#i know german is guilty of changing stuff too
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Hey I hope this doesn't come off as aggressive but why are you so against people considering hgsn a yaoi? After all yoshiki is in love w hikaru (according to the early concept sketches anyway) and it is heavily implied that either hikaru or ''hikaru'' likes yoshiki
I never said Yoshiki doesn’t have feelings for Hikaru the original one, not Unuki.
When you go hgsn is a bl (or even worse, yaoi that means no climax, no point, no plot) you undoubtedly reduce the story to Yoshiki’s feelings for Hikaru and discard everything else.
People ship Yoshiki and Unuki (“Hikaru”) and that takes away all psychological layers this story has. Yoshiki doesn’t simply love “Hikaru”. What he held dear was his childhood friend, the only kid around his age in that secluded village, Hikaru. Now imagine one day he finds out Hikaru is no longer, he’s dead. If he’s dead he can’t see him again or hear his voice and that fucking breaks something inside of him. But there’s an identical copy of him, that has the same face and the same voice. Coping mechanisms activate and he somehow gaslights himself into thinking “this is fine, Hikaru is here”, only that it’s not Hikaru, it’s “Hikaru”. He knows it but prefers to ignore it (what you don’t know can’t hurt you). You know, the human need for things to stay the same, sudden changes one cannot control were never humanity’s cup of tea. It’s very subtle, and you have to realize: wait, someone actually died in this story, they’re not coming back, they were an important part of someone’s like and they’re not coming back. But there’s also “Hikaru” that learns how to live for the first time and you can’t simply pin Hikaru’s death and his abscence on “it” either, it’s way more complex than that, both sides are correct when you know both perspectives. “Hikaru” isn’t human so it doesn’t think like a human, if you know his perspective you can’t hate him bcs his brain (or whatever there is like a brain) can’t gasp the concept of survival that humanity has. And this “Hikaru” commits stuff that are unthinkable for a human being (killing a strangers like Matsuura, threatening to kill a friend like Asako) but at this point Yoshiki too thinks it’s his fault, he let the thing be and do as he please so it’s too late for him to pull out so all he can do is “bear the sins together”, what’s done it’s done now the show must go on. He doesn’t “bear the sins” together out of love, it’s an obligation he made peace with, in his head he’s just as guilty for those deaths (and Asako’s possible disability that could ruin her chances to play volleyball and that’s be fucked up if those were Asako’s plans for future)
When people say hgsn is a bl, they just focus on Yoshiki x Hikaru (“Hikaru”) oMg CuTe ElDeRiTcH gay monster obbsessed with yoshiki
And when people focus on hgsn is a bl they ignore everything else. Moku has a “show, don’t tell” kind of storytelling. There’s so many symbols that are basically foreshadowing or just easter eggs (chal mentioned once in the discord channel that the cypress bath salt from chapter 10 are from some greek mythology about someone dying i don’t recall the details, sorry it’s midnight and i didn’t have a greek mythology phase growing up), also Tanaka having chocolate on his board, and then adding sugar to his tea, that kind of insinuates he has a sweet tooth, just like Rie (that parfait, the recent chapters with the sweets on the table), anyway this is just a theory (tht Tanaka migt be Rie’s son), i could go on with way more details but that’s not the point of this post, there’s more symbols and stuff going on, been analysing the geography too as Moku doesn’t show us stuff randomly, or why did Moku choose to mention Herman Hesse’s work in chapter 2 (it’s not Demian, it’s the night peacock moth or however it’s in german Das Nachtpfauenauge ah thanks predictive keyboard)
I repeat myself again, when people say hgsn is a bl they just focus on the bl part and ignore all the complexities this work has. (When moku asked for questions for the qa at the end of vol 3 there were so many like “when will yoshiki and hikaru kiss 🥺”)
You say “early concept sketches” when the current work isn’t even sold as a BL, a story can go a different way from the first draft and concept (ofc you keep some stuff bcs if everything changws then it’s another story), not to mention that moku deleted that concept work, the only source available are the scanlation from nekojita (i think it was their group) and moku already said multiple times that hgsn is youth horror manga, unuki’s monster parts aren’t an allegory for being gay (or they could be but not like it was the sole intention)
In my opinion hikaru died too soon to realise and even accept his feelings for yoshiki, i guess that’s a possible reason why unuki is so confused, but im sure the story is more complex and has to do with the backstory, moku didn’t mention those famines and that bloody history for nothing, im not saying anything as I don’t have a good intuition for this stuff, so I’m just patiently waiting for moku to draw the story and reveal all the secrets
Besides, having queer male characters doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bl. Bl is a shojo genre, made by women for women, 2 guys so they have to skip all the inequalities women go through, bcs when it’s 2 guys they are both equal (don’t come at me, this is the real history of bl). Bl doesn’t even represent gay people nor normalise their presence, you’d think the country with the most Bls has already some lgbt friendly rules but guess what it’s not that case bcs bl isn’t for the queers. Actual works that focus on the queer experience are My brother’s husband, Yuhki Kamatani’s works or Kakeoichi Girl (i heard good things about Boys Run the Riot too but I didn’t read it yet). Bls focus a lot on adult (often teacher) x minor (often the student), on forceful interactions (such as SA), and it’s very hecking heteronormative (big is dominant, smal is dominated, big is manly, small is drawn that way especially so it’s very undistinguishable from a woman, again don’t come at me, it’s the BL rules)
So, in conclusion, again, hgsn isn’t just a bl, it’s more than that. Just like in Blue Flag, the queer feelings that exist are important for the plot, but they’re just there as plot driver (Yoshiki’s feelings for Hikaru blinding him into accepting the truth that Hikaru is no more), there’s more important stuff to focus on. There’s already much more BLs on the market than you could read in a lifetime, no need to force this tag on a story that isn’t one
Obviously you are alive and can do whatever you want, including shipping the depressed mop with the gay elderitch monster, but please don’t spread it as if it’s the only thing worth mentioning in the story 🙏 (i myself fallen to the BL tag at first bcs this is how it was introduced to me and it took me a few weeks to think “wait a minute…”)
#hikaru ga shinda natsu#the summer hikaru died#look you can ship whatever you want#i do that too#but i always remind myself and the other that it’s just for fun and not the actual plot of the story#answered
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agree on your standpoint of comments - that can and is very disheartening. it feels like putting in effort for nothing sometimes. Yes it can be argued that one should create for oneself but then when it comes to fancontent that one decides to share - its nice to have a feedback
and am also guilty of this aka being lackluster with comments - at least when it comes to the english fanfics i read; i comment better on the german side where i read as well (but then i only have the ao3 account since two weeks and i am still writing comments and leaving kudos for stuff i read ages ago)
btw your ashes fanfic is on my reading list :D i have read the first chapter a while ago
I might come at yall with some questions when i finally finish the current 8 chapters
thank you for the ask!
yeah, even though we are writing this fic primarily for ourself, feedback is not only appreciated but also genuinely helpful. there's this one guy who comments on every single chapter we post with his favorite line, why he enjoyed it, and his speculations on the characters and right now he is carrying the entire work
we're guilty of the not commenting thing as well, but i'm planning to change that when we get done with lunch
honestly, the best way to combat these sort of things is to follow the advice yourself, as is with all things. if you don't do it, then what's the point of speaking about it? go and leave a comment on your favorite fanwork(s) if you haven't already. i promise it's worth it (bookmark notes are also really useful too and the creator can see them unless they're private!)
also, it's genuinely really nice to know that one of our works has landed on your reading list. hope you enjoyed the first chapter, and i hope you get around to the other 8! we'd love to hear any and all theories, questions, ideas, etc you have about it :] we could talk about this shit for hours
#amys' tag#answered#i should have an entire tag for rambling while we're on our period lmao this is getting out of hand /nsrs#writing
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Nicky Hemmick Appreciation Post
Foxes Appreciation Series : 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 ||
It’s time for Nicky Hemmick appreciation hours!
I think out of the foxes, I really don’t like the way Nora developed, or lack thereof, Nicky’s character.
He was one of the few POC/LGBTQIAP+ characters in the books and the way he was written just wasn’t it, y’know?
I think out of all the changes we could have, I wish Nora developed him better because his character could’ve gone to so many potentials.
But let’s get with what we have-
First off, I just want to say I appreciate Nicky’s relationship with Erik so much.
They’re adorable.
Now, let’s get to the sad and dark stuff-
Nicky’s past is one of the most messed-up backstories I’ve ever read in my entire life. And I read a LOT of sad books.
Dude literally went to a gay conversion camp (the fact that this shit exists is proof that hell is just a place on earth) for a year and had to repress his sexuality his entire life because his parents were homophobic shitholes.
Repressing his sexuality also led to depression. He had freaking suicidal thoughts and he took the first way out of his problems and saved himself by taking the first chance to leave, aka Germany.
I’m not sure if anyone remembers but to get to that- he had to pretend he was something he was not. He had to play the “perfect son” role because he couldn’t afford to be himself in a place where his existence was deemed wrong.
Also, the fact that he had the capacity to do this- to maintain that role until that Germany ticket landed in his hands while combatting suicidal and other morbid thoughts-
Kid, that sucks. Nicky Hemmick needs a hug.
Also, taking note of this fact makes me appreciate his reactions towards his teammates’ tragedies more.
Like at first I was constantly surprised because I thought it’s such an overreaction to feel sad and almost cry as a reflex to other’s misfortunes (lowkey exposing myself here)
But to realize he went through such a traumatic experience and can still empathize + sympathize deeply with his teammates-
it just makes me really appreciate that aspect of him- to be able to still be that person and have that sense of humanity despite of the horrific things he went though, that’s amazing.
Let’s talk about the fact that Nicky could’ve just live his entire life in Germany with the love of his life and cut off entirely his connections with his family because he had every right to detoxify his life and live happily for himself.
Nicky was about 19-20ish when he learned that Tilda had died and how he reacted to this by going back because he doesn’t want the twins to be raised by the same people who gave him hell- because he knows the twins deserves better- that’s incredible.
He had absolutely no obligation to, he wasn’t even that old to have that responsibility but he took it.
He came back and fought for the rights to become a guardian for the twins (against his own parents), like that takes so much time and effort and the fact that he did it at like a considerably young age is just so mind-blowing.
I’m not going to act like he’s the best guardian. But let’s not discredit where credit is due.
Despite everything- he gave Aaron and Andrew a home. Provided a roof over their heads, helped them at school (he taught them to speak German), worked jobs to provide for their basic necessities, and assuming Andrew spent all that insurance money on the car, someone has to be working to pay the tuition and bills, right?
And that someone was Nicky.
(He also got Andrew and Aaron gigs at where he worked at).
Like no one talks about this enough but Nicky lowkey raised the twins. Like, he actually raised the twins.
There is not enough words in this world to describe how overwhelming and amazing that is.
He had no obligation whatsoever to these two who probably gave him a hard time because as much as I love the Twinyards- they were assholes (I mean they were kind of mean to him for crying out loud, and that’s just on the books- imagine how much more he got back when the twins were probably so distrustful of him) and really, they weren’t Nicky’s obligation because most people forget that Nicky wasn’t that old.
He was pretty young too.
And by going back, he’s associating himself with the things that lowkey broke him but he still went and stayed anyway even when he could’ve easily just be happy and cut it all off because despite of everything, he wanted to provide the twins with an at least better option than his horrible parents.
He wanted the twins to have a good life- literally wished for them to heal and be okay and succeed and that amount of love- it’s just amazing. Like, I said that a lot by now but it’s just really amazing.
Nicky Hemmick is amazing.
He was also supposedly only going to stay until the twins finished high school but then Coach Wymack happened and with Erik’s support and his hopes of the twins being happy, he stayed.
I’m not sure about Nicky’s exy abilities, I think he got scolded a lot by Kevin but I like to think that he wasn’t that bad. I really wish we got more exy contents, that one time I got invested in a sport and there wasn’t even a lot of it.
I also like to believe that he’s more mature than he lets on. Like, he actually knows all that adulting shit.
Also, when Neil noticed that Nicky is just playing his energy levels up to compensate for the Twinyards’ walls because despite everything, he wants to be friends with everyone but can’t because he’s with the monsters and that honestly sucks.
But it’s also commendable that he really tries.
Ignoring the Eden incident aside, he was actually really great to Neil.
Like, he’s one of the few in the foxes that was friendly to him at the start.
He also taught him a lot of things (like social cues and all) and did whatever he can to help him.
He’s actually a pretty good friend.
Also, I lowkey feel for him that despite everything, he still wanted his parents’ validation and approval.
I saw a decent amount of people hate Nicky for this because it was what led to the thanksgiving incident, but I just find it sad.
Because at the end of the day, Nicky was just a son who loved his parents even if they couldn’t love everything he was and the things he stands for, and it’s just sad because even if it was kind of obvious, he just wanted to believe that everything could still mend.
He still wanted to be accepted by them.
Some people don’t deserve to have kids.
But when he realized that it wasn’t going to happen and this brought harm to the twins, he was very apologetic over it and guilty even if it wasn’t his fault, and he chose the twins.
He will always choose the twins.
"It's about family. Not necessarily the one we were born with, but the one we choose. This one. The people we trust to be part of our lives. The people we care about."
Overall, it’s just really amazing that despite everything, he can look for the positive and enjoy life even if it’s really shitty.
Just ✨Nicholas Esteban Hemmick✨ dude.
#NGL I had a really hard time making this one#like i think i struggled with nicky most compared to the previous foxes#I think it's because out of all the foxes I like Nicky least#and by least I don't really like his character but it's not like I Riko-Moriyama hate level him anyway#what he did in TFC is something I just can't get over with#like i think out of the many things nora was criticized for#i hated that while what he did wasn't redeemable she didn't even try to redeem it#i dunno#but i can appreciate the other facets of his character#all for the game#all for the angst#all for the gay#aftg#nicky hemmick#aftg nicky#twinyards#erik klose#aftg neil#the foxhole court#the raven king#the kings men#the king's men#nora sakavic#aftg appreciation post#aftg appreciation hours#raeraegoaway
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Hi Kay!
I just wanted to take a moment and say how deeply moving (and overall comforting) I find your writing to be! I've gone through almost the entirety of your masterlist twice in the past month alone and have found myself returning more often to the pieces of literature/poems your reference sometimes. (Especially that one poem by Benedict Smith! I've read a few more by him because of you and they're just wonderfully lovely 💛 so I'm eternally thankful to you for including it.)
I may be wrong in assuming, but I believe you may have studied/are currently studying a degree involving literature. I hope this isn't too foreward of me but I was wandering if you have any other works of literature that you'd recommend? (I'd love to read anything you recommend from poems to plays 💛) I'm slightly embaressed to say but the works I've read are quite limited to a highschool level and since I'm currently studying Pharmacy, there are very few people who can recommend me such moving works. :)
I also feel like I should apologise for writing such a large ask, so please accept this apology as well hehe 💕🥺
Sincerely,
Bek 🌻
Hey there Bek 💚💕✨
First of all... I'm incredibly sorry for how long it took me to reply to this ask, I know you sent it weeks ago and I'm honestly just ashamed of myself for only replying now! I've been taking a bit of a Tumblr break again, or rather a break from literally everything, and I guess not having written anything in a while made me feel guilty whenever I opened Tumblr, so... All I can say for myself really is that I'm sorry you had to wait so long! Again, I never ever ignore anyone, I promise! It just sometimes takes a while for me to reply 😅🙈
Now, I'm so happy to hear that you've been enjoying my writing! 🥺🥰 Hearing that it's comforting and inspiring to you is honestly such a relief and indeed does make me happy more than I can say 💚 It's so cool that you're checking up on all the references I make aaahhh 🥺🥺🥺 I love it 😁 You're always more than welcome, love! I don't think I could stop including references to literature, culture, history and the science around it even if I tried 😅☺️
And yeah, I did study classics and newer literature as a minor for my undergrad degree 😄 But tbh I still work with literally a lot even now (I'm in grad school for media and cultural studies) even though it's technically not something I've been properly taught ☺️ I'm just a nerd who likes to learn on her own, and with media and culture you can pretty much delve into almost anything you want 😂😅🤷🏻♀️
Now, it's not forward at all to ask me for literature recommendations! 😁😃 I truly love recommending stuff!!! I have a few up my sleeve, even though you've probably heard of a few already, for obvious reasons: A lot of what I truly enjoyed reading was something Tom Hiddleston has worked on in one way or another! It's truly a magnificent guideline for picking new literature... Just look up the literary origins of his films/shows/plays and you will be in for quality literature most of the time! I don't think I've ever mentioned it on here, but me reading High-Rise (JG Ballard) because I heard Tom would be partaking in the film adaptation was actually what sparked my love and passion for literature!!! Yep, it's that good. Now on to the recommendations though 😁(This... got rather long):
Plays
Anything by Harold Pinter really, but for obvious reasons you'll find a lot of additionally fun stuff for Betrayal, which is lovely and truly funny if you're in on the kind of humour btw
Medea by Euripides (a classic, but I love it nonetheless... You can find translations in almost every language) ((and pls stay away from Seneca's Medea, because ugh... Euripides is far better AND the og story, as much as anyone can say that for Greek mythology)
La Bohème by Puccini (I know, this is technically an opera, but if you read the libretto it's honestly just like a play... And if you're up for it, the og story is in prose and written by Henri Murger... It's better than the opera, but oftentimes more difficult to find) ((this one is hilarious and basically explains an entire cultural subgroup in the 19th century)
Faust by Goethe (many people hate it, but I LOVE this one!!! It's also been translated into any and every language, and it's so interesting philosophically!!! It's also referenced SO freaking often literally everywhere, and the operas and ballets based on it are always my fave) ((there's technically Faust I and Faust II, but you're good to go just reading the first one)
Anything by Shakespeare, obviously... Though I do love me my Hamlet like every other literature enthusiast (Yes, I can do that one famous soliloquy in act 3 scene 1 by heart as well...)
Poetry
Again, anything Shakespeare for the win, but I LOVE the sonnets and keep a copy of them with me most of the time (Yes, I own multiple copies of the sonnets...) ((My faves are 116 and 91, but there's always so much truth to be found in there!!!))
A lot of the stuff William Blake wrote is amazing, though you have to pick carefully with him if certain religious motives aren't your thing... I love The Tyger, which is an individual poem, and the collection of works called Tyger, Tyger which does have many good ones and a few ones that are a little more on the mediocre side
Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas (I know this one by heart as well... It's beautiful, and there's a version of Hiddleston reading it on YouTube, which gives you even more goosebumps than the poem does anyway)
Invictus by William Ernest Henley (same for this one, also read by the one and only) ((I love to read this when I'm feeling down or powerless))
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot (This is another wow piece with many quotable lines and truths... I love it a lot and keep coming back to it! It's also a great example of how literary modernism tried to condense the complexity and passing of time and history into a single frame that had to be intrinsically poetical in nature... As in, this poem could've been a short story in any other period, but modernists loved to make everything a poem so here you go)
Der Zauberlehrling by Goethe (This one sucks in all English translations I’ve found, poetically speaking, but in German it’s such a fun piece! If you’ve ever seen the Disney ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’ with Mickey Mouse or listened to the orchestral piece by Paul Dukas, then this poem proves very useful in truly understanding either! But again, the English translation should only be taken for informational value... The German one is also worded hilariously)
Prose
Short edited by Alan Ziegler (This is a collection of short prose forms that honestly is a must for me... I love this book to pieces and have had it for years now! It’s an international anthology, so you’ll find more and less famous authors from all around the world represented with short stories, prose poems, short essays and just curious and interesting snippets of writing! I draw a lot of inspiration from this book)
High-Rise by JG Ballard (As mentioned above, I owe this book part of my personality... I don’t think I would be the same person without having read it. It’s not necessarily full of wisdom, but if you’re interested in a different kind of portrayal of the human condition, then this is the read you need to take a look at)
The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers (This is another piece that changed my perception of literature, even though this is a more ordinary and ‘fun’-value read... It’s one of my favourite books and it’s endlessly entertaining! So if the classics are a bit heavy for you, this one is perfect for casual readers as well! Its value really does lie more in the realisation of how fun literature can be, and the freedom you have as an author... So really, I could recommend everything by Moers, his style is amazing both in the German original and in the English translation. Yes, I’ve read both.)
Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (This is comedic gold, stylistic gold and generally a bloody perfect book. Also a ‘fun’-value read, but it also does a magnificent job at showing you what you can do with literature, and how well-developed characters are supposed to be written)
The Penguin Book of the Undead (Penguin Classics) edited by Scott G. Bruce (This book is basically an education on fifteen hundred years of supernatural encounters and how culture wrote, used and perceived them. You get introductory texts for different periods and social groups, explaining how and why ghost stories were written and used, followed by passages of the prime source texts (eg. ancient necromancy shown on The Odyssey). Really, this book is just for cultural history nerds)
The Earthquake in Chile by Kleist (This isn’t necessarily one of my faves, but it has helped me understand what studying literature and culture can do for you. In case anyone remembers my insistence in Wicked Game that you gotta know what a pomegranate symbolises... this novella is such an instance where this knowledge would prove useful. Generally, it gives many opportunities to think about privilege and circumstance)
The Symposium by Plato (You’ll probably not want to read the entire collection of speeches tbh... But the concepts introduced mainly here and in some of Plato’s other work are well worth looking into! For example, the ‘double being’ introduces a concept that in modern fiction is called soulmates... Just sayin’)
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Man’s Best Friend (Javier Peña x GN!Reader)
Description: Living in Colombia, you’d come to expect the unexpected. That didn't mean, however, that Javi wasn't able to still surprise you from time to time. And finding a dog on your couch, next to a bleeding Javi? Well, yeah, that was a pretty big surprise.
Warnings: Swearing, reference to smoking, references to injuries, blood, references to violence, references to death. (Let me know if I missed anything)
Masterlist:
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“What is that?”
“A dog.”
“I can see it’s a dog, Javi!” you screeched, staring at the fluffy offender sat at your feet. “What’s it doing in our flat?”
Javi was rarely speechless, yet the way he went silent was almost incredible. Even for him. It was like he was too scared to even try and explain what the adorable animal was doing in your home, wagging their tail and gazing up at you with their big brown eyes.
Two brown eyed boys? Oh god. You were doomed.
“We … we can’t keep it. We can’t have a dog.”
“I know, I know,” Javi babbled, hands raised in defence. “But hear me out, ok? It was fate.”
“Fate?”
“Yes! I was chasing a suspect after a bust today, and as I was running down an alley, this dog came out of nowhere. Like, nowhere, hermosa, and it knocked me over-“
You tried not to laugh at the image that suddenly came to mind of your normally composed partner, legging it down the street in his aviators, only to face plant the floor after tripping over a dog. This dog too - an average sized furball of all things.
No wonder Steve had spent all afternoon laughing. It also explained the impressive gash on Javi’s forehead.
“-wait, is that why you’re bleeding?”
“-yes, but that’s not important.”
“Ooook.” You’d still be finding the first aid kit after this conversation, no matter what he said. “If you say so. Continue.”
Javi rolled his eyes, but did, reaching out to gently pat the top of the dog’s head.
“As I was saying… this dog tripped me, and I was initially ready to shoot it, but as I looked up, I saw the guy I was chasing run into the road only to get hit by a truck. A fucking truck, carino. A truck that would have hit me too if I’d been following but this dog… it saved me.”
As if able to understand the praise being heaped upon it, the dog yipped, grinning ear to ear in agreement. The fact it wagged its tail so fast you thought it was ready to take off, made the whole thing even more adorable.
“I mean, it saved my life, Y/N,” Javi explained, sounding more passionate than you’d ever heard him before. It was odd, considering this was the man who barely batted an eyelid at anything. Normally he would just sigh and smoke a cigarette, hiding his emotions behind his signature yellow aviators. “It was a divine miracle or some shit, but he saved me and I couldn’t just leave it on the street. Look at him. He’s all skin and bone. He saved one of America’s finest. Idiots have got medals for less, so a warm place to sleep is the least I can give him.”
Right.
Had Javi hit his head harder than he’d realised?
You could barely take it all in, let alone believe it. The story was almost too fantastical to believe. However, whether or not the story was exaggerated, one thing was clear and that was that Javi had almost been hurt. Or even killed.
You’d always known life down here working for the DEA was dangerous. Hell, you faced death every single day. But there was something harrowing about the idea that something as mundane as being hit by a truck had almost taken the life of the man in front of you… The man you loved.
Maybe it had been divine intervention, or maybe it had just been the most freaky and well timed coincidence of your lives. Still, Javi was right that you owed his life to this dog.
But taking it in? Keeping it?
It didn't help that the dog chose that moment to brush against your leg and glance up at you with shining brown eyes. He was all skin and bone, and it made your heart ache at the obvious neglect he’d suffered. Who knew how long he’d been out there on the streets, fending for himself.
Fuck. You couldn’t be heartless enough to kick him back out.
You groaned.
“Ok. I… I’m gonna need a second to get this all straight, Javi. I mean, this is insane, you realise that?” you whined, dropping onto the couch and burying your head in your hands.
Was he feeling that guilty about this? Was that why he wanted to keep it? A sense of obligation?
“When is anything in our lives not insane?”
“Oh, mi amor,” you began, sitting up a little straighter in your seat, almost the way a parent would when delivering bad news to their child. “We… we can’t have a dog, and trust me, I’d love one. I love dogs.”
You did and he knew it. As it was, you’d grown up with a large German Shepherd who’d been your best friend throughout your childhood. When he’d died a few years before, it had been like you’d lost a family member.
“So why not keep it?”
“Because we’re never here, Javi,” you scoffed, as if it should have been obvious. “We work insane hours and… and you saw what happened to Steve and Connie’s cat. I don’t want this dog to be at risk because we chose him.”
“After what happened with Steve’s cat there’s no way a Sicario would hurt our pet. They learned that a pet is still a DEA pet and we come through for our own,” Javi grinned, as if it was hilarious. Then again, that had been one of the most absurd moments of your careers down here.
“That still doesn’t change the fact we might be working late and can’t be home to feed it or take it for a walk-”
“Well,” Javi grinned, looking way too excited about this, as if he’d figured out where Escobar himself was hiding. His hands reached for yours as turned you to look at him. “You see, hermosa, I already talked to Louisa downstairs - the one with the two kids we see all the time going to school and stuff.”
“And?”
“And she saw me bringing this old boy here inside, and started telling me how her kids want a dog but it’s a big responsibility-“
You smirked. “It is.”
“-But one she would be happy to teach her kids about,” Javi grinned. “She said if we ever wanted it, they can feed him or watch him when we’re busy. She even said she’d walk it sometimes, when she gets back from work for lunch. That way they can practise without the responsibility of having him full time.”
Seriously? It was almost too good to be true. You loved Louisa and her two young bundles of joy known as the twins. Ten years old, the boys were sweet and would more than likely love the opportunity to spoil a dog rotten and play with them after school.
"I don't know," you sighed, lifting you eyes back to his. The fact the dog whined, pressing his head against your knee was almost as if he had rehearsed it. "Maybe?... Like you said... And maybe... I mean, if Louisa doesn’t mind helping out…”
A grin split across his face. "I love you. You won't have to do anything you don't want to."
"Won't I?" you mused with a half smile, half frown. You’d almost agree to keep the dog just for the pleasure of watching Javier Peña actually pick up dog poop. You would be taking photos for Steve to enjoy, that was for sure. "Let's just see how it goes first. Give it a week or so, and then we discuss this some more.”
“Thank you… you won’t regret it. I promise. Lucky and I already talked about behaving.”
“Lucky? You named it?”
Javi chuckled. “I thought it fit.”
It did, to be honest and… Oh shit. You knew you’d be in love with this dog before the week was even out.
“Welcome to the family, Lucky.”
#narcos#narcos imagine#narcos fanfic#narcos x reader#javier peña#Javier Pena#javier peña x reader#javier pena x reader#javier pena x you#masterlist#ithebookhoarder#Pedro Pascal#steve murphy
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Tumblr Writers Q&A
Thanks for tagging me @chaoticgeminate
1) How many complete fics/one shots do you have that you have not published (yet)?
One smutty Matt Murdock one Shot that's coming next week
2) How many WIPS do you have right now?
2 I am actively working on, 4 I am procrastinating (I'm only saying I hate writing threesomes and there are some people who know immediately what I'm talking about lmao)
3) Do you take writing requests or write original ideas, or both?
Both? Like I don't really take requests on here cause I get guilty really quickly if I don't write the requests quickly but yeah. It's mostly original ideas or discord plot bunnies lol
4) If you do take requests, how many do you currently have?
zero
5) How many fandoms do you write for?
uh... currently? Five? It changes weekly tbh
6) Are there any fandoms you wrote for in the past that you no longer write for?
Hiddleston and Cavill
7) Do you write for ships, reader inserts or other?
I write almost only reader inserts. There's an OC here and there, bust most is fem. Reader.
8) Niche fandoms/characters you write for?
I mean... Practically everything I wrote in the Keanu fandom that wasn't John Wick is niche? I do love me some Donaka
9) Do you read fics as well as write them?
way to many tbh
10) What is your favorite genre to write for?
fluff that leads to smut
11) What is your favorite trope (to read/write)?
oblivious lovers is my weakness
12) What do you do to get motivated to write?
uhm... I just need the right idea. And comments on the fics do help I won't lie
13) Is there a trope/genre you like to read, but not write?
I don't think so.
14) Any characters/fandoms you want to write for that are never requested?
nope
15) How long have you been writing fanfiction?
for almost... god 17 years
16) Did you read fanfiction before you started writing?
oh yes. Harry Potter fics my beloved
17) Do you only post on Tumblr, or any other sites as well?
AO3. There are some very very old fics in German on a German fanfic site lmao
18) What do you personally consider the word counts of “Drabble”, “One shots” and “fics”?
Drabble under 1k, one shots at least 2k. fics? Like series? uh idk. depends on the outline of the fic.
19) Which do you prefer to write more? HC, drabbles, oneshots/fics, multi chapter stories, other?
I write Drabbles and one shots mostly. Because, again I get stressed out writing multi chapter stories. If I write them I try to have finished writing them before I post them.
20) Are there any stories you have discontinued? If so, why?
there's two. A John Wick Fic I still plan on finishing at some point and a August Walker fic. I just.. I won't write for Cavill anymore.
21) What is one of your main “pet-peeves” as a writer on Tumblr?
the shitty editor that doesn't seem to be working properly since like a week and anon hate.
22) Do you write at a particular time of day?
I mostly write on weekends. Drabbles can happen (lol) whenever I get inspired though. And the Bruce Wayne fic get posted after writing immediately too.
23) Do you listen to music, ambiance/noise, etc. to write or do you need silence?
just the TV in the background
24) Do you outline your fics at all before writing?
well... The first thing I really outlined is everything that is happening over in the Stay universe. Mostly I have a general Idea what I want to write and then write the complete opposite though lmao
25) Do you post your writing as soon as you finish it, or do you schedule it to come out at a specific time/day?
oneshots are scheduled. Javi stuff happens every Monday and all other one shots get posted on Thursday. Drabbles mostly get posted immediately after finishing them.
Tagging: @the-scandalorian @radiowallet @just-here-for-the-moment @phoebe-danvers @ficsnroses @scorpio-marionette
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Chapter 3 - Unexpected texts
Synopsys: The name of the series is super random, don't mind me. Reader is a postgraduate student at NYU, made a docuseries on her research, and the show got picked up by Netflix. She goes on a press tour and meets Tom on a ‘chat show’. They get together and she decides to stay for a few days in London with him. This could be an amazing few days or more? It’s been interesting writing how they’ll deal with distance and tight schedules once ‘honeymoon’ is over...
Heads up: my first language is Portuguese, so that might explain some things here - of course, I wrote thinking about myself hahaha
Warnings for the series: mention of illicit drugs, angst caused by distance, smut (next chapters, very explicit), anxiety caused by paparazzi, and rude random people taking photos.
Other than that, this is just my guilty pleasure writing so lots of caring sweet Tom and fluffiness.
Chapter 1 - A new city
Chapter 2 - Show time
Chapter 3 - Unexpected texts
This is 2.4k words (approximately)
Later, you were just laying in your hotel room and watching some tv, or telly how they say over here. You wanted to get some sleep and maybe call your parents to tell them about the day. It was so crazy, you didn’t think they’d quite grasp how crazy, but you wanted to include them anyway. I guess maybe especially because of that. Tomorrow you guys had to be at the station super early for the Radio 1 Breakfast with Greg James. 6 o’clock you thought it was that David had told you. You might as well check with him and set an alarm already. So you went to grab you phone for texting him and got a text from an unknown number.
The contact you had saved as “Tom Holland” (with the air quote marks) was calling on Facetime. Shit. This couldn’t be him. Could it? Have you even given your personal number to the producer at Graham? Shit. Just answer it and kill Lukas. You pressed the green button and the screen was dark. There was some music in the background, but it was a little muffled. And sure enough, there he was. Smiling at the phone slightly bellow his eye level. He’s hot. You look like shit with zero makeup and your hair in a crazy pony tail.
“Hi!” He said laughing. “Do you believe me now?”
“Hi…this is embarrassing. Sorry! I have the worst friends and is just like them to try to pull a prank on me because of this” You answered.
“No worries, darling. I’m a little sad you’d think me texting you is laughable though.” He joked.
“You know what I mean! Like I said, Tom Hanks wanting to work together I would have an easier time believing.” You laughed.
“Maybe I want to work together. By the way, I’m glad you did, but for future reference, you probably shouldn’t use your personal number for these things.” He advised you.
“Well, it’s not like I have more than one number so…” You told him.
“Your agent’s then.” He clarified.
“I don’t have an ‘agent’.” You emphasized the last word.
“Well, you should probably get one then, darling. Trust me on this one.” He was walking and the music got louder for an instant and then muffled again. Looks like a bar or the outside of a bar at least.
“Are you in a bar?” You asked him laughing.
“Excuse me, not a bar, a PUB. And no, I’m on the sidewalk of a pub, actually. Going home.” He said. “And you are…?”
You were kind of getting what he wanted from you and that was kind of annoying actually. He’s a movie star for god’s sake. Can’t he get a girl in whatever pub he’s at right now? “Busy actually.” You answered him.
“Oh sorry. Terrible timing, huh? I asked for your number this afternoon, after the show. But the bloody PA just sent me it right now. He might lose his job for this. Took him a lot of convincing, ya know?” He was talking and walking, you could see he was clearly trying to start a conversation and all that in the middle of the street.
“So you just got it and couldn’t wait to text me huh?” You teased.
“Kind of, yeah. The two pints probably helped me build the nerve. I’m not usually like this. I barely facetime my friends.” He told you.
“And in the middle of the street. If you get mugged, I don’t want to be accounted.” You were relaxing a bit and sat on the bed leaning on the headboard. He laughed at your joke. Maybe he was just drunk and not really after a booty call. “I thought you british were famous for spending nights at the pub. Why you leaving so early, anyway?” You asked.
“Got to get up early tomorrow for a work out.” He answered simply.
“Of course you do” You said.
“And I much rather talk to you too.” He said.
Silence. What do you answer to that? Is he flirting with you? He’s definitely flirting with you.
“Ahem” He cleared his throat. “I really did liked your show, you know? It’s really something.” He said.
“You did? Thank you. Means a lot.” You said. “I’m still shocked it’s getting this much attention, to be honest.”
“Why? I’m shocked no one’s done it before. Is such a good idea. But maybe if they’ve done it, it wouldn’t be the same. Cause your presenting is probably what makes it that good.” He had stopped walking and you could hear keys juggling in his hand. “I live really close to the pub. I know” He laughed and you laughed back. “Hey!” He said to someone outside the screen and started to walk up stairs.
“Do you live with someone else? Your parents?” You asked.
“Uhh…no, no. I mean yeah, my mates Harrison and Tuwaine and my brother Harry. It’s just Tuwaine and his girlfriend downstairs though, I think.” He told you while taking off his shoes.
“Hey don’t go cockblock your friend now” You laughed.
“Never. And always.” He joked back. “Thought you’d be out enjoying London tonight, or were you planning on going out later?” He asked you in a thick accent.
“What? No, I’m a serious business girl. No time for shenanigans” You said laughing, so he’d know you were joking.
“Shenanigans” He laughed back. “Your English is better than mine you know?”
“Oh I’m sure” You answered sarcastically. “Flattering will get you far, but lying will not”
“I’m serious. If you haven’t said it today I’d think you’re American. You kind of have a New Yorker accent” He said.
“Yeah? ‘Fuhgeddaboudit’” You said in a thick accent and you laughed together. It was fun talking to him.
“What other languages do you speak?” He asked you when you stopped laughing.
“Portuguese, English…Spanish, Italian, a little bit, and German” You answered while counting your fingers.
“No way. Say something in German. By the way, I’m still here, I’ll just change these clothes.” He said while putting the phone on the nightstand and getting out of the frame. He was taking off his clothes, you thought. And he wanted you to say something in German.
“Nennen sie das Ärger?” You said, without thinking everything through.
“Now say the same in Portuguese” You heard his voice but didn’t see him.
“É isso que eles chamam de problema?” You said again.
“Yeah, portuguese is defenitely sexier.” He laughed and grabbed the phone again to sit on the bed. He was shirtless and with his head on the headboard of the bed. “What did you said anyway?”
“Excuse me, I wasn’t aware I’d have to translate it.” You mocked being offended.
“Oh so it WAS dirty. I thought I was imagining.” He teased you.
“You’re smooth.” You shook your head. “I’m still not saying it. You’ll just have to learn Portuguese, or German.”
“I’ll learn Portuguese if you teach me.” He said. “How long are you here for?”
“Just till tomorrow.” You said. “Flying back to New York tomorrow night.”
“More interviews?” He asked.
“Tomorrow’s the last one actually. But I’m traveling with David, he makes the show with me, and I’ve kept him from his fiancé long enough. That and we have to prepare for big meeting with executives next week, you know find an agent and stuff.”
“I could talk to my agent if you want to, he’s an actors agent but maybe he knows someone for other kinds of jobs” He said. “You don’t have a fiancé to get back to, do you?”
“No. No fiancé or jobs for that matter.” You laughed. “And I’m not even sure what kind of jobs would those be.”
“Publicity deals. If I had a brand, I’d want you to be the face of it. It’s the face of diversity and youth, isn’t it? It’s a beautiful face” He said.
“The face of diversity and youth?” You laughed. “Now you’re the one confusing me with Tom Hanks” You joked and he laughed out loud. “I could use some friendly recommendation though, on the agent thing. I don’t even know where to start looking and sounds like the type of thing you don’t want to ask the wrong people” You added.
“Yeah, sure. He’ll know someone for sure.”
“Thank you”
“Glad to help! Really!” He smiled at you. “So where you going tomorrow?”
“Breakfast show at Radio 1. Greg James I think” You answered.
“Oh he’s great! We were there today. You’ll have a great time! It’s a bit early, no? Am I keeping you from sleep? Do you want to hang up?” He was cute, all concern and stuff.
“Yes, yes and no. I’m enjoying you keeping me from sleep.” You said. Maybe it was the time, but that was kind of bold Ana. Good job?
“Good. I’m enjoying it too.” He said while you were getting under the duvet, getting cozy. “Are you enjoying London? What’s your favorite place so far?”
“I loved what I’ve seen from the car window” You answered sadly. “And all the studios we’ve seen.” You laughed a little. “But since we’ve landed it’s been go go go.”
“That’s a great song though.”
“I can’t believe you got that reference.” You said surprised. You love The Maine.
“I love The Maine. Honest. ‘Where I come from you learn to make the best of things’”
“‘But honey since we’ve met you know you’ve had the best of me’” You mock singed together and laughed when you finished the verse.
“OH MY GOD DO YOU WANT TO MARRY ME?” He joked while laughing.
“YES! AND WE CAN GET ON THE ROAD CHASING INDIE BANDS ON TOUR?” You joked back.
“I mean, that’s the dream, that’s the dream.” He said. “I can’t believe that you haven’t seen London though. Wish you’d stay longer, I could take you some places. If you’d like, of course” He said.
“Don’t you have work? I though movie stars didn’t have time for tourism in their own home town” You teased.
“I’m sure movie stars don’t. Good thing I’m not one.” He said smirking.
“Ok, and where would you take me then?” You asked. Where you really contemplating extending your trip just right now? Get a grip on yourself woman.
“Uh, I don’t know. Parks?”
“Parks?” You laughed.
“And pubs.” He laughed too. “To be honest those are the only places I go to when I’m home. I take my dog on walks and drink with friends.”
“Doesn’t sound like a bad life to me.”
“No, I guess not.”
You guys kept talking for hours about everything and nothing. Favorite music, food, drinks, spots for each of those in different cities. You lived in NY but had lived in Berlin before and he was interested in that and you were very interested to hear about the places he’d been, but mostly about London.
“So you actually live here?” You asked him.
“What you mean? London? Yeah.”
“But don’t you work more in LA and stuff? You have a place there too?”
“Uh, no, actually. I don’t work there as much. No as much to justify getting a place anyway. If I’m honest, I haven’t stayed in the same place for too much time, unless I’m off work. And then I’ll be here. Closer to the family. Friends. You know.” He told you.
“That’s nice. It sucks to be away all the time”
“You probably know what I mean. There was a time I was considering getting a place in LA, you know, that whole Hollywood thing. And I was kind of seeing someone there at the time, so that might have had some influence in the decision. We were looking at houses and they were amazing, huge and crazily luxurious.”
“You were going to move in together?”
“No, she was just helping me look for places. Anyway, it didn’t worked out and in the mean time I found this house here so it was for the better I think.” He was opening up to you. “That’s really not for me. That whole life. Mansions, cars, the paparazzi.”
“Listen, I’m not sure how to break it to you. But you might not have chosen the best work line then.” You joked.
“No joke” He laughed. “I know it’s part of the job. At some extent. But I don’t need to go looking for trouble too. This way I’ll just deal with all that when I’m at the states and here I can focus on something else. Spend that money with something else. Spend my time with people that I actually care about and care about me. You know?”
“I like your mind” You said without thinking and there was a while of silence between the two of you.
“I think that’s the best compliment I ever gotten” He said.
“Shut up. You know what I mean.” You blushed.
“I know. And that’s why.” He smiled. “I like your mind too. I like that you don’t filter it. You’re genuine” You had blushed and closed your eyes at his compliment. When you opened them he was smiling at you. “You have the most amazing green eyes, you know that? They’re beautiful. And smile too. I love your smile.” You turned your head to the side, like you didn’t understand what he was saying, but you did. You were only studying him.
“Where you getting at Holland?”
“Can I see you tomorrow? Will you have sometime after your interview?” He asked.
“Yeah. I have the day actually, my flight is not until 11 at night, I think. When you want to meet?”
“I can pick you up right after and we can grab some lunch, sounds good?”
“Yeah, sounds perfect” You said and looked at the clock, it was 02:38 in the morning. “But I should probably try and get some sleep now, or I won’t be a real person tomorrow.” He touched the screen on his phone, probably looking at time himself.
“Shit, that’s late. Sorry, I didn’t felt the time” He apologized.
“Me neither” You smiled. You wanted to say more, like how amazing it was talking to him and that’s why time flew like that, how you haven’t felt that in many years. But you didn’t.
“Okay, I’ll let you go now. See you tomorrow then?”
“Yeah, see you tomorrow Holland” He laughed. “What?”
“I like how you call me by my last name. Sounds good. See you tomorrow (y/l/n)”
“I liked how mine sounded in your English accent”
“Yeah? Did I pronounce it right?” He laughed.
“Close enough” You laughed. “Alright, good-bye now”
“Tchau” He said while you hanged up, catching you by surprise.
You couldn’t believe what just happened. Oh boy indeed. You were sure you weren’t even going to be able to sleep tonight, smiling in the dark to yourself like that. Get a grip woman.
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I love your idea of scout bein born early. Would it be too much trouble for you to write abt him bein in the hospital? And maybe possibly spy findin out?
this feels like a slightly different angle than the prompt, anon, but in my defense that’s what always happens
(warnings for alcohol mention, non-graphic injury and briefly being in a hospital)
-
The phone rang three times before it was picked up, and Scout used all three of those rings to try and get his story straight in his head. Then it was picked up and a familiar and very pleasant voice said “Hey, this is Pauling,” and he wasted exactly zero seconds to start talking.
“Alright so I kinda need some help, Miss P,” he opened with, because frankly those were some cards he knew were gonna end up on the table no matter how he played this.
“What did you do?” she asked immediately, and fuck, she was on to him.
“I—listen, I didn’t even do anything.”
“What did you do?” she asked again.
“...So, okay, promise you won’t be mad.”
“I’m already mad, Scout. What did you do?”
Scout worked hard for about three seconds to figure out a good way to phrase the next few sentences. “...So I was just at this bar, right, and I was minding my own goddamn business—“
“Scout.”
“I was!” he said, a little defensive. “Seriously! And this guy sees me across the bar, and, y’know, figures out I’m one of those guys from the newspaper who keeps causing trouble—“
“Were you in uniform?” she asked dryly.
“Nah, but, uh, Soldier and Cyclops were there, and some of the other guys were there earlier, and Soldier had his stupid helmet on, so, y’know. Bunch of foreigners and some G.I. Joe lookin’ guy, wouldn’t be hard to piece it together. And most of the guys left, and Soldier and Demo walk off, and I’m left alone just finishing my drink before I head out, like ya do.”
“Like you do,” Miss Pauling hesitantly agreed.
“And this guy goes, hey, three dudes is a lot, but I could take this one guy. And he comes up to me, right, all like ‘Hey what’s up I’m a drunk dude who wants to get in a fight like an asshole’ and I’m like ‘Hey nah I’m good actually’ because like, I’m busy and that’s stupid, right?”
“Right,” Miss Pauling agreed. “Really stupid.”
“Right! So I’m like, ‘Hey, fuck off pal’ and he just takes a fuckin’ swing at me, and I’m like ‘Hey actually fuck this I already paid I’m just gonna get outta here’ and I try to leave, but the dude just like—just grabs me by the arm and breaks my fuckin’ wrist, and I knock my whole glass over because holy shit, and a whole fuckin’ brawl kicks off, right—?”
“So long story short you need me to pick you up from jail again,” Miss Pauling cut in, voice laced with heavy exasperation.
“Nah, bartender saw everything and I didn’t get in any trouble. I, uh. I need you to pick me up from the hospital, actually,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as a nurse wheeled a cart by.
“Scout.”
“Look, I would’a just headed back to base, but it was like two in the morning and Medic was probably asleep and the bartender guy was bein’ all nice about it and how am I supposed to tell him I’ve got this crazy German guy who fixes all my bones and shit and don’t gotta go to a real hospital?” he asked, a little defensive. “Then they wouldn’t let me leave unless someone drove me because I’ve got a cast on and can’t drive, and I figured I shouldn’t wake you up or whatever at like four in the morning, so, I ended up taking a nap on a bench, and now it’s like ten so I figured you wouldn’t be mad.”
“Well, I can’t drive you back to base—“
“Aww, what?” he whined.
“—because I’m currently in Japan on business.”
“Oh. Okay, that’s fair,” he admitted.
“But I’ll send someone to pick you up,” she said. “Be ready to go in two hours.”
“Sure thing. Who are you sending?” Scout asked.
“I’ll send Spy,” she replied, and kept talking before Scout could start to complain. “Look, maybe now you’ll learn not to get in bar fights.”
“Miss P, c’mon!” he whined.
“I’m sending him. Two hours,” Miss Pauling said, and hung up on him, at which point he sighed so hard he got looks from two nurses down the hall.
Spy pulled up in his nice shiny car an hour and forty-five minutes later, and gave him a look that immediately made him feel guilty even though it totally wasn’t his fault that he was in this situation. He shifted on his feet for a second before heading over to the car. Silence.
“Wanna sign my cast?” Scout joked.
“Just get in the car.”
He did, deciding that maybe further hilarious commentary wasn’t going to help him out this time. Silence for a second.
He reached for the radio. Spy smacked his hand away. “Put on your seatbelt,” Spy said flatly, and Scout did, although it was a bit of a struggle one-handed, and they pulled out of the hospital parking lot.
About thirty seconds of quiet again before Spy broke it. “So you’re a hired mercenary, but one drunk man in a bar can break your arm?” Spy asked.
“Go to hell, Spy,” Scout mumbled.
“I just find it interesting is all,” Spy said, tone light. “That we apparently need to babysit you or else you’ll end up in the morning paper.”
“What?”
Spy reached down between his door and the seat and pulled forth a newspaper, which he promptly tossed into Scout’s lap. “Third page.”
Scout flipped the newspaper open and found that there was indeed an article there. A brawl at the bar, minor property damage, five people arrested and several more fined, two sent to the hospital. He wasn’t mentioned by name, but he did see himself in the background of the picture beside the title.
“You’d think you would have the awareness not to get caught in a... brawl, I believe they called it?” Spy asked.
“Hey, I keep my head on a swivel,” Scout defended, closing the newspaper and tossing it into the backseat. “Everything was fine until Cyclops and Helmet-Head ditched me.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Spy hummed.
Scout frowned. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“No, I’m just certain that you’re giving the full unbiased truth, even though I theoretically have no way of verifying anything you say to me about what happened,” Spy shrugged, eyes on the road.
Scout frowned further. “You callin’ me a liar?”
“No, I’m calling you a bad liar,” Spy said dryly.
“Well it’s true, that’s really what happened,” Scout said, a little offended.
“It doesn’t matter to me either way, I just wanted you to know that you need better cover stories if you want to continue getting away with your usual shenanigans.”
“Whatever, Spy,” Scout scoffed, glaring out the window.
About a minute and a half of complete silence. Scout got bored glancing around his side of the car and spent a good minute just picking at his cast before he realized he probably shouldn’t do that. He ended up reaching for the radio.
“No,” Spy droned.
“Aw, c’mon! Can’t we listen to something?” Scout complained. “It’s like forty minutes until we get back to base.”
“If you didn’t get in a bar fight and break your arm, it would be zero minutes. But you did, and I’m not listening to your terrible taste in music for forty minutes just because you can’t keep yourself out of trouble.”
Scout pouted over that for a minute or two before he thought of a good retort. “...Y’know, technically the guy probably only even jumped me because I was alone,” he said.
“Correct.”
“And I was only alone because you and all the other guys ditched me.”
“Succinct.”
“So this is kinda sorta basically your fault.”
Spy’s expression didn’t change. “...My fault?” he repeated.
“Yeah. If you didn’t ditch me, I wouldn’t have gotten jumped.”
Spy’s expression didn’t change.
“So you should let me turn on the radio.”
“Mon dieu, perhaps you should have been a lawyer,” he deadpanned.
Silence. “...So can I turn on the radio?”
“Don’t make me regret it,” Spy said, and Scout leaned over to fiddle with the dial, grinning.
He really didn’t think Spy would put up with the sort of stuff he usually listened to in the car, so he ended up putting on a station with something old enough that Spy probably didn’t hate it. And Spy didn’t turn it off or pull over to dump him on the side of the road, so apparently he picked something alright.
Ten minutes without talking. Scout looked out his window and tried to remember not to pick at his cast. Because he was looking out the window, he pretty easily caught sight of a sign advertising a diner.
He looked over at a Spy. Spy didn’t look back.
“Can we get diner food?” Scout asked.
“No,” Spy said.
“Please?” Scout asked.
“No,” Spy said.
“Please?” Scout asked.
“Tell me you aren’t seriously going to try this game,” Spy said, already looking annoyed. “You’re a grown man.”
“I’m hungry!”
“Then get something to eat at the base,” Spy said.
“I’m hungry and I have a broken arm and I’m gonna have to deal with Medic fixing my broken arm and also all the guys making fun of me. Can we please get diner food?” Scout asked,
Spy paused for a long moment. Scout’s eyes kept flicking between Spy and the upcoming exit. Spy sighed heavily and moved to take the exit. Scout cheered. “I can still change my mind,” Spy threatened. Scout shut up.
Scout double-checked his pockets for his wallet twice before they even pulled into the parking lot. It didn’t look particularly busy, but Spy didn’t pull up near the door anyways. He put the car into park and gave Scout the single most unimpressed look of his life.
“I’m giving you five minutes to order and get back in this car or I’m leaving without you,” he declared.
“Did you want anything?” Scout asked, fumbling with his seatbelt.
“Do I want terrible greasy American diner food?” Spy scoffed.
“Look, just thought I’d fuckin’ ask, alright? Jesus,” Scout mumbled, managing to get his seatbelt off. “And that doesn’t answer my question. Do you want anything?”
“Four minutes and fifty seconds,” Spy drawled, and Scout quickly got out of the car.
There wasn’t anyone in line, and luckily the diner was staffed by the kind of people who didn’t ask questions beyond giving a pointed glance towards his cast. He kept his order simple and kept an eye on the clock on the wall, and bolted back into the parking lot with the paper bag of food in hand wondering if Spy would seriously actually ditch him.
Surprisingly, Spy had left on the radio, and raised an eyebrow at him as he tried his best to bundle himself into the car one-handed. He managed to get his seatbelt on with only a minor scare about almost spilling the food, and promptly started digging through it as Spy pulled them back out of the parking lot.
“Here,” Scout chirped, holding something out to him. Spy frowned, glancing at his mirrors and taking what was being handed to him distractedly. They were out of the parking lot and back on the road by the time Spy actually looked at it.
“What is this?” he asked dryly, looking at the paper-wrapped something.
“Chicken sandwich,” Scout replied, pulling his own food out. “I uh, I think I got ketchup in here too—“
“Why did you get me a sandwich?”
“Why not?” Scout shrugged, unwrapping his burger and glancing it over before taking a bite and frowning. “Aw, man, I wanted cheese on this. Damn.”
“I didn’t ask for anything.”
“I mean, if you don’t want it, I’ll probably eat it.”
“No,” Spy said, and hesitated. He waited until they were at a stoplight before moving to unwrap the sandwich, glancing it over with a critical eye. Scout noticed that he didn’t take it completely out of the paper even when he did move to start eating it, instead using the paper to hold it. Probably worried about grease or something on his dumb gloves. Usually Scout would make fun of him about it, but he was pretty sure he was very close to getting kicked out of the car.
He wolfed down his hamburger (even without cheese) and started getting to work on his french fries, being extra careful due to the fact that he was pretty sure Spy would kill him if he dropped a fry in his nice, fancy, very very clean car.
He could only play it cool for so long once a joke occurred to him, though. He grinned, taking a fry and holding it between two fingers up near his face. “Hey, look, I’m you,” Scout joked, pretending to take a drag.
Spy spared him a glance and promptly rolled his eyes, returning to glaring at the road. “Not even close.”
“Aww, what?” Scout complained.
“First of all, I’m better dressed,” Spy quipped. “Second of all, I’m taller, and third of all, I didn’t get my arm put in a case because of a bar fight. Shall I continue? The list goes on.”
“Well why are you gettin’ personal about it?” Scout asked, bristling. “I was just makin’ a joke, sheesh.”
“How was I meant to know? Usually jokes are funny,” Spy said, raising an eyebrow at him.
Scout didn’t have a good comeback for that, just sinking in his seat and moving to look back out the window.
A good ten minutes of silence again, broken only by the radio and the hum of the car. Scout finished his fries and put his trash back in the bag the way that Spy seemed to be doing, then crossed his arms over himself and just looked out the window at all the nothing. Silence. Road.
Surprisingly, Spy spoke first. “You’ve missed two Volkswagen Beetles,” he noted.
Scout didn’t say anything.
“Usually when we pass one of those you punch me very hard on the arm and I almost crash the car because you’re an idiot.”
Scout sunk further in his seat, but didn’t say anything.
“Am I meant to gather from this that the way to get you to stop doing that is by making you angry with me? Because if so, clearly I’ll need to be much worse to you from now on if I want to keep this vehicle in one piece.”
“Like that’s even possible for you,” Scout said under his breath.
“I didn’t need to come pick you up from the hospital, nor did I need to let you turn on the radio, nor did I need to pull over to allow you to get food from the diner,” Spy pointed out. “All things considered, I’ve been very nice to you so far.”
“What a saint,” Scout mumbled sarcastically.
Silence. “Do you have something to say?”
“I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about this, alright Spy?” Scout finally huffed.
“And why not?”
“Look, I’ve had a shitty night, okay?” Scout snapped, glaring hard at the desert outside the window. “I got my arm broken in a stupid bar because the guys got annoyed and ditched me and I was up until like four in the morning getting my arm set and put in a cast and then I had to sleep on a shitty bench in a hospital waiting room and then Miss P sent the one person on the planet who hates me more than anyone else to pick me up. I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this right now, okay? Just lay off.”
Silence. Thank god for the radio, or he would’ve suffocated in it.
“Surely I’m not the person who hates you the most in the world,” Spy said after a few moments. “There are nine men being paid to kill you on a daily basis. I’m sure they hate you much more than I do.”
Scout didn’t reply to that.
“And I’m sure none of them would have pulled over to let you get something to eat,” he added.
“Yeah, holy shit, your Peace Prize is in the mail,” Scout huffed.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” Scout snapped, finally looking over at him. Spy couldn’t hold eye contact for long, needing to watch the road. “What was that supposed to mean?”
Spy sighed hard, looking extremely irritated. “It means that have you ever considered that perhaps the team worries when someone goes missing? And that occasionally your teammates might worry about you?”
“How was I supposed to know? Usually teammates are supposed to be nice,” Scout sassed, echoing Spy’s earlier joke.
He watched Spy take a measured inhale, a controlled exhale. When he spoke a long few seconds later, his voice was level. “Fine,” he said. “Alright. You’ve made your point.”
Scout just turned to look back out the window.
“...And I’m sorry we left you alone at the bar.”
His head whipped back around, eyebrows furrowed. Spy wasn’t looking at him.
“And I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier, and thank you for also getting me a sandwich when you didn’t need to,” Spy continued.
Scout waited a good few seconds for the catch, for the ‘gotcha’, for the punchline. For the part where Spy would twist the words around and hit him with something really biting once his guard was down. But nothing came. Just silence.
He needed a long moment to figure out how to reply. “...Thanks,” was all he could manage, and he knew it was lame, but Spy just shrugged and made no further comment.
Minutes of silence. Scout looked out the windshield, picked at his cast. “Punch buggy,” he quipped a few minutes later, slugging Spy on the shoulder with his good hand, and Spy made an appropriate sound of disgust and annoyance and offhandedly threatened to make him walk the rest of the way, but Scout just laughed.
#dad!spy#tf2#team fortress 2#my fanfiction#shut up me#everybody talks#spy orders one black coffee and keeps driving like the john mulaney bit
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Chinese Food in The American West
One of the things I frequently come across as a student of the American West* is that people get most of their information from movies and TV and then act like they know things. Wyatt Earp was not a Lawful Good champion who always did his level best even when it was hard to know. (You want Seth Bullock or Bass Reeves). Racism was far more complicated than white vs not white (I’ve talked about this EXTENSIVELY in Strange Empire, so I’m not going to bore you here**).
And they didn’t just eat steak. In fact, they rarely ate steak.
Steak as cowboy food isn’t INACCURATE, but it is MODERN. From about the early 1900s on, you had less and less drives and more and more ranchers who were staying put, with less and less hands needed, and so food was grabbed less “on the go.” Cows could be slaughtered and used to feed the family, allowing for more opportunities for things like steak, yes, but also things like chili, a play on sauerbraten, southern-style biscuits. The cattle drives were a real blend of culture and race, and a lot of what we have left as “Western food” owes a great deal to that.
And if we leave the cattle drives and head into the towns of the American West, as we will today, we find things like oysters, pies, and various things like that. Far more well-heeled than the general expectation.
I mean, here’s the menu from the Occidental Saloon circa the late 1880s:
Soups
Chicken Giblet and Consumme, with Egg
Fish
Columbia River Salmon, au Beurre Noir
Relieves
Filet a Boeuf, a la Financier
Leg of Lamb, Sauce, Oysters
Cold Meats
Loin of Beef, Loin of Ham, Loin of Pork, Westphalia Ham, Corned Beef, Imported Lunches
Boiled Meats
Leg of Mutton, Ribs of Beef, Corned Beef and Cabbage, Russian River Bacon
Entrees
Pinons a Poulett, aux Champignons
Cream Fricasse of Chicken, Asparagus Points
Lapine Domestique, a la Matire d'Hote
Casserole d'Ritz aux Oeufs, a la Chinoise
Ducks of Mutton, Braze, with Chipoluta Ragout
California Fresh Peach, a la Conde
Roasts
Loin of Beef, Loin of Mutton, Leg of Pork
Apple Sauce, Suckling Pig, with Jelly, Chicken Stuffed Veal
Pastry
Peach, Apple, Plum, and Custard Pies
English Plum Pudding, Hard Sauce, Lemon Flavor
This dinner will be served for 50 cents.
-I got this from the book “Saloons of the Old West” by Erdoes
But none of that is precisely why I’m here, I just can’t stop myself from talking about this, why I’m here is that one of the things I say that often surprises people, is that Chinese food was incredibly common for the, well, common man to eat. There’s very much a conception that we as a non-Chinese American people did not start eating Chinese food until the 40s and 50s, and its truer that it took longer to catch on in the American East than the West simply as a matter of proximity and choice.
Not MORE choice but LESS. Part of what made the West so unique, historically, is that the lack of choice and the basic scarcity caused people to work with and patronize people that their general prejudices would have kept them from using back east, because they had CHOICES. But out in the west, less so. There were few choices for a quick, cheap meal on the go. That dinner I just posted above is a lavish affair, and a great deal at approximately $20.00 in today’s money. (Which does not allow for the fact that cost of supplies has gone up and this dinner would most likely be offered for no less than 70 or so today.)
People desperately wanted something that was cheap and quick, and the other options in the American West were few, far between, and not intensely pleasing. No one had really come up with the sandwich shop as of yet, and in any case, fresh meats and cheeses would have been too difficult for the low-cost supplier.
ENTER THE CHINESE POPULATION.
If you have read my Strange Empire blogs, I hope you know that Chinese people were a huge presence in the American West, mostly working for the railroad and various mines, but also doing things like laundry, work that was extremely hard but took little in the way of English speaking. They existed in Chinatowns, for a combination of cultural and legal factors, but it’s a misconception that non-Chinese*** people never went to Chinatown.
People are not new, and it was not unusual for non-Chinese people to use the laundries, tailoring, and other services of Chinatowns while suppressing the rights of Chinese people int he same breath. There were always individual Chinese people any given non-Chinese person liked and did business with.
In time, they discovered the inherent wisdom of the noodle bowl.
I don’t mean to suggest that all these early restaurants served was noodle bowls, but that was where it all started. Remember, Italian food had little prominence in America at the this time, as Italian immigration didn’t really get into full swing until the 1870s in America. While there are noodle traditions half of everywhere, and there is nothing new under the sun, what we today would consider a stir-fry bowl was wildly new to most of the non-Chinese folks in the West. That it could be offered up so cheaply, was so filling, and so delicious (more on this later) was a wild revelation. Everyone from simple cowboys (which, fun fact! Was a slur back then!) to mayors were swinging by Chinatowns to try the dishes.
By the 1920s, chop suey, a fully Chinese American invention derived from the words for “various leftovers” was a hugely popular American food among all sorts.
Doc, you may ask, was it just that these folks coming through to get medicines or laundry were SO adventurous? Not at all! Chinese restaurants back then actually, in a very short amount of time, realized that their non-Chinese townsfolk were an excellent way to make money as well, and began to adapt and change dishes to better fit the Western palate, leading what we call American Chinese Food today, which is a legitimate foodway I will defend to my death. Unfortunately, none of these menus survive today--the only ones we have are from places in San Francisco, places that were much more posh, and not the subject of this essay.
There is a scene in Tombstone where Wyatt and his brothers are eating Chinese food, and it’s one of the things people often ask me about, assuming it’s anachronistic. Actually, it isn’t at all--the anachronism is that there’s broccoli in those noodle bowls, which had not yet hit our shores by the time of the OK Corral. Chinese food was a huge hit, Chinese restaurants were doing extremely well, and some Chinese restaurants were even beginning to attempt to print menus in English, with sit down areas, instead of serving simple fare from food carts.
As the food from these “chow chow houses” grew in popularity, as we can infer from the advertisements of their competitors promising free potatoes with every meal, and other such niceties to entice, there was, as ever there must be, blowback. Anti-Chinese sentiment grew to a fever pitch, and with this came overt pressure for ‘Good Americans” to patronize ‘American restaurants’. The social pressure is actually where we get some of that old racist jargon about Chinese people serving dogs and cats, which people often think was spread by competitors to degrade the Chinese restaurants, which isn’t UNTRUE, but was just as often said sheepishly by someone who couldn’t stop themselves from going and grabbing a noodle bowl or even the American dishes they offered, such as roast chicken or pork chop sandwiches.
(I won’t comment with anything but an eyeroll on the bullshit of people saying they’re ~allergic to MSG~ okay I’ll believe you when you stop eating processed food, meat, aged cheese)
It actually kept this type of reputation as being slightly scandalous well into the early 1900s, as being something you ate after the bar, something to be had in the shadows, but it was all for naught, because Chinese food became an important part of American identity. But for all that, no one ever pictures the Lone Ranger chowing down (the American phrase ‘chow’ for food actually comes from these ‘chow chow houses’) on some chop suey, but there’s every reason to believe he would have. American Chinese food is just as American as the Germanically-influenced hamburger.
(There’s a whole subtopic to go down about Jewish and Chinese communities and Kosher Chinese Food, two marginalized and othered communities coming together, but that’s a WHOLE other topic)
(Also someone please buy me Chinese food. This shit always makes me so hungry.)
*The American West is a specific time period, as far as the study of history goes. It covers the period between the end of the Civil War and the New Century, generally, and is, obviously, concerned with the western half of the country. It doesn’t cover stuff like Lewis and Clark (that’s Expansion) or even the Civil War itself, though you cannot possibly hope to study the American West in any level of seriousness without understanding the Civil War. Anyway! I know a lot about America between 1865 and 1900, and am just knowledgeable enough to be dangerous on everything else. Most History nerds are highly specified like this. We’re not as much help to your trivia team as you think.****
**I actually have had little chance to talk about ~European-style xenophobia~ as it played out in the west, because Strange Empire takes a more modern pass at it. But there was a hierarchy of “whiteness” as well, as still largely exists in Europe, land of intentionally clean ethnostates.
***I use the term “non-Chinese” instead of white because believe it or not, non-white people were not magically free of racism against Chinese people. It was horrific and BASICALLY every non-Chinese person was guilty of it to some level, a wild-ass level of hatred that led to Chinese folks not being able to PURCHASE PROPERTY BY LAW in ENTIRE STATES. Being Chinese or Native in this place and time was your Worst Bet.
****I actually was on a competitive trivia team, you DO want me.
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I see You
I’m back on my bs yall. This is meant to be a companion piece to this so if you’re in the mood for some pure and extremely shameless comfort maybe check it out?
I somehow ended up writing 3.8K of Manburg family dynamics, set in an alternate universe where none of the extremely messed us stuff of the canon happened. ((we could have had it all))
Once again do not take this as ship content!! Let’s normalize platonic cuddling and being close with your friends without it being sexual!! Pretty pretty please!!
Contrary to popular belief, Schlatt is not that dense when it comes to feelings.
His ignorance of other people's emotions is a willing act of defiance. Defiance towards whom, you may find yourself asking?
… Anyway.
Schlatt does notice things. Stuff happening around him. And he does remember them.
He knows Tubbo takes his morning tea with two spoonfuls of honey, and a slice of bread with any marmalade on it except raspberry, which as it turns out he doesn't like. Schlatt stops providing raspberry marmalade, but it never really gets questioned.
He knows Fundy will get scraped up while exploring during the day, and will always forget to bandage himself up properly, so he makes sure to mention it in passing to whoever is near him at the end of the day - just to know that people will check up on the kid. He doesn't need to go himself, Fundy would never allow him to take care of him directly, and he's not going to subject either of them to that situation.
Most of all, he notices Quackity - with him being the Vice President, they're around each other a lot.
Quackity is a bright light in the cabinet.
While Tubbo is a warm late afternoon glow and Fundy is burning fire, Quackity is sunshine by the seaside on a midday spring day.
Quackity likes coffee, but only if it's been drowned with sugar. He likes singing, humming tunes to himself as he works or while he cooks - he does it for everyone, whenever he has the time to, and he is one of the best cooks there are. He likes to debate, bringing up topics to talk about during slow times, engaging Tubbo into verbal spars. He makes sure that Fundy has eaten at least three times per day, and that he's gone to sleep at a decent time.
He smiles to himself whenever he finishes a document. Ruffles Tubbo's hair. Touches Fundy's shoulder to stop him to ask him how he's doing. Taps Schlatt's shoulder to catch his attention.
Quackity is a very tactile person.
Schlatt remembers him hugging people, throwing arms around shoulders, laughing out loud with tears at the corners of his eyes.
So it's no wonder that a couple of months into their presidency, with work and paperwork occupying most of their days, Quackity is both overly stressed and constantly fidgeting.
It comes to a point when Schlatt catches him visibly reaching out to people and then backing away, awkward and embarrassed, mumbling excuses before making a joke of being lost in his mind due to work.
That cannot continue. It simply cannot.
Schlatt finishes his paperwork an hour early that night, then he takes a swig from one of his already opened bottles for good luck and gets to work.
The trip from his study to Quackity's is almost too long - it gives him almost enough time to change his mind, almost enough time to chicken out and just plan something else, maybe unleash Tubbo on him. But before he can formulate the idea in his mind, he's standing in front of the oak door and his hand is already raised to knock.
Too late to back down. A part of him reasons, despite the fact that it isn't.
"Come in." Quackity's voice answers after he raps his knuckles against the wood.
The room inside is dimly lit: the only source of light is a small table lamp that shines a beacon on Quackity’s documents as his pen flies on the paper sheet, the man’s slightly hunched back straightening when he notices him entering, a small tired smile appearing on his face.
"What are you doing here?" He asks, his head tilting lightly to the side - then bending further, one hand coming up to rub at his neck with a slightly pained expression. Schlatt advances, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging while Quackity seemingly discovers more and more sore spots along his back.
"I finished my paperwork, I figured I'd stop by."
"Oh, cool. -” he replies with one final satisfied grunt “- I'm almost done with this."
Schlatt nods absentmindedly, gesturing vaguely with a hand towards a nearby armchair: "You mind?" There’s a moment of confused silence as Quackity looks at him as if he’s grown a second set of horns, a mixture of surprise, amusement and incredulity overcoming his features, then he shakes his head and chuckles to himself. To be fair, any other night he’d have flung himself on his bed the instant his paperwork had been done. Still, Quackity recovers quickly, nodding towards him and swiftly resuming his work.
It’s hard not to fall asleep with the sound of his friend’s pen running over paper calming his nerves, the dimness surrounding them and the comfiness of the armchair under him. He remembers when Quackity had brought it in, slightly old looking and covered in a transparent sheet of plastic: he’d called it a lifetime occasion, found in a yard sale, and Schlatt had doubted its usefulness - after all, they had a couch in the livingroom and multiple chairs for each of their desks.
And yet, there hasn’t yet been a day when the armchair wasn’t occupied by someone. When the days are cold, Tubbo can often be found curled up in it with a mug of hot chocolate and a blanket safely tucked around his shoulders - by whom should be quite obvious. And sometimes, when the nights are too long and sleep avoids Fundy, he retreats there, silently, and turns the armchair so that he can keep a watchful eye over Quackity as he works - that is, until sleep finds him, comforted by the knowledge that they’re all safe and alive.
There’s a small bookshelf next to the armchair, filled with tomes both bought, found and written - some in English, most in Spanish. Quackity is nothing but fond and proud of his collection, and while Schlatt’s not going to tell anyone, he has read plenty of poems from the books that looked the most used. He’s aware that his Spanish isn’t the best, but it helps with keeping his knowledge fresh.
His eyes catch on a thin book that he doesn’t remember seeing before - its title along the spine is a mesh of letters, with way too many consonants, and definitely in a language he doesn’t know. Picking it up, he figures it will help with his task of not falling asleep as he waits, but alas, as on the spine, the whole book is filled with too many long words - is that a whole line of just one? Who made this up?
He starts flipping back to the incipit, in hope of at least finding the author’s name. When he reaches it, though, what catches his attention first isn’t the name itself - Goethe, ah, that’s it, German - but a hand-penned inscription just below.
“Hey Da Dumbass, I heard you like poetry in foreign languages. Try and read this. Fundy.”
Thankfully, the sound of a satisfied grunt reaches his ears and unknots the tightness in his throat and distracts him from the warmth spreading in his chest.
Behind him, Quackity - he calls him dad - stretches his arms behind his back and sighs.
"Alright, this one's done! -” he starts, smiling proudly to himself before shooting a somewhat guilty look towards the rest of the documents piled up on his desk “- You know, you don't have to wait for me, I figured since it's not so late I could get a bit of stuff done ahead of time-" Schlatt levels him with an unimpressed stare, then claps the book closed and places it back in its original place before standing up and making his way towards his still sitting friend.
"Alright, that's it." Quackity looks visibly confused, even a bit worried, as he leans back into his chair, but Schlatt is a man on a mission: he won’t be swayed by it, this is supposed to be an intervention. He stops once he’s close, standing up right next to Quackity, and his friend looks nervously up at him, a high pitched self conscious chuckle escaping him.
"Wh-what- what's up?" Schlatt gives him a quick look just to confirm his theory, but he knows him. And most importantly, he knows himself, he knows he can manage it.
"You, in a moment-" He quips, bending down and quickly scooping the shorter man up, one arm under his legs while the other supports his back and then-
"Wait, hold on- hold on I-” Quackity starts to protest, but by then Schlatt already has a secure hold on him, so up they go, followed by a yelp by Quackity himself as he is quite suddenly hoisted up into Schlatt’s arms, one hand reaching out and wrapping around the taller man’s shirt with a vice-like grip as he splutters, eyes wide as saucers.
“HOLY SHIT-! HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?!"
And to be completely fair, Schlatt is not one to back down from the chance to boast at this type of thing, so he simply shrugs and squeezes him closer with a self satisfied smirk: "I told you I lift, you dumbass."
"I- I- put me down." Quackity gapes, seemingly still wrapping his head around the sudden switch in situation; the way he leans into the hold is probably unconscious, but it does confirm his theory that his vice president, his closest friend, is in desperate need of being on the receiving end of some care and comfort. And he knows, deep inside himself, that he’s not the best candidate for the job, but if nobody’s going to do it then he is for sure going to.
"I will in a moment. You need sleep." He replies, tone firm but not loud, reaching out with a hand to turn off the desk lamp - inwardly thanking the low light coming from the torches in the corridor for allowing him not to make a fool of himself by immediately tripping on his feet.
"I- alright, but I can get to my room on my own!" Quackity protests, sounding flustered, and Schlatt has a moment of hesitation as the sudden fear of having overstepped a boundary hits him. Maybe he shouldn't have done this. Shit, fuck, he's screwed this, hasn't he?
But as he pauses for a moment to look down at Quackity, to asses the situation, he realises that the man is actually clutching at him, and his head is resting under his chin - the soft fabric of the beanie pushing against his cheek the moment he bends his head to look down. Schlatt lets out a steadying breath: he can do this.
"I know you can. I don't mind doing this, though." He states, firmly but not unlindly, voice softening, and he holds him close again - one armed as he reaches out to close the corridor's door. A huff of breath warms a spot over his chest.
"I- you're such a fucking showoff, dude." He murmurs, accepting the situation with what sounds like a small smile on his face.
It takes him a minute, but soon he's opening the door of Quackity's bedroom. The shorter man, who had been slowly relaxing overtime, leaning more and more into his chest, startles as if waking up from sleeping and tenses up.
"Alright, now you can drop me off." He comments, but Schlatt is a bit more preoccupied with losing himself inside his own mind as he thinks about what to do next, so Quackity stays up - it's not like he's gonna wriggle around and risk falling on his ass on the ground. After a moment, he looks down at where Q's hand is clutching at his shirt, and at where his head is still pressed against his chest. A part of him is enjoying this too, and isn't really ready to let go, but still, this isn't about him. It's about what Quackity wants.
So he forces his anxieties down, swallows around the knot in his throat and tries.
"What- what if I didn't yet, though." Quackity is silent for a moment after that, but his hand doesn't unclench, so he counts it as a good thing.
"You're not making any sense, man."
Schlatt is stood in the middle of the room, holding Quackity up, keeping him close, and he feels like he's balancing multiple instincts wanting to drag him in any direction - anywhere else other than here, right now, when stuff is so confusing and worrisome and he's constantly scared of scaring Quackity off with something weird.
But yet again, he keeps it down, keeps it quiet. For his friend.
"I've been seeing how stressed you are. Is this helping? Please be honest." If he had a free hand, he would be running it through his hair, a nervous habit he's been picking back up. Yet, his arms are starting to feel the strain of holding a body up, so he's not going to risk letting him fall to the ground. After what seems like an eternity, another sigh in the form of a warm puff of breath hits his chest as Quackity concedes.
"... A bit …"
Good, he can't help but think. Communication is key in these situations. In all situations really, but he appreciates the fact that Q is opening up and letting him know he is alright with being held like this. Spurred on by this, he ponders his next words perhaps a bit too little.
"Is it the caring or the touching?"
Quackity visibly flinches at the wordings, leaning back a little - pushing more strain on Schlatt's right arm - to stare at him with a sarcastic frown.
"Shit, man, you are such a wordsmith-"
Too quick, too many variables lost to the moment, and Schlatt is swept up in the frenzy of the situation - he has never, ever been good at smoothing out situations.
"Will you just answer-"
"It's both! Geeze, are you happy now?!" Quackity's embarrassed outburst manages to at the same time shut him up and quieten the anxious voices in his head - so he was right, Quackity did like this, and he didn't mind it. Now if that wasn't a win in his book … he sighs, squeezing him close.
"Yeah, kinda. See, it wasn't hard. You little bitch." He comments, tone way too fond for him to be taken seriously ever again, but he figures he's allowed to be a bit soft - it's late, they're tired, and they're the only ones in the room.
Schlatt decides he's not going to subject himself to the mortifying ordeal of starting to lose strength in his arms - he has a reputation to uphold - so he quickly makes his way to the large bed, turns and sits down, inwardly relieved that he's managed to get this far. His nerves still haven't betrayed him. Yet. At least Quackity isn't launching himself on the other side of the room the moment he has a chance not to fall on the ground if he moves the wrong way.
"What are you doing?" Quackity asks, sounding genuinely confused as he looks up at him with furrowed brows, so now it's Schlatt's turn to splutter indignantly, the arm under Q's legs sneaking up to wave confusedly in the air.
"I'm about to murder you is what I'm doing- what does it look like?! I'm trying to comfort you!"
A moment of silence follows, during which Schlatt stares awkwardly at Quackity's shocked face. Then Q's eyes soften and he starts chuckling, shaking his head for a moment before he lets it fall back down against his collarbone, sneaking an arm around his waist.
"Feeling real fucking comforted, for sure." He comments, humour loud in his voice as he squirms around for a moment trying to find a comfortable position, quieting a moment later and letting out a small sigh.
"I am going to throw you into the river." Schlatt answers, bringing the hand that was holding his back up to the nape of his neck, fingers dipping under his beanie to lightly scratch at his scalp, pressing his friend's forehead against his neck.
When Quackity answers a moment later, his voice is but a murmur.
"I thought you were here to comfort me?"
"Shut up and be comforted, then, you dumbass." He huffs out, but there's a smile on his face despite the way he tries to seem angry. He is still way too soft to be taken seriously, and he'll be mad about it later, when Quackity will keep making coffee for the both of them, but then he'll lean into him while Schlatt's making eggs for Fundy, and he'll call him soft when he remembers to add the herbs the young fox hybrid picked himself; not to mention how he'll suddenly realise who had been bringing Tubbo back to his room after the kid had fallen asleep on the couch.
But still, it's worth it, as he slowly grabs the hand that is still gripping his shirt, gently pressing against his fingers until he lets go; he places it back on Quackity's lap, rubbing what he hopes are comforting circles into his wrist - he knows how bad it can get when you spend all day writing, and knows his intuition payed off when his friend's shoulders relax even further.
To be quite honest, Quackity hadn't even realised his writing hand had been hurting.
A joke threatens to rise in Q's throat, a way to diffuse the situation, a mechanism born from ages of repressing wholesomeness because that's the type of things that get you in trouble, because feelings get treated as a weakness, but he squashes it down, closing his eyes with a sigh as he lets himself enjoy the moment.
The warmth of a hug that is truly meant, the comforting weight of Schlatt's head against the top of his, the blissful peace that he associates with having his hair played with - It's been a while since he had the chance to do this, to feel this.
He could fall asleep like this, he thinks, eyes closing on their own and body melting into the sensation, and he finds himself floating, suspended - but also grounded, tethered by the points of contact between their bodies.
He feels- he feels like he did when Fundy tried to teach him German, him stumbling over the words while the other laughed with him; or like all the times Tubbo brought him outside in the garden, guiding him through the steps needed to take care of his beloved pets.
He feels at home.
And after a moment, he feels Schlatt relax too, his movements less precise, less rithmic, his shoulders sagging a bit as they lean more into each other instead of just Quackity against him - and doesn't that feel poignant, he thinks, but not pointing it out loud feels like a better choice.
He feels before he hears the low timbre of Schlatt's voice, unusually quiet due to a mix of tiredness and the silent atmosphere surrounding them.
"I'm gonna lie back. That alright with you?"
It takes a moment for Quackity to realise that he is asking for permission. He wants to nod, but that would jostle their heads. So he hums in what hopes is a notably affirmative way, and just to be sure his message is correctly interpreted, he turns his palm upward, fingers wrapping around the taller man's wrist, and squeezes.
He feels a chuckle vibrate through the chest under his cheek; again, quiet, toned down, but this time it also feels like he's trying not to move too much - and that right there makes him want to never stop smiling, especially whenever Schlatt pretends he doesn't care. Because if there is one thing Quackity knows is that he cares so much, despite the fact that he still pretends he doesn't know how a doctor found their way to Fundy's room after he scraped his knee, the poor medic armed as if somebody had just lost an arm.
Schlatt thinks he's so good at hiding his feelings, and then he stops buying a specific type of marmalade because Tubbo joked about it tasting funny. He is nothing but a dork, and this has just done nothing more than confirm his suspicions.
The hand in his hair gently cups his head as Schlatt leans back until he's laying on the bed, and Quackity has to swallow back a knot in his throat at the pure, unaltered sweetness with which he is being treated - like he's fragile, but not in a bad, diminishing way: like you would treat a fancy ancient vase, or a masterpiece.
Quackity squeezes his eyes, feeling himself get watery, and focuses on the fact that like this, he's not that comfortable anymore. There's no need for his legs to be both over his friend's body, so he shuffles back until he's more curled up against his side, half laying on his chest, head still tucked under his chin - by god how perfectly safe he feels with that soft pressure against his temple.
Schlatt lets him wriggle around, the hand in his hair never moving, and once he stills his other one moves back to his own chest, where Quackity's hand rests against his heart, and his fingers gently wrap around his.
"This alright?" Comes a murmur from above him and Quackity's fingers squeeze automatically in response, finding himself unable to verbalise an answer at first.
"Thank you." He breathes out a moment later, after he's able to reign in his emotions just enough for him to find his voice again.
"Don't- don't thank me." Comes Schlatt's instant response, the fingers in his hair halting for a moment as he pauses, seemingly deep in thought. When he speaks again, his tone is once again slow and hushed, and his fingers are once more rubbing slow circles against his scalp.
"You can come to me for this. Anytime you want. I want you to know that you can count on me."
And oh, alright, Quackity thinks, eyes widening for a moment - he has to hurry and squeeze them shut before he starts tearing up, fighting against the way emotions squeeze at his chest; pure unadulterated joy at the knowledge that this is true, this is good and this is his. His small, dumb, weird family, made of mostly jagged pieces that somehow fit so well together. Quackity clutches at the fingers wrapped around his, squeezing maybe just a bit too tight, throat thick and feelings running, and then he simply nods into his friend's collarbone.
Schlatt just squeezes back - and that's just how they are, two dumbass friends holding onto each other, doing their best.
Minutes later, he falls asleep, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of his friend's chest and the gentle feeling of being held.
#my writing#quackity#jschlatt#dream smp au#we're back with some good ol comfort#I do hope you'll enjoy
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Literature
Bucky Barnes Gen, 1756 words, rated T for Hydra shit
Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 3 Power Broker
Sam falls asleep on the plane over to Madripoor and leaves Bucky and Zemo alone. They actually talk to each other. I would say it's nice.
TW: brief allusion to past rape, internalized homophobia, brief mention of the holocaust
Read on AO3
Part 20 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series
--------------
It’s an eleven hour flight from Berlin to Madripoor, even with Zemo’s private jet. Once drinks have been served, food has been eaten and threats have been made, they all find themselves settling.
Sam has dozed off on a seat, seemingly exhausted. After all, they’ve already travelled the eight hours from the states, and the day has been stressful at best. At least, Sam trusts him enough to fall asleep while Bucky watches Zemo. He wasn’t expecting that. Or perhaps his human physiology is betraying him.
Bucky needs less sleep than a normal human on regular days, and he also can survive much longer sleep deprived. He’s well aware of the limitations of his body. Hydra tested them thoroughly and multiple times. Zemo would know as well, that Bucky might look tired but it doesn’t diminish his abilities as much as it seems.
The man in question is at his seat with his book, though he’s regularly looking up through the windows of the plane or around the cabin. There’s something quiet and wistful about the way he stares at a spot where the carpeting is not perfectly set against the wall to the bathroom.
The silence is good, especially after earlier, where Sam and Zemo somehow managed to gang up on him about Marvin Gaye of all people.
It’s not that Bucky doesn’t like Marvin Gaye. He just doesn’t like much music. He’s sort of lost the taste for it. His brain is usually unable to perceive it as anything but unnecessary noise that keeps him from being completely aware of his surroundings. And at least 40s music doesn’t have death and rape associated to it.
And he doesn’t need to know what Steve thought of it, whether Steve loved it or not. He’s not Steve. Steve journeyed light into the 21st century. Everything was something new to learn and experience, it was exciting and bright. Bucky is travelling with baggage. And he has memories attached to songs and tastes and sensations and events.
Bucky simply can’t use the notebook the way Steve did.
Sometimes, he wonders if Sam forgets Bucky wasn’t simply on ice for 80 years. The issue with him is that he lived through most of it, and it was all torture.
Or maybe not all . He woke up craving Karpov’s kasha the other week, and it makes no sense. He only tasted it during one specific time of his life, when Karpov and him got stuck in a safehouse in the snow, with no way to reach the outside world, for two weeks. The Soldier’s rations and formulas ran out long before they were able to leave. Karpov was too smart to let him starve, and perhaps that time alone with the Soldier, away from the world, with no way to freeze him or unplug him had made him see he was still a man. The kasha was warm, and thick, and sweet and sometimes, Bucky remembers that feeling and craves it.
The danger with people like him, America’s Super Soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals.
Zemo’s right.
In all honesty, Bucky believes he’s forgotten who Steve really was.
Memories become blurry when they age and no matter how desperate Bucky is to crystalize them, to remember them, to be sure of what he lived, all he manages to do is to frame faded photographs and fill in the blanks himself.
Steve and him didn’t have time. He found him after two years of searching, only for Bucky to be back on ice within two weeks. After that, Steve visited a few times during his recovery, when he introduced him to the goats he’d named after the sisters he finally remembered. And then, there was the War, and the Snap and once Bucky was back to life, Steve was shattered. And two weeks later, he was gone.
They didn’t have time to learn each other again. Bucky doesn’t know who Steve is anymore, half of his memories feel tainted by Smithsonian explanations, and he hates it so fucking much.
He hates that he can’t remember right, he hates that Steve’s slipping away from him every second of every day, that all that is left is the fucking shield and Captain America. That Steve’s legacy doesn’t seem to run deeper than that, else Bucky would have less of a single-minded focus on that fucking piece of useless fucking metal.
It’s only been three months. Why does Steve feel like he’s been gone for a lifetime?
Bucky breathes out a shuddering breath.
When his eyes focus again, Zemo is staring at him.
The book is open on his lap. Bucky can read the title. Same Sex Fantasies in Heterosexuals. Fucking hell. He doesn’t need that right now. At all.
“You’re a different man than the one I remember,” Zemo says quietly after a moment. His voice is soft, just slightly above a whisper. He knows Bucky has sharp ears. He knows he doesn’t need to wake Sam up.
Bucky dignifies that with a huff and looks away for a moment. Zemo’s eyes don’t leave him. He can feel them on him, on his face, on his throat, on his hands, on his body. They make him itch. They make him want to punch him for looking at him like that.
Like what?
You know exactly like what.
When Bucky looks back, Zemo’s indeed still watching him.
“You’re old now,” Bucky says eventually, in a vague answer to what Zemo said earlier.
“Eight years have passed, James. You cannot blame a normal man for something he has no control over.”
Eight years. So Bucky was right. Zemo wasn’t dusted. He stayed in that solitary confinement cell for eight years as the world moved on around him, as the world fought and lost half of its people.
Had he wished to be one of the ones that were snapped out of existence? Probably. After all, every second Zemo breathes and exists is a second more he wasn’t supposed to have. He tried to kill himself in Siberia, once his mission was over.
“Do you ever read normal stuff?” Bucky asks, a bite in his words.
Zemo raises an eyebrow, head tilting slightly to the side. His eyes are still glued to Bucky’s face. He still wants to punch him.
“I would need you to define ‘normal stuff’ to answer this question.” There is a hint of mirth in those brown eyes though. He knows exactly what Bucky means.
Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. “Machiavelli, fucking… whatever this shit is,” he makes a motion of his chin towards the book. It’s in German, something about boundaries in relationships. Hilarious, really. It’s not like Zemo has anyone to set boundaries with. Unless those eight years of solitary have somehow driven a rift between Zemo and his own dick. “That’s not normal stuff. Novels, popular stuff…”
“I wonder,” Zemo starts. “Have you any recommendations for titles of ‘popular stuff’ for me?”
Everything Bucky can think of is old. He’d told himself he’d look into acquiring books but… he hadn’t had the time or the energy.
“I see your taste in literature has elected to stay with your taste in music, then.”
Fucking ass. Bucky closes his eyes and sighs so heavily he’s pretty sure Sam’s going to wake up.
“To answer your question, James,” Zemo starts, conversationally, as if they aren’t enemies, as if they are just old friends, so old they have become strangers. “I do read normal stuff.” The phrasing is foreign in his mouth, in that accented voice of his. “I’ve read all the classics, and children’s literature. Eight years are long. I practiced my Russian with translations of Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings at first.”
Bucky hums, looking up at him for a moment. “I noticed your pronunciation had changed,” he says quietly. “Did you read it to yourself out loud? Pretended someone was telling you a story?”
It’s cheap. They’re both aware of how lonely the past eight years must have been. It’s cheap, and it’s low-hanging and Bucky almost feels guilty.
Zemo’s small smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Have you read Jules Verne?” Bucky asks, trying to erase his taunt with some more literary conversation. “Was obsessed with his work as a kid. Kinda like Tolkien, but even better because it was… full of invention, not of magic.”
There’s a floating moment, a few seconds of Zemo just watching him with that slight sadness in his eyes before it is washed away and replaced by a hum.
“I’ve read those books, yes. In the original French,” Zemo points out and Bucky is almost grateful for the boasting. “You should seek a new translation, if you’re not adept at the original language. The one I assume you read was a descendant of 1870 translations, riddled with errors and political censorship. They fixed that in the 60s. You’ll like the new ones better.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I’ll take that under consideration, I guess.” He’s so sure he’ll like it.
“And if you find yourself in the north of France one of these days, you should stop by this little city called Amiens,” Zemo continues. “A fine place, old and new, in the way only Europe can be. Jules Verne died there. The city’s positively themed after the man and his work. You can even visit his house.”
Visiting a dead man’s last residence? “That’s kinda morbid,” he mutters and Zemo has a small chuckle.
“People visit Anne Frank’s house as if the walls aren’t hollowed with fear,” he points out. “Dying makes one the public’s intimate friend. You know that better than anyone else.” He gives Bucky a sidelong glance. They both know he’s talking about Steve, and the documentaries and exhibits and think-pieces.
Bucky nods quietly and looks back through the window. The sun is painted indigo and pink. It’s beautiful. He’s forgotten the sunset could be this beautiful.
When he looks at Zemo again, he notices the exhaustion written all over his face, in the small wrinkles and under eye bags and the way his eyes won’t settle on anything for too long, desperate to stay awake.
“I’m not gonna kill you,” Bucky says after a moment. “We need you.”
Zemo chuckles tiredly, a soft and muted sound. “If that is the one thing that is keeping me alive… I believe I shall keep myself useful, then.” It’s almost sarcastic. A man living on borrowed time, wishing desperately he could be executed.
“You do that.”
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MEET THE MUSE POWER HOUR!!
━━ take a seat and REPOST this detailed little bio with criteria to introduce the world to your muse. no reblog karma or tagging ━ if you see this on your dash, feel free to partake in it!
☆ ━ B A S I C S .
NAME:: Zinon Konstantinou / Republic of Cyprus
NICKNAME(S):: none actually, as his name comes from Ancient Greek; it’s possible that his name is already short for some other name that has been lost in time. But if you want to pay him back on his usual sweet talk and make him melt in private or embarrass him in public, you can call him Zinakis (Zinaki mou) or Zizis (Zizi mou). Note that these are Greek diminutives so they work under the assumption that your muse knows Greek too. In English I guess you can use Zino, tho he’ll probably wonder what’s the point of dropping just the last letter of his already short name
AGE:: around 2,300 yo, says he’s 28 in physical age
GENDER:: male, he/him
NATIONALITY:: Cypriot
☆ ━ A P P E A R A N C E .
EYE COLOR:: green-brown/hazel
HAIR COLOR:: dark brown (dark enough that you might be fooled to think his hair is black until you see it flare copper in sunlight)
HAIRSTYLE:: a simple, short/medium haircut with voluminous curls falling over his forehead and the sides and back cut a little shorter (short enough that the curl texture can be hard to see fresh after a haircut). Maintains a careful hair routine to keep his curls looking their best and meticulously styles his hair every morning as in its natural state it can get pretty wild and frizzy
HEIGHT:: 174 cm / 5′8 1/2′’
WEIGHT:: 71 kg / 157 lbs
BUILD:: lean, broad shouldered, athletic... defined but not bulky, most of his muscles are in his legs from his running hobby
TATTOO(S):: olive branch on the left side of his chest over his heart, and text tattoos on both of his forearms (on the inside as they’re not really meant to be shown off but exist more as personal reminders), the right arm reading “ΙΧΘΥΣ” (ichthys, fish in Greek but also a Christian acronym) and the left arm “ανέχου και απέχου” (anéchou ke apéchou, sustain and abstain), a motto from his favourite philosopher
SCAR(S):: bullet entry and two surgery scars on his right shoulder, lash marks on his back that he refuses to talk about, lots of shrapnel from the WWs dotting his torso and legs, circumcision scar, various nicks and scratches on his arms and shoulders that he probably can’t (or doesn’t want to) recall the origin of. In case you were wondering, he has enough steel in him to set off airport metal detectors
PIERCING(S):: left earlobe, usually wears a peridot stud there
PREFERRED FASHION:: fitted t-shirts, chinos, and loafers for shoes, and if he wants to get fancier, he’ll throw a blazer on top. He likes quality (read: expensive) brands. Sometimes he’ll also wears button-ups outside of work but unless he’s going to the church, there is no force in the world that can make him button the shirt all the way up. He also likes wearing jewellery: besides his earring, he wears a golden cross necklace under his shirt and a thin golden band on his right ring finger (fake wedding band to ward off unwanted attention and uncomfortable questions about his marital status), as well as a watch... don’t expect it to actually help him be on time tho
TYPICALLY SMELLS LIKE:: woodsy and citrus-y cologne that may have been applied a little too generously, cigarette smoke that clings to his clothes and hair, whatever stuff he styles his hair with, and coffee breath
☆ ━ P E R S O N A L I T Y .
POSITIVE TRAITS:: allocentric || appreciative || calm || caring || challenging || charming || creative || compassionate || dramatic || efficient || focused || imaginative || liberal || loyal || neat || non-authoritarian || observant || witty ||
NEUTRAL TRAITS:: stubborn || perfectionist || sarcastic || confident || prideful || competitive || rash || unsentimental || artful || casual || complex || emotional || honest || outspoken || sensual ||
NEGATIVE TRAITS:: abrasive || argumentative || blunt || crass || cynical || egocentric || fatalistic || hesitant || indulgent || irritable || lazy || libidinous || meddlesome || moody || neurotic || passive || possessive || vague ||
LIKES:: cooking and eating good food, drinking coffee, indulging his loved ones, plants and flowers, nature/green spaces, the colour green, running (away from his problems), reading philosophy and self-help books, saving money (but also shopping expensive stuff; his argument here is that buying a quality item is an investment), pomegranates, math, napping and sleeping in when he can, and watching Hallmark movies and chic flicks (a secret guilty pleasure)
DISLIKES:: being yelled at/criticised/scolded, admitting that he’s in the wrong or doesn’t know the answer, being stuck in traffic, things/people not working the way he thinks they should, falling short of his own (high) standards, someone calling Cypriot coffee Turkish (call it Turkish at your peril), answering questions about his personal life or socioeconomic and geopolitical Situation™, rain/snow, being cold, the smell of roses, high fives, cockroaches, and wearing socks
PHOBIAS / FEARS:: failure, never being good enough, becoming corrupt, becoming a burden to his loved ones, being useless/unneeded and thus unwanted, losing his composure/self-control (and relating to his fear of losing control, he’s also somewhat emetophobic), thunder, public speaking, and horses
HABITS:: carries a frappe with him about half the time, smokes like a chimney especially towards the evening, talks with his hands, sometimes drives his car with no hands, always fiddling with something in his hands (if nothing else is available, the komboloi comes out from his pocket), is casually affectionate with others both verbally and in gestures, and apologises a lot (istg “I apologise” has become his catch phrase)
☆ ━ R E L A T I O N S H I P S .
SEXUAL ORIENTATION:: gay
ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:: gay
RELATIONSHIP STATUS:: his life is a mess and he’s married to his job (and the other issue is with his ‘deviant’ sexuality... however it doesn’t mean he never has needs for intimacy and may occasionally seek out casual relationships)
☆ ━ H E A L T H .
CHRONIC CONDITIONS:: depression, PTSD, neuropathic pain in his right arm due to nerve damage, chronic stress and insomnia (constant fatigue, restlessness/anxiety, tension headaches and occasional dizzy spells as by-products of all the other stuff)
ADDICTIONS:: nicotine (stress smoker with roughly a pack a day habit) and coffee, likely also dependent on antidepressants to function
(drinks alcohol very carefully in polite company - never more than two drinks - but drinks quite heavily in secret... and also lapses into a drinking spree once a year around dates that have no good memories associated to them)
ALLERGIES:: N/A
☆ ━ H O M E .
PLACE OF RESIDENCE:: two bedroom flat in Strovolos, Greater Nicosia, and a village house in Pano Lefkara (and also a villa in Paphos tho this one is rarely used)
METHOD OF TRANSPORTATION:: by car if the destination is more than 5 mins away
PETS:: considers himself too busy to keep pets, he has houseplants instead
☆ ━ W O R K & E D U C A T I O N.
JOB:: has an office job in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, along with his representative and diplomatic tasks as a nation (has enough paperwork that he often ends up burning the midnight oil to get through it all)
SCHOOLING:: school of life he received his primary education from the Greeks, Romans, and Arabs, and was later educated mostly by Orthodox priests and bishops. He has been trained in the arts of war and diplomacy both by the Frankish kings and later in the Enderun Palace School in the Ottoman era. Most of his formal education is from the modern era and he holds degrees in Classical Studies, Medicine, Economics, International Relations, and Public Policy from the universities of Oxford and London. He hasn’t practiced medicine since the 60s and dropped the title of “Dr” with his most recent name change. He is still certified as a medical officer in the National Guard and has the skill set roughly equivalent to an EMT
SPOKEN LANGUAGES:: Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot vernaculars, Standard Greek and Standard Turkish (both with a distinct Cypriot accent), English (with RP accent), French, Arabic, Farsi, Latin, Ancient Greek, Koine Greek, and bits and pieces of Russian, Italian (more specifically Venetian), Armenian, German, and Cantonese
SKILLS:: cooking, gardening, lying, carrying secrets, handling various weapons, emergency/battlefield medicine, sewing, playing tavli (aka backgammon), playing the piano, calligraphy (his handwriting is really pretty to look at but then you look closer and realise it’s illegible), traditional and modern dancing, mixing drinks, interpreting and translating thanks to being fluent in like 7 languages, scary quick mental math
☆ ━ R A N D O M .
QUIRKS:: follows Stoicism as a life philosophy (he seems sweet and unassuming on the surface but dig a little deeper and you hit the bedrock pretty quickly), cannot take a compliment (but secretly craves them), doesn’t like asking for help, collects komboloi (aka worry beads) - the nice ones made with real gemstones and silk tassels, has the patience of a saint but there is a limit to it and you don’t want to see what happens when that limit reached, is ridiculously sensitive to cold, battles an ongoing national identity crisis, and teeters on the edge of a burnout every few weeks
RELIGION:: Greek Orthodox Christian (devout in his faith but has a few personal issues with the church and its views)
THEME SONG(S):: What The Water Gave Me - Florence + The Machine
#🌿 | know first who you are and then adorn yourself accordingly (hcs)#me introducing my muses: and on this side of the rink we have a certified hot mess#in case you were wondering why I've been quiet recently#this thing is the reason#this thing took me two months of research so you better like it xD jk#sorry it's long but tungler refused to let me put a readmore
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lmao i havent posted on my DA account in awhile, but with the wayhaven chronicles book 2 coming out, i wanted to post about some OCs
B A S I C S
Full name: Iona Gray (Langford)
Gender: Nonbinary
Age: 31 (at start of book one)
Sexuality: Bisexual
Pronouns: They/them/theirs
Faceclaim: /
O T H E R
Family: Rebecca Langford (mother), James Langford (father)
Birthplace: Wayhaven
Ethnicity: English (Rebecca’s side), German (1/3 on father’s side)
Job: Detective with the Wayhaven PD & human liaison to “The Agency”
Phobias: Fear of not being in control. Whether losing their senses, being unable to control their own fate, or anything that catches them off guard. Iona operates in facts, statistics - when that fails them, it makes them incredibly uneasy. In addition, Iona vaguely just has an issue with intimacy, but that’s less a fear than a fast and loose comfort thing.
Guilty Pleasures: Singing / music? The detective cannot play or sing to save their life, but they love experimenting with sounds and listening to all kinds of music. It’s liberating to them.
Hobbies: Collecting! Anythng really, whatever catches their interest for a few months at a time, Iona will go antiqueing, stay up late to win Ebay auctions, and whatever else to amass a collection of junk. After getting to know Mason, they even started collecting snuff boxes, even though they don’t smoke.
Plus, photography! Originally, they were on the newspaper in high school, but it grew further into their police work and then a side job. An amateur wildlife photographer, mostly gets pictures of Wayhaven’s local rock doves rather than anything exotic - until the supernatural comes to town.
Languages: English primarily, but studied German and French for about a decade. A little rusty due to disuse.
M O R A L S
Morality alignment: Chaotic Good
Sins: Wrath/Pride
Virtues: Kindness/Patience
S T A T S
Charming vs Intimidating
Impulsive vs Cautious
Sarcastic vs Genuine
Friendly vs Stoic
Easygoing vs Stubborn
T H I S O R T H A T
introvert / extrovert
organized / disorganized
close-minded / open-minded
calm / anxious / restless
disagreeable / agreeable / in between
cautious / reckless / in between
patient / impatient
outspoken / reserved
leader / follower / flexible (more of a mediator / into delegation)
empathetic / unempathetic
optimistic / pessimistic / realistic
traditional / modern / in between
hard-working / lazy / in between
R E L A T I O N S H I P S
OTP: Iona/Mason
OT3: Natalie/Iona/Mason if that was possible I guess?
BroTP: Iona/Natalie, Iona/Ava, Iona/Felix (I just want everyone to be friends wow)
NOTP: Iona/Bobby (Bobby thinks it can still happen, but Iona has smoothly moved on from that. Mostly.)
5 F A C T S
The detective is trans and changed their name a few times throughout their life, but landed on Iona Gray as their full name - legal and all. Rebecca does have a different last name because of this too.
The detective is a hoarder. They manage to keep it under control, but if a bad mental health day hits or work piles up - Iona can get overwhelmed with all their stuff.
Iona wants a dog desperately, but simply does not have the time currently. So they volunteer to walk and dogsit their neighbor’s pets all the time. (Perhaps they only talk to their neighbors to get access to their animals?)
The detective almost flunked out of college (around the time they were involved with Bobby) and they were a wreck during that time. Eventually, with some assistance with their mental health and learning disability, the detective was able to finish their studies in sociology and forensic criminology.
Iona honestly wanted to work in the forensics area of the precint, but as Wayhaven is a smalltown, they were needed much more in a field position and later on, as a detective. Iona still likes to sit down with Dr. Verda to discuss cases or help him out with processing lab tests.
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police violence and propaganda in ITV’s Endeavour
“That’s not what my dad says... he says you’re all bastards.” - Tommy Cork, Endeavour, ‘Neverland’.
- first of all, I’m white, so if any black people or other poc want to weigh in, please please do. this isn’t going to be a post about race specifically (mostly because there’s barely anything to talk about, Russell Lewis loves him some white characters) but obviously since a hugely disproportionate amount of police violence in real life is towards black people, that has to be a part of the conversation.
- second of all, all cops are bastards. yes, in the uk too.
- it’s not like i’ve seen anyone in the fandom defending fictional police officers or anything (unlike, say, some people in the brooklyn 99 fandom), so this isn’t a response to anything i’ve seen, but if we’re all going to be stanning a cop show i think this needs to be addressed.
- i’m not any kind of expert, i’m just taking information i’ve learnt elsewhere and applying it to Endeavour.
- i’m very willing to debate on stuff, but read the whole post before you do.
Police corruption
so, the overarching plot in Endeavour, from the pilot to the season 6 finale, is police corruption. However, the corrupting influence is not the police force itself. Instead, it’s the Freemasons, a “secret” society. All the corrupt police officers in Endeavour, from ACC Deare to DS Chard to DS Lott are either Masons themselves, have Masonic connections, or are being bribed/blackmailed by Masons. The point of the corruption plotline is that the police are not corrupt themselves, it’s an external influence that is causing the police force problems. Our main characters are the good police officers!! They hate corruption!!
Fred Thursday
Fred Thursday is a narrative foil for Morse. His family life is a reflection of what Morse doesn’t have. This is a large part of season 1, mostly in Fugue and Home. However, he also does morally ambiguous things that Morse doesn’t agree with. For example, in the season 1 episode Rocket, Thursday is xenophobic towards a German engineer, which Morse is vocal about disagreeing with. We the viewers aren’t supposed to agree with Thursday about this, but there’s never a point where Thursday goes ‘oh yeah I probably shouldn’t hate this German dude who obviously isn’t a nazi’. He keeps his views, and this is never addressed again.
In the season 5 episode Quartet, Thursday covers up for a woman who pushed her abusive husband down the stairs, saying that he must have tripped. Morse also vocally disagrees with this. However, I think the writer intended Thursday’s actions here to be more sympathetic. Which yeah, fair enough, right? The wife doesn’t deserve to go to jail for defending herself. But the problem here is Thursday’s interpretation of justice. At no point, even after seeing evidence of domestic abuse towards the wife twice (and it’s implied that there was more that occurred prior to the episode that he knew about) does he arrest or question the husband. He thinks that because the husband died, that’s justice done. He didn’t actually try to carry out justice using the legal system. And I know that legally domestic abuse can be a tricky thing, especially in the 60s, but Thursday essentially ignores his duty as a police officer to intervene in the obvious domestic abuse situation, and then covers up for the wife. And the line that genuinely bothers me so much, and is what makes me think we’re meant to interpret his actions as good:
Thursday: God was out, he left me in charge
Like, no, Thursday, you’re a police officer and it’s your job to carry out the law, not allow an abuse situation to escalate to the point where the wife is forced to kill her husband in self-defence and then lie about it. And i’m positive that this was a quote featured on the official Endeavour Twitter page when the episode aired, so I think we’re meant to be like ‘oh yeah, that’s reasonable’, not ‘uhhhhhh wtf’.
Another, more recent example: season 7. During episode 1, ‘Oracle’, Thursday believes that Carl Sturgis is guilty of the murder of Molly Andrews - his girlfriend - on the towpath. He is questioned. He says he is innocent, and also has an alibi for the murder. Morse believes that Sturgis is innocent; Thursday believes he is guilty.
[SEASON 7 SPOILERS]
Thursday then spends the rest of the season following Sturgis around, trying to find evidence that he’s the towpath killer. Morse finds out about this and tells him to stop. He doesn’t stop. A different man is caught in the act at the towpath, and after being chased by a group of young women, is hit by a car and dies. It’s decided that he was the towpath killer.
Then, Strange searches a house that turns out to be owned by Sturgis. During this search, Strange finds a kidnapped woman, Jenny Tate, in an upstairs room. It turns out that Sturgis did kill Molly Andrews, and all of the other young women at the towpath, and that the man who died at the towpath was a copycat killer. Thursday’s actions here - stalking Carl Sturgis - are justified by the narrative because Sturgis was guilty all along, despite there being evidence to the contrary, and lawfully Thursday should not have been pursuing Sturgis after he was released from police custody.
But the worst thing Thursday does is literal police violence - and on quite a few occasions.
The “Good” Police officers
Now, I’m going to talk about two instances within the show where Thursday uses unlawful violence, and people within the CID cover up for him.
1. Coda.
(disclaimer: i haven’t watched this episode in ages, so if i get a fact wrong i’m sorry but i know the general gist is right)
Thursday is interrogating Bernie Waters, a young man with connections to the Matthews gang. He wants information about... something, I think it might be regarding a possible power struggle within the gang, or a crime somewhere. Morse is waiting outside, unaware of what Thursday is doing. He goes into the warehouse where Thursday and Waters are, to find Thursday... it’s unclear what he’s doing, honestly, the scene is framed so we can’t see properly, but it’s enough to cause Waters pain, and when Thursday lets go, Waters is bending over and breathing heavily.
Now, Morse doesn’t agree with this, and tells Thursday so. Morse: ‘I don’t remember anything about that in the Sergeant’s training manual’. He knows that Thursday isn’t above iffy conduct (he punches Teddy Samuels in the face in the pilot, and pays a newspaper salesman for information in Home). But in the end, out of loyalty to Thursday, Morse doesn’t mention it to Bright. (Similarly, in the pilot, Morse is outright asked by the CS if Thursday punched Samuels, and Morse says no, he didn’t.) Thursday gets away with it.
So, Morse is the so called “good” police officer. Telling Thursday he doesn’t agree with his methods isn’t going to get him to stop. He’s the one who people say, oh, but he doesn’t commit acts of violence towards members of the public. He just turns a blind eye to the officers that do do that.
And I don’t care that Waters is a criminal, or has connections to this gang. Police officers don’t beat up people so they give up information. That isn’t lawful.
2. Prey.
I had a conversation with another member of the fandom about this recently, and we both agreed that it really bothered us. For a large portion of the episode, the CID has in custody Mr Hodges, a park warden who offered a lift to Ingrid Hjort, a missing young woman. He’s also implicated in a similar case from around a year ago, in which a woman was sexually assaulted and left in a coma. He’s in custody for much of the episode, constantly changing his story about Hjort, but maintaining that they can’t prove his guilt. In a search of his property, Strange finds underwear belonging to the woman from a year ago, which would prove his guilt in that case. However, before Strange can return and present this evidence, Morse and Thursday are questioning Hodges again. Hodges says ‘I didn’t do it, and you can’t prove that I did’, while leering at Thursday. Thursday says ‘Can’t prove it, he says’, stands up and starts beating Hodges.
Again, this isn’t presented as a good thing. Morse attempts to pull Thursday off Hodges, and afterwards CS Bright yells at him, saying they’d just received evidence from Strange.
However, a plotline in this season is a bullet in Thursday’s lung, left from when he was shot at the end of the previous season’s finale, Neverland. This causes him pain and frequent coughing fits. And, you know, he’s dealing with a lot at home, like his son saying he wants to join the army. Bright understands this. Thursday is under a lot of pressure.
Then, Bright tells Thursday that he will write in his report that Hodges fell down the stairs on the way back to his cell.
So this time, instead of having a junior officer showing loyalty by not reporting an incident, we have a senior officer lying to protect his subordinate. And again, it’s framed like Bright is proving his loyalty to Thursday, but... police officers should not beat up people they’re questioning. Like Bright said, they had just gathered enough evidence to charge Hodges, so this was unnecessary.
Other incidents of note
There’s a lot to talk about in Inspector Morse and Lewis too, but I’m not going to elaborate on them in this post. If you want me to, drop me a reply or DM and I will. These include:
- Morse lying about his identity in order to gain entry to a suspect’s college rooms (Inspector Morse, ‘The Dead of Jericho’)
- Morse and Lewis entering a possible suspect’s flat without a warrant (Inspector Morse, ‘Last Seen Wearing’)
- Lewis entering a member of the public’s house and threatening her child by shouting in his face and grabbing his arms (Lewis, ‘Expiation’. This is called out in the episode by CS Innocent, however she doesn’t actually punish him in any way, and it’s framed as if Lewis’s actions were perfectly reasonable because the child was withholding information. It’s also worth noting that this child is black.)
- Hathaway threatening a teenager after he possibly is lying during a murder investigation (Lewis, ‘Intelligent Design’. The teenager commits suicide soon after, and it’s strongly implied that while the threats weren’t the sole cause of him killing himself, they were the breaking point for him.)
- Lewis and Hathaway hounding a suspect for the entirety of an episode despite him not being guilty of anything (Lewis, ‘The Mind Has Mountains’)
- Edit: Morse lying about a woman's involvement in several murders in order to get her a lesser sentence (Inspector Morse, 'Service of All the Dead')
General points
Often in police shows, the police officers commit actions which, while illegal, are framed within the show as being necessary evils. For example, two detectives have strong reason to believe a suspect is guilty. Instead of obtaining a search warrant, they enter the suspect’s house without one and search the place for evidence. They end up finding evidence that the suspect is guilty. Despite the fact that the detectives broke the law by illegally searching the house, they are justified by the fact that they found enough evidence to prosecute the guilty person. We, the viewers, are meant to find these illegal actions reasonable because they ultimately lead to justice being served; the ends justify the means. Well, no. In the case of police officers breaking the law, they don’t.
Conclusion
Endeavour is hardly the worst example of ‘copaganda’, i.e. propaganda specifically designed to paint the police force in a positive, rosy light. It’s set in the 1960s, it isn’t relevant in the 21st century. Nevertheless, I believe that any show where the main characters are police officers is a form of copaganda, even if unintentionally. We are meant to side with the protagonist in any media (unless they’re an antihero, which is not the case in Endeavour). In Endeavour, the protagonist is Morse, who is a police officer. The majority of the main characters are also police officers. No matter how morally grey Thursday is painted as, he is still a protagonist.
I’m not saying we should stop watching Endeavour. It’s one of my favourite shows. But, when a show incorporates police officer characters and police violence, we need to think critically about it. We need to challenge the ideas put forwards in the show instead of just accepting them. Yes, there are more important things to be worrying about right now, but I wanted to make this post because the murder of George Floyd and the ongoing riots in Minneapolis made me consider the implications of television shows which paint the police force as the good guys, because we live in a world where the police force are not the good guys. And when our media is telling us that they are, we need to stop, take a step back, and think about why that is.
Resources:
Official George Floyd memorial fund: https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd
Minnesota Freedom Fund (raising money to pay bail for those arrested in the Minnesota riots): https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/donate
Change.org petitions to hold the police officer who murdered George Floyd accountable: https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd?utm_content=cl_sharecopy_22414602_en-US%3Av4&recruited_by_id=2b2e5010-a181-11ea-8693-a9223455fd7b&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf_combo_share_initial
https://www.change.org/p/minneapolis-police-dept-hold-minneapolis-police-accountable-for-killing-george-floyd-as-he-begs-don-t-kill-me
Black Lives Matter website: https://blacklivesmatter.com/
A report of the independent review of deaths and serious incidents in police custody. This is very long, and even so only a general overview, but I would recommend Trends in deaths in police custody and suicides following police custody and section 13, Police Misconduct: https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/655401/Report_of_Angiolini_Review_ISBN_Accessible.pdf
Some graphs showing deaths in police custody in England and Wales over the past decade: https://www.inquest.org.uk/deaths-in-police-custody
Article about increase in deaths in police custody in the UK: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/police-custody-deaths-uk-latest-increase-2017-a8462616.html
#endeavour#itv endeavour#lewis#itv lewis#inspector lewis#inspector morse#itv inspector morse#endeavour morse#fred thursday#robbie lewis#robert lewis#james hathaway
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Chapter 32 - I Get So Tense That I Can’t Speed Up The Time
Berlin Germany, April 17 1990
(Andi is 20, Chris is 25)
ANDI: Feeling the cold concrete beneath my body is something I will never get used to when I slip. It was dark. really dark. So dark that I couldn't tell just exactly where I was at all. I gather myself up and find that I seem to be in a dark alleyway in between two tall brick buildings, completely naked and cold as hell.
Why, just why in the fucking hell did I have to slip?
With my one arm covering my chest as best I could - thank god my dark curls are long enough to help - and my other hand trying to cover the rest of me, I attempt to make my way out of the alley, being careful not to step on anything that could hurt me. I approach the sidewalk, staying close to the corner of the one buildings and look down both sides of the street to see if I could figure out where I am. Everything is written in German so I just hope to fuck I'm in Berlin.
Ok think Andi, think... where can I find something to cover myself with?
It's always this part that scares me the most, especially since I'm in a completely different country. I remember the name of the hotel that I booked for the guys, so if I could just find a way to somehow get there.
*****
"Hey du was machst du? raus hier!"
I was able to find my way into an apartment through the back and sneak into a bedroom as quietly as I could, find a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that were a little bit too big for me and a pair of runners but just as I was sliding myself back out the door, I was caught by the German who is now screaming at me while I clamber down the fire escape.
"I'm sorry, I had the wrong place," I call back to him though I'm pretty sure he had no idea just what I was saying.
"Wenn ich dich wieder fange, bring ich dich um!" He continues to scream at me and I can only guess that he hopes I don't show up again. Given by the tone of his voice though it sounds like he might kill me if I was to show up again, which wont be happening anytime soon.
Once I make it to the bottom of the fire escape, I quickly make my way down the street, hoping to see if I can find anyone who speaks even just a little bit of English so that I can get to the hotel as fast as I could. I walk a few blocks and find myself in the downtown district and I catch a Newspaper box that showed that I was in fact in Berlin. Thank fucking god. Now I just need to find my way to the Hotel.
*****
Lindemann Hotel, Berlin
CHRIS: "Look I know, we missed soundcheck but I don't care. I'm staying right here in the Lobby until she walks through that door,"
"Chris, man come on we go on in like a half hour and we're not even at the fucking club yet - "
"I don't give a shit!" I cut Jason off. We had been arguing the entire trip to Berlin and he was really beginning to get on my last nerve.
"You're the one who's always so damn anal about making sure everything is perfect, but suddenly once Andi somehow goes missing - "
"She slipped Jason - " Matt defends.
"Whatever -" Jason snaps back.
"Hey guys, come on," Kim starts.
"No fuck that! We shouldn't have to wait around for your girlfriend to finally make an appearance,"
"Since when do actually have anything to contribute to any sort of conversation we're having?" I snark back at him. Jason just stares at me stunned at my remark and I add "Just fucking throw your headphones back on and ignore the whole thing like you usually do,"
"Fuck you Chris!" He says and pushes me which makes me stumble back just a little but I maintain my ground and grab his black T-shirt by the collar and pull him to me, his eyes burning into mine.
"Fuck me?! Fuck You!" I shout.
"Hey, Hey guys... c'mon break it up," Kim says as he gets between us and I let go of Jason's shirt when suddenly I see Andi walking up to the front doors of the hotel, completely soaked as it had started raining. She opens the door and sees the four of us grouped around the lounging couches.
"Holy Shit, Andi you made it," Matt says.
"Baby - ?" I exhale feeling my heart fly out of my chest at the sight of her. I immediately runover to her and wrap my arms around her though she seems a little stand offish with me.
"Can I have the room key?" She says without much emotion and I slowly let go of her as she holds out her hand. I quickly reach in my shorts pocket and pull out the hotel room key and hand it to her. She turns to move away from me but I catch her arm and turn her to face me again.
"Babe, what happened? What's wrong?" I ask furrowing my brow.
"You guys should head to the club, you're already late so... I'm fine I just need to shower and get changed and I'll meet you there," She says barely looking up at me.
"Andi - ?"
"Chris I'm fine, just head over and I'll meet you there," She says and without so much as a look at me, she pulls away and makes her way up the stairs to the hotel room. I turn back to the guys and they look just as confused as I am. I shrug and shake my head wondering why she wont let me at least apologize to her but I figure I'll just give her a bit of time.
"Let's go... she'll uh, just meet us there," I say as I head towards the lobby doors, Jason rolling his eyes at me with Matt, Ben and Kim all looking between each other, then shrugging and slowly following me out the hotel doors.
*****
ANDI: I arrive inside our room and toss the hotel key on the table beside the door. All I wanted was to take these god forsaken wet stolen clothes off me and jump into the shower as fast as I could. I didn't want to talk and I didn't want to feel. I just wanted to get on with the night and do my job like I was hired to do.
Once I peel the soaking wet clothes off of me, I grab a plastic bag that was stashed underneath the bathroom sink and stuff the clothes inside. Then I toss the bag of clothes towards the hotel room door and quickly turn on the shower. Once the water was hot enough, I step inside and let the water wash over me as I quickly clean myself up. After a few moments it was like I couldn't stop the flood of emotions that suddenly rattled my frame. As the suds from the soap swirl down the drain, I lean forward catching myself against the shower wall and start to cry.
I didn't intend on crying but it was like I couldn't help myself. Traveling back to see Andy really just shook me up. I am by no means over him at all but whatever happened between us has really fucked with me. I feel horrible, heartbroken and guilty that I did the very thing that I never wanted to do. I love Chris more than life itself and I just can't get passed this horrible pain that I just keep inside.
*****
Once I finish my shower, I gather myself together and calm myself down enough to change into just some ripped up jeans and my Black Sabbath band shirt with my Doc Marten. I fix my dark curls as they fall down around my shoulders and find my bag that Chris had brought up for me before the inevitable time slip on the bus. I reach in my bag and pull out a little prescription bottle.
Just after Andy's funeral, I had an appointment with my neurologist for a regular checkup that I normally have every 6 months or so. He basically asked me all the usual questions that he has asked me since I began seeing him- when my original doctor from when I was kid transferred all my files over when I moved to Seattle - He performed a few tests, nothing out of the ordinary and suggested that I try lorazepam.
Years ago I was put on a different drug for epileptic seizures but for some reason, it made my time slips worse. Lately my time slips have been becoming more frequent once again but I was reluctant to try lorazepam, thinking it wouldn't do anything or once again make it worse. Since I'm traveling, I didn't think that I would actually have a time slip episode at all but as we all know, I can never seem to predict if or when it will happen and since I've been so busy, I've hardly had time to sit down and relax and play like I usually would to help keep the time slips at bay. The pills had been sitting in my bag from the moment I picked them up from the pharmacy and a part of me is still so worried about taking them. I obviously don't want to have another time slip happen again so I guess this seems to be my last resort until I can figure out a way on my own.
"Ok... Andi, here goes nothing,"
Reading the label, I pour out one tablet into my hand and close the bottle up, putting it back into my bag. I walk back into the bathroom and turn the tap on, placing the pill on my tongue and scooping up some water with my hands to swallow. I then check myself in the mirror and dab a bit of the water from my chin, and then grab the hotel key and head out to meet the guys at the club.
*****
Messehalle Bar and Night club, Berlin
ANDI: ".... remember, I love you, love yoooouuuu!!!!" Chris screams as he drops down to his knees on stage, pouring himself out to the crowd with incredible emotion. He leans back practically laying down on stage while Kim continues to wail on his Gibson Firebird. I stand off to the side of the stage as a few members of the road crew catch me up on everything since my time slip. After a few moments, the band breaks into 'Beyond The Wheel' and Chris continues the emotion all the way through. It's so incredible how he can do that as I admire him from the side stage.
Towards the end of their set, Chris picks up the mic stand and begins to smash it against the stage floor, causing the crowd to go crazy and scream how much they love Soundgarden. A far cry from the crowd last night.
"Thank you!" Chris bellows into the mic and slams it down on the stage, making the loudest thump as Kim does his feedback outro. Chris flips his curls out of his face and heads towards me, glancing at me but not much else and then heads down the stage stairs. I close my eyes for a second knowing that we need to actually talk this out and I follow him as he walks out the backstage door. I stay pretty silent as I follow him back to the dressing room, Kim and Matt trailing behind me and Jason following even further behind.
"Chris?" I call after him but he says nothing and doesn't look back at me as his curls sway with each stride. I exhale and try to catch up to him, reaching for his hand once I do. He just gives me a look but doesn't pull away as I look back up at him apologetically. I lace my fingers through his and keep my gaze on him as we try and find the dressing room to the place.
"Yo, Chris I think it's this way," Kim calls down the opposite side of the hallway.
"Ok, I'll catch up in a minute," Chris calls back with his eyes still on me. We stop for a moment and he suddenly moves me back up against the concrete wall, leaning down and cupping my face in his palm, pressing those incredible soft lips to mine.
It caught me off guard for just a moment, but this is exactly what I wanted from him since the moment we even started arguing. Our kiss instantly becomes heated, full of hunger, his tongue swiping across my bottom lip. I reach up and lace my fingers through his curls as his hands move to my hips, pressing himself against me. I can feel his excitement through his shorts already as my tongue plays with his eagerly wanting to just have him fuck me right here against the concrete wall of the club.
His hands move up under my shirt, his fingers feeling rough as they skip across my skin. They find their way to my breasts and he begins to tease each nipple through my sheer lacy bra. I sigh against his lips as his thumbs continue to brush across my nipples sending chills all over my body.
"I'm sorry baby," He says against my lips.
"Shhhhh, it's ok, I don't care. I just want you," I say against his lips. He chuckles and lifts me up as I wrap my arms around his neck, still never breaking our kiss. I wrap my legs around his waist as he somehow carries me down the long hallway looking for a back room.
With us both beginning to laugh, he finally finds a back room, which looked more like a storage closet but I could really care less as he maneuvers the doorknob and carries me inside. He closes the door and sets me down, finding a long string and pulling it to light up the room in a dim warm yellow glow. I quickly reach for his belt as he bites his bottom lip and unbuckle it as quickly as I can, pulling down his shorts and boxers, seeing his excitement before me. Without taking my eyes away from his, I quickly unbuckle my belt and slip my jeans along with my panties over my hips and down to my knees. Chris lets out a pleasing grunt, almost cave man-ish and turns me around, pushing me up against the wall of the closet. I let out a surprised squeal and giggle, loving how suddenly he is becoming so aggressive.
"You want me baby?" he asks.
"Uh huh," I breathe.
"You want me to fuck you baby?" He says low and deep in my ear as he grips my hips with his hands and urges me to spread my legs apart. I move my hands to steady myself against the wall as I feel his hardness, the tip of him teasing just at my entrance.
"Yea, yes I want you to fuck me," I bite my lip and I feel him push himself inside me, sending unbelievable shivers all over my body.
"Holy shit, you are so wet already," He exhales moving slow with the first couple of thrusts and then begins to pick up his pace. His left hand holds my hip to steady me while his right hand moves to cover mine against the wall, lacing his fingers through.
"Oh fuck yes," He growls as I push myself back against him just a little. He then slides his hand from my hip, his fingers immediately make contact with my clit, using slow circular motions at first, then gradually faster making my muscles clench around him.
"Fuck, don't fucking stop," I tell him half panting, my temple pressed against the wall.
"Don't worry baby I'm not gonna stop until you cum for me," He growls in my ear in which just the sound of his voice, deep and raspy from singing completely sent me right over the edge. In that moment I release instantly, surprised that I was able to get there so damn quick and it wasn't long before Chris himself cried out in animalistic hunger, releasing everything inside me.
"Oh my god," I pant, my cheek still pressed against the wall, my eyes squeezed shut as I try to come down with out falling on the floor. He chuckles as he gracefully pulls out of me and I try to turn around and face him. He laughs as he helps me and places his hands on either side of my cheeks, brushing some dark matted curls from my forehead.
"If that's how you apologize all the time, I should get mad at you more often," I giggle and he laughs, touching his forehead to mine.
#fanfiction#time travel#Time After Time#chris cornell#chris cornell fanfiction#soundgarden#soundgarden fanfiction#grunge#grunge fanfiction#alternate universe#also on wattpad#also on ao3#fantasy
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⌠ MIGUEL HERRAN, 21, CISMALE, HE/HIM ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, RICARDO ‘RICKY’ ALONSO! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in DRIVER’S ED; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (5 a.m. cigarettes after a sleepless night, the smell of burning rubber after driving so fast you break the sound barrier, cheap vodka in an expensive shotglass, scraped knees and elbows from reckless parkour). when it’s the (scorpio)’s birthday on 11/04/98, they always request their CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ kati, 23, est, she/her ⍀ @gallagherintro
STATS / PINTEREST / CONNECTIONS / CLASSES
INSPIRATION.
fernando alonso – formula 1
james hunt – formula 1
jp – redline
peter quill – guardians of the galaxy
emmett cullen – twilight
mercutio – romeo & juliet
han solo – star wars
charlie pace – lost
vert wheeler – acceleracers
BACKGROUND + CLICK FOR FULL BIO.
when ricky is born, there are expectations as the firstborn male but they are expectations that ricky refuses to meet. he’s stubborn, insolent, and straight up annoying. his dad is mysteriously never around and his mother suffers from chronic illness, so he generally has free range of the house and...free range to harass and drive out nanny after nanny
his younger sister is the balancing force in his life, proper in all the ways that he’s a mess and polite in all the ways that he’s uncouth. however, they get along really well and she’s his best friend in an otherwise large, empty house.
as he gets older, his father’s comings and goings are more noticeable to ricky and he realizes that he doesn’t really understand what his dad’s job actually is? and his father won’t answer his questions about it either. one night, when ricky is about ten years old, he sneaks downstairs to find his father covered in blood. at first he screams until he realizes, that’s not his father’s blood – it’s someone else’s.
put the pieces together, his dad is a blackthorne alumn, assassin, and...brotherhood member.
ricky doesn’t really get the chance to be close with his parents, but he is super close with his grandfather. his grandfather is a big man with a full laugh who used to race formula one like, back in the sixties. he’s a big name, and ricky wants to be like him, and his grandfather is the one that gets ricky really into the sport. racing.
ricky starts off by racing t cars, and when he’s fourteen and sneaking out to the track with his sister, things go awry. they’re stopped and kidnapped by brotherhood members. from conversations by the kidnappers, he can surmise that his father has something to upset the brotherhood and the kidnapping is a move to keep his father in his place. ricky have to listen to his father tell the kidnappers he doesn’t give a fuck about him (likely a bluff, but still stings) over the phone.
ricky’s father’s move doesn’t work, and he doesn’t get to them in time. ricky has to beg on the phone for his life. a gunshot rings out. everything else is a blur.
ricky wakes up the next day with a million questions, but there’s one answer: his sister will never walk again. a gunshot has left her without the use of her legs, but otherwise she’ll make a full recovery. she encourages ricky to continue his racing and tells him how much she believes in him.
he takes home trophies year after year while t car racing and people start to learn ricky’s name, to see him as an up and comer as they associate him with his grandfather. the next four years are hard work, but he’s healing from trauma with a new passion and a great support system.
ate age 19, he’s on the podium after his third formula three race, and he wins the championship, raining champagne on his teammates and laughing. his nights are busy, filled with parties and clubs, pretty girls and people willing to give him whatever he wants.
he awaits the next season and the rise into formula two, but he’s getting ahead of himself. late nights spent partying before the race take their toll on him, and his sister says it best. “you shouldn’t go out there,” she says. “i have to go out there. it’s fine, i’m just a little hungover. besides, it’s raining today. i have the advantage.” but he never learns.
ricky crashes hard, lucky to get off with a tbi and some broken ribs, but the drugs in his system render him a pariah and no one will really want to sponsor him after that. everyone had high hopes for him, but now he just looks like another stupid kid. he’ll never forget the disappointment in his grandfather’s eyes.
he spends most of the year blowing previous winnings.
after all of that bullshit, his grandfather sits him down. “you’re going to apply to gallagher academy,” he says. and that’s when he tells ricky everything, about his father’s profession, just like his grandfather’s brother and father before him. the legacy, the brotherhood, blackthorne academy, and ricky’s both riveted and horrified. “that’s what my sister got shot for?”
ricky passes the test while the brotherhood still has its claws clenched tightly around the reigns of gallagher academy somewhere. he’s a good driver, the fastest, and he might’ve been the best if he wasn’t so irrational and drunk on his own pride (among other things.)
before he can gain the skills to stop his father himself, someone else does. the news comes on ricky’s very first day of school: “dad’s been arrested.” and it’s like his whole world stops, because he always knew his father was bad, just someone else got to him first.
PERSONALITY.
ADVENTUROUS: ricky is not afraid of risks, and actually, this is usually in a good way. he pushes himself to want and pursue fulfilling life experiences, so while he’s made stupid decisions, he never lets fear stop him from taking chances and trying new things, so he’s pretty open-minded
CHARISMATIC: pretty good at putting on a smile and making himself likable when he needs to be, he has a nice smile and a good-natured spirit even if he can be a bit MUCH at times ! the kind of asshole that you can’t help but like anyway, he means well
FLEXIBLE: one of his great strengths is his ability to go with the flow, it doesn’t change him around or turn him inside out when things don’t go his way, he’s pretty adaptable and able to adjust when there’s a wrench in his plans
SELF-DESTRUCTIVE: ricky has a habit of ruining things when they’re going good for him, he’s notorious for self-sabotage and it probably comes from a mix of feeling like he’s invincible so he pushes limits and because he’s almost comfortable in the label of fuck-up at this point, not wanting to get his hopes up too high
ENTITLED: whether he likes it or not, he comes from a good family and a past where most things have just been handed to him. so, while he’s worked hard, he’s never had to work...that hard. he feels entitled to success and certain things in life and he can be a bit of a dick about it, even out of touch with other ways of life. he tends to feel like he deserves things, such as his gallagher education or another chance at racing
SELF-CENTERED: apart from his sister, ricky very much puts himself first and can be a bit selfish. it’s mostly out of self-preservation, but most of his thoughts revolve around him. he actually puts a lot of pressure on himself, which is why he turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms and doesn’t look at how his actions affect others in his life
HEADCANONS.
when it comes to his memory loss, it’s pretty manageable. he keeps up with medication and IF he gets a good night sleep/eats well...it’s good on his brain. but sometimes he’s not so great about it! his most common habits are: putting something down and forgetting where he just put it, asking you a question he’s already asked, and he’s bad with names
used to be good at fighting games but now he isn’t and he still tries and it’s sad :(
as you can guess, he’s really bad at card games but he likes to gamble so he’ll just bet on other stuff. always ready to put money on the results of a sports game or something, loves to do fantasy brackets
really likes anime movies! watches a lot, but his faves are obviously redline, akira, princess mononoke, perfect blue, and ghost in the shell. he watches anime too and tbh probably a lot of anime i’ve never seen like naruto, one piece, and cowboy bebop. for my sanity please don’t talk to much about them with him bc i won’t know what to write.
loves to skateboard and snowboard, and is pretty good at it because really the main thing is confidence and he has plenty of that!
loves to play pranks in class or on people, he’s got a whole repertoire of tricks he used to play on his nannies growing up and has no issue with playing them on a teacher with a stick up their ass
his primary coping mechanisms are 1) hating his father 2) cocaine and 3) acting stupid
is bisexual and honestly doesn’t give a fuck! guys, girls, whatever, sex is sex and he’s gonna like who he likes. has never come out to his parents but has never known them well enough for it to matter.
had a steady long term girlfriend but she broke up with him when he started to tank his future and started partying more, probably as self-preservation for herself and ricky feels guilty about how he treated her, doesn’t want to put anyone else through that
really likes german cars so it’s a bummer that he missed out on the berlin trip, he’s going to geek out and cry any time someone mentions berlin to him, he’ll be so jealous of their semester
has wicked good eyesight, 20/20 vision which is great on the track but he also has really good aim on a shooting range, he’s a pretty observant person as well
WANTED CONNECTIONS.
BROTHERHOOD CONNECTIONS. Someone who also had someone close to them (likely a family member) that was also arrested for being involved with the Brotherhood by the strike team. Both Ricky and your muse are dealing with the shock of this together.
FAN? SOMEONE WHO FOLLOWS RACING? Someone who watched Ricky’s rise and fall from grace by being invested in F1. It would make sense if they were a big fan of Ricky’s grandfather...and Ricky is the disappointment. Idk someone with predisposed opinions on Ricky.
PARTNER IN CRIME. The two of them just vibe like immediately they both have the same chaotic energy and encourage each other’s recklessness to take chances and do stupid shit, are probably hilarious and can’t take anything seriously when they’re in the same room together, the kind of friends that other people can’t stand to see them together.
WHOLESOME FWB. They get along really well as friends and mainly just need to scratch an itch sometimes. None of that toxic shit, they probably lay around and talk about their crushes and are actually friends.
CONFIDANT. Late night rooftop conversations, this person can get Ricky to open up, is probably someone who is really chatty and comfortable with their own emotions and they encourage Ricky to be open about his.
INFATUATION. Ricky doesn’t know your muse at all, just sees them in the hallway and thinks they’re super hot, probably an older and unattainable student that wouldn’t give him a second glance but he’s like...this is my future spouse. They just don’t know I exist. Has never talked to them and they might not even vibe if they ever spoke lol.
ENEMIES? They simply don’t! Get along? Hate at first sight? They see Ricky smoking a blunt on campus and think he’s stupid irresponsible? He doesn’t remember their name when he should have? He makes a stupid immature comment that rubs your muse the wrong way? Any of the above, ready to fight at any moment.
RACING BUDDIES. Another driver’s ed student who is willing to race with him after hours or practice together, they both wanna fuck the cars, they both are super competitive and bring that out in each other.
OLD FAMILY FRIENDS. Their parents knew one another, likely on his dad’s (Blackthorne/spy) side, and they grew up closely. After the kidnapping happened, your character’s parent stopped speaking to the Alonsos and distanced themselves. Your character is probably the only one who knows about that part of Ricky’s past in any detail.
GOT OFF ON THE WRONG FOOT. Ricky tried to flirt with your character but actually wound up pissing them off by seeming like an entitled white boy, which he is. He’s trying to prove to your character that he’s not so bad! This connection has nothing to do with feet I just had no better ideas for a name I hate feet.
REALLY BAD SEX. your muse has ricky saved in their phone like [link]...prob a hookup that happens on one of the first days after he heard about his dad but...he’s fucked up and sad and he can’t get it up! It’s literally so embarrassing, maybe they’re both embarrassed, he wants to die when he sees ur muse around bc they saw his limp ass sad boy dick.
CAT AND MOUSE TYPE THING. essentially ricky has a bunch of attempts to flirt with your muse & your muse fucking hates it. Tom and jerry but like, if tom wanted to fuck jerry. I think of this gifset.
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