and still floating on the post-orgasm endorphin high.

“Well, that was fun,” Pyro laughed, pouring a glass of something dark and red.  He didn’t read the label, because he didn’t fucking well care.  “More fun than some kind of wine-tasting bullshit where you don’t even get to actually drink the wine.”

“Certainly more fun than watching Father dominate the contest,” Shinobi sighed.  He picked up several bottles and peered at the labels before finally pouring something that was, Pyro discerned with all of his expertise and skill, white wine.

“Who cares?”  Pyro said.  “Let him win the silly rich person contest.  What’s the point in being able to taste all the flavors in wine, anyway? It’s not like it’s a big secret, it’s written right on the label.”

“It’s actually very important when you’re moving in high society,” Shinobi said, looking pensive.  “I know it seems silly, but the kind of people that the Hellfire Club deals with will have no respect for someone who doesn’t know wine.”  He paused for a moment.  “I wish I’d done a bit better, it’s not like I don’t have experience.”

“Aww, fuck it, Shin.  Third place isn’t half-bad, and it was just for fun, wasn’t it? Trust me, I know how very skilled your tongue is.”  He tossed back his glass, and re-filled it, picking up a bottle at random.

“Nothing is ever ‘just for fun,’ with my father,” Shinobi said, holding up his own glass to look closely at it.  “There’s always some kind of test.  He always has to win, and I am always found wanting, no matter what I do.”

“C’mon, Shinobi, don’t let him make you feel bad. It’s all stupid.  He’s not special just because he can sip wine and make-up a lot of bullshit.  Anyone can do that.”  Pyro took a gulp of wine and held it in his mouth contemplatively, swirling the remainder around in his glass.  “Hmmm..a ’58 Bordeaux, brewed in a cask made from planks from the wreck of the HMS Endeavour.  Notes of Honeycrisp Apple, Trifle, Lavender soap and Black Cherry, offset by the delicate tang of diesel fuel.”

Shinobi flopped back onto the couch, laughing, and splashing some of his own wine onto his shirt.  

“You know wine is fermented, not brewed, right?” He chuckled.  

“I’m just gonna say that I know that to spare us further discussion about wine making,” Pyro shrugged.  “Brewed, fermented, made in a prison toilet, who cares?”

“It’s a good impression, but you have to make it a bit more accurate.  More like-” Shinobi took a sip of his own wine.  “-Montrachet Grand Cru 1981, from Domaine de la Romanee-Conti.  A bold, elegant Chardonnay, with a nose of winter apricots, Mutsu apples, distressed orange peel and hints of funeral bouquet.  On the palate, white peach and badgered lemon, with a smidge of mango, smattering of sun-kissed pineapple, and the faintest tinge of the arsenic that my son has snuck into the glass.  Bottled by a beautiful French woman named Amelie that I impregnated.  I gave another bottle to my good friend Sir Elton John.”

“The only thing wrong there is that your father isn’t nearly cool enough to know Elton John,” Pyro laughed.  “Also, he doesn’t have any actual friends.”

“I’ll concede that point.”

“Here, let me try again.’  Pyro took another gulp.  “Lascivious pear marmalade, with pomegranate, chocolate, lightly-spanked peaches and a naughty little hint of strawberry.  Sensual mouthfeel, like giving a blow job to a fruit stand.  I shoved the entire bottle up my arse this morning, and found it most satisfying.”

Shinobi howled with laughter, spilling most of the rest of his wine.  He poured again from a different bottle.

“Okay, my turn.  A 1947 Chateau Cheval Blanc, from Saint-Emilion Grand Cru, France.  A rich, taste and firm structure.  Midnight black currant, eccentric cranberry and depressed plums, with twinkles of Madagascar Vanilla, cayenne pepper and wasabi. Floral notes of crushed apple blossom and – “ he paused to take a sniff, “-discarded Valentine’s roses. Bottle personally kissed by Winston Churchill.”

“Okay, okay, here’s –“ Pyro took a swig from a new glass, “Blackberry, quince and persimmon, gathered at midnight under the full moon, fermented in a cask taken from a woman hung for witch-craft.  Hints of lamb’s blood and children’s tears, with just a touch of grave dirt bringing out the earthy tones.  Nice, floral scent, light and airy on the tongue, pairs well with fish.  A refreshing summer wine.”                

“Screaming Eagle Sauvignon Blanc.  Grapes gently cuddled by professional masseuses.  Aroma of spring grass and wet cement.  Lashings of nectarine and little daubs of passionfruit, with a suggestion of yoga sweat.  Like licking coconut-butter and hibiscus-pear puree off a beautiful woman at the beach-”

“Are the two of you going to be finished anytime soon?”  A dry voice interrupted, and both turned to see Sebastian standing in the doorway. Shinobi, clutching his glass against his chest, looked chagrinned, while Pryo simply stared back at Shaw, unimpressed.

“I was hoping to retrieve one of the unopened wine bottles, assuming that the two of you haven’t wasted it all with your childish games.”  Sebastian sniffed, grimacing.  “And judging by the smell in here, I’m glad that I came by after the two of you finished fornicating, not during.”

“Fornicating?”  Pyro snorted. “Why don’t you peddle off on your giant Victorian bicycle and snatch some lemon drops away from poor children?”

“Why do you care anyway, Father?  You have sex all the time, much as I’d like to forget it,” Shinobi put in.

“I do not grudge you seeking your pleasures, Shinobi, but pleasure is meant to be a reward after a long day’s hard work, not something to wallow in day after day, entirely unearned.  And I do wish you were a bit more discerning in your partners.  That ‘giant Victorian bicycle’ was called a ‘penny-farthing,’ Mr. Allerdyce.”

“I know what it’s called, Shaw,” Pyro grumbled, annoyed despite himself.  He’d run across the term while researching one of his novels, but of course Shaw would treat him like a moron because he hadn’t used the “proper term” when tossing off a cheap insult.  

“At any rate, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Inferiors will always mock their betters, out of jealousy and lack of understanding.  But I had hoped that you, at least, would show more dignity, Shinobi. Did I not raise you to be better than this?”

“You barely raised me at all!”  Shinobi snapped, although he did not meet Sebastian’s eyes.

“It’s not jealousy or lack of understanding,” Pyro said, arms folded.  “We mock you because you’re a snobby arse that thinks you’re better than everyone else. Simple as that.”

“And am I not better?  I worked my way up from nothing to create a business empire.  I have amassed wealth and power that most people can only dream of, all from my own intelligence and hard work.  And compared to, what?  A stupid, intensely lazy son who would happily drink and fuck his way through life.  And a failed author who turned to terrorism and petty crime.  I think I can objectively say that I am, indeed, better.”

“Failed author?!”  Pyro was incensed.  “My books sold millions of copies, you wanker.  Maybe it wasn’t Shakespeare, but it was fucking well successful.”

“Fine, a mediocre author who enjoyed some small measure of popular success,” Sebastian shrugged.  “I don’t know why people published your tripe, but they did.  I’ll give you that.  From that perspective, I suppose my own son is even more disappointing. At least you had some semblance of a career.”

“Why don’t you take your wine and fuck off? There’s plenty left, if it’s good enough to satisfy your oh-so-refined palate.  We’re trying to have a fun evening here, and I’m sure you’re very busy plotting to steal Christmas.”

“No, I think the sight of my son’s debauchery has quite put me off wine for the moment.  I suppose I should really stop being surprised and disappointed at this point, but every time I think you’ve fallen as far as you can, Shinobi, you manage to find a new bottom.”  Shinobi did not respond, only clutched at the glass harder, a flush spreading over his face.

“Oh no, you can’t leave without a drink, Shaw. We’ve prepared a special blend for you, all the fanciest brands.”  And before he could second-guess himself, Pyro picked up the spit bucket and hurled it across the room at Sebastian.

Sebastian dodged to the side, far faster than Pyro would expect from a man of his size, and the mixture of wine and spit splattered against the wall and floor.  Shaw gave him a cold, fixed smile as he calmly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped a few errant drops off his polished leather shoes.  It was the kind of smile Pyro would have imagined on a wicked count in one of his books, as he locked the poor governess in the manor tower and informed her that the handsome stableboy would be hung for murder.  Of course, in Pyro’s books, the plucky heroine would climb down the ivy and rush to the courthouse in the nick of time with evidence of the stableboy’s innocence.  Real life was never so satisfying.  

Well, at least he’d made the bastard jump. Without moving or looking up, Shinobi reached out and clamped a hand over Pyro’s arm, as if anchoring him in place.          

“You know, I’m not even angry, Allerdyce,” Sebastian said, dispassionate, as if discussing ocean currents or famine death tolls.  He straightened his suit, which was still infuriatingly spotless.  “I don’t get angry when an ill-trained dog shits on the floor.  It cannot help doing what comes naturally.  Of course, I will still wring the mongrel’s neck.”  The smile stretched a bit wider, showing more teeth.  “I have little patience for ill-trained beasts, and I like a good, clean floor.”

“That a threat, mate?”  Pyro snapped.  Shinobi’s grip on his arm tightened, and he felt tingly all over, vaguely light-headed. The wine was certainly making itself known.

“You’re not important enough for threats.  I assume you will clean this up after you and my idiot son sleep off your intoxication.  And Shinobi and I will have a discussion about his behavior, when he is actually sober enough to listen to reason.”  Sebastian addressed the last sentence directly to his son, who still stood quietly, head bowed.  Pyro could feel tremors running up his arm, and realized that Shinobi was shaking.  Fury boiled up inside him, hot and quick.

“No, you bloody well won’t!”  He snarled.  “Your son is a grown man who can make his own fucking choices, yeah, and you’re not going to lecture him like a child, or….or anything else.  Anything else.”  There were words caught in his throat.  Things that Shinobi had only whispered, that were not meant to be said aloud.  “I won’t let you.  No one on this ship will let you!”  Pyro groped for his lighter on the table, planning to send a few fireballs at Shaw’s smug face, at least singe his eyebrows a bit.  He gaped for a moment as his hand passed directly through the table – fuckin’ hell I’m a ghost! – before he realized that Shinobi had phased both of them.  

Sebastian smirked.  “You’re very chivalrous towards the people you want to fuck, aren’t you, Allerdyce?  Does that help you to believe that you’re more than just a crass, violent thug?”

“Fuck off, Shaw!”  

“Let’s avoid any more poor choices tonight, shall we?” Sebastian leaned forward, and Shinobi actually flinched slightly, leaning back.  But Shaw just scooped up the lighter and pocketed it.  “I don’t think you’re in any condition to use this responsibly, Allerdyce. Remember, your precious Ms. Dastoor wouldn’t come back if you torched the boat, even if the rest of us would. And Shinobi – “

Letting go of Pyro’s arm, Shinobi finally raised his head, gazing up at his father through the mess of hair that had fallen across his face.  

“There’s really nothing to say, is there?  Nothing you haven’t heard before.  You’ve disappointed me time and time again.  I won’t waste my breath any further tonight. Enjoy wallowing in filth.  Come see me when you’re ready to act like a man again.”

“Yeah, no need to waste any more time here, I’m sure you’ve got loads of kitten murder videos to wank off to.”  Sebastian didn’t react, as he was already striding from the room, door swinging shut.  “Why don’t you go kick Tiny Tim’s crutch out from under him, that’ll get you nice and hard, won’t it?”  Pyro yelled after him.  

He sat fuming for a moment, wanting more than anything to rush down the corridor and rip out handfuls of Sebastian’s hair. Gouge his eyes out with his fingers and shove the bloody mess down his throat.  To torch the man until his skin cracked and bubbled.  To make him hurt.  But that wasn’t a battle he was likely to win, so instead he grabbed the table and flipped it over, the wine glasses shattering in every direction.  

He could imagine Shaw pausing in the hall, smirking in satisfaction at the sound of Pyro throwing a tantrum, acting like the animal that he really was.  He hurled an empty bottle at the door, but it must have been sturdily made, as it simply bounced and rolled.  Then he sat with his arms wrapped tight around himself, taking deep, slow breaths.  He could never quite believe that his power didn’t include creating fire, because he got so impossibly hot when enraged like this.  It would be so satisfying to burn something – something old and huge and valuable, just to stand in the center of the inferno and let it all turn to ash around him.  

Either that, or a good, hard fuck.  That’d do the trick, too.  

Perhaps it really was for the best that Shaw had taken his lighter.  Of course, he had at least two more on him, but he left them in his pockets, and instead took deep breaths.  Just like Haven had taught him, hands on his shoulders, to find a calm, cool place that existed somewhere inside him.  This is how we put the fire out.            

He heard a small sound, and realized as he opened his eyes that Shinobi was no longer standing next to him.  Instead, he was wobbling his way over towards the spilled wine (thrown wine, actually) with one of the bathroom towels.  He dropped to his knees and began to mop up the puddle.

“Shin, no, don’t do that,” Pyro stumbled over to him, none too steady himself.  He pulled the towel away.  It was his own mess to take care of, but more importantly, interrupting their evening to clean up a stupid wine splatter felt very much like letting Sebastian win.  

“It’ll stain,” Shinobi mumbled, looking down at the floor, not meeting Pyro’s eyes.    

“Who gives a shit?  I’ll clean it up tomorrow, okay?  I’m the one who threw it, I’ll take care of it.  I’ll give the whole floor a good scrubbing in a sexy maid costume.” He winked half-heartedly.  

Shinobi scowled down at the floor, and then gave Pyro an abrupt shove, knocking him off balance.

“Why did you have to act like such an asshole? Father already thinks the worst of you, but you always make it worse!”  

“Me?”  Pyro blinked in disbelief.  “He’s the one barging in here swinging his dick around.  You want me to just stand there like a kid getting lectured?  Fuck that!”

“I mean, you could just….you could at least try…” Shinobi mumbled, wringing his hands.

“Try what?  Try to be a little more sophisticated, is that it?  You think your Dad is right about me?  Am I too trashy for you, Shinobi?  I wasn’t too trashy to suck your dick twenty minutes ago, was I?”

“No!  No, I don’t mean, that!”  Shinobi stammered.  “I don’t mean….I just…..he always…..he….”

Suddenly Shinobi sucked in a sharp, hard breath, and wrapped his arms around Pyro’s torso, burying his face against his side.  Pyro fell silent as Shinobi squeezed him tight, breathing in harsh, ragged gasps that Pyro would politely not acknowledge as sobs.  

It wasn’t something that he was exactly used to, despite all the soppy romantic bullshit he wrote.  He’d spent half his life in terrorist and quasi-legit military groups full of dudes with powers who treated every single interaction as a dick-measuring contest.  Not to mention their fearless leader, who would probably jump off a cliff before she showed enough vulnerability to shed a tear.

But sometimes it happened.  Sometimes guys broke.  It had happened to Dominic once when the divorce was official.  He and Helen been separated long before Dominic became “Avalanche,” but somehow seeing it in writing had left the usually stoic man sobbing.  It had happened to Pyro right after they got back from a fruitless quest in the Savage Land for a Legacy Virus cure that had never existed in the first place.  He’d been able to hold it together while they were fighting their way out, but once he was back at his apartment – sick, hurting and so fucking exhausted, back in the place where he was now definitely going to die – he’d broken down completely.  Both times, they’d just held each other and said nothing, and that was enough.  Later they’d pretended nothing had happened, to spare the other man’s pride.  

He didn’t think silence would work with Shinobi. Shinobi was a talker (and frankly, if Pyro was honest, so was he.)  Gingerly, he reached his arms down to encircle Shinobi in an awkward hug.

“There, there,” he tried.  God, couldn’t he do any better than that?  He was a writer, for fuck’s sake.  He’d just had sex with the man less than an hour ago.  What would one of his heroes say?  

Not to worry, darling, I’ve discovered the Marquis’s dreadful secret. Your marriage was never legal in the first place, and we can have it annulled on the morrow.

There is no ghost, my love.  It is merely a trick of the light and your own flighty imagination. I swear to you, there is nothing out on those moors except the odd rabbit.  Pay no attention to servants’ gossip.  

To hell with your damned father!  I swear he shall not keep us apart another second, and you need never fear him again.

Well, that last one was awfully tempting.  But probably not quite right.  

“Hey,” he tried again.  “It’s okay.  I know….I know it don’t exactly seem okay right now.  But it is.  You’re not a kid anymore, right?  And you’re not alone here.  You’ve got a boatful of people with you, and we’re all willing to get between you and that moldy old nutsack you call a father, yeah?  We’re not gonna let him do anything to you, okay?”  At least, Pyro knew that he, Madelyne and Haven would all be willing to step between father and son, if necessary.  He wasn’t totally sure about Claudine, she could be a bit of a cold fish, but she seemed decent enough.

Shinobi’s harsh breathing that was not quite sobs was starting to slow a little bit, so Pyro figured he was probably doing something right.

“And fuck him, anyway.  You’re not any of the things he said.  He spends your whole life either ignoring you or beating you up, but he thinks he can step in and start judging you now?  He sets you up with all his money, then blames you for growing up rich?  What an absolute cunt.  He’s just completely wrapped up in himself, Shin.  He’s the king of the fucking universe and anyone who isn’t him is just a peasant.  That’s why he’s so hard on you, because you’re not exactly like him.  Which believe me, is a good thing.”  

“I just wish……I wish I was better sometimes,” Shinobi gasped.  

“Well, fuck man, me too,” Pyro said.  “I wish I was better, I mean.  Not the way your old man means it, just…you know, generally better. I’ve killed people, I’ve stolen, and I really don’t feel all that bad about a lot of it.  Compared to that, being a trust-fund kid who likes to party really isn’t all that bad.”

Shinobi huffed slightly, nearly a laugh.

“And hey, you almost managed to kill your Dad.”

“Almost.”

“Still, quite an accomplishment.  And Shaw’s full of bullshit talking about you never working, anyway.  We’re all part of the crew here, we all go on missions.  You contribute just like everyone else.  So he can shut the fuck up.”  

“Yeah, I guess.”  Shinobi drew back, rubbing at his face, and sniffing.  “Hey, did you say ‘there, there’ when I first started, um, you know…..crying?”  

“Yeah,” Pyro rubbed the back of his neck.  “I ain’t exactly a great therapist, I’m afraid. It was that, or start reading to you from The Ghost of Briarcliffe Manor.  At least the sex scenes would have perked you right up.”        

Shinobi cracked a smile.

“Maybe your Dad could use a bit of that.  Maybe he’d be less of a sour old bastard if he got laid more often.”

“No, unfortunately, he gets laid plenty,” Shinobi said, combing his hair back with his fingers.  “He just hates fun.”        

“Fun?”  Pyro assumed a sour expression, sticking his jaw out.  “We didn’t have fun when I was a boy.  In my day we worked a twelve-hour shift at the cannery and got a five-minute break to chew on a sassafras stick, and we liked that just fine!”  

Shinobi actually giggled, and Pyro went on, encouraged.

“Fun is a disease that has infested the younger generations!  All of this dancing and moving pictures, and gramophone music!  What’s wrong with eating a bowl of plain oatmeal and staring at a brick wall?  That’s how I used to let my hair down on Friday night!”  

Shinobi got up and returned with sofa pillows.

“Here.  Your chest is too narrow for the part.”

“Oh yes, mustn’t forget the massive tits.” Pyro unbuttoned his shirt to shove the pillows in.

There was wine and saliva seeping into his trouser legs as he knelt on the floor.  In the morning, he’d get up and clean up all the mess in a hung-over daze, and he’d probably step on broken glass in the dark and hop around swearing. Then he’d have to wait for the headache and nausea to lift while Sebastian gloated at their state.  

But it didn’t really matter.  At the moment, Pyro was pleasantly drunk and Shinobi was laughing, and that was good enough.

#shinobi shaw #sebastian shaw #pyro #st. john allerdyce #alt-marauders #thecorteztwins cinematic universe

[artificialqueens]

nobody knows where we might end up, chapter sixteen (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 4413

AN: Thank you so, so much for the lovely feedback on this story. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to read and how much it makes me want to write more and more and more. Writ is the most wonderful beta to exist and this story would not be the same without them.

(then)

The login page of the application website for all of the Ontario medical schools is a sight that fills Vanessa with dread. A simple webpage that has the potential to crush her hopes and dreams a second time, just like it did the year before.

She still remembers her login information from last year, the username and password coming to her easily after typing it so many times while checking her admissions results last spring.

Vanessa opens up her old admissions essays, skimming through them while she absentmindedly pets Riley. She doesn’t necessarily need to redo the essays, per se. They aren’t terrible. She just needs to give them a little upgrade.

She needs reinforcements.

Silky’s at her door in less than fifteen minutes, the promise of Vanessa paying for the pizza that they’re ordering in enough to lure her over. It doesn’t stop Silky, though, from grumbling about it.

“You can’t ask your girl? Ain’t she the one that actually got into med school? I don’t know shit about doctor stuff.” Silky drops the candy that she’s brought over for them to snack on onto the table, and Vanessa wastes no time in popping a starburst into her mouth, mostly to delay her answer.

“Nope,” Vanessa keeps her voice light as she turns on their desktop computer, “Brooke’s been busy with the first semester starting.”

It’s not a lie, not necessarily. Brooke really hasn’t been around, spending most of her time in lectures and studying her ass off at the library, and so what if Vanessa doesn’t want to join her for those study sessions anymore? Sitting with Brooke and all of her new med school friends that actually got in on the first try and would probably look at Vanessa like she’s stupid or something. For still being stuck in undergrad and not getting in anywhere.

Nah. She’s better off studying and working on things in the apartment. She doesn’t need Brooke’s help for applications this year.

Not like it helped last year, anyway.

“Besides, you’re the one getting an English degree. You know shit.” Silky’s in the process of applying for master’s programs in English, something that seems completely bonkers to Vanessa. Who would even want to go to school to just write and write and write? But she knows Silky, and her goal of becoming a professor and getting her PhD. A doctor in her own way.

“True. At least I’m literate.” Silky starts snickering before Vanessa even catches what she’s saying.

“Bitch, you didn’t even know what ‘bradycardia’ meant the other day when I told you ‘bout my volunteering shift.” Vanessa swats at her side, Silky not even flinching.

“How the hell would I know that? All the fancy doctor speak. Normal folk like me don’t know that shit.”

“Whatever. Help me make these essays better.” Vanessa hands Silky another slice of pizza for good measure.

“Why don’t you submit a rap instead? Imagine performing it at the interviews.” Silky grins before taking a bite of the slice.

“Bitch, focus.” Vanessa snaps her fingers in front of Silky’s face (‘Alright, alright!’), before letting her read.

“Found your problem.” Silky’s proclamation comes after a lot of squinting at the computer screen, mostly because she hasn’t brought her glasses along with her.

Vanessa leans forward in her seat, eyes widening. “What?” What has she missed? What giant, glaringly obvious mistake has she made?

“It’s boring.”

Vanessa makes a face. “It’s a med school app, Silk, not a mystery thriller novel.”

“Nah, like - it’s interesting, sure, you talking about have you’ve done. But you gotta make it emotional. Tug at their heartstrings. Make them tear up or some shit while they read it, make them see why they have to let you in, because it’s your fucking destiny.”

“That’s a tad dramatic.” Vanessa looks back over at the screen, skimming over the paragraphs. “How do I make them cry over it?”

“Easy. Tragic backstory.”

“What?”

“Whether it’s real or not, doesn’t matter. Talk about how your grandpa died or some shit and the doctor was oh so wonderful while he was in the hospital and it made you wanna save lives. I dunno.” Silky shrugs, leaning back in her seat.

“My abuelo died before I was born-”

“Then come up with some other shit.” Silky gives her a look. “You’re weirdly creative sometimes. You can come up with something.”

“Isn’t that a bit exp-exploitive?” The thought makes Vanessa a bit uneasy. She doesn’t want to make up shit for the sake of making an admissions officer get emotional.

“Exploitative. And nah. It’s called gaming the system.” Silky almost looks proud of herself. “That’s what everyone else is doing.”

“Brooke didn’t do that.” At least, Vanessa thinks so. She hadn’t read the final drafts of her essays last year.

“Still. A little extra something something wouldn’t hurt.” Silky says it as if Vanessa needs to sprinkle more salt on her food, or something.

Vanessa sighs. At this point, Silky’s advice is her best option. She doesn’t know what else to do, anyway. “So what shall I come up with?”

“I dunno, bitch. Your mom’s a nurse, ain’t she?”

“Yeah.” Vanessa’s voice is curious, not quite sure where Silky is going with this. Why does it matter what her mom does?

“Come up with some emotional bullshit related to that. About how she pulled you towards the medical field.”

“I mean, she kinda did-”

“There we go! Talk about that first before all your fancy accomplishments. Butter them up.”

Vanessa casts an uncertain look at her computer. “Will they even care about that?”

“Bitch, you’re gonna make them care.” Silky grabs the last slice of pizza. “Now get writing.”

“You’re coming home for Thanksgiving, right? Otherwise I won’t make the pecan pie, you’re the only one who eats it.” Vanessa’s mom’s voice is muffled on the other end of the phone, the sounds of voices and beeps nearly drowning her out. “Another code blue. Damn, this one’s like the third of the day.”

“Yeah, gonna come home. I miss you.” It’s true, she does. No matter how much Vanessa doesn’t want to sound like a five year old, she misses her mom.

“You got a fever or something? You’re acting strangely loving, mija.”

Vanessa snorts. “What, a daughter can’t miss her mom every once in a while?”

“With you, it’s either that you want something or that something’s wrong. So which is it?”

“Neither. Nothing’s wrong. Just working on the essays.” The words on Vanessa’s computer screen are beginning to blur together, becoming one big wad of text that doesn’t have any meaning to her anymore.

“And how are those going?”

“Slow.” Vanessa sighs, resting her head on her folded arms. “What if there’s no point?”

“To what?”

“Applying.” Vanessa hates saying it, but it’s beginning to cross her mind more often than she wants it to. “What if I’m not going to get in again?”

“If you want it that bad you gotta keep trying, baby. Ain’t possible to reach a goal if you give up.” Vanessa’s mom’s voice softens on the other end of the phone, and it makes Vanessa wish that she was here with her, stroking her hair and making her hot chocolate like she used to do when Vanessa was a kid.

But can Vanessa even reach the goal? Is it even accessible to her? What if she just applies over and over, watching everyone move on around her and start their careers and just staying stuck in this purgatory, trying to chase a dream that was never meant to be hers?

Maybe it never will be.

If it was, she would have gotten it the first time around.

“Why wasn’t I good enough to get in the first try, Mama?” Vanessa nearly whispers the words, ones that she’s been holding back while trying to get through her fourth year and be happy for Brooke, because she deserves it, she does.

But it’s hard, it’s hard because Vanessa wants it so, so bad. Still wants it as much as Brooke did and she’s worked her ass off the same amount, too. Having it so close in her grasp, right there but not quite close enough makes Vanessa feel like she’ll never reach it.

Vanessa’s been trying, really trying to be okay with it. Convincing herself that it’s fine, really, that she didn’t get in. Because hey, she has the chance to finish her fourth year off, enjoy graduation with all of their friends. Apply to even more schools this time around.

But she feels behind.

It’s hard not to, when Brooke comes home every day talking about anatomical systems and things that they’ve learned in undergrad but except for her now it matters, because she’s on the path to becoming an actual doctor. It’s in her future.

Vanessa’s not there yet.

“Oh, baby.” Her mom’s voice is laced with sympathy and Vanessa almost hates it, because it just reminds her that she’s failed. “You are good enough. You are always good enough. There are so, so many people who apply to these damn schools, often with similar grades and accomplishments and it’s like a lottery, being picked. You are good enough, and it will be yours. I know this ‘cause of mom intuition. Trust it.”

Vanessa sighs. “You can’t predict the future, though.”

“And neither can you. So don’t start catastrophizing on me.”

“I’ll try.” They’re empty words, really. It’s hard. She hadn’t been good enough last year.

Is she really going to get there now?

“Remember cousin Penelope?” Vanessa’s mom cuts through the grey cloud of her thoughts. “The one in LA?”

“Who?” Vanessa really can’t remember but it’s not her fault, not really, when there are more cousins in her family than she can count.

“Physician. Has her own family practice down there. We went and stayed at her beach house when you were three.”

“How would I remember a vacation from when I was three, Mami?” Though the word physician keeps replaying itself over and over in her head.

Vanessa hadn’t known that she has a physician cousin. That’s useful.

Vanessa’s mom seems to be on the same page. “Maybe you can talk to her. Get some perspective, see what school she went to, if she knows any more that are worth applying. Apply to some in the States this year. Wouldn’t hurt. We got family on each coast, anyway.”

“Yeah, but-” Vanessa bites her lip. “I don’t wanna leave Ontario, not really.”

Could she? What would it mean? Not only for her, but for her and Brooke, her other half that she’s been together with for more than three years-

“No one’s saying you have to. But would it hurt? Just increases your odds for the better.”

“I guess.” It wouldn’t hurt to apply to more schools, not really. Sure, it’ll be a couple more essays and some more money down the drain for the application fees, but it’s more of a chance.

That things will work out the way Vanessa wants them to.

“Just give Penelope a call. See what she has to say. I’ll send you her number.”

“‘Kay.” A call Vanessa can do. Just to find out more about what’s out there for her, options wise.

Besides, it’s not like she’ll actually ever move to the opposite coast, right?

(now)

“Just tell us.”

“Tell you what? There’s nothing to tell.”

“Come on, Brooke.” Yvie’s voice sounds almost whiny from her spot in front of Vanessa in the line for Starbucks, where part of the neuro team is grabbing their morning coffee. “I haven’t seen you look this chill in like, ever.”

“Chill? We have an occipital tumour removal in 45, definitely not chill.” Brooke looks at the Starbucks menu, and Vanessa has to try to keep an incredibly straight face as she watches the sight unfolding in front of her.

“There’s something up. Or someone. Ooh, are you finally seeing someone?” Plastique rises on her tippy toes in excitement, though still barely only passes Brooke’s shoulder in height.

Yvie turns around to face Vanessa, nearly making her jump. “Hey, Vanessa. What do you think? Does Brooke look different to you than usual?”

Vanessa has to hold back a laugh at the sight of Brooke behind Yvie, the expression on her face screaming help help help. She keeps her tone light. “Ooh, I dunno. We gotta interact more at the hospital, Dr. Hytes, I can’t tell.”

“Aren’t you guys always fighting over something?” Plastique pipes in, grabbing her coffee from the cashier. “At least I hear enough yelling to tell. Though you guys haven’t fought in awhile, according to my eardrums.”

“We’ve, ah, found more productive ways to smooth over our disagreements.” Vanessa watches as Brooke lets out a muffled noise at her statement, and it’s all she can do to not crack up right then and there.

She’s going to mess with Brooke, though. Have some fun, as if they didn’t wake up in her bed this morning in each other’s arms, the best hours of sleep Vanessa’s had in ages. “Seeing someone new, Dr. Hytes?”

Brooke shoots her a look, though Vanessa can see the mirth behind her eyes. She’s having fun with this, too. “Not someone you would know, Dr. Mateo.”

“Are you sure? I know a lot of someones.” Vanessa grins when Brooke rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“You’re funny.”

“A regular comedian. Lord knows why I became a doctor, myself.”

Brooke shrugs, lifting the cup of coffee that the cashier hands her in Vanessa’s direction. “I’d come to your standup show.”

“Would you, now? Wouldn’t even have to pay for a ticket, I’d give you a VIP pass.” Vanessa’s missed stupidity like this, being able to just be silly with Brooke.

Brooke grins. “I’m a VIP now, huh?”

“Only sometimes.” Vanessa nudges Brooke’s side, tearing her gaze away from her for long enough to notice that Yvie and Plastique are looking between the two of them as if they each have three heads.

Brooke coughs. “Well, coffee. See you around, Dr. Mateo.”

Vanessa has to hold back a laugh, a task that only gets more difficult when Brooke does a thumbs up at her.

“Good luck with your procedure.” Her own coffee is ready, then, and she heads in the opposite direction towards the cardiac units after grabbing it. She wastes no time in pulling out her phone.

VM: real smooth there

BLH: THAT WAS A LOT.

VM: and HYSTERICAL

BLH: I’ll truly never live this down with them.

VM: u flashed me a thumbs up. absolutely iconic

BLH: What’s wrong with a thumbs up?

VM: the fact that u have to ask that speaks for itself

BLH: Yvie and Plastique keep asking why we got along just now…

VM: LOL

VM: I wonder if they’ll guess

VM: imagine

BLH: They’d lose their absolute minds. That would be hilarious, though.

They haven’t actually talked about the others, yet. If they’re going to say anything to anyone else.

Heck, they haven’t even talked about themselves. They went on a date last night and woke up in each other’s arms and no sex was involved and yet somehow, it had been one of the best nights that Vanessa’s ever had.

She wonders if Brooke feels the same way about it.

Brooke had woken Vanessa up with peppered kisses along her neck, her shoulder blades, making her hum with pleasure, and she doesn’t think she’s ever had such a nice 6:00 am wake up in her life. Brooke had wrapped an arm around her waist while they had eaten breakfast as if it was the easiest thing to do in the world.

Vanessa had forgotten how soft, how touchy Brooke is sometimes. How much she’s missed it, too. The feeling of leaning into Brooke’s touch, of being allowed to actually do so.

BLH: Tumour removal time. Wanna grab some food after work?

Vanessa bites her lip. She’d been planning to go to the hospital library after work, to look through things for their joint consult surgery that’s happening soon. There’s just something about the surgical plan that’s been bugging her, that she wants to double check. Iron out once she has the research background behind it. But it means a late night most likely, of combing through research articles and looking for specific information that’ll take ages. She can’t do it on the clock, either, when her day is so booked up with other procedures and documentation and consults.

But she wants to hang out with Brooke. Sure, they’ve just spent the last evening together, but Vanessa’s not tired of her. How could she be, when someone like Brooke feels so familiar, yet so new? Making Vanessa’s heart beat just a little bit faster, while at the same time feeling like comfort and home?

VM: gonna spend the evening holed up in the library going over stuff for our surgery :(( don’t want to but it’s so soon so gotta get it done

The three dots on Vanessa’s screen showing her that Brooke is typing make her uneasy. What if Brooke’s going to be upset with her, not want to hang out anymore? What if she hates her again?

BLH: Want some help?

Well.

VM: you’d do that??

BLH: Of course. Hey, cardio may not be my specialty, but it’s our joint surgery. I can help you comb through some research, if you need it. Be here to bounce ideas off of.

VM: are u sure?? A total time suck of the evening

BLH: Two heads are better than one, no? Plus I can spend more time with you, too.

BLH: If you’d want that, of course.

BLH: Your choice, but, the offer is there.

The flurry of texts make Vanessa smile. She can almost picture Brooke on the other end, her typing becoming more and more nervous.

VM: i’d like that :) thank u sm

BLH: Anytime.

VM: anyone tell u that you’re pretty great?

BLH: Nah, that’s you!

God, she’s got it bad for a certain blonde. Again.

“Hey.” Brooke collapses in the chair beside her, the library empty save for the two of them. “Sorry I’m late.”

Vanessa looks away from her computer screen, over at Brooke who’s shedding her lab coat on her chair. “Imma be here for a while, anyway, no rush. How’d your procedures go today?”

Brooke brightens. “Not bad. Got the tumour in the a.m., had a craniectomy in the afternoon. Morning tumour had no complications despite being ridiculously difficult to reach.”

Vanessa holds out a high five, sending Brooke a look when she doesn’t return it immediately, until she does, lifting up her hand and grinning. “Brainy queen. Literally.”

“Funny.” Brooke snorts, before looking at Vanessa’s screen. “So, what are we looking for?”

“I’m trying to find case studies on bovine mitral valves and how they hold up under unrelated surgical conditions, because this patient-”

“Wait.” Brooke holds up a hand to pause Vanessa’s spiel. “Bovine as in…cow?”

“Yes? Cow? Mitral valves from cows have often been used in mitral valve replacements in the heart-”

Brooke looks at Vanessa as if she’s suddenly lost her mind. “Cow heart valves?”

Vanessa snickers. “Damn, you really don’t remember anything from cardiology, do you? Valves from pigs have also been used in the past, when mechanical valves aren’t an option for a patient.“

“Pig heart valves?!”

“Oh my god, this is incredible.” Vanessa’s having way too much fun with this. She knows that cardio is not Brooke’s specialty, but seeing her look of absolute disbelief is way more entertaining than it should be.

“So they just…put those animal valves in for patients whose valves need replacing?” Brooke looks like she’s having her mind blown in the most hilarious possible way.

“Yup.” Vanessa pops her lips on the last sound. “We use mechanical ones too, but bovine or porcine ones are an older technique and often are taken to by the body much better.”

“Jesus. I don’t remember learning that in cardiology when taking it in school.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t specifically learn about cardiac surgery, being in neuro. And hey, there’s probably endless shit I don’t know about neurosurgery, either.” Vanessa pats Brooke’s shoulder. “Now c’mon, help me find some actually relevant research articles.”

“Okay, found this one by Yang et al about the structural integrity of bovine heart valves under strenuous circumstances-”

“Oooh, print that one.” Vanessa scoots over closer towards Brooke’s computer so that she can add to her pile of articles to sort through. “Maybe it’ll be relevant.”

Vanessa looks through the articles with a fine toothed comb, for something, anything to make her more secure about their joint procedure. Looking for ideas for contingency plans in case the patient’s heart issues go south during the surgery, due to his valve. She wants to be covered.

“Will do.” Brooke lets out a yawn as she clicks print, making Vanessa look down at her watch.

“Damn, it’s already ten. We’ve been here for awhile. You don’t have to stay any longer if you don’t want to, you know.”

Brooke gives her a look. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m gonna stay and help you out. Besides, it’s kind of interesting.”

“Yeah?” Vanessa raises an eyebrow. Cardio had never been Brooke’s favourite back in school.

Brooke shrugs. “Honestly, not being tested on it makes it better.”

“I feel that. The added pressure was something.” Vanessa thinks back to med school, when the pressure and the deadlines and the sheer amount of information that she had to take in nearly broke her brain. There were so many times during med school that she’d been so overwhelmed, tired, just wanting to come home. Telling herself that she just had a few years left until she could be free of tests and assignments and studying into the late hours of the night.

Though starting internship and residency hadn’t really been a break, either. The late night shifts, the crazy workload, the burnout.

If it hadn’t been for the payoff of being a cardiac surgeon, of getting to do what she’s good at and actually enjoys, she probably would have quit years and years ago. Gone into an easier field, maybe an office job, one that didn’t require endless schooling and training.

But she hadn’t had to. And neither had Brooke.

“What do you think med school would have been like, if we went together?” Vanessa can’t keep the question from slipping out of her mouth.

Brooke looks up at her sharply, questions upon questions in her eyes and Vanessa knows why, because they don’t talk about this, about what had happened back then and they’re in a good place now, so why should they?

But she wants to know. And Brooke answers.

“I’m not sure.” Brooke’s voice is soft, cautious. “You think we would have stuck it out the whole time?”

The question makes Vanessa pause. “I dunno. It sure would have made things different.”

“Yeah.” Brooke fiddles with the hem of her lab coat. “Imagine getting through the stress of four years of med school, one year of internship, and three years of residency without biting each other’s heads off.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Vanessa nudges Brooke. “We still wanted to bite each other’s heads off as soon as I started working here.”

Brooke can’t help but let out a laugh at that. “Good point.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and Vanessa can’t stop herself from peeking over at Brooke, at the way her scrubs look incredibly comfy to snuggle into. At the expression on her face that’s both pensive and bittersweet.

Vanessa gets it. It’s hard to know what they’ve lost, if they’ve even lost anything at all, from the way that things happened. Would they have ended up in their specific careers had they stayed together? Would Vanessa even have had the chance to become a cardiac surgeon if she hadn’t gone to LA?

She could have done it in a better way, though.

But it’s not something she wants to think about now, while she’s supposed to be sifting through research, preparing for the surgery. She can mull it over with a bottle of wine another time.

“Ness. Ness.”

Vanessa feels the hands running through her hair before she registers the soft voice by her ear. She blinks the sleep away, squinting under the harsh fluorescent lights of the library.

Brooke looks adorably rumpled, her mascara smudged under her eyes and her hair starting to  come out of her bun.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Brooke smiles back, and Vanessa hasn’t seen her eyes crinkle like that since university, a fact which she files away to think about later.

Vanessa looks around the library, still as deserted, but now with rays sunlight streaming in through the windows. “Did we-”

“Fully fell asleep in the library, yep.” Brooke nods, looking at her watch. “It’s around 7:15. Still got some time before our shifts start.”

“Good. Imagine having to rush to our floors like this.” Vanessa tries to run her hands through her hair, intent on putting it up in a ponytail, but her fingers catch and tangle in her locks, making her wince.

“Good thing we’re in scrubs every day, at least we don’t look like we’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes, despite the fact that we fully are.” Brooke tugs in a lock of Vanessa’s hair. “Want me to braid it back?”

Vanessa makes a face. “It’s all tangled.”

“Don’t worry, I can be gentle.” Brooke’s voice is soft and so Vanessa gives in, nodding, and grins when Brooke’s face lights up. The feeling of Brooke’s hands in her hair waking her up had been soft, so incredibly soft and soothing and she definitely isn’t going to complain about feeling it again.

She can’t help but lean into Brooke’s touch as she starts combing through the tangles, and is almost disappointed when Brooke finishes her braid, letting it fall down her back.

“There. Gorgeous.” Brooke’s looking at her as if she matters, as if she’s pretty at seven in the morning, as if the two of them didn’t just fall asleep at a table with their faces buried in books, reminiscent of a time a decade ago when their problems were so, so, different.

Her words make Vanessa’s cheeks all warm, a blush rising on her face with equal parts happiness, and she knows the adoring look on Brooke’s face is mirrored on her own.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #hospital au #holtzmanns #nobody knows where we might end up

[gwilymz]

Duality

Brian May x Reader

Summary: It’s the end of the semester and with final exams in a week, you’re desperate for physics help. Your professor recommends Brian May, a bright young student who is seemingly unsure, anxious and apprehensive at life. So when he invites you to a Queen gig, you’re shocked to see another side of him. 

Warning: DEFINITELY REALLY INAPPROPRIATE AND SMUTTY I WARNED YOU!!

This semester had taken a physical strain on you. You had transferred to a new university, and the pressure of making all new friends and having all new classes, which were much more strenuous than those of your old school, was weighing down on you, causing you quite a few breakdowns throughout the transition period.

Now, final exams were approaching quickly, and you had piles of assignments to complete, seemingly thousands of dates to memorize for your Renaissance history course, a few hundred thousand words to write in essays for your composition class, and worst of all, terribly complex equations to master for your physics class, all before next week. Why you had decided to take that class was beyond your locus of understanding, you weren’t majoring in anything of the sort, and you weren’t a very math or science enthused person.

All you did know, was that you were on the verge of failing the class, by the scarlet red marks which covered the top of each of your exams, the midterm being the worst score you had ever received in your life. You’d always worked hard in life and achieved grades you were proud of, for the most part, so struggling in a class was foreign to you and you hated the feeling. Worst of all, you didn’t want to admit defeat, to ask for help was the stripping of your dignity to you, and you were dreading the conversation you were about to have with your professor.

As the 10:30 AM lecture ended, your peers packed up their belongings, heaving their giant backpacks over their tired shoulders, shoving crumpled assignments and exams with near-perfect marks into their folders, making weekend plans with their friends. You slowly stood up from your desk in the front of the room, neatly putting your unsightly exams into your portfolio and sighing, before walking towards your professor’s mahogany desk, which was cluttered with red and blue ballpoint pens and coffee-stained papers.

“Um, Professor Prescott?” You inquired, taking a deep breath as you met her blue eyes.

“Y/n, I’m afraid if you need extra help today, I’m not able to do that. I’m awfully busy tonight with appointments, and the rest of the semester is booked with grading and conferences with other professors.” She looked at you with pseudo-sympathy, pursing her lips as she slung her brown leather teacher’s bag over her willowy shoulder.

“Professor Prescott, I really need help. I know I’m close to failing this course, and I need to do well, considering my position at this school depends on it. Please, is there any way you can help me?” You felt tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes and you scolded yourself for being so dramatic in front of an authority figure.

She sighed and tore a piece of yellow paper from a legal pad underneath a mass of quizzes and exams. “I suppose I can recommend a bright student of mine to help you. He’s in a course a few levels above this one. He does exceptionally well, and I’m sure he’d be happy to help you, y/n. Just tell him that I sent you, he tends to be very anxious.” She gave you a small smile and scribbled a name and a phone number before handing it to you, leading you out of the classroom and into the crisp fall air, wind nipping at your exposed skin.

“I hate making phone calls, Debbie.” You complained, rolling your eyes at your roommate, who was sitting across from you, eating a small sandwich.

“No, you hate admitting you need help, y/n.” She retorted, cocking her blonde eyebrows at you.

“I mean, you’re right, but I don’t want to get help from some random guy and it be awkward and terrible. Maybe I’m just not meant to be at this school.” You took a chip from her plate and mirrored the judgmental look on her face.

“Y/n, you’re going to call this random awkward guy and you’re going to get a passing grade on this exam, and you’ll be fine.” She smiled and cocked her head towards the pastel peach phone hanging by the humming refrigerator.

You scour your pockets for the paper and take it out, looking at the number before quickly dialing it on the rotary, holding the phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you tied your hair back. The phone rang only twice before somebody picked it up, muttering a confident, “Hello?” in a deep, raspy voice.

“Hello? Is this Brian May?” You were afraid she had given you the wrong number, this guy sounded self-assured, cocky, and nothing like the anxious, shy boy professor Prescott had described to you.

“And who would be asking?” He retorted.

“Um, my name’s y/n, Professor Prescott gave me this--your number because I need help with physics. Desperately.”

“I’m no Brian May, but I can help you with something else if you so desperately need it, sweetie.” He chuckles and you cringe at his words, before you hear the shrill sound of the phone being knocked out of his hand, and a loud, “ROGER” from the other side of the line, and then a raspier, “fucking teacher’s pet,” from who you assume to be this Roger character you were just speaking to.

You begin to hear shaky, heavy breathing on the other line, which sounded a lot less self-assured, and a lot more like who your professor described. “Hello?” He asked, barely above a squeak. You were about to answer him when he started apologizing profusely. “I’m-I’m sorry if my roommate--Roger--was offensive towards you or said anything inappropriate, he’s very, um, outspoken, especially with girls--not that that’s an excuse, but I’m sorry.”

You giggled a little, finding his care for your feelings charming and cute. “No, no it’s not your fault, you don’t need to apologize. I just-really need help with physics, and professor Prescott recommended you. If you can’t or don’t want to help me then I understand but--it’s worth a try.” You felt stupid for rambling but his nervousness was transferring onto your demeanor.

“Oh! I’d love to help you--uh, I’ve helped a lot of students study for this exam so I know more or less the material that’s on it so I can just teach you that stuff and not bother with the other material so as to not waste time--not that I don’t want to help I just don’t want to waste your time..um, what did you say your name was? I’m terribly sorry.” You heard loud giggling in the background of the call and mocking sounds from more than one person and you felt you face turn bright red.

“Oh, I’m y/n, where would you like to meet up? We can in about an hour if that works for you?” You licked your lips, waiting for his reply.

“I always go to this café on twelfth street when I tutor, it’s very ambient. And an hour from now would be perfect, y/n. It was nice talk-”

You interrupted him, tripping over your own words. “Wait-wait, Brian how will I know it’s you?”

“Oh, I never thought about that.” His voice was shaky yet impeccably smooth, almost sultry, even though you could feel the anxiety seeping through his tone. “Um, I will be sitting at the first booth you see when you walk into the door. I’ll be hard to miss.”

And then the call ended, and you reluctantly set the phone back onto the receiver, noticing that you had bitten your nails down quite a bit during the awkward encounter.

For the next forty-five minutes, you sat at the dining room table nervously tapping your patent leather boots against the oak floor, circling terms and concepts you weren’t sure about on the exam outline your professor had given your class weeks before. You sighed as your paper was soaked with red ink; you didn’t know a thing.

You stood in front of the antique mirror which was perched by the front door of your shared apartment, fixing stray strands of hair which had fallen from the back of your topknot. You quickly applied some brick-red lipstick and put some hoop earrings in, trying to look somewhat decent, as the stress you were under had made your confidence plummet recently.

“Isn’t this just a tutoring session?” Your other roommate, Alison inquired, raising her eyebrows at you, almost accusatory.

“I mean, yeah, but I want to look decent, Alison.” You retorted, grabbing your purse from the coat hook by the door.

“Who is this guy who’s tutoring you again?” Debbie questioned, fixing the hood of your coat.

“Brian May,”

“That sounds vaguely familiar for some reason.” Alison countered, as you left your apartment.

The November wind nipped against  your skin, making goosebumps form against your rosy skin. The streets were bustling with midday traffic and you walked the short trek to the café, listening to your boots click against the cement, and the occasional sound of a rust-colored leaf crunch beneath your feet.

As you reached twelfth street, your heartbeat began to quicken as you had no clue what this Brian looked like, you only knew the sound of his voice, and he didn’t give you much to go off of. You peered into the window which extended across the front of the old brick building, but the tint prevented you from looking too long. You walked to the door, a dark stained wood door with an old copper handle, eroded from years of use, cold against your already numb fingertips.

You turned the corner as you walked into the café, and saw a sea of dark, chocolate-brown curls atop who you assumed to be Brian May’s head. He was hunched over in concentration at the booth, working on a physics problem, you could see the familiar assignment, and the buttons of his calculator reflecting against the ambient light. He looked small, curled into the corner of the booth, so you were more than surprised when he stood to greet you and was towering above you, thin, jean-clad legs taking up most of his body. He wore a simple white button-up which had all but one button fastened. You could see the top of his bony sternum, and the sleeves to his shirt were messily rolled up, revealing muscular yet dainty forearms, and his fingernails were short, contrasting with his long, slender fingers, and had the remnants of white nail polish on them.

His face was even more handsome than you could have ever imagined, and you felt your face redden at the sight of it. His eyebrows were dark, and tapered off towards the tails, giving his warm hazel eyes a kind, almost ethereal look. His cheekbones were high and elegant, his nose aquiline and prominent and quintessentially masculine, stopping just above his light pink lips.

He gestured for you to sit down and you took your coat off hurriedly, as he scooted over to make room for you next to him. You felt nervous and uneasy, sitting next to this gorgeous guy, and you were glad you put extra time into your appearance today.

“Okay, y/n, what do you need help with?” He met your eyes only briefly, and blushed a little, flashing a toothy smile at the table where his large hands rested upon the paper he was working on.

You scoured your bag for the review sheet and handed it to him, giving him a nervous laugh. “Pretty much everything,” you answered, sighing. He handed you his pencil, which was chewed around the barrel, and you could see the embarrassment in his eyes; he regretted giving you the pencil. Your fingers touched briefly and he stuttered his words as he began to teach you the material. As the session continued you got closer and closer to each other, and he ordered you a snack and a coffee, and you noticed he accidentally drank out of your cup a few times, but you didn’t mind enough to tell him; you knew it’d embarrass him.

He was hunched over, helping you enter something into your calculator correctly when you asked him more personal questions.

“So, Brian, do you have another hobby, other than physics?” You joked, looking at him intently as he chewed on his pen, scribbling the answer on the messy paper in his illegible handwriting.

He met your eyes, and bit his lip lightly. “Um, yeah, I’m in a band actually. I play the guitar. It’s mostly a weekend thing, at pubs and bars.”

“Oh really? When is your next gig?” You fiddled with your own calculator, mindlessly pressing the buttons.

“Tonight, actually. At a pub just down the street. You’re welcome to come with some friends if you want.” He flushed pink and grinned at you, warmly.

“I’d love to come! What time is it?” You took out the paper with Brian’s number on it and flipped it over, ready to write the details. He took the pen from your hand and wrote the address and time in his best handwriting and then a small smiley face on the bottom corner, before folding the paper up and handing it back to you, along with the pen, which was impossibly small in his hands.

He looked at his watch and bit his lip. “I’m sorry y/n, but I actually have to go help set up the gig. If I don’t they will be mad. It was great meeting you, see you later?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you watched as a curl bounced back to its original position after being caught on a ring of his.

“Oh, of course, sorry for keeping you so long. Good luck, I’ll see you later. I’ll bring my roommates.” You stood up to let him out of the booth and he gave you an awkward kiss on the cheek, not knowing the correct etiquette for this type of situation.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you walked back to your apartment, you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face, even though the piercing wind was making your face numb to any feelings. You were excited to go to a concert, and excited at the prospect of having something other to focus on than final exams, even if it was just for one night. Your roommates noticed your heightened mood when you got back.

“How did it go? Was it terrible?” Debbie greeted you at the door and smirked at you when she saw your grin.

“Why are you smiling like that, yn?” Alison inquired, following behind Debbie.

“He’s super attractive, ok!” You replied, feeling your face burn up.

“Oh my god, really?” Debbie looked shocked.

“A physics tutor?” Alison looked doubtful.

“He’s cute--really cute. And he’s in a band. He’s the guitarist, and he has a gig tonight. He invited me--us. He said I could bring friends too.”

“A concert? Nice, y/n, you’re getting out there!” Alison playfully shoved you and led you over to the couch.

“What type of music is it?” Debbie sat down next to you and Alison.

“I’m not sure, but I’m guessing something acoustic and folky, I just got that feeling from him.”

“Cute,” Alison exclaimed. “Y/n got herself a catch!”

You unfolded the paper Brian had written on and looked at the time and address. It was 7:20 PM, and he wrote eight sharp on the paper.

“Shit, it’s in 40 minutes.” You quickly got up and changed your outfit, opting for something casual but classy.

As you left your apartment with your roommates twenty minutes later, you felt nervous once again, but the walk calmed you down. The atmosphere was different from what you expected when you arrived, there were a lot of people you recognized from college who were into harder stuff--druggies and metal-heads lined up at the door, and you felt overdressed when you saw everyone’s attire: layered band tees and flared pants which contrasted greatly with your outfit.

The line was surprisingly long and energetic, with hundreds of people packed onto the sidewalk mingling with the others, talking about new albums for bands you couldn’t begin to understand. The red lights from the inside of the bar cast a bright rosy red glow amongst the street, like its own personal spotlight. You vaguely heard drums and the tuning of a guitar as the door occasionally opened and closed as the bouncers let people in.

When the bouncer let you and your roommates in, you felt out of place. You weren’t expecting the venue to be so hardcore, there were crude posters messily hung about the building, and the lighting was dark and red, making everything glow with something akin to anger, making you tap your foot anxiously as you ordered a drink. You and your friends moved up to the front of the crowd, silently pushing through the sea of people to the front of the crowd. The bar owner climbed onto the stage and introduced the band, telling the crowd to get ready for Queen. They all cheered as if this wasn’t new, as if they knew what to expect. You were excited.

The drums matched your heartbeat, heavy and rhythmic, yet somehow a little irregular. You could feel the bass vibrate in your feet and the heavy riff of the guitar ringing in your ears. A flamboyant frontman came to the front of the stage, wearing an angelic white pleated white shirt, tight white pants and tall heels, with his nails painted an impossibly deep black. He grinned and danced around the stage, commanding the audience as he introduced the band members. As the light shone upon the stage, illuminating the other three men, your heart skipped a beat as you saw the same Brian you had nervously chatted with hours ago, the Brian who had an impermeable uncertainty about him, who wore conservative clothing, stuttering over his words, no matter how confident and skilled he was about the topic, towering above his bandmates, wearing a flowy, lacy top and a statement necklace which adorned his thin neck. His eyes were shadowed in dark makeup, his slender fingers now painted opaquely white, contrasting against his tanned, smooth skin. His eyes were smoldering, certain and beautiful, the eyeshadow complementing the golden brown irises.

As Brian saw you at the front of the crowd, you knew you were ogling him, but you couldn’t look away. You were awestruck by his presence, his stature, which was heightened by 3 inch heels. His eyes bore into yours and he didn’t look away. He licked his lips as he strummed the first cord of the song. Although the talent of the rest of the band was amazing, Brian was mesmerizing you with his every move. His nimble fingers struck every cord perfectly, strummed every string without fail, without taking his eyes off of you. His mouth was slightly open, and he briefly looked down to watch his own work, his fingers moving ridiculously fast over the strings and frets. He strummed with unduly passion and you could see the sheen of sweat covering his face as he turned on the delay pedal. During his solo he commanded the crowd with no words. His shoulders contracted as he moved about the stage, his long legs making him look angelic, but his smoldering look giving him an alluring, unexpected sinful appearance that was impossible to look away from.

He stared at you as he wrapped his fingers around the microphone singing into it forcefully as he played his guitar simultaneously. He and Freddie were a unit on the stage, moving together in something alike a dance between the musicians. He began to strum with more fervor, brows furrowed in concentration, breathing heavily as he swayed around the stage, entrancing the audience  as if he were a bonafide pendulum in human form, hypnotizing them with his pure talent. Your mouth was agape looking up at him, unable to believe this was the same Brian who was stumbling over his words hours before, punching numbers into an old calculator. It felt like the show had barely begun when Brian strummed the last cord, and the lights were cut, casting the four members in a shadow, shrouded by stage smoke. You were speechless as you turned to your friends, your face red dripping with sweat. You hurried to the bar and asked for a glass of water.

“So that was Brian?” Debbie looked at you with awe.

“I guess so. He was stuttering in a coffee shop with me 3 hours ago.”

You, Alison, and Debbie gushed about him as you sipped your water, unable to believe the duality of him, how a jean-clad physics tutor could command hundreds of people with an English sixpence and an old guitar. You felt a warm hand on the small of your back, the unmistakable feeling of a hard-on pressing into your back as you leaned against the bar. You quickly turned around only to realize it was Brian, motioning for the bartender to pour him a glass of water. He smirked down at you, his eyes shimmering, his cheeks flushed pink, pupils dilated so much that the golden brown irises you’d grown to love were invisible now.

He put his long arms around your waist, lifting you onto the barstool with confident ease, standing between your legs, your roommates feigning conversation four feet away.

“I want you,” Brian almost growled into your ear, nibbling at your earlobe, his hands rubbing your inner thighs, causing you to moan quietly into his own ear.

He pulled you off of the stool and held you close to him by your waist, almost as a shield for his boner as he led you backstage, where he took you into the greenroom, gaining attention and a few odd looks from his bandmates. He shut the door and didn’t even bother to lock it before he pushed you against it, pushing his hard thigh against your aching clit, holding your hands above your head with one hand, holding your waist tight with the other, hungrily kissing your neck as you ground yourself against his thigh, moaning into his mouth as he kissed you hard.

“I fucking need you.” He whispered, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. You tangled your hands into his thick curls as he basically threw you onto the couch, set papers flying in every direction as he pulled your jeans down your legs, kissing your thighs as he pulled your panties aside, sucking on his own fingers and rubbing them against your heat, before entering 2 long fingers inside, making you arch your back. He used his thumb to rub your clit and you moaned loudly, which only spurred him on. His fingers were rough and calloused, the texture driving you crazy as he moved pulled your shirt up and quickly unclasped your bra, kissing your breasts and sucking on your nipples, hardened from arousal and the cold air of the room. He looked up at you and groaned at your face, contorted with pleasure as he continued to finger you hard.

“Fuck, Brian.” You whimpered, your legs shaking. He firmly gripped your thigh and held your hips down as he went faster, scissoring his fingers, making you cry out. You didn’t care if anybody could hear you at this point.

“Say my name again,” He commanded.

“Brian, please.” You moaned again, close to your impending orgasm. You looked at him intently, furrowing your eyebrows as he continued his movements, not taking his eyes off of you for a second. You came as soon as you felt the cold metal of his ring touch you, arching your back as you screamed his name. He took his fingers out of you, sucking them clean as he grabbed a condom from his wallet. You sat up and unzipped his pants, pulling them down his slender legs, palming his cock through his now-tight briefs. His head lolled back as you touched him, and he whimpered your name before handing you the condom. You tore it open, before pulling his briefs down, revealing his impressive length. You rolled the condom on locking eyes as you did. You could hear his heavy breathing as he pulled you up, kissing you feverishly on the mouth before flipping you over, pulling your hips up and lining himself up with your entrance.

“Are you ready?” He said against your neck.

“Please,” You pushed back into him, and he entered you, slowly at first, but then with more fervor, holding your hips as he pushed into you repeatedly, groaning into your neck as he held your ass. You buried your face into the pillows, unable to contain the pleasure.

“I’m so fucking close,” Brian groaned into your neck, causing you to clench around him. He came at the same time as you did panting as he fell against your back, unable to move for a few minutes, basking in the pleasure you shared together. He eventually pulled out, helping you get redressed, blushing as he put his underwear back on. He looked wrecked, his neck was covered in love bites, his face flushed, hair matted in some places and unruly in others, his chest still heaving as he handed you your panties.

“Do you still need help with physics?” He almost gasped as he pulled your panties up your legs, kissing right above your belly button, looking up at you with a huge grin.

#brian may #queen #brian may fanfic #brian may smut #brian may x reader #bohemian rhapsody #gwilym lee #joe mazzello #ben hardy #rami malek #borhap #roger taylor #john deacon #freddie mercury

[ladyloveandjustice]

Mom and I listened to Chernow’s biography of Hamilton before seeing the play and I want to write down some of my favorite hot facts that were basically “WHAT A SOAP OPERA  ALL THESE GUYS ARE SO FUCKING PETTY” dont try to nitpick for accuracy on these they’re heavily paraphrased take them with a grain of salt i’m just writing this so i can remember the basics

-I think actually maybe the most hilarious and admittedly brave thing Hamilton did was very early on, a bunch of revolutionary guys came to lynch his prof from Kings College for being a loyalist. Even though they weren’t on the same side, Hamilton was there for his prof, so he actually BLOCKED THIS ANGRY MOB at the staircase and LECTURED them to give his prof time to escape. He was like “blablabla U GUYS R HURTING THE CAUSE >:(” and somehow they didn’t all kill him and he successfully delayed them. Amazing.

-Hamiltons mom was AN EXTREME BADASS, basically her mother sold her off to marry this mean guy and she HATED HIM and he hated her for not being submissive enough and she was like “screw you” and just..left. So he threw her in prison for adultery! like literally prison! and it was prison that wasn’t even used for anything else she was the only one in the prison. He thought this would finally make her submissive but instead she basically skipped town the second she was let out and NEVER CAME BACK. So she was still married to this dude the whole time, which is why she couldn’t marry Hamilton’s dad. 

(also after Hamilton’s dad left she ran a shop to support her family, which was unusual for a young woman to do back then, but she was independent like whoa)

unfortunately she also had a son with her first husband that she left behind with when she ran away(in her defense, I imagine she didn’t have the means to support him at the time and also would have gotten caught if she went back for him), so her first husband turned her son against her, reminding him all the time that she abandoned him and saying she was evil...so when she died the son basically came in and claimed all of the property she’d left and rendered his orphaned half-brothers homeless.NOT VERY NICE AT ALL.

-James Monroe and two other dudes were actually the ones who confronted Hamilton about possible speculation and he invited them to his house and gave this WHOLE HOUR LONG presentation on his affair, with a bazillion papers and letters as proof. Like about fifteen minutes in, everyone realized they were wrong and were like “okay we’re very sorry for poking our nose into your private matters we believe you we’ll leave you alone” but Hamilton was like “NO I’M NOT DONE YOU HAVEN’T HEARD IT ALL YET” and went through the entire thing in ridic self-flagellating detail while his audience just cringed. Afterwards one of the guys was like “that was one of the most humiliating things i’ve ever witnessed”

-Anyway James Monroe definitely probably leaked the Reynolds documents Hamilton showed him even though he swore not to show them to anyone. YES A FUTURE PRESIDENT WHO COULD NOT BE TRUSTED WE’RE ALL SURPRISED.Hamilton was SO mad about this he wrote to him basically saying “YOU BETTER APOLOGIZE OR MEET ME OUTSIDE” because that was his response to everything.  Burr was actually chosen as the mediator for this because he was friendly to both of them at the time and he basically tried to calm them both down and prevent a duel. Monroe had initially said he believed that Hamilton wasn’t embezzling or speculating or whatever, but then he was like “UH I CHANGED MY MIND I’VE DECIDED NOW YOU ARE” which made Hamilton SO mad. Burr actually chastised Monroe about this, basically like “c’mon, we both know Hamilton would never betray his office, I know it, you know it, It’s Hamilton.” Anyway Burr saved Hamilton from dueling James Monroe.

But do you know who ELSE would have probably been fine dueling James Monroe? ELIZA. She was, rightfully, very pissed at him for exposing something that hurt her so much. Monroe did his time as president, and once it was over, he decided he wanted to patch things up with her (Hamilton was long dead by this time ofc, and Eliza was elderly). So he came to her house and Eliza was Not Happy when a servant reported his arrival. Hamilton’s kids remembered “her voice got low like it always does when she’s angry”. She went to see him in their living room and he was all “So, Eliza, a lot has happened and there was fault on both sides”-

and she was basically like “EXCUSE ME??? IS THAT AN APOLOGY? BECAUSE IT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE AN APOLOGY. IF YOU’RE HERE TO ACTUALLY APOLOGIZE I’LL LISTEN TO IT. BUT IF YOU’RE GONNA GIVE ME SOME WEAK “BLAME ON BOTH SIDES” BULLSHIT I’M NOT HERE FOR IT. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANYTHING BUT YOU SAYING SORRY THAT YOU BETRAYED MY LATE HUSBAND AND RUINED OUR LIVES. IF YOU CAN’T SAY THAT, THEN GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE”.

Monroe was flabbergasted, and apparently it was too much for him to give an actual apology, so he just left. So let the record show Eliza schooled an ex-president and kicked him out of her house.

-everything relating to Phillip and Hamilton’s duels was super sad. When he was waiting to hear about the results of Phillip’s duel with the doctor (or someone) Hamilton was so overcome with anxiety he actually fainted. He had to be propped up by two people during the funeral because he was so unsteady. Not only did he fall into his first bout of lethargic depression and actually didn’t write anything for a good while (a big deal for him) he didn’t even answer sympathy notes until four months later (also a big deal for him).

-According the doctor, in his own duel, Hamilton knew it was a mortal wound as soon as he was shot. He collapsed, but came to on the boat and the first thing he said was “GUYS BE CAREFUL OF HANDLING THAT PISTOL IT’S STILL LOADED IT COULD GO OFF I DIDN’T ACTUALLY SHOOT IT BUT PLEASE REMEMBER TO TELL EVERYONE I WAS GOING TO THROW AWAY MY SHOT” He did actually shoot it of course, but he fact he didn’t seem to know this makes it seem more likely he just accidentally squeezed the trigger when he was shot.

- the other thing he kept babbling about was how they should get Eliza but break it to her gradually. in stages. Ease her into it. Which it’s nice you’re considerate of her feelings NOW, wish you’d been considerate enough NOT TO DO THE DUEL.

-anyway the description of his death in the bio was very sad and he said he didn’t hold anything against Burr and was at peace though so i guess that’s nice.

-in contrast Burr was such an ASSHOLE about Hamilton’s death omg

-Before I go into WHAT A GIANT ASS JERK HE IS I will give Burr one credit: he believed strongly women were equal to men, and made sure Theodosia was educated in everything, and even had her taught to shoot from horseback. Like he really wanted to make sure his daughter knew how to kill stuff from a horse. i respect that.

-what I don’t respect is that Hamilton actually has EXTREMELY GOOD REASON to feel he couldn’t be trusted in office- there was this whole drama where after New York had a yellow fever epidemic, Burr started pushing this Manhattan water company that would provide clean water to the public, which would be a huge help with yellow fever. He got Hamilton on board with it. But his real plan was actually to sneak in some last minute provisions to the water company bill that basically turned it from a water company to a bank that could complete with Federalist banks. Not only compete with them, but have less restrictions to them. So he basically tricked Hamilton into pushing through a bill that was designed to undermine his own beloved banks. Hamilton was PRETTY PISSED, and I can’t blame him for that. Not to mention, the water company obviously never happened, and other water companies weren’t set up because everyone thought it would be covered- so when yellow fever came back to new york? No clean water, lots of deaths, some of which could have probably been prevented if Burr hadn’t been a greedy asshole.

-Burr showed some signs of regret immediately after the duel, moving towards Hamilton and wanting to talk to him, but he pretty much treated it pretty callously after that. Actually, he want to have breakfast afterwards, and his cousin came to visit and they chatted and HE ACTED COMPLETELY NORMAL AND NEVER MENTIONED HE’D LITERALLY JUST KILLED THE FORMER SECRETARY OF TREASURY. When Burr’s cousin went into town afterwards someone told him what had happened and cuz was like “nah you gotta be wrong i was just with him and he didn’t mention anything like that at all! He seemed completely normal!” then he saw a newspaper and was like “WHAT THE FUCK.”

-he also happily went around sleeping with tons of ladies after the duel and even wrote to Theodosia saying “I actually recommend doing a duel and courtship at same time it keeps ya invigorated” AND WOW WHAT A SUPER APPROPRIATE THING TO WRITE TO YOUR DAUGHTER. Maybe Theodosia was glad to die at sea after reading that. Anyway, the only sign of regret Burr really showed was “the world was wide enough” quote (which might have been a dark joke, but I think there was a grain of truth in it regardless, like Lin Manuel says, who knows).

-Burr was in incredible debt- (so was Hamilton when he died- Eliza’s inheritance from her dad wasn’t enough to cover it but fortunately all of Hamilton’s friends came together and secretly gave Eliza money to cover it which is nice. Jefferson was in SO much debt when he died his entire estate and 200 slaves were all sold to cover it. yeah he didn’t free anyone besides the slaves who were his children in his will, an asshole to the end.) so he left the country to escape creditors in addition to the murder charges and used a pseudonym. 

-Burr also had this weird fucking plan to become emperor of mexico or seize spanish florida or some shit and was plotting it, and he was actually tried for treason because of this! Thomas Jefferson REALLY REALLY wanted Burr to get punished and put all the pressure he could on the Supreme Court to find him guilty and it was test of our constitutional powers- would the supreme court bow down to the president? turns out no, since Burr got off.

-However, he wasn’t unscathed- a SHIT-TON of people close to him died around the time Theodosia died and he was devastated and basically a recluse afterwards (life doesn’t discriminate...) He married a second wife, but she then realized he was fucking terrible with money and was going to drive her into poverty with his shitty land deals (also she was nearly 20 years younger- I wonder if she was counting on him dying and leaving her something and then realized he was going to die and leave her with DEBT instead). So she got- DRUMROLL- ALEXANDER HAMILTON’S SON, ALEX JR, TO DIVORCE THEM. such a asshole move honestly, i gotta respect it, you go girl. Burr might not have been able to tell what was going on though since he was having strokes and stuff. She managed to divorce him JUST IN TIME, on the day of his death.

-honestly i’m most interested in the petty drama of history and how all these people were just behaving like they’re five and fucking up constantly and listening to this biography proved that to me. people are so ridiculous.

#alexander hamilton #history #history is petty and strange

[bluraaven]

We are the Flame

5. Dismas

"Lux, tueri animas nostras!"

When Dismas turns around, Junia has one hand curled on her chest, and her pallor is almost indistinguishable in colour from the white of her nun's headdress.

Mallory has stopped mid-stride, her lips parted in a gasp that never makes it past them, and Paschal –

Paschal's eyes are wide as a child's as she takes in the unnatural spectacle happening outside of the window.  "Wow!  Have you ever seen anything like this?" the doctor exclaims in wonder, peeling her nose from the glass to look from one person to another.  She appears to be completely oblivious to the fact that none of them are as excited about a giant magical hole in the sky as she is. 

Whatever she's taking, Dismas wants some for himself, if only to help him sleep at night.

But it seems rude to outright ask for a drug recommendation, and since he's all about becoming a better man, Dismas instead chooses to observe the last member of their group.

Reynauld is as straight-backed and tight-lipped as ever, and his face betrays neither fear nor disbelief.   The knight has the infinite blackness of the Void reflected in his eyes, and Dismas wonders what kind of man it takes to gaze into the Abyss and not flinch back from what he sees there.

Dismas looks away again.

He might not speak the Heaven's language, but he doesn't have to in order to understand the Sister's prayer – he's heard its like often enough.

 Light, save our souls.  

But why would the Light choose him for salvation?  Him, a man already damned on account of his sins?

He is all too aware that in this company, he is the odd one out, standing beside a doctor, a noble, a Sister Vestal, and... Reynauld.  So here they are; a warrior of Light – someone who would claim communion with the Divines – and a back-alley cutthroat, sharing a purpose and a room upstairs.  It's madness.

And it is all around them, invisible but just as deadly as toxic gas in a mine shaft.  It has poisoned this place and already he can feel its sharp teeth gnawing at his mind, his sanity.

Dismas rubs both palms over his face, hard enough for it to border on painful.  He can feel several days' worth of stubble as well as the bony ridges of his face, sculpted by too many hunger days and nights spent sleeping in roadside ditches.  It brings back a sense of who he is, and where.  It also banishes these unbidden thoughts, for now.  'Tis good enough, at least until Dismas can get his hands on some alcohol.

Thankfully, he knows just the place where he can get some.  Grandfather Dumont liked to have his booze close at hand – and now Dismas understands why, if this kind of shit happened regularly around here.

He isn't looking forward to the prospect of descending the stairs to the cellar, but the only other alternative is the bar, and he wants to track all the way there even less than he wants to face the darkness of the mansion's underbelly.  

Only Reynauld notices him exiting the room, and the knight doesn't comment on it.

Dismas carefully searches the doorway for any signs of magic, even gives it a few pokes with the hilt of his dagger to make sure there is absolutely nothing supernatural about it.  But this time there is only wood and stone, ordinary as can be.  He leaves the door wide open nonetheless and whistles a tune as he hurries down.

The circular room looks the same as the first time they descended down here and Dismas tries hard not to focus on the walls, how they seem to be closing in, eager to trap him as they have their group earlier.  Only this time he is alone, and the thought is enough to make him shiver and break out in a cold sweat.

Fighting the urge to turn and flee back upstairs, Dismas instead busies himself with inspecting the shelves.  They are full of bottles cocooned in a thick layer of dust that sticks to the dull glass.  The labels are yellow and wavy from humidity and the ink has run, making most of the writing indecipherable.  Not that it would do him any good if it hadn't.  Dismas knows his numbers well enough; his mother had made sure of that, but letters are something reserved for the upper classes.

In the end, he just grabs the nearest three bottles – better to take one extra than have to go back for some more later – and returns upstairs, taking the steps three at a time.  When he kicks the door shut behind him, it feels like muzzling a feral beast.  The danger is still here and to be wary of, but for the time being it is contained.

Just as the highwayman returns to the living room, the gloom is lit up by a net of lightning racing over the sky.  A storm of thunder and magic rolls over the countryside, and then disperses, wisps of swirling blue and purple lazily drifting through the sky, becoming paler and paler until they fade into nothingness.

"Thank the Light," the Vestal breathes, her relief audible.  

"What do you think this was?" Mallory finds the courage to ask after a few more seconds of shocked silence.

"Nuthin' good, that's fer sure," Dismas says to announce his presence.  All heads turn to him, even that of the crusader.  Dismas lifts the bottles.  The heiress sure doesn't look like she disapproves.

"Court'sy o' yer gramp."

Mortimer Dumont is watching them from his spot on the staircase, eyes black as a pit adder scales glimmering with malicious amusement.

"He shot himself to close the wards until someone of his bloodline reopened them."  Mallory speaks slowly, and her voice gains sureness with every word.

"Stab 'im in the dick!"  The suggestion comes out in a low growl as Dismas struggles to get the cork out of the first of the bottles.  He stops short in surprise when Mallory passes by him and actually does just that.

Under different circumstances, the highwayman may have winced in sympathy as several inches of spear are thrust into the portrayed old man's crotch and the wall behind him.   This time though he feels it is wholly deserved.

"Do you know what would have happened if I had ventured down there alone!?"  Mallory whips around, two angry red spots blooming on her cheeks.  She wipes at her sweaty brow to get a few strands of wild hair unstuck from it.  The spear, white-tipped from scratching the stone but none the worse for wear, is still in her other hand.

Dismas makes a mental note to never piss her off.  He is rather attached to his balls and he prefers they stay attached to him.

"Aye, lass."  Dismas replies and takes one of the silver cups that Paschal has found in a nearby cabinet.  "But ya didn't, so best not dwell on that."

"What have you got there?"  The heiress picks up a bottle, and turns it so she can read the label.  "152 Reserve."  Her eyebrows lift in surprise.  "This is a pleasant vintage."

Dismas wipes the inside of the cup clean of dust and pours Mallory a generous amount of the dark red liquid.  "Boss first," he announces, because already Paschal is thrusting another cup at him, and even Junia is lining up for a little pick-me-up.

Mallory knocks back her drink without waiting for the others.  Half a heartbeat later, her face scrounges up and Dismas can jump out of the way just in time before she spits it back out.

"Wine's gone bad?" the highwayman asks, his heart sinking.  Seems this is to be one of these times.

"This isn't wine," Mallory croaks, and hurries to the kitchens to wash out her mouth.

"What is it then?" Junia asks, reaching for a bottle to see for herself.

Dismas sniffs the dregs.  Immediately, a cloying coppery and sweet smell assaults his nose, and Dismas has to admire Malory's iron self-control. He would have just hurled right on the carpet.

Junia puts her cup away again, the expression on her round face as weary as Dismas is feeling all of a sudden.  Meanwhile, Paschal is eying Mallory's abandoned cup and its contents with interest.  "Huh."

Dismas can hear her mutter, "How did they keep it from congealing?  I wonder... ," before he catches the doctor dipping her pinkie finger into the leftover liquid and holding it to her tongue with an expression of intense concentration.  "This is most curious."

"Fuck this," Dismas mutters and just like that he is done with this day.  "Sorry folks, I'm off ta bed."

Junia tears away her eyes from the doctor and picks up her mace.  "It seems best we rest and pray to the Light for guidance," the Vestal agrees in a tired voice.

"Ya do that," Dismas tells her.  "I'll go ahead an' do the restin' part."  Turning, he almost collides with Reynauld – Reynauld who appears to have completely deserted his corporeal body and is just standing there, with his helmet tucked under one arm and an empty gaze.

Dismas raps one knuckle against his breast plate to get the knight's attention.  "You comin'?"

Reynauld startles like a person woken from sleep and looks around the room as if lost.  "Are we dismissed?" he asks no one in particular.

"I believe we are, brother," Junia replies before Dismas can.  "I'm sure the lady Mallory knows where to find thee if there are matters thou needst to discuss."

Reynauld hesitates before he slowly nods in answer.  Dismas observes that he has the mannerism of someone high on drugs, but the knight lacks the physical aspects of an addict.  Maybe holy water and incense have negative side-effects too.  Maybe Paschal's smoke bombs do.

"C'mon, Armour," Dismas says, not unkindly, tugging on the crusader's elbow to get him moving.  "If ya crash on tha floor, I ain't draggin' ya upstairs."

The words are running together in his mouth, but he is too tired to care, to pretend he is someone he is not.  Reynauld moves of his own accord, thankfully, although he seems to be favouring his left leg.

It isn't until the door falls shut behind them and the cool of the room begins to seep through his clothes that Dismas realizes he is missing something.

"Shite!" He doesn't know what to make of Reynauld flinching at the profanity.   He ain't in the mood for a lecture, but the crusader doesn't give him one, so Dismas simply adds, "Fergot me coat."

He doesn't have much to his name other than a nice bounty and a ban on the premises of several establishments, and he likes to keep what few possessions are his close.  Just in case.

Junia is gone and the fire in the chimney has almost burned out, given how no one had added any more wood since Reynauld had lit it right after their return, but there are voices coming from one of the adjacent rooms.

"I am sure you wish for reimbursement?" Dismas can hear Mallory ask when he sneaks into the living room, keeping to the deep shadows cast by ancient furniture.  Old habits and all that.  He sure ain't spying on the two women when he risks a peek.

Paschal, however, waves Mallory off, and takes the bottles of blood as payment.  Dismas prefers not to think about what she plans on doing with them.  He is beginning to feel a twinge of sympathy for Lenn.  Lenn, who now owes him a month's worth of supply with booze, he remembers, feeling marginally better.

Tomorrow he'll make the barman regret agreeing to the deal.

Dismas snatches up his coat and returns to his shared bedroom.  The pulling sensation in his side has steadily increased, but it is only now that he truly becomes aware of how his entire chest is aching, every breath putting strain on the newly scarred skin that has yet to stretch.

He is not the only one in pain.

A man in his profession knows to find and exploit the small weaknesses that most people like to hide, and so it doesn't take Dismas long to notice how the corners of Reynauld's mouth are down, his lips pressed into a firm line.  The knight uses his left in place of his right, his dominant hand, to tug open the straps of his armour.

"Need any help with that?" Dismas asks, tossing his coat onto his bed.

He expects the knight to rebuff him, but to his astonishment Reynauld nods after a moment's hesitation.  Up close, Dismas can see fine decorative etchings along the edge of the armour, as well as the cuts and miniscule dents that mar the otherwise shiny surface of the metal.

"If you could just undo this clasp."  The crusader dips and turns his head, to better observe the highwayman out of the corners of his eyes.

He does as he has been asked to, opening the clasp on Reynauld's right shoulder blade, and the one on the very top of his neck and watches as bit by bit the armour begins to come off.  Dismas gets to see how each piece is fitted so as to offer the best protection while still allowing the wearer their full range of movement.

He does his best not to think about how much the whole suit of armour must be worth.  More than everything  he had ever owned in life combined, that's for sure.

When Reynauld removes the cap, Dismas is amused to find that his hair sticks every which way.  He curses the sudden urge to run his fingers through the unruly tresses to comb them into some semblance of order.

It is a bad time for such thoughts.  An exhausted mind is a fickle thing.

The hauberk rattles as it pools on the bed, almost like a liquid, and the padded jacket is carefully hung over the back of the chair at the desk. Reynauld stretches his neck and rotates his shoulders.  There is a hollow pop that makes Dismas hiss in sympathy, but Reynauld sighs in relief, slumping now that all the weight has been lifted off him.

Summer is almost over, and in the crisp night air, the knight is steaming.   There's not so much as a nick in his tunic, but his eyes are red-rimmed.  Whatever Paschal had hit him with, left them puffy and irritated.

"Better go wash that shit out," Dismas says, circling a finger in front of his own face.

Reynauld's head snaps up, the tension returning to his posture.  He appears to have forgotten about the other man, but after a moment he relaxes again, a weary nod telling Dismas that he intends to follow through with that idea.

A soft knock announces Reynauld's return a couple of minutes later.  He has changed his tunic, so he has probably washed up too.

"I could do with a basin and some hot water," Dismas greets him from the depths of his bed, although now that he's gotten vertical he doesn't plan on getting up anytime soon.

"Is there a bathhouse?" Reynauld asks although he doesn't sound like he really cares.

"There was once.  It closed down," Dismas informs him.  He is ready to bet the last of his snuff that Reynauld will not follow his example and simply fall into bed.  He smirks when he is proven right.  Recognizing patterns is a useful skill to have, and one he has honed.

Reynauld checks his equipment, putting away each piece only after it has received a thorough examination.  Then, he kneels to pray.  Just like he had yesterday.

'He should learn to take care of his bodily needs as well as his spiritual ones,' is the last thing Dismas remembers thinking before he passes out.

That night, Dismas learns the hard way that Reynauld screams in his sleep.

His own dreams are uneasy, full of ever-shifting corridors and the search for an exit he knows he will never find in time.  A small bubble of panic begins to fill his chest, and it grows with every step he takes. He cannot find a way out of the labyrinth of hallways, and he is being pursued by someone or something that he only manages to catch glimpses of out of the corners of his eyes.  If he doesn't escape, he will die here ant he corridors will become his tomb.

In desperation, Dismas scratches at the stone walls with torn, bleeding hands and cracked nails, and he screams for them to  let him out.  He'd done his time, he'd –

Dismas wakes abruptly to a voice that is not his own, shouting in a language he does not understand.

He jerks up too fast, gets tangled in something, and crashes to the floor.  It's dark, too dark to see, and his heart is pounding in his throat.  All he is aware of is that he has to fight or flee – and he does not yet know which.

Before his situation or his surroundings become any clearer, the door bursts open, and it's pure reflex for him to point the gun at the intruder.  By the light of a single candle, Dismas can see Mallory charge into the room – she and her boar spear.   The fact that she's wearing a nightgown does not make the weapon any less intimidating.

The door bangs against the wall, and Reynauld wakes with a gasp, reaching for his sword by his side.  

The heiress looks around with wide eyes, taking in the scene – Dismas lying on the floor, blankets twisted tightly around him, Reynauld sitting up slowly, and her mouth opens and closes a few times.  It takes Dismas several seconds to realize he's still holding his flintlock and he quickly lowers the weapon.

"I thought I head – ," Mallory says in way of apology, her eyes briefly skittering to the crusader whose face is hidden in the shadows.

It's fairly obvious by now what she heard, but Dismas has to commend her dedication of rushing to their help.  "It's alright," he says in a rough voice, though his position on the floor might belie his words somewhat.  "Thanks."

Mallory nods a couple of times, as if she has to convince herself that everything is indeed alright, and much gentler than she had come in, she closes the door behind her.

Dismas rests his forehead on his knees and takes a moment to take several deep breaths.  The panic has passed, but he still feels shaky when he gets to his feet even though by now his heartbeat is slowing down.  Dismas shivers when the cold night air stirs his sweat-soaked shirt.

Being awake may have pushed back the terrors of the unconscious, but when Dismas remembers the previous day and the horror they had found under the mansion...

Shit, he don't even begrudge the knight his nightmares.

Dismas can hear Reynauld breathe heavily, though he cannot make out much more than the other man's hunched over form.  The crusader sits on the bed with feet braced and his sword across his lap, the exact opposite of someone relaxing and ready to return to sleep.  Not that Dismas can blame him, but the other man's tension is making him uneasy as well.

Dismas is about as awake as he's gonna be, and he really does not wish to lie around and let his mind come up with more ways to torment him.  

"Ya know what always makes me feel better?" Dismas asks suddenly, pulling on his pants and shrugging into his coat after a quick change of shirts.  "A walk."  He's certainly going on one, and the invitation stands; it's up to Reynauld to accept.

The crusader heaves himself to his feet, a motion more fitting for a man thirty years his senior.  His limp is less pronounced than it was when he was wearing armour.  Dismas cannot recall it being there yesterday, or even this morning, which means it is a souvenir from today's forage.

They do not speak, but Dismas waits impatiently as Reynauld dresses in something warmer than his tunic.   When they descent side by side, only the stairs creak in the otherwise silent mansion.  The air is musty, thick with dust and something else.  Dismas cannot put his finger on it, but he senses that Reynauld can feel it too.

Out in the open, the night envelops them like a blanket.  It's cold and fresh, and with the stars and moon out it's even lighter outside than it was inside.   Bright enough that do not need any additional light sources.

Dismas slowly begins to relax as the confinement of walls is left further behind him with every step.  He doesn't ask where Reynauld wishes to go, they just stroll around the old house as if that was a path they had agreed on before.  The sword Reynauld carries bumps into Dismas' hip a couple of times.  Reynauld does not seem to notice.  Dismas would have said he hasn't been like himself ever since going down into that cursed cellar, but the truth is he doesn't know the knight well enough to make that assumption.  

Behind the mansion there is another courtyard, wilder than the one in front.  It is flooded in silvery moonlight that reflects off the white marble statues that are wrapped in evergreen ivy as if they too had dressed for winter.  An ornate fountain takes the center, but upon having a closer look they can see that it is clogged with rotting leaves.  This place must have been beautiful once, but much like the rest of the Hamlet, it has fallen to decay.

When they find a low bench, they take the opportunity to sit down.  Instantly, the cold of the stone surface seeps through Dismas' pants.

"If I didn't know better I'd say it's pretty," Dismas says, surveying the gardens around them.  Talking is just another way to stave off the desperation, but when Reynauld doesn't react at all, Dismas' discomfort tips over into worry.

"Hey.  Ya sure yer alright?"

Reynauld looks up only when Dismas' hand lands on his forearm.  Dismas withdraws instantly, because he doesn't like how the knight flinches back.   Something sure ain't right there, but he'd be damned if he knows what it is.

"Fine," the crusader replies, but he does not meet the highwayman's eyes.

Yeah.  Sure.

But there's a change; Reynauld seems more alert than before.  He runs his fingers through his hair, then remains with his hands pressed to his eyes.

Dismas picks at a loose thread on his sleeve.  They remain like that for a while, but Dismas has never coped well with the quiet.   He likes the sound of a voice – even if it's just his own.

"How's the leg doing?" he asks eventually.  They're not on good enough terms for Dismas to tell him to drop his pants so he can check for himself.   The thought of the knight's face if he did does lift his spirits somewhat.

"It has suffered no greater harm," Reynauld replies, lifting his head.  "It should heal, Light willing."

The crusader had patched him up, he knows something about medicine.   Probably much more than the highwayman does.  Dismas drops the topic, and they lapse back into not talking.

"You are a very fine marksman," the crusader says out of nowhere.

It's nothing short of true, but to hear another one say so, ignites a spark of pride in Dismas' chest.  He's also a bit too shocked about the knight complimenting him to manage anything more coherent than,

"Thanks... Rey."

The smile Dismas directs at the other man sours and withers when the crusader keeps looking at the ground.

"I have seen much," Reynauld rasps after a while that us just long enough to make Dismas fiddle with his coat again, "but never the dead rise up to claim the living as their own.  And the things they whispered to me- ."  At this point he seems to be talking more to himself than to his companion.

Dismas shivers, happy not to have heard a thing.   Maybe Reynauld is talking about his dream.  Maybe he isn't.  Either way, Dismas doesn't want to know what the dead whisper.

"We made it out.  S' all that matters."  But even as he speaks, doubts assault him. This was just the first real run.  Will they have to go back?  He isn't sure he can face what hides under the manor again.  At the same time, he may have to if he ever wishes to leave he Hamlet.

He may deserve this hell, but that does not mean he can stand it.

"Let's go."

"What?" Dismas asks stupidly, so caught in his own thoughts that he has missed Reynauld getting up.  He swears he can see a muscle twitch in Reynauld's jaw.

"You said to go for a walk; let's walk."

They do so, passing dead flower beds and bushes that had long ago lost their artful trims.  On the other side, Dismas spots a low building that he had never paid any attention before.

"What's that?" Dismas asks, pointing.

"The stables," Reynauld replies, and picks the path that will take them closer.

"Huh. Didn't know there were any."  A silly thing to say, he realizes too late.  Of course there are.  Mallory's got to keep her horses somewhere.

As they draw near, he can hear a soft nicker greet them.  There are six animals in total out in the pasture; two are the horses who pulled their ill-fated chariot, and one is Mallory's sleek hunter.  One of the others is sway-backed and thin enough for its ribs to show under a shaggy, patchy coat, and it is the first to get its nose rubbed by the crusader.  Dismas chooses to stand a few steps behind.

Horses are fast, and appear to be even faster when you're on top of them, they eat grass and they kick.  That's the gist of his knowledge.  Not that he'd not stolen the one or other, but certainly never one as fine as most of Mallory's animals.

Reynauld seems happy to pet his furry friends, even one enormous steeds whose head is as big as Dismas' torso.

"Don't get your hand bit off," the highwayman grumbles, eying the beast warily.  He sure ain't gettin' anywhere near those teeth.

"They don't like meat," Reynauld says calmly with a look over his shoulder.   "If they take a couple of your fingers, they'll spit them back out again."

And that is supposed to be... comforting?  Dismas gapes, at least until the nearest beast snorts and sprays the crusader with a fine mist of snot.  Then he breaks out in a laugh that spooks the horses into trotting away.  That's what the knight gets – but Reynauld chuckles too, genuinely amused and Dismas watches the transformation in him with fascination.

They head back to the house soon, for what rest they can get for what is left of the night.

The next time when Dismas wakes, it is because the early midday sun is shining through the window and straight into his face.  Usually an early riser out of necessity, the only times he sleeps in like this is when large amounts of alcohol are involved.

By the time they returned to the house, a faint stripe of grey was visible on the horizon.  They'd both managed to find some more rest, and the rest of the night passes without any further incidents.

The highwayman casts a glance towards Reynauld's bed – which he finds made and its owner gone.  And he had not heard a thing.  A man of the crusader's calibre ought not be able to move so stealthily.  That trait should be reserved for rogues such as himself.  But even so, the water pitcher that Dismas knows for sure wasn't full yesterday, is most welcome.

When he finally makes it down, Mallory isn't around and neither are Reynauld or the Caretaker.  The latter also runs a small general goods store in the village, which might explain how he continuously fails to do his duties around the mansion.  The Heiress is convinced that it is because of the man's madness, and not out of any ill will or inherent laziness.

Dismas' feet take him towards the Hamlet, in the opposite direction of the path they had walked yesterday night.  Over the crest of the hill he cannot see the stables where Mallory's horses are undoubtedly noisily munching some fodder.  As always, the town seems to be half-deserted, although today he can see pale faces behind broken shutters that quickly disappear when he looks their way.

Dismas tries to shake off the strange feeling that suddenly assaults him and turns towards the one place where there seems to me some manner of activity: the abbey.   There, Dismas spots Liz and Darell hauling wooden boards, such as are used in construction.  The man is sporting a large bruise on his cheek and both of them keep their heads down and their mouths shut.  It seems someone's learned their lesson, as neither pays the highwayman any heed when he walks past.

Just out of curiosity Dismas decides to have a closer look at the church that his roommate has taken upon himself to restore, probably with the help of the Vestal.  She doesn't seem to be here now, but the highwayman instantly catches sight of Reynauld.  It's easy to make out the crusader's broad form next to that of another man who has to be the priest.  He's got a long face, too big ears, and tufts of hair that stand up just so as to best frame his balding head.   Dismas dislikes him at first sight.

He doesn't approach any further.  They seem busy enough with abbey work, and he isn't sure what he could contribute to that – or whether he wants to.

Dismas decides to look in on the smith, and leaves with a rack for Reynauld's armour, a lance, and a pouch full of newly cast bullets, which is the bribe that convinces him to help Farley carry the former two back to the mansion.

Unlike Reynauld or the smith, Dismas doesn't have work to do, and he is free to wander the village and to spend his time as he wills.  Eventually, he gives in to the pull and slowly makes for the tavern.  It's still early for drink, but there's bound to be food there, and company, and he craves both in equal measure.

As he nears the building, Lenn's booming voice spills out from the tavern.

"No!"

Grinning from the thought that the barman might have sensed his presence, Dismas pushes open the door – and immediately finds himself in the midst of a heated argument.

"Tis' a guesthouse or not!?" a stocky man in his middle to late fifties bellows.  He has a head full of grey hair that is on its best way to becoming white as snow, and is a stark contrast to the red in his round face which betrays his enragement.  But without a doubt the stranger's most memorable feature is the patch covering his right eye.

"Aye," Lenn growls without backing down.  "A guesthouse, not a bloody hospice!"

"Friend," another man intervenes, and his quiet, calm tone that has much more impact on his companion than anything Lenn has said so far.  "It is his tavern, and his good right."

Dismas is shocked to see the stranger's telltale getup.  A mask and clothing that leaves not an inch of his skin visible.  He now understands what the dispute is about and has to agree with Lenn; it's discomforting being even this close to the afflicted.

The leper's companion sits down, although he does so with a glower, and Dismas swears that even his moustache is bristling with belligerence.

"There's plenty of empty houses around," Lenn grunts, and he sounds more sullen now that he's no longer having his feathers ruffled.  "Bring or buy your own dishes, and I will provide you with food and drink."

"Well.  I shall go find us an abode then," the bloke who had argued with the bartender huffs, and rises again with the brusqueness of a military man.  He is not tall, but Dismas suspects that his girth is more muscle than fat, and he prudently steps to the side to let him pass.

Dismas takes the opportunity of a lull in the conversation to approach the bar.

"Who're they?"

"New arrivals," the barman grunts.  "Say they came here 'bout an hour ago.   The leper over there," Lenn isn't subtle in pointing the dirty glass in his hands at the man in question, "and two of his friends.  Offered them a room, but they didn't take it well w hen I said I ain't housing him, no matter what that witch says."

Two?  Dismas had not seen anyone else, but a careful look around reveals what he had missed at first – there is another figure leaning against the tiled stove, motionless and far too easy to overlook.  Dismas feels a surge of ire towards this person, although it is his own fault that he had failed to spot him.  At least he doesn't have to enquire who that witch is.  Nor is he surprised that the plague doctor would take an interest in the diseased man.

"What does she say?" Dismas wants to know.

"That the chance of someone getting infected converges towards zero," Lenn parrots.  "Well, it's a chance I ain't taking.  There's a reason they cast them out," the barman grunts.  "Poor sod – he ain't even the actual problem.  Been nothin' but polite since he came it."

"Ah."  Dismas can guess the pain in the ass has been.

The person in question returns just as he is midway through his second mug of rum-spiced berry infusion.

"I found a house," he announces.  "It's not much, but it has a room and a functional chimney."  He gives Lenn a dark glare which the barman returns without blinking, and Dismas is good and ready to find cover under the counter the second something other than dirty looks gets thrown.

"Thank you, Montfort" the leper answers.  "I am sure we will make it homely in no time."  He nods in the direction of Lenn and Dismas, and beckons to his other mysterious companion, who follows like a shadow.

"Let's go then," Montfort agrees, holding open the door as the entourage gathers to leave.  "There's some sort of congregation happening outside, I don't like – "

Dismas doesn't get to hear the rest of it before the door closes and cuts off the rest of the sentence.  All of a sudden, the bar feels empty and confining, and the urge to move again like an itch under his skin.  He chugs the last of his drink and hands back the mug.

Provoking the barman is the next closest thing Dismas has done to poking a snarling bear with a stick, but he cannot resist to grin up and Lenn and add, "See?  I ain't that bad."

The answering snort tells him otherwise.

Just as he is about to leave, there is a burst of noise as the door swings open again and a cloaked figure comes running up to the bar, almost knocking Dismas over.  A flash of irritation crosses Lenn's face, until the hood is thrown back, and he and Dismas both recognize Farley's wild hair and beard.

"She's not here?" the smith gasps, looking around, as if expecting to see someone familiar.

"Who?"

"Mallory!"

"No, why– ?"

Farley waves a hand to silence him, and hurries to explain.  "The townsfolk, they are planning to march on the estate.  Last night's magic has them scared witless.  I tried ta reason with some of them, but they think what worked on the old man might work on his heir."

It takes a few seconds before the words sink in, but when they do they do a better job of sobering Dismas up than being dunked in the horse trough by the city guard.

"I need to go," he blurts out and he gets up so fast he knocks over his stool.

"Wait!"  Lenn's paw on his shoulder stops him.  "Better take the back door."

Dismas doesn't have time to nod, because he is already on the move.  He hits the door at a full run and barely takes notice of all the people milling around, of the torches being lit.  Farley was right, it don't look good.  Angry shouts fade in the distance as Dismas hauls ass back to the mansion, as if the Holy Inquisition itself was on his heels.

Every step feels like being stabbed anew, and there is an irritating pinch in his knee and thigh, but he doesn't slow down.  He needs to get to the house before the mob does, or they're all royally fucked.  Funnily, enough he's not thinking about Mallory as much as he is about Reynauld.

Tin-man will help, he tells himself, because after sprinting all the way up the hill he ain't sure he'll be good for much more than throwing up on the threshold.

Dismas bursts into his room with enough noise that the crusader jumps up, actually jumps, and stares at him with wide eyes.  Ain't the time for him to worry what that is about.

Dismas' chest is heaving and his throat burns worse than after drinking fire whiskey, but he manages to point to the window and wheeze,

"We're in trouble."

In the distance, a fiery serpent has begun to coil itself around the alley leading up to the mansion.

AN: Fifth chapter is out and it took quite the unexpected turn!

You can also find this story here on AO3

#blu's corner #writing #fanfiction #darkest dungeon #reynauld #Dismas #Reymas

[suburbantimewaster]

Most Hated Characters

This is a list of characters I hate because they’re poorly written, not because they’re written to be hated.  So Joffrey from Game of Thrones is safe.

Ross Gellar (Friends): Where to begin with this guy.  He obsessed over a girl since high school and, when he gets together with her, acts like a possessive douchebag to the point that he doesn’t like Rachel going to a work lecture with a colleague.  Then complains about her actually having a life outside of him when she gets a career in fashion.  Even though, earlier, he didn’t like that Rachel was just a waitress.  Not to mention his misogyny, where he refuses to hire a male nanny who was qualified in every aspect expect for being a man.  Then makes a huge deal about Ben playing with a Barbie doll.  Not to mention that he whines and whines about every small thing that goes wrong in his life, even though a lot of them are his own fault.  People who complain about the live-action Jafar being too whiny seriously need to take a look at Ross Gellar, the king of whine.

Dawn Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer): While I absolutely love this show, and Buffy Summers is my hero, there is one thing I would desperately change about this show and that is Dawn Summers.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved her whole key arc in season 5 but, in season 6, I just wanted to strangle her.  She complains constantly about how Buffy doesn’t spend enough time with her because she has to work at a crappy job to support her.  Which, if Dawn hadn’t purposely flunked her classes, Buffy wouldn’t have had to quit college and get anyway.  Dawn regularly does stupid stuff, such as accidentally inviting a vampire in the house, and we’re supposed to side with her because “she’s just a kid.”  Other than being the Key, this girl contributes nothing to the show.  They should have just killed her off in season 5 instead of introducing that stupid plot hole just to keep her.

Every Single Character in the Big Bang Theory: That’s right, I hate them all.  Sheldon for being a whiny spoiled brat, Leonard for being an entitled “nice guy,” Howard for being a perverted manchild (the latter staying even when he married Bernadette), Raj for being a whiny douchebag, Penny for acting like an entitled alpha bitch who mocks the guys’ interests even though they’re scientists and she’s a waitress, Bernadette for being an evil bitch to the point of making Howard give up his Tardis (I’m never forgiving her for that), and Amy for being every bit as evil and manipulative as Sheldon, even though she’s supposed to be the one that suffers.  That’s right, everyone in this show has done something that makes me want to throw my shoe at the TV and my mom and I continued watching it just for the sake of completing it.  Don’t get me wrong, I watch many sitcoms where the characters are insufferable douchebags, such as Seinfeld, but the difference is that the writers embraced the douchebags and rolled with it.  Not try to make us sympathize and say that they’re good people deep down, which they’re not.

Ahmed (Thief of Baghdad): Okay, I did like his storyline in the beginning about how he learned not to trust his Grand Vizier Jaffar (the one Jafar was based off of) and how he went out into the world but, after that, everything interesting about him goes out the window.  Throughout the movie, all he does is whine about his nameless princess and how he can’t live without this girl he knew for all of five minutes and who he met by breaking into her garden.  The first time I watched the movie, my thoughts were “My God, shut up about your stupid princess already.”  Is it any wonder that, when the movie was out, so many women wrote to Conrad Veidt saying that they would’ve chosen Jaffar over Ahmed any day?

Jack and Kate (Lost): That’s right, I gave Jack and Kate an equal spot.  I’ll admit, Jack got cool at the end when he was all about the island but it doesn’t make up for seasons of bad writing we had to sit through about how everything on the island doesn’t make sense.  Jack, you live on an island with a giant smoke monster and you saw your father’s ghost.  The laws of reality are being severely challenged for you.  Also, you had no proof that not pushing the button wasn’t going to blow up the island and you were willing to risk everyone on said island just to prove that you were right.  Not to mention all the pointless flashbacks I had to endure starring you, such as that stupid flashback about the tattoos.  It couldn’t have been something he did in medical school when he was drunk, it has to have some super special significance.  Kate, on the other hand, started out cool but quickly became disappointing.  You had a hardcore criminal on the show and her major plot was her stupid love triangle between Jack and Sawyer.  Her reason for killing her stepfather (actually her real father) wasn’t because he was abusing her but because he was part of her.  Seriously, what the fuck?  She forces herself into the final climax by shooting the smoke monster, even though she had no personal conflict with him, and she wanted to get off the island, despite being a wanted criminal.  I know some people have to want to leave the island, but you have to give them a legitimate reason.  Wouldn’t it be more interesting if Jack wanted to leave and Kate wanted to stay, giving them a conflict that didn’t have to do with the love triangle?

Wesley Crusher (Star Trek: The Next Generation): The very character who started the trope Creator’s Pet, which used to be called The Wesley.  He was the irritating boy genius that was smarter than everyone, even the super smart robot.  Wesley played around in Engineering on duty, seeing how he could boost the sensors.  When Data asked how I was asking why.  He’s forced into the plot just to prove how smart he is, one time being given command of an entire project filled with older and far more experienced officers.  He’s the only one who figured out that Data was Lore, even though it was super obvious to the point that a 5 year old could’ve figured it out, but everyone else was taking their stupid pills so that Wesley can look smart by comparison.  Even Will Wheaton himself admitted to hating the character of Wesley Crusher.  This is how NOT to write a boy genius while Peter Parker from the MCU is a great example of how to do Wesley Crusher right.

Neelix (Star Trek: Voyager): Words cannot describe how much I hate this stupid alien.  He was supposed to be the breakout character of Voyager, a combination of Odo and Quark, and he came off more like Michael Scott on a starship.  When he wasn’t incessantly bugging Tuvok, who made it very clear that he wants to be left alone, he was making adjustments to recipes no one asked him to make adjustments to.  Neelix also forces himself into situations where he’s not wanted or needed, such as insisting that he be part of the security team.  Not to mention his possessive jealousy over Kes makes Ross Geller look like a supportive boyfriend.

Connor (Angel): Meet the son of Angel and Darla that nobody wanted.  He’s an unlikable bigot who tried to kill Angel and, even though he was misled, wouldn’t even consider that he was wrong.  Then there was that whole Jasmine arc where he knew all along that Jasmine was evil, but went along with it anyway.  At no point does he try to help Fred, who’s been there for him and cared for him, and he screws over not only the Angel crew, but everyone on Earth because he went along with a lie.  Supposedly it was because it was “the best lie he’s ever heard,” but if that’s supposed to make me feel sympathy for him, you’re barking up the wrong tree.  He got less annoying once Angel rewrote his memory.

Lana Lang (Smallville): I have saved the best, or worst, for last.  Meet Lana Lang, Clark’s love interest who’s so amazing and strong, even though we never see evidence of either of that.  All she does is get captured, have various stalkers declare their undying love for her, mope about her dead parents, who died before she could even remember them and was raised by a loving aunt and makes Clark mope about how he can’t be with her.  She’s supposedly running the Talon (the coffee shop), even though she’s in high school and has no business training whatsoever.  So many men declared their undying love for Lana Lang, it was ridiculous.  This small town nobody had more stalkers than Lex Luthor, and he was the heir of a wealthy entrepreneur.  Later on, she gets tougher by learning martial arts in the span of one day and ends the show by getting navy seal training.  Then we have to have this whole sad scene about how she and Clark can’t be together because she sucked up kryptonite inside of her.  Though, when they were together, she wasn’t really a great girlfriend considering that, when Bizarro replaced Clark, she had to be told by Chloe that her boyfriend’s an imposter.  When Lana leaves the show for good, you’d think we’d get a break from it but no, we have to hear over and over about how amazing Lana is and how no one can ever dream of matching up to her perfection.  Every time people talk about what an unbelievable Mary Sue Michael Burnham from Star Trek: Discovery is, I want to show them Lana Lang.

#most hated characters #wanted to do this for awhile #i got bored #trying to kill time

[alo-piss-trancy]

Are there any sdr2 characters that you don’t like or just aren’t very interested in?

BIG SPOILER WARNING FOR SDR2 BELOW! DO NOT READ THIS POST IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED THE GAME!

It's actually neat getting this question because I can see where some characters I used to dislike/find annoying in the beginning have worked their way up. For example, I initially despised Te/ruTeru, but after his backstory reveal I ended up feeling some sympathy for him and realized despite some traits, he wasn't entirely a bad guy (and I'm assuming his social link will endear him to me a little once I get around to it in island mode).

In fact, I can only really think of two I actively dislike/hate now: Nag/ito and Hiy/oko.

Real quick: Obviously these are all solely my opinions! I have no problem with my followers viewing characters differently, so even if you're the biggest fan of these chars I hope y'all know you're always welcome on my blog! 💛 Feel free to ramble in my inbox about them or chatter about omo, I genuinely enjoy discussing things or seeing different hcs even if I don't share them and I love seeing people be passionate about whatever makes them happy! Heck, sometimes fan ideas even end up changing my mind or at least make fun aus!

Now back to the question:

Hiy/oko's behavior in many instances was just appalling, and the way she cared about Mah/iru, while sad/sweet, still couldn't make up for all of her other bullshit. I can't stand little snots and I don't like 'loli' characters, so she's basically a 2-for-1 special on tropes I find irritating. Also high pitched voices are grating on my ears. After finishing the game I still stand by my original sentiment: Good Riddance Bitch. She will not be missed. As a note, I haven't done her FTEs yet so maybe it'll change, but I think it's pretty unlikely.

Na/gito is just. Idk where to start with him tbh. He definitely serves his role in the plot well, has great interactions with the rest of the cast, and really made me feel like I was struggling and he was so smugly one step ahead. I appreciate him as part of the story and it wouldn't be the same without him (Some of the memes about him are also really funny lmao). That being said, as far as his character and my personal tastes go, I fucking hate him lmao. Not 'villain I love to hate'. I just can't stand him and am lowkey annoyed at how popular/'woobified' he is in some parts of the fandom. My feelings on him are pretty similar to Ak/echi from p/5, except at least Ake/chi was understandable, whereas every time Nag/ito goes on a long spiel I'm just braindead and confused lmao. That or annoyed because he repeats himself like 30 times. I really thought doing his FTE's would endear him to me a little but it actually just made me dislike him more. He's just... he goes 120% ALL THE TIME and he's all over the place, it was overwhelming and gave me whiplash. Also while I do feel bad for him and the clear issues he had, the CONSTANT 'I'm worthless trash please kill me haha I don't deserve your kindness' talk really got on my nerves. Maybe it wouldn't have bothered me so much if I played the game back in the year it came out? But in this day and age all it reminded me of was certain 'Crabs in a Bucket' people I've known or witnessed who formed their entire identity around self-hatred and desperately tried to drag others down with them. (Note: I'm not talking about the general struggles with depression, etc. here. But I don't want to go into a lecture on exactly what I mean so I'll just leave it at that.) Nag/ito's not entirely the same thing and I get that, but it just rubbed me the wrong way because of that association.

Overall I just find him obnoxious and tend to avoid stuff that focuses on him. I might try writing a short omo thing about him being tied up because, like, how could I not? But besides that don't expect much from me. All of that said, I don't mind other people talking about him and y'all are free to send me asks with your own opinions or hcs, I might give my own occasionally. And I do like seeing art sometimes.

Also though, I ship him hard with Ju/nko (and in a poly with her and Mik/an). I'm also interested in him x Chi/aki since they're yin/yang parallels and have some similarities in design and the art of them together is neat. Not sure how much I ship them as far as actual canon or writing goes, but aesthetically it's pretty neat.

I think it's also worth mentioning that Ka/zuichi So/da toes a real weird line for me. Not in the sense that I actually hate him (his design is neat and he can be likeable at times), but that I hate what the game did with him. Which was not doing ANYTHING with him. His character had a lot of potential to be interesting, but they never let him break past the two running gags: Being confused about EVERYTHING, and obsessing over So/nia (to the point about making multiple sex jokes/getting flustered over her during the middle of the most serious trial in the game (Na/gito's death), which makes no sense even for him and completely ruined the mood). Every other survivor had important spotlight moments in the plot, developed their character as they went, and formed meaningful relationships with at least one other character to drive them forwards/give them angst. Kaz/uichi had none of that and I can't think of a single instance where he ACTUALLY had bearing on the plot, positively or negatively. He's basically the Fortune Teller Guy of this game: completely useless and ignored unless he needs to question something for exposition or drag the protag somewhere, scraping by only because he isn't hated or liked enough by anyone to get murdered and is too scared to kill. He didn't survive because he was genuinely fighting/had the ability to, but because everyone just forgot about him and left him alone.

A lot of his issues could have been fixed by just having a point in the game where he learns to treat So/nia as a person instead of being so obnoxious about following her around (he dislikes Ter/uTeru but then pretty much is just as annoying, only difference is he's a little less immoral and more just unable to take hints). Haj/ime even pointed this out in the last chapter with his thoughts of 'Dude just take a hint already'. If the game put them on more equal footing and he like, actually got to know her, it would've been way easier to believe he was fighting FOR So/nia in the same way all the others were fighting for someone they loved, and he might have actually done more throughout the game. He might have had some actual development and maturity, but instead he's pretty much the exact same person he was at the start of the game (I don't remember them even really touching on how he felt about the final chapter's Big Reveal). Because his obsession and cluelessness was one of his defining traits, they never let him do anything besides that. I spent most of the game convinced he was going to get a case in a trial or big moment eventually since they kept giving him so much screentime and let him make it so far, but there was just nothing. He's just a giant mass of wasted potential and for that reason I struggle to enjoy him without getting irritated.

Quick note to clarify: I'm not hating on him because of the ship with So/nia or because he 'gets in the way' of Gun/dham. I honestly don't mind that, the problem is just the lack of development I mentioned above. I could def enjoy the ship or a love triangle if they gave him smth. (And I realize part of that was the point, that G/undham 'gets the girl' bc he actually respected and talked to her, but still. The chapters after that point would have been the perfect time to let So/da have some viewpoint shifts and make efforts to change but they didn't).

Actually tbh even if they wanted to keep his obsession, I would've been fine with that, IF they had given him some other plot/character besides that. Like if he had some important tasks to do and was pretty good at them, but they also turned it into a flaw where he would prioritize helping/following her sometimes over what he was supposed to do and caused problems as a result, that could have been interesting. Creating tension within the surviving group or having her get mad at him over it, just SOMETHING.

#bear gets a letter #drspoilers #not omo