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pengychan · 5 years

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[Good Omens] Winging It - Daniel 7:4

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael. Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: This chapter is brought to you by Gatwick Airport's free wifi and also sheer spite. Mine, not the airport's.

I'll only be able to be online on my phone for a couple of days, until I sort out my Internet key because wifi is still a mirage where I'm going. So I might be slow to reply to comment - but I'll get to it as soon as I can, I promise!

***

“I-- I didn’t mean to! He came out of nowhere-- I couldn’t brake on time-- oh God I never go that fast, I don’t know what came over me…!”

It sure had been a bad crash: as they ran up to the scene, Crowley could see that the car’s windshield was shattered and the bonnet crumpled by the force of the impact. A shame, that: it had been a nice car. As it was often the case with traffic accidents, there was a lot of confusion: the cries of the distraught driver, a small crowd of bystanders stopping to watch in horror, a few people trying to help and screaming for someone to call an ambulance.

The person closest to Gabriel was a woman kneeling over his mangled form - hands hovering over him but without touching anything, the way humans do when they desperately want to help but don’t know how. Aziraphale had always found it endearing: without realizing it, they were holding their hands exactly the way an angel healing the sick would.

“A doctor!” she was screaming. “Is there a doctor here? Anyone?”

“We’re doctors,” Aziraphale spoke quickly, causing Crowley to roll his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses; it’s not a clever lie to tell when you have just stepped out of the shop you have owned for something like two hundred years. Luckily, angels and demons both had a knack for getting mortals to believe them if they just willed it hard enough.

“I’m not touching him,” Crowley muttered as the woman stepped back to make way for them, only to be entirely ignored.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale called out, turning Gabriel’s face towards him. He was alive and conscious, at least, eyes wide and fixed on him. He tried to speak, but he could only cough up frankly concerning amounts of blood. His legs were bent at an odd angle, too, and stark white bone poked out of his left arm; the shirt he had just miracled on him was in tatters, asphalt embedded in his skin. “All right, all right - could be worse. I’ll heal you.”

“Why?” Crowley asked, and lifted his hands quickly at Aziraphale’s exasperated look. “No, I mean it! Have you considered that if he dies, he might just-- go straight back to Heaven? I would be a win/win. Wouldn’t he want that? Hey, Archangel Fucking Gabriel, nod if you want that. Or, uh, on second thought, do not. I think your neck is broken. How about you blink?”

Put like that, Aziraphale supposed it would make sense. He probably wouldn’t return as an angel the way he used to be, but he would at least be home… or would he? “We don’t know that,” he muttered. “For all we know he might go straight to Hell, given that-- oh, don’t look at me like that!” Aziraphale protested, looking down to see Gabriel had somehow found it in himself to look offended, even with his face and… just about everything else a literal bloody mess. “You were cast out, and-- and--” Ah, they really had no time to argue, not with so many people around to watch and an ambulance approaching. “Crowley, can you buy us time?”

A sigh. “If I must,” Crowley muttered, but raised a hand without further ado, and snapped his fingers. Everything and everyone around them - time itself - came to a standstill. “There. Now we can end him without witnesses.”

“Crowley.”

“Just kidding.”

“No, you were not.”

“Mostly kidding,” Crowley admitted. Truth be told, the only reason why he wasn’t being very serious was the sheer relief upon finding out, in the most unexpected way, that not only Aziraphale was not in danger: somehow, he was under the direct protection of God.

Not bad, that. It looked like Gabriel, the insufferable first of the class, had already received due punishment for what he’d tried to do to his angel. So maybe he shouldn’t give him an easy way out, after all. He may as well stay and face the music, live like the humans he so dismissed. And, as a perk, Crowley would take every chance to make the experience just… a little bit worse.

Unaware of his thoughts, or perhaps able to guess them all too well, Aziraphale sighed and looked down at Gabriel. He was still, like everybody else, staring at nothing. It did make him easier to deal with, Aziraphale though, and proceeded to pass a hand over him for the second time in less than a couple of hours.

Ghastly as they looked, the injuries were made by mortal means, and closed much more readily than the deep holes on his back had. Within moments the bones were set, the neck straightened, the wounds closed. Gabriel’s eyes maintained that distant cast, of course, but he’d be fine as soon as time restarted.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Crowley muttered sarcastically.

“He can’t talk. His mind is frozen in ti--”

“What, you think he’d be thanking you if he could?” Crowley groaned, and stood. “All right, let’s drag him back in. Then we come back out, restart time, and convince everyone the car only ever hit a pole.”

“Sounds sensible,” Aziraphale agreed, miracling away the blood on the car’s shattered windshield and pooling on the ground with a wave of his hand. When Crowley began to drag Gabriel back - literally drag him like a potato sack, he just grabbed his arm and began walking towards the shop - he almost protested, then decided against him.

Given the scope of the headache he was giving him, Aziraphale was fairly sure he deserved it. He didn’t think he was supposed to have headaches, but then again angels are not supposed to turn human as punishment for trying to destroy other angels, and yet there they were.

The world was even more full of possibilities than he’d previously thought.

***

“It’s not possible. You must be mistaken.”

“I am not, my Lord. It was definitely the Archangel Gabriel - I met him when I went upstairs with the Hellfire, for the angel they couldn’t burn. Oh, I knew something was off about him. This Aziraphale, I mean. When I saw him I wanted to try punching him, but he looked at me and--”

A furious buzzing noise caused the demon - someone so insignificant, Beelzebub didn’t know his name nor cared to - to abruptly fall silent, cowering. Beelzebub stood from their throne and took a step forward, towering over him. Figuratively, of course. It’s hard to really tower over anyone when the form you use the most is several inches shorter than most.

“Are you telling me,” Beelzebub spoke slowly, “that you went there to have a look at the angel they couldn’t burn, tempted a passing driver into speeding while you were at it, and that the car struck the Archangel Gabriel.”

“It did, sir. It was him. Didn’t recognize him until a moment before the impact, but I’m sure.”

“And he stayed down. Bleeding. Like a mortal.”

“Yes. It did seem really odd. Then the demon Crowley came--”

More furious buzzing at the mere mention of the name. The demon swallowed. “I mean-- the traitor came. Along with the other traitor. The one from upstairs.”

“And?” Beelzebub snapped. It got tiresome, really, how underlings kept pausing while reporting as though waiting for a reaction. Why do that, anyway? It wasn’t like the Prince of Hell was known to offer pats on the back and cookies - although at one point in time they had appreciated the traitor’s idea to get humans to bake cookies with raisins instead of chocolate chips, as well as the samples he had brought to the meeting.

“Well-- the traitors ran to him. I think they told the mortals they were doctors, and talked to him.”

“Did you catch what they said?”

“No. I don’t think he answered - he was in pretty bad shape. For a moment I thought he was dead.” There was a laugh, echoing in the mostly empty room. Standing by the throne, Dagon stood silent. The underling shifted. “Er… it’s funny because that would be absurd, of course. Angels don’t die in car accidents.”

“Nor they lie bleeding,” Beelzebub said quietly, frowning. “Yet he did.”

You can’t have him, Michael had snapped when Beelzebub had inquired about the fallen angel who had, apparently, not fallen all the way to Hell. He's not a demon. He’s not one of yours.

“I demand a meeting with Gabriel, at least he can--”

“He is unavailable.”

… Well. Now that certainly painted an interesting picture. Could it be that the one to fall, and yet not to Fall, was an archangel? And Gabriel, out of all of them? Had he been punished with mortality for… for what? Strategic meetings aside, which were needed to maintain a certain… order until their final war, Gabriel had always done everything painfully by the book.

“Do go on,” Beelzebub spoke quietly.

“Well, I remember they knelt next to him, and then… nothing. I swear I blinked and they were gone, and everyone was acting like the car had hit a pole - they must have done something.”

“Time,” Dagon spoke. “The traitor can pause time. They must have taken him somewhere else."

"Or destroyed him," Beelzebub mused. They crossed their arms, their scowl deepening. "I doubt either has warm feelings for him." Or for us, they thought.

"But one of them is an angel - surely he wouldn't… er." The demon - Beelzebub settled to call him Disposable 24601 - paused, having clearly realized how utterly stupid the statement was. Angels had killed plenty of times, and there had been that business of drowning out a sizeable part of Earth's population which, as far as Beelzebub was concerned, amounted to Heaven taking over what should have been Hell’s job.

It was almost as annoying as the swarms of flies unleashed upon Egypt. That had been nothing short of a personal insult given that those were supposed to be their trademark. Was God the Lord of the Flies? No. Was Moses? No. That was Beelzebub and Beelzebub only, and yet of all of the insects they could have picked, it just had to be flies.

It was one of many things they had meant to make God regret dearly once the Armageddon was underway, but now it looked like they’d have to wait indefinitely for a new chance. That really pissed them off.

"But they could have left him to die," Dagon was muttering, unaware of Beelzebub’s thoughts of vengeance. She was better at quiet observations than at rallying troops, really, and her observations were rarely wrong. She wasn't the Lord of the Files for nothing.

"Or ended him there while time stood still," Beelzebub agreed. "No need to take him elsewhere."

A nod. “The situation is-- unusual. Even by the current standards of unusual. Shall we send--”

“I’ll look into it myself,” Beelzebub cut Dagon off, causing her to blink. For good reason, too - they rarely left Hell, leaving work on Earth to lesser demons - but this was no ordinary matter.

An archangel had been cast out of Heaven, one of those most loyal to God’s plan, and they had every intention to find out why. Plus, as far as they were concerned, Gabriel belong in Hell now - just like every angel cast out of Heaven up to that point. Beelzebub wasn’t going to give him a pass, losing out on a new soldier for Hell, because Heaven had decided to pull a distinction between fallen and Fallen out of their halos.

Michael could take the fine print and shove it; Hell had a claim on the being formerly known as the Archangel Gabriel, and Beelzebub had every intention to uphold it.

***

“I can’t stay here.”

“I agree with him there.”

“Can you not agree on-- listen. You need to at least eat something.”

“I am not eating that. Never.”

“It’s sushi. It’s good, I told you. There’s the soy sauce, and--”

“And you drink it.”

“Crowley, please.”

“Oh, come on. Let me have some fun. Hey, Archangel Fucking Gabriel, see the green thing? It’s wasabi. Eat a spoonful.”

“Gabriel, you absolutely do not do as he says.”

“I have no intention to consume any of this. The smell alone makes me sick.”

“Mhh, maybe you should try having a toast…”

“Whatever that is, I refuse.”

“All right. You should at least drink some water, you must be dehydrated.”

“Give up, angel. It’s worse than trying to force Warlock to eat his vegetables.”

“You never tried to get Warlock to eat any vegetables.”

“And it made meal times a whole lot easier.”

“He got scurvy!”

“And you healed him, so no harm done. He sent Nanny Ashtoreth a postcard, by the way. He and his mother are going to the States now that his father was moved. Said he’d have preferred to return to England.”

“Oh, I received one as well! He said he’d try to convince his mother to come back for a visit. He’d like to say hi to Brother Francis. A darling boy, considering his upbringing.”

“Yes, his father is a prick.”

“... We also raised him as we would the Antichrist.”

“Don’t all nannies do that?”

“You and I remember Mary Poppins very differently.”

The discussion went on, and Gabriel paid attention to precisely none of it. The word ‘Antichrist’ would have made him listen intently before, but not anymore. What did it matter? The Armageddon had not happened, the war had not happened, the plan he’d spent his existence following and preparing for was null and void. And even if it weren’t, he had no say in such matters anymore. No mortal did.

They should have let me die. Let me go home.

The thought made something ache in his chest. He had never thought of Heaven that way - home - until now. And why would he? Heaven was simply Heaven, his obvious and natural place; he’d never been anywhere else for this long, nor wished to be. You don’t quite think of any place as home until you’re away from it and longing to return.

I want to go home.

For all we know he might go straight to Hell. Oh, don’t look at me like that! You were cast out.

No, not Hell, never, not him. It was impossible. Incomprehensible.

Ineffable?

Gabriel had never needed to ask himself as many questions as he did now, nor had he ever felt so lost. It made his head hurt in ways even the earlier incident and the bickering going on in the background hadn’t. Was this what humans had to do day by day? Question everything and make choices without guidance, on the hope they weren’t the wrong ones as they played a game whose rules were unknown? No wonder they had turned so self-destructive. Gabriel held back a groan - why oh why was his throat so parched - and tried to stop thinking. He could not.

How could this be happening? Why was it happening to him-- he had done everything right. He had followed the instructions, the orders. He’d done everything he had for the greater good, and yet there he was, exiled and doomed to walk on Earth for… how long? Was it temporary? Would he have to wait for the end of a mortal lifespan before he was allowed to go back?

… Would he be allowed back at all?

Too many questions and not a single answer. It would drive him mad; however insignificantly short human lives were, the idea of spending the next decades with that doubt in mind and no answers made it feel like half an eternity. Was he supposed to do something to return home? Was he supposed to earn it, to atone for… whatever he had done wrong? But how? He had no plan, no instructions, no nothing. If only God could send him a sign, any sign as to what he had to do--

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

There was a low, keening noise; Gabriel didn’t even realize it had come from him. All he was aware of through the veil of despair was a sudden silence as he burrowed his face in his hands, the bickering gone. There was a touch on his arm. He didn’t flinch away.

“There, there.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded just a touch awkward. He slid something across the table - the glass. “Have this, at least. It’s only water.”

“I don’t want--” he croaked, his throat and mouth so dry it hurt, but Aziraphale cut him off by waving a hand. How many times had he done that, silenced him with a gesture because his blabbing was of no importance? He shut his eyes. “I can’t stay here.”

What he had meant to say was that he couldn’t stay on Earth; where that would leave him, since Heaven was closed to him and the thought of descending to Hell filled him with yet more dread, there was no telling. The universe was vast, but he lacked the power or means to travel it now. He was trapped.

Aziraphale, however, seeed to understand it differently. “Yes, it is a little awkward-- listen, there is a decent hotel nearby. The Underlook Hotel. You can stay there for now, all right? You’ll be safe. A room has just been reserved and paid for.”

“A hotel-- that’s--?”

“A place where humans like to get naked. You walk in the hall and take off your clo--”

“You definitely do not take off your clothes,” Aziraphale cut him off, giving him an annoyed look. “I’ll explain you everything you need to know, Gabriel. But you need to drink.”

Gabriel stared at the glass; there was ice in it, and the sight made the thirst even worse. He almost spoke again to say he didn’t know how - he knew it went in through the mouth, but then humans did something with their throat to get it down and he wasn’t sure what it was - the thirst was so bad, he just reached for the glass and brought it to his lips, anything to make it end.

The water was cool relief in his dry mouth, and the act of swallowing for the very first time came without any thought at all; the water went down the right way, he didn’t choke and oh, the relief was immediate and so great he couldn’t even muster the pride to pretend otherwise.

The demon, Crowley, looked more than slightly disappointed. “Well, you know how to drink,” he muttered. “By the way, do you know what to do when the water needs to come out again?”

Still reeling over how good that drink of water had felt, Gabriel blinked at him in confusion.

“... I’ll take it as a no. So, you’re fully human, no? With all that it entails?”

“What?”

“Got anything in your pants?”

“In my--?” Gabriel reached down, entirely missing the way Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and stilled. There was something, a bulge beneath the fabric that hadn’t been there before. He’d seen enough humans naked at the dawn of time to have a vague idea of what it would look like if he disrobed. Which he had no intention to do. “... This wasn’t here before.”

“Well, there you go. A pair of wings for a pair of testicles.”

Gabriel gaze him an unimpressed look. “It doesn’t seem a fair exchange.”

“It’s not,” he agreed, and turned to Aziraphale. “Well, angel, I won’t be the one to explain him biology. For when, you know, the water needs to come out.”

“The water needs to come out?” Gabriel repeated, now rather lost. “But I just consumed--”

“And he’ll have to eat at some point.”

“What-- I’m not-- I have a book,” Aziraphale said suddenly, and stood. “I’ll go fetch it - you’ll find it useful,” he added quickly, and left before Gabriel - who would later read the children’s book about potty training Aziraphale was about to throw at him, and come to the conclusion that humans are positively disgusting - could say anything.

He gave Crowley a wary look. “What are you talking about?”

The demon grinned widely. “Oh, I could tell you,” he said, letting the dark glasses slip down his nose to look at him with snake-like eyes. “But why spoil the fun when you can find out all by yourself?”

***

“Ah, to be a fly on the wall!”

Beelzebub knew that was something mortals said often, whenever they wished to be able to see something they shouldn’t be able to. They were on to something: there was a lot to be said in favor of being, literally, a fly on the wall. Or rather, right now, on the window.

Not quite as good as being inside, but it offered them a good view of their target. He looked… bad. Relatively bad, because when you dwell in Hell your idea of looking bad is very, very different from that of most being in existence. And they liked bad, anyway; Beelzebub took no small measure of satisfaction in knowing that, should they show themselves to mortals with their true visage, they would run screaming.

However, for an angel’s standards - and for what had been Gabriel’s standard, especially - he did look bad. More dishevelled than Beelzebub had ever seen him and tired; dark shadows under his eyes, skin gray-ish, his hands shaking as he drank some water.

There he was, one of the Almighty’s lap dogs until he’d been kicked out by his master to become Hell’s newest recruit. Maybe he wouldn’t make too much of a fuss; he was ill-suited for life as a mortal, and there were perks to joining the forces of Hell. Either way, Beelzebub had said they were going to claim him and they would. Their honor was at stake, at that point, however questionable said honor was.

Hell’s concept of honor was a tiny bit skewed, too.

As they kept watching, both traitors stood and so did Gabriel, more slowly, slipping something that looked like a small book in his pocket. Honestly, Beelzebub have burst in to claim him already if not for the traitors sitting right there.

So, you're probably thinking, "If he can do this, I wonder what else he can do?" And very, very soon, you're all going to get the chance to find out.

It wasn’t that Beelzebub was in any way scared of them, of course, it would be laughable, but...

I think it would be better for everyone if I were to be left alone in the future. Don't you?

… Well. Best to avoid unnecessary confrontations. Gabriel would be alone, at some point. And when that happened, the Lord of the Flies would be ready to act.

***

The Underlook Hotel, where they dropped him off after an unnecessarily fast car ride that would have made Gabriel throw up if his stomach hadn’t been emptier than a pint glass after Nigel Farage’s passage, was a small but clean establishment, with large windows that let in what sunlight was to be found in London, which wasn’t much that day. The entrance hall had a long front desk and a smiling receptionist sitting behind it, and Gabriel headed towards it - more on a guess because he actually knew what the process was supposed to be at that point.

“Good afternoon,” the woman at the reception said, voice entirely too cheery. Truth be told she would have been very happy to personally set fire to about half the guests and a quarter of the staff, as do many people who work in the hospitality sector once their will to live has taken enough blows. This usually happens within the first two months and a half, a scant couple of weeks more than it takes to destroy the soul of a retail worker. Still, like most people working in the hospitality sector, she could hide it with a smile. “Can I help you?”

Gabriel nodded. “I have a reservation,” he said, and glanced down at the card. “Room 217.”

“Let’s see...” The woman typed, stared at the screen, then nodded. “Gabriel F. Archer?”

No. I’m the Archangel Gabriel. The Messenger. That’s all I ever was and will ever be, it can’t be gone forever, it just cannot. And what does that F stand for, anyway?

But of course, that was not a viable answer. With a knot in his insides and a weight in his chest, he nodded. “That’s me,” he said, and managed to smile. It would have probably looked more real if he’s pulled up the corners of his mouth with his fingers, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Lovely. Now let me-- oh, I see you completed your check-in this morning.” That was good, he supposed, because he knew nothing of what a ‘check in’ would entail. “Need help with your luggage?”

“I don’t have any--” Gabriel began, then paused, and glanced down. By his feet there was a single, black suitcase. He stared down at it for a few moments, and worked his jaw before speaking again. “... I think I can manage,” he said, and picked it up. It felt heavy, but of course it was not. He was just laughably, ridiculously weak. His very name - God is my strength - felt like a mockery now.

“Good. The lift is that way - your room is on the second floor. Do you need anything else?”

Gabriel hesitated. He didn’t want to ask, he really did not; it would feel like admitting defeat, that he truly was a mere mortal in need of gross matter for nourishment. But his stomach was almost cramping up, and he felt faint, and he gave in. After all, he couldn’t really keep pretending after finding himself, bleeding, on the hard ground. “Would you happen to know where I may be able to acquire some edible matter?”

That gained him a startled look. “Some... what?” she asked. In the back of her mind the Weirdo Alert light - it comes free after the first month working in the hospitality sector, along with several neuroses - began flashing yellow.

Right, they had a name for it. What was it, again? “You know… food?”

“Oh! Of course. It’s a bit late for lunch, but dinner is served from six - would you like to reserve a table? I’ll do it for you. You’ll find some snacks and drinks in the mini fridge in your room.”

“... I see. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Here for business, or are you on vacation?”

“Exile,” Gabriel muttered, turning her Weirdo Alert light red, and walked towards the lift without another word, dragging the suitcase and focusing on nothing but putting one foot in front of the other. Once alone in the room, he’d-- he didn’t know. He’d tried to ask, after Aziraphale gave him a mobile phone and his number, desperate for any indication of what he should do.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“You figure it out, Gabe,” the demon Crowley had muttered, still sitting behind the wheel, sneering. “It’s the gift of free will.”

It didn’t feel like a gift at all; it was terrifying, and he’d thought at least Aziraphale would understand, but he… didn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You do whatever you want from here on.”

Wanting was a foreign concept to Gabriel. He’d never wanted anything, only ever done what he had to do for… for the greater good. The only thing he wanted now was to shut his eyes and open then again to find he’d been living some sort of nightmare, to be vanquished by daylight. He only wanted things to go back the way they were.

He only wanted to go home.

By the time the lift stopped on the second floor, something peculiar had happened - his vision was blurry. Gabriel blinked it away, and found his cheeks wet. Oh, wonderful, now that mortal body was leaking the water he’d been forced to consume. Was that what the demon had meant when he talked about the water coming out? He’d probably have to read the book he’d been handed, although the illustration on the cover looked absolutely puerile and unlikely to hold any meaningful information about his condition. It would give him something to do, if nothing else.

Or maybe that could wait. Maybe he’d pray, first thing - throw himself on his knees as soon as he found himself finally alone and pray like he never had before. Maybe God would listen. Maybe he’d receive a sign, guidance, anything that would tell him what to do. Yes, he’d do that; it wasn’t much, but it was still the closest thing he had to a plan.

As he walked down the corridor and to the door of his room, he didn’t notice the fly that buzzed after him.

***

“The first beast was like a lion with eagles’ wings. As I watched, its wings were pulled off, and it was left standing with its two hind feet on the ground, like a human being. And it was given a human mind.” Daniel 7:4

***

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lafeae · 5 years

Text

KaiJou Week #1: Long-distance Date-Night

When Jounouchi tapped accept for the incoming video call, he was greeted with, “Do I really need to look up your nose for a second straight night?” before he could even say hello.

“The view seemed to astonish ya last night,” he replied, falling back onto the couch.

Kaiba simmered between a hum and growl, and Jounouchi couldn’t help but notice how the camera perfectly framed him. “You still haven’t taken care of the hair up there, either,” Kaiba said, and leaned in scrupulously.

Huffing, Jounouchi pushed the tablet over. “Enjoy the ceilin’ then.”

“Real mature.”

“Ya brought it on yourself. Leave me an’ my nose hair alone.”

A featherlight chuckle floated through the speakers. It was all Jounouchi needed to climb down from his proverbial mountain of irritation, because at the end the day, he knew he was lucky to be able to hear Kaiba’s voice at all. Let alone see him.

He propped the tablet back up. “I think I see the sun over there. Jus’ a little bit. Ya been up a while?”

“No.”

“Sure ya don’t want a few more winks?”

“I’m fine. Load the game now. I only have an hour or so,” Kaiba said, with a faint pang of disappointment.

Jounouchi said nothing. He didn’t want to egg on the thought that either of them were unhappy with their situation, because they had already gotten into the argument when Kaiba told Jounouchi he’d be in New York for an unknown amount of time, though he had guessed six months. Instead, he opted to make the best of a bad situation. Which was texting and calling, plus the addition of their normal date-night.

Kaiba was skeptical. Their dates were always rather mobile. Dinner, movies, quiet nights on the town. Nothing ostentatious.

“So what are we eatin’ today?” Jounouchi asked.

Kaiba raised a plain bagel. “And you?”

“Popcorn and M and M’s.”

“That’s revolting.”

“Uh-huh. More delicious than all that borin’ ass bread,” Jounouchi said, and shoved his mouth full of popcorn, and announced, “In the server,” while his mouth was full. He pretended not to see Kaiba roll his eyes.

It wasn’t exactly a dinner date, per se. Thirteen hours apart didn’t make planning anything easy, but they promised to be eating something—dinner food or not.

“It can’t taste good.”

“It’s sweet an’ salty,” Jounouchi said. “Kinda like you. Tough shell an’ all.”

“I guess you’re like a bagel, then,” Kaiba said.

“An’ why’s that?” Jounouchi squeezed his eyes closed, already feeling the ridiculous analogy crawling up his skin.

“It’s chewy and has white stuff all over it.”

Jounouchi snorted. “Chewy? The hell does that even mean?”

“I’ll leave it up to interpretation,” Kaiba replied. His avatar, an elven creature, spawned next to Jounouchi’s at the inn save point in the game they had been picking away at for the last few date-nights. “We still need to collect the Iced-Blood Heart.”

“...only if ya tell me the hell ya mean by chewy first,” Jounouchi bargained. “Farming the Heart’s gonna take forever. One of the forums said its got, like a 2 percent drop rate.”

“We need it to continue. And chewy is chewy. If you’re offended by it, clearly it means something to you.”

A half-second of staring at Kaiba’s focused face, and Jounouchi gave up. He was into the game, as he always was, and there was no getting him out of game mode for anything. Reluctantly, he followed Kaiba’s elf character towards the mountains, mulling over what he thought chewy meant.

“I mean, first thing that came to mind was chew toy,” Jounouchi mentioned.

“That’s a stretch.”

“I wouldn’t put it past ya. Sly insults an’ all.”

The focused expression, with scrunched brows and slightly squished mouth, made Kaiba weirdly innocent in tone. Intense, but innocent. As if nothing else in the world mattered. Jounouchi had been wary of playing video games together, only because Kaiba laser-focus was intimidating, but he hadn’t imagined playing co-op, either. Any time he thought of games and Kaiba together, he thought of competition. And Kaiba wasn’t good at playing co-op; he liked to lead, and seemed upset if Jounouchi garnered more XP or levelled before him, but they had managed fairly smooth play sessions.

“You’re looking into it too deeply. You glossed right over the other part,” Kaiba replied.

“I got that. Sexy,” Jounouchi deadpanned before laughing. “But, I dunno...I feel like ya wouldn’t say it if ya didn’t mean something by it.”

“Go up to the left, there’s more over there.” Kaiba autopiloted to the fight, and the methodical tapping of his keyboard made Jounouchi smile. “I didn’t mean anything. If I did, I already forgot. It’s insignificant.”

“So it ain’t an insult?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Jounouchi sucked in a breath. Did he? “I dunno. Guess it’s weird still, not hearin’ it be an insult. Like an insult insult. Not bein’ silly.”

“We’re halfway across the world, playing a video game—crit damn you!—because we still want to still have a date,” Kaiba stated, bland, silently congratulating himself for defeating the monster.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then why do you expect an insult?”

Jounouchi stuck his tongue out. “Because.”

“Because isn’t an answer.” The drop screen displayed, and Kaiba sighed before nudging them towards another monster spawn to attack. “If you want me to insult you that badly, I can come up with something.”

Lowering his head, Jounouchi hitched a weak smile, wondering what he expected. Or what had changed all of sudden. It thudded in his chest, wanting an answer to a question he didn’t have to begin with. “I jus’ feel funny sometimes,” he replied.

“Meaning...?”

“I ain’t used to this yet.” Jounouchi mashed the button to heal Kaiba before moving on. “That’s stupid, I know, but I guess I just thought about how long it’s been since we hooked up. I think the argument when ya took off made me think about it. We hadn’t done that in a while, an’ I noticed an’ wondered where the time had went. What had changed. That stuff.”

Visibly, Kaiba’s shoulders dropped. “It has been some time. Couples change that way, or so I’ve read.”

“Read where?”

“Places,” Kaiba replied. He sat back, the screen filling with item drops and sighing when the Iced-Blood Heart didn’t show.

“So you’re readin’ on relationships?” Jounouchi said.

Kaiba neither accepted or denied, instead pointing them towards another spawn point. They played for a short while, letting time tick by. Jounouchi watched the clock, expecting Kaiba to leave at the start of the next hour. He also warmed to the thought that Kaiba had been looking up anything on relationships. He didn’t know what. He didn’t have to. Whether it was advice or information, it was Kaiba’s way of keeping things together, maybe making sure they were running smoothly, or even right.

“S’alright if ya are. I don’t know what I’m doin’ neither. Clearly.”

“Clearly,” Kaiba repeated.

Furiously, Jounouchi pounded at the keys, flipping between healing and fighting. “Ya know what I do know? I miss ya. That counts for somethin’.”

“It does.”

“Do ya miss me?”

A soft, almost missable, “Yes,” passed Kaiba’s lips as they finished off the last monster and were awarded with the Iced-Blood Heart. “Yes, Katsuya. Now, we only have a few minutes. We should be able to beat Chromate in that time.”

Processing the yes took more than few seconds. Enough that Kaiba asked if he’d heard, to which Jounouchi dumbly nodded. The casualness caught him by surprise. Practiced ease. As if Kaiba had prepared for the question, thinking about it over and over. An over exaggeration, maybe, but then Kaiba had also admitted to reading up on relationships.

“Well, if we don’t, we always got tomorrow. More I see ya, the better,” Jounouchi said when he’d found his tongue.

Kaiba nodded. “We’ll call it a date.”

#ygo #yugioh #seto kaiba #jounouchi katsuya #joey wheeler #fanfic #drabble #puppyshipping #violetshipping #kaijou week #long distant romance #date night

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magioftheseas · 5 years

Text

Day 1 - Reserve

Written for @the-hinata-project

Prompt: Reserve Course Student Hinata

Rating: G

Warnings: Lowkey manipulation and insecurity, but other than that, not much.

Notes: Alright, so I’m still in the middle of these, but like... Here’s the first one! They’re all going to be pretty short, around 2K but I’m gonna do my best to finish all of them so wish me luck...! And this first fic is gen. No ships. Next ones won’t be so gen. It’s also pre-HPA. Kind of.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

The last wish he made on New Year’s was a simple one.

I want to get into Hope’s Peak.

But of course that would never happen.

“Can’t you dream more realistically, Hajime? Do you have any idea how expensive Hope’s Peak actually is? We can’t afford that.”

“I... I know that, but...”

“If you know then why are you burdening us with this? Please. Just think about other people besides yourself for once.”

“...sorry.”

His mother sighs, but ruffles his hair in a show of affection.

“You current high school isn’t so bad, right? You can make good friends here, and it’s a fine school.”

“I guess it’s...decent,” he mumbles.

“Just don’t even worry about Hope’s Peak anymore,” she tells him. “It’s impossible, and it can’t be helped. Keep your chin up. Okay?”

“...fine...”

Because he knew, after all, that she had a point. They couldn’t afford it. And he wasn’t talented. It was a pipe dream to attend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Still...

For his birthday, he was given a new laptop to replace the old. It was a fairly recent model. Pretty expensive. Likely compensation. He can’t say he didn’t like it.

He wasn’t ungrateful. He doesn’t think so.

It’s just that I admire Hope’s Peak more than anything.

So much so that he finds himself on the forums first thing.

>Does anyone have any idea who’s going to be in the upcoming batch?

>They haven’t finished scouting, right? Oh, but I just saw on the news that an actual princess was accepted! Hope’s Peak really can get in anyone!

>Wow, actual royalty?!

>There’s this photographer I follow. She’s getting in, too, I’m pretty sure.

>I just saw Saionji Hiyoko-san’s performance last week. I’m positive she’s getting in.

>I’m more interested in the princess. Can you imagine how lucky it would be to meet an actual princess?

>>They’ll be running the lottery in a month or so. What I would give to have more of a chance...

>Wow, they’re doing that again?

>With how much getting into the reserve course costs, you probably have a better chance with the lottery...

>But if you win the lottery, you’re actually considered talented. Reserves are just...y’know, reserves.

>But you’ll get to meet the princess, potentially. I think the money’s worth it, even if all I can do is steal a glance!

>Still... Seems so lame that you can just pay your way in...

>But brand name recognition is pretty powerful...

>>I heard you can actually get into the main course from the reserve course if you do well enough.

>No way! That’s a pipe dream! Maybe if you paid like, twice as much!

>Must be nice to be rich, huh...

Hinata stares, wondering what to type, but also letting the thoughts swirl around in his head.

>>I would do anything to get into Hope’s Peak. But my family just can’t afford that.

>Yeah, mine neither. Who actually can?

>You’d be surprised... They’re getting a lot of enrollments.

>You can’t like...get a scholarship or anything? It’s not like you need to go to college after attending Hope’s Peak.

>Well the golden gates can’t open that wide, I suppose...

>It’s for the best. If just about anyone could get in, it wouldn’t be that special.

Hinata bites his lip, picking at the peeling skin with his teeth.

>>Still. I want to get in more than anything.

>If you aren’t talented, it can’t be helped.

>>I would give anything.

>Pffft. No kidding. I’d give an arm and a leg, probably.

>>I would give anything.

>A lot of people would.

>You’re like a super fan, huh. Well, I am, too, but still...

>>Getting into Hope’s Peak has always been my dream.

>Everyone wants to be special, man.

>But if everyone was special then no one would be special.

>It can’t be helped. You’re either born talented or you aren’t.

>Right?! I must have spent hours drawing but there was always that one person I could just never compare to. It’s hopeless!

>You shouldn’t say hopeless on the Hope’s Peak forums!

>Haha, sorry!

>>I’ve never been talented. There’s not one thing I’m particularly good at.

>Normie...

>>But I want to get into Hope’s Peak Academy... More than anything.

>Give it up. For your own good. Wishing for the impossible isn’t healthy.

>Hey, don’t tell him that! What if he ends up winning the lottery?

>Yeah, right!

>>I’m not particularly lucky, either.

>Luck’s not a talent anyway.

>Are you sure? I’ve known people who get ridiculously lucky while gambling...

>If they gamble too much, that luck’s bound to run out. And I bet they’re not that lucky, they just brag a lot.

>That might be true... Still it would be nice just to get into Hope’s Peak by chance...

>Whoever wins that lottery probably is ridiculously lucky considering how many people are participating. We’re talking like, every high school student in their first year in the country.

>Sucks to be other countries, huh.

>Maybe someday but for now, I like not having that much competition.

>Still a ridiculous amount competing...

>I bet it’ll be someone who can afford the reserve course if they haven’t already enrolled.

>No fair! That kind of thing should disqualify you immediately!

>>I just...want to get in...

>Yeah we all do. But it’s impossible.

>Impossible.

>Totally impossible.

>Pigs will fly first.

>I heard some Ultimates actually can make some crazy shit. We might see flying pigs pretty soon.

>That’s terrifying.

>>I just want to get in.

>You should get offline.

He should. He really, really should.

Is it really impossible?

“Of course it is,” he can practically hear them murmur. “Not only are you untalented, you can’t afford it! And you’re going to win the lottery, either!”

Hinata buries his face into his hands, shuddering.

I just... I just...

To his surprise, he later receives a DM. Shivering, he clicks it open.

>Would you really do anything for Hope’s Peak?

He doesn’t recognize the name of the sender but...it looks official.

>>Yes. Of course. Why?

>There actually is a program you can sign up for that will get you in without having to pay a coin.

Hinata blinked once. Twice.

It’s way too good to be true.

But he’s desperate. Beyond desperate.

>>What is this program? How can I sign up?

>Here’s the information.

What he’s about to do is how people get themselves abducted, he’s pretty sure. But right now, he’s desperate and... If it really was someone associated with Hope’s Peak, how bad can it be? What’s the worse than can happen?

I already have no chance getting in. I know that... But...

His heart was pounding as he took the train. He stared out the window, at HPA’s towering buildings in the distance, getting closer and closer, and he sucks in his breath.

It’s so shining that it hurts to look at.

Shining like a dream...

“Ah, Hinata-kun, you made it after all. So you have the necessary information?”

“Uh... Yes...” Truth be told, he didn’t understand most of it. There were a lot of words that were hard to read and pretty...advanced. “I just...well you said you couldn’t explain everything in just files, so...”

The other looked pretty professional. Sharply dressed and smiling in a way that at least seemed pretty welcoming. But...still pretty intimidating, considering the circumstances. Hinata ducked his head, feeling rather flustered.

“Yes, it’s meant to be kept very tightly under wraps, you see,” they laugh. “I need to assure confidentiality before explaining, Hinata-kun. Surely you understand.”

That’s...weird.

But it made his blood thrum with excitement to be a part of.

“I... Y-Yes, of course. Absolutely... Of course...”

“Sign this form, then, promising that.”

“O-Of course...!”

He scribbles down his signature without a second thought. The other smiled more, pleased. Hinata squirmed in his seat, and tried to keep his posture straight.

With that, the other sat across from him, polite and yet...expectant.

Ah... Hah...

“So you’re willing to do anything for this school,” they say, voice almost light but also dense with significance. “Might I ask why?”

“It’s...as I said on the forums,” Hinata mumbles, fiddling with his tie. Even dressed professionally for this would-be interview, he feels underdressed. “I’ve always admired this school. Always. It’s always been my dream to...to go there...”

The other nods, expression unchanged.

“And why do you wish so badly to go there, despite not having a talent that can be cultivated?”

Hinata flinched.

“T-That’s...! I...” He hesitates, but he soon finds the words just spilling out. “I just want to be someone I can be proud of. Someone who can stand tall. Be confident. Be significant. Isn’t that what I deserve?”

“Isn’t that what everyone deserves?”

Hinata’s nails dig into his palms.

“I admire Hope’s Peak...more than anyone. I will give whatever I can...and then more than that...if I have to.” His teeth grit. “Whatever it takes... W-Whatever it takes...!”

Even though I know it’s selfish and impossible, I just...!

He just wanted to be someone. Someone other than...this.

Unimportant. Unremarkable. A faceless, meaningless part of the mass. The idea of being consumed by mediocrity and insignificance for the rest of his life, never to matter, never to even be remembered, just to disappear, just like he never even existed—

“I’ll do...w-whatever...it takes...” He’s shaking, eyes wide and crazed. “Whatever it takes... Whatever I can...and then more than that...if I have to.”

“Ah. I see.” An easy smile. And yet, the atmosphere felt so heavy that it was near suffocating. “Very well then, Hinata-kun. That’s exactly the kind of attitude we’re looking for.”

Hinata lit up.

“R-Really?” He dares to let hope slip into his tone. “D-Do you really mean it?”

A nod.

“Hinata-kun... If you could be reborn from the faceless body of a miserable nobody into the world’s hope... Would you?”

“That...sounds too good to be true...” His heart really was racing, but he was flushed with excitement. “But... Y-Yeah... I... Of course...”

“Then, allow me to tell you about how that can be possible. If you agree, you’ll be accepted into the school, free of charge, no talent necessary. In fact, it’s even essential that you be talentless.”

I...don’t understand.

He doesn’t understand but it just sounds so incredible that he can’t help but be swayed.

“...tell me.”

“Very well.”

A folder of files is placed before him. They look too important to grasp. And the stamped out letters of CONFIDENTIAL stare back into his wide-eyed, shimmering gaze.

Fingers trembling, Hinata actually slices his finger open as he flips it open.

He doesn’t even feel the sting, as engrossed as he is in the text.

“I...”

The words swirl around in his head, over and over until he drowns in them.

“Do you need time to think about it?” the other asks him kindly. So kindly that Hinata is struck cold. “Tell you what... You can still get into the reserve course. You don’t have to say yes right away, and the deadline will be in a few months from now. You can attend classes here until then...and then make your decision on whether or not you’re willing to stay. Okay?”

“I... O-Okay.” Hinata swallows. “That’s... I’m okay with that.”

I said I’d do anything. And I do...want to do anything. But...

His hands are shaking while still gripping the files.

I can’t...let this chance slip by...even if it’s something like this. This is everything I ever wanted. Why am I even hesitating?

“It’s alright,” the other says reassuringly, taking the files away with ease. “Hinata-kun, I know you’ll make the best decision for yourself.”

For...myself. Myself...

“I...yes.”

“I’ll have them send in your acceptance letter and uniform.” His hand is shook, the grip warm and calloused. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Hinata-kun.”

“A-A pleasure... Yeah.”

Just like that, Hinata was stumbling out of Hope’s Peak, trembling and falling to pieces with every shaky step.

I have to do it, he can’t help but think. I have to do it, for...for myself...

This was going to be the year his life changed irreparably. He was sure of it.

#thehinataproject #hajime hinata #hinata hajime #Magi fics #the hinata project #although it's not going to show up #I might as well #I'll probably have to message someone anyway #The tragedy of being muted

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talkativelock · 6 years

Text

The Wedding AU has been getting some attention recently. I don’t know where you all came from but, uh, thank you so much for reminding me about this au and how much I love it. I wrote some more of it as a kind of warm up this morning.

So here you go; Katsuki Figures Out Icyhot and Deku Because They are Super Obvious Holy Shit.

Previously in this au; Shouto confesses to Izuku during their second year at UA, and Tododeku’s first date.

Something’s up with Icyhot and Deku and it’s really starting to piss Katsuki off.

It’s not exactly unusual, something being up with them is literally their entire thing. Icyhot and Deku are usually pretty disgusting. They have this gross pining thing going on, both of them all moon-eyed over the other. Katsuki can literally track the minutes of any given practical exercise by how they act after being split up for longer periods of time. He’s actually used it to save his own ass at least once, which he maintains just proves how great he is. He can use his opponent’s teenage hormone fueled deterioration to his advantage. Dunceface says that Deku does the same thing with him but what the fuck does that idiot know? Besides, he’s not so over the moon over someone as to let it effect how he conducts himself, not like Icyhot and Deku.

Kirishima tells Katsuki that he shouldn’t be so obsessive over them but Kirishima can shut the fuck up. Katsuki knows just as much about Kirishima and Kirishima never complains about that so Katsuki doesn’t know what his fucking problem is.

What’s bothering Katsuki isn’t Icyhot and Deku’s usual heart-eyes, gravitating toward each other, coming to each other’s defense from across the entire city bullshit. No, it’s weirder.

First of all, Icyhot and Deku hold significant eye-contact now. Like, more significant than they used to. They’ve always had weird asshole eyesex powers but now it’s like they’ve perfected it. It’s creepy as shit.

Second of all, if they stand any closer to each other in the lunch line they’re going to start grinding like they’re at an inner city club.

Third, and most incriminating of all, when Icyhot leaves Deku’s room after “studying” sometimes his hair is way too mussed and his shirt is creased in places that Katsuki knows for a fact it wasn’t before. He looks like someone pushed him against a wall or onto a bed and made out with him for a not insignificant amount of time. Katsuki only saw the first time because he was on his way down to get a snack and for no other reason but that doesn’t change the pleased blushing damsel vibe Icyhot had going for him even though his face was as deadpan as ever.

It’s not like they’re being subtle.

The point is that Katsuki is pretty sure they’re fucking or something. The thought makes his face heat past boiling with some combination of fury and other emotions that he doesn’t feel like naming and Kirishima can kiss his ass.

Katsuki holds onto his disintegrating patience like a lifeline for over a month. Then he snaps.

Fall is starting to die, getting a little colder and sharper. Katsuki stays warm fairly easily but nerds like Deku have started bundling up in longer pants and oversized hoodies that look suspiciously like they might be Icyhot’s size. Icyhot watches Deku prance around the common areas wearing a great big sweatshirt with some fucked up combination of pride and hunger and Katsuki is going to fucking explode. When he just happens to step into an elevator containing only Deku coming down from Icyhot’s room, looking mussed and small in a jacket that Katsuki’s never seen Icyhot wear and yet just screams borrowed due to the way it hangs on Deku’s stocky-ass frame, Katsuki can’t help it anymore.

He reaches across the elevator halfway between floors and pushes that emergency break.

Some things never fucking change. Deku squeaks with some kind of weak-ass panicked surprise as the elevator jolts to a very sudden stop, grabbing the handrails to keep himself steady.

“Kacchan?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki says on principle.

“What’s wrong?” Deku asks and Katsuki bristles. Some things may never change but other things are always changing. Deku is a wellspring of learning. That’s why All Might chose him. They had come to an understanding this time last year, Katsuki and Deku, but that doesn’t stop Katsuki from being irritated. Especially when Deku slips into talking to him like he’s some kind of weakling that needs Deku’s stupid fucking help.

Katsuki feels his palms crackle and he clenches his fist to dampen them. He doesn’t need that right now. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice what’s going on with you and Icyhot?”

Deku is so fucking predictable. He turns an ugly shade of red and starts sputtering. “K-Kacchan? Wh-What do you, uh, mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Katsuki snaps. “You and Icyhot are so obvious with your…” Katsuki feels his face heating up and he snarls to cover it up. “Fucking or whatever you’re doing.”

Deku’s voice gets even higher pitched. “We’re not, we haven’t-”

Katsuki ignores him and pretends like that doesn’t give him some strange misplaced sense of relief that he doesn’t want to analyze. Maybe, if it’s still bothering him later he’ll tell Kirishima and let Kirishima analyze it for him. Kirishima’s good at feelings and shit.

“What I don’t get is why the fuck you aren’t screaming it from the rooftops.”

“It’s a secret,” Deku hisses out between his teeth.

“Why the f-”

Deku just keeps right on going. “We have to keep it from Endeavor because-”

Katsuki scowls as everything suddenly makes a whole lot of sense. He remembers. Icyhot’s sob story is hard to forget. “I know, shitnerd.” It comes out of Katsuki a little softer than he intends and Deku falls silent.

For a long moment Katsuki just looks at Deku. He’s pink faced still but he’s got that determined glint in his eye. He’s not trembling or shaking or whatever the fuck, he’s just standing there. He looks like he’d fight Endeavor single handedly if that’s what Icyhot asked for.

They both know that Icyhot would never ask.

Katsuki lets out a breath. He reaches over and releases the emergency break. With a whirr and a ding the elevator starts back up again.

“Kacchan?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki snaps. It comes out of him a little less harsh than it would normally and Katsuki doesn’t feel like correcting it. His mind is back on Icyhot, on how Deku would do anything for him, probably including ruining his fucking career like a weakling or some shit by taking Endeavor the fuck out, and Icyhot watches Deku with some kind of hunger.

Katsuki and Icyhot don’t talk very much, they keep their relationship mostly within the confines of Katsuki’s fist and Icyhot’s squishy bits. Sure, sometimes they share a few words here and there but Katsuki includes that in his fist and squishy bits definition since Icyhot is the person who makes Katsuki’s palms tingle the second most. The point is that they don’t have real conversations, they don’t talk.

If Katsuki has his way they’re gonna start, and if that doesn’t work there’s always Icyhot’s squishy bits.

Need more? After this, sorted by story arc…

Gran Torino figures out tododeku is a thing.

Toshinko get together and then Izuku visits his father.

Izuku dives off a building to save Shouto, they hit the ground, they end up in the hospital, and they finally get to go home.

Uraraka and Iida figure out Tododeku.

Tododeku come out, social media responds, endeavor reacts, Izuku supports Shouto after Endeavor’s reaction, and Endeavor has a bit of a public meltdown.

Shouto is mind controlled by a villain, Izuku doesn’t deal well with Shouto being missing, Shouto breaks out of the mind control, Shouto wakes up in the hospital after, and Shouto and Izuku go home to spend some time together.

The proposal, the marriage, and Shouto is now a Midoriya.

The Midoriyas open a center for quirkless kids.

If you enjoy my work consider donating to my lock spends more time writing fanfiction fund.

#my hero academia #lock writes fic #tododeku #otp: bones and other fragile things #the great tododeku wedding au

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stellatex · 4 years

Text

Nine Questions I Need Teresa Giudice to Answer: Updated

Originally published February 15, 2016 I actually gave up Bravo for Lent, but I've already floundered on day one by continuing to watch, think about, and write about this bullshit. Sunk costs and all that.

So, here is my updated scorecard on the nine questions I needed Teresa to answer if she expected the viewing public to continue watching and supporting her.

1. You said in your statement to the judge during sentencing that you “fully take responsibility” for your actions. You said, “It’s time for me to wake up… I will make this right no matter what it takes.” Why, immediately afterward, in your interview on Watch What Happens Live, did you backtrack and try to deflect blame to your husband while insisting things were just put before you to sign?

In my opinion, she's doing this because she's being coached, either by her lawyer or a new PR team, or both, probably because they mistakenly believe that painting Teresa as some kind of innocent bedazzled Madonna will allow her to keep the Bravo Sunday gravy train chugging along. It's also possible that Teresa's advisors, friends, and various hangers-on, whoever they may be, are telling her how faaaaabulous she is--that's it's obvious she's the wronged party, and that she's so very strong and inspiring, etc., etc.--because they know who butters their bread, and, if history is any guide, Teresa has a habit of cutting out anyone who questions her lies and self deception (as we've seen both on the show and in the news reports about how she fired her publicist, her lawyers, and her co-writer). It's obvious that there are still a few small-time Jersey famewhores buzzing around Teresa in the mistaken belief that she is a queen bee. Typical celebrity yes-men and con-men. We've seen this over and over with celebrities, and it never turns out well, though a lot of people may make a lot of money in the short-term, and get some of that reflected spotlight that they so obviously crave. Regardless, like I said in my original post, if Teresa thinks she can just skate out of federal prison as a sinewy, chilled-out felon and continue to stonewall and deny and refuse to acknowledge any criminal culpability whatsoever, she has severely misjudged the nature of her dubious fame. But more on that in a moment.

Regardless, all of the interviewers asked her a fairly direct version of the question above; shockingly, Andy Cohen pushed it the hardest, asking point-blank, "What did you do? Can you tell us what you did?" And still she played dumb, owning up to merely "signing some papers." Girlfriend, we can all read the indictment. If you're so innocent, why didn't you take your case to trial? You admitted in the process of accepting a plea deal that you were guilty. Accepting a plea deal necessitates that you not only agree to pleading guilty, but that you are fully cognizant of what you are pleading to and that you understand the consequences. We all know what you did, Teresa.

2. You claim to be “business savvy,” telling your husband on an episode of RHONJ, “Like, you know, that’s what I do now. I’m a businesswoman, so I’m thinking business.” You’ve touted your online businesses, your Fabellini drink line, your Milania hair care line, your success as a “New York Time [sic] best-selling author.” So how is it that you are also simultaneously claiming to be a clueless housewife who knows nothing of her own finances, including the assets from said businesses that you tried to hide during both your fraudulent bankruptcy and your sentencing?

See above. This is bullshit.

3. If you are blaming your husband Joe for your ten-plus-years of financial fraud and the year you spent unjustly incarcerated in a federal prison, why are you still with him?

"Because I know he would never do anything to hurt me. He didn't mean to."

Uh, okay. That is also bullshit. Just transparently, obviously, self evidently, undeniably, total bullshit.

4. What would you say to the creditors, banks, and, most importantly, small business owners of New Jersey whom you and your husband fleeced to the tune of millions of dollars? Do you feel any obligation to repay these debts?

Still waiting on someone, anyone, to ask her this obvious follow-up question.

Furthermore, Teresa: I don't want to hear anything else about how this is all Joe's fault, or your brother Joe Gorga's fault, or your sister-in-law Melissa's fault, or your cousin Kathy's fault, or your accountants' fault, or your bankers' fault, or your attorneys' fault. It's not. It's 100% your fault. You're the one who committed the crimes. You're the one who went on national television flaunting thousands of dollars of cash purchases despite the fact that neither you nor your uneducated, clueless husband could possibly ever earn that much money legitimately. And, most importantly, you're the one who cravenly filed for bankruptcy to the tune of $13+ million dollars when you could no longer prop up your charade of nouveau riche consumerism for America's most satanic cable network. You're the one who stole from banks and fleeced businesses. You're a thief, a liar, and, now, a felon.

5. Explain this.

Everybody asked her about this, but instead of answering, she just blamed Joe, who leased it for her (another obvious lie; how did the bankrupt, apparently unemployed felon, who currently has a lien on his house to the tune of half a million dollars, get a lease?). She even blamed Lexus for putting a big red bow on top--which she claims they did because they knew it would be good publicity for Lexus! Uh, okay. I'm sure Lexus wants their brand to be associated with tacky low-life Jersey felons. Sure. Yep. Nobody asked her, "Why not a cheaper car, though?"

6. Why are you and your husband suing your bankruptcy attorney? Furthermore, do you not realize that, in doing so, you will be giving up your attorney-client privilege and opening yourselves up to a new investigation of your finances during the discovery process?

Nobody has asked her this. I am sure she's just say she can't talk about it. But I wonder if these questions have even occurred to her tiny, pisello brain.

7. What are you going to do when Joe is deported?

She demurs on this one, too, probably because--as Vicki Hyman points out--she doesn't want to jeopardize the incredibly small chance Joe has of not being deported per federal guidelines by admitting that she would move to Italy with him.

8. You talk constantly about your love, love, love for your four beautiful dorters. Why did you put them in this position?

I don't think anyone has really asked her this recently, but she is still selling the story that none of the dorters but Gia know what's going on. Which is obviously ridiculous.

And remember how she previously whined on-camera about how haaaaard all of this financial mess (i.e. her multiple felonies) has been on her four beautiful dorters, who don't even have a college fund!

So, you were busy stealing $13+ million dollars, and earning tens of thousands per episode appearing on Bravo, and earning more selling tabloid stories and writing multiple "New York Time bestseller [sic]" books, and buying all those designer clothes and bags and luxury cars, and creating that hideous redone home, and yet you didn't put any of the money aside for your kids? Honey, that's not on anyone but you. And you've made it abundantly clear from your actions that you do not give a single shit about the well-being of your girls. So shut the fuck up with the martyred mother pity party. America ain't buying it.

9. Why should viewers overlook your felonious criminal past and continue to support you by watching RHONJ or buying your books or products?

??????

This is the question.

I, for one, am not.It was clear from five minutes into Teresa's comeback tour that she hasn't changed one whit.

As a fan of the show from the first notes of the opening credits of the first episode, I was shocked when Teresa was sentenced. I had followed the news all day, waiting... waiting... waiting... for the verdicts to come down. And, much like her famewhore family members who allowed their reaction to be filmed (or recreated...) for RHONJ, I was utterly gobsmacked. This zany, silly, thoroughly unserious woman, whom we had all watched for years, was in fact "going away" to prison--and for a not-insignificant amount of time. In that moment, everything changed. This was really real. And I couldn't help thinking about the shock Teresa herself must've felt. She was clearly still in shock when she and Joe sat down for a WWHL special with Andy less than 24 hours after their sentencing.

But it was also kind of cathartic. It was obvious to everyone that the Giudices were Up To Something--from the first episode with the wads of cash and carefree spending. Having followed the case closely and read the indictments, I was not surprised--not really. Even as someone who had a love/hate relationship with the Bravo character called "Tre," it was an awful thing to witness--but it seemed just. And there was a sliver of hope there... that maybe Teresa would, finally, be forced to her own personal reckoning. Maybe, just maybe, all that time away from her children and the onyx manse and the cameras might give Teresa's limited mind the space it needed to feel a small glimmer of shame. That maybe the dawning light of that shame would lead to some actual introspection. She even used the vanity vehicle of "Teresa Checks In" (which I maintain should've been called "Teresa Goes Away") to brag about how much praying she was doing in there. I think many of us more savvy viewers were really hoping she was experiencing genuine remorse.

But nope.

The truly staggering thing to me about all of this is that even eleven months in federal prison wasn't enough to lead to any moral progress at all for this self-obsessed, brain-dead, glitter-bombed Portrait of Dorian Gray.

She will never change.

She is irredeemable.

Her story is over.

There is nothing new to see here. Watching the continuing cautionary tale that is Teresa Giudice is not only a waste of time and potentially personally morally corrosive, but--even worse--it's boring.

And the cherry top? Her blithe, casual endorsement of the candidacy of Donald Trump. I wasn't expecting that--though I probably should've--and it is so much more perfect than either of them could ever realize.

Both of them think they're famous; but, in reality, they're only infamous.

#RHONJ

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zimswrath-blog · 7 years

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Pmothman - Nny & Dib

Quite a while ago, not knowing exactly when, things became abnormally fucked up. Only faint memories took Johnny to the places in which he was once normal, but those memories come in tiny bits, often forgotten again, after he wakes up. Sleep seems to be both a coping mechanism, and a huge nightmare he wishes to get away from. He can't tell if he truly loves sleep, or despises it. Right now, it seemed to be leaning towards the absolute disgust of his fairly normal biological need. It wasn't abnormal, considering how much he hated ALL of his biological needs and functions. Why he hates them, he can never remember quite clearly, either. Whether it be past decrepencies or literally him despising being a physical being instead of a big floaty thing in the sky that blows up heads and stabs little bunny heads, we and also he, may never know.

Many suicidal attempts, somehow failed. Many homocidal attempts, somehow achieved and gotten away with. Only this selfish being he has, the one that takes life unneccessarily, with no rhyme or reason, exists here, on Earth. Even the sky tonight seemed too bright, as he found himself trying to get his favorite drinks and snacks at a convenience store he never remembers the name of, but remembers the location of.

There were only a few people parked outside getting gas, and one or two inside the store. Either way, he tried so hard not to make eye contact with any of them. If he even becomes a tad bit aggrivated, he'd be lost in his pyschotic fit. Tonight, he just wanted a quiet night watching a shitty movie and talking to the latest corpse - or - whatever was on his couch at the moment. His memory, once again, alluding him.

As time goes on, it seems both long term and short term memories were corrupted. Some big important things, some small and insignificant. He remembers people, and fragments of their faces. All victims, or near victims, or his ex girlfriend who wants nothing to do with him ever again.

In the end, he can't truly remember how many times that has even happened. There was a point, long before the point he was at right now, where he would date a bit more frequently. But at the moment, the only person he has had any contact with in the past 5 to 6 years, was the one girl who he lost. Johnny lost her, and it was all his fault, and it was several months ago.

Nothing he could do woud fix it, so he stayed away as she requested. But it wasn't a total lost, since, love had been lost on him many times before. It wasn't something he felt capable of doing. Love was just a side effect of the momentary sanity he gains for a few minutes to hours, before the pyschosis brings him back to the reality he was forced to face.

So of course, it was natural that even though so far today things were fairly normal (by his definition), that things would go terribly wrong. Not only was the machine broken for his fizzy drink, but when he asked the cashier to fix it, he said he couldn't.

"Look, sir, if you don't kindly leave I'm going to have to call the police; you're scaring the other customers with your rioting."

Of course, these string of words only further stabbed at his nerves. Stabbed. Stabbing. He crushed the bag of chips in his palm and bits of crumbs and cheetos flew in the air, as veins popped out of his head and he gritted his teeth. Jumping up on the counter, he grabbed the man by the shirt, who had already pressed the emergency button under the counter.

"GO AHEAD, PRESS IT ALL YOU WANT, THE COPS HAVEN'T CAUGHT ME YET AND THEY NEVER WILL! I'm invincible, a being a pure INVINCIBILITY - only death will get me, and yet, not even DEATH has caught up to me- NO MATTER HOW MUCH I WILL IT! Do you think I haven't tried? I've put a bullet in my head but not even HEAVEN OR HELL WOULD TAKE ME! Do you want to see how it feels to die, PIGMAN?! STOP STARING AT ME!"

As Nny let go of the man's shirt he kicked him in the jaw so his head would jerk back, the cashier immediately bashing his head into the counter behind him, causing a good portion of his skull to visibly crumble and crack in, a small amount of blood splatting at the impact of the blow, before him falling limp to the floor and slowly pooling out the rest of the liquids residing in his skull.

Turning around, he was about to yell at the person he directed the 'stop staring at me' to but found out that it was someone he.... recognized. Where has he seen this male before? He was frozen, something that didn't happen very often to the homocidal old man. Swallowing, he slowly climbed down the counter with a curious, furrowed brow, before smiling.

"Uh, you can still pay for those snacks - as much as the consumption of capatalistic brainwashing government controls the whole marketing of the world, they have a donation to little cancer kids behind the counter. Funny, huh? They spend all that time trying to fix their little bald heads and they die within a year anyways. But hey! Can't blame 'em for tryin - ey?" He grabbed the jar and held it out, rattling it a bit. It was the only thing he could think of doing. That's when he remembered his manners. "OH! That's right! My names Johnny, but you can call me Nny, sounds like Kneeeee, huh? Heheh." Smiling so wide it looked like he was a monster (and in some way he is), there was definitely something off about him other than the way he just slaughtered a cashier and called doctors useless for not being able to help dying bald children with almost incurable diseases.

#privatemothman

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lordelmelloi2 · 7 years

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allow me to discourse for a moment: The addition of Chevalier D'eon is actually fairly disrespectful in of itself because her whole servant-power gimmick is "She is a man dressed as a woman who passes as a woman dressed as a man, etc. etc. Gender, which is it, ooooooh!!". which, that's sums up the circumstances of her life, but ignores a really massive part of it, which is the fact that she openly embraced her gender identity as a woman for the rest of her life. And mostly the fact that her political power game was fucking INTENSE at the time since she fought during the Seven Years War. She was a spy for the French Court and went from Russia (as a woman) to France to England (sometimes as a woman?) and stayed in England a long time and was absolutely not doing her job as a spy in England (she was using military money to buy expensive wine. im ... same?). So King Louis XV at the time said "k, d'eon, you don't need to be in England anymore, you weren't really spying either...? get back here you're fired" and she said "No I like being a woman in England. Everyone treats me nice. Britain says I can be a private citizen. And also you fired me? Fuck you, test me and I'll expose your political secrets." And Louis XV was like "don't do it" and She Did It. And everyone was like "FUCK FUCK FUCK D'EON REALLY DID THAT." So then she became an INTERNATIONAL POLITICAL FIGURE and of course, people mocked her, and her gender became an international question & subject of ridicule for years. Her petition was granted, but she still had quite a few disgusting political cartoons drawn about her that you can still find today. Eventually Louis XV died and his son XVI was like "Uh, we don't need this shit going around a-about French secrets or whatever, you can come back" and she said "I want legal status as a woman. I am a woman. I want to fight as a woman and live as a woman". And eventually, that was granted, except every SINGLE time something was happening and the newly christened Lia Beaumont wanted to fight in a war or be political, everyone was like "Shut up Lia" and at one point they even locked her in a tower for 19 days on the condition that she stop asking to be a soldier and she'd be let out. Then she spent the rest of her life as a woman, insisting she was a woman, was born AFAB, and also going bankrupt because her pension ran out on account of all these damn French wars. Basically, she's one of the first trans women to have been given legal status as a woman in her country. And she had written her own philosophical writings about how gender is fluid etc. and that's huge! But! Given how we approach gender now, it's exceedingly clear that she was a transgender woman who wanted to be referred to as such and had her name changed to Lia Beaumont. She had her gender questioned for her for decades even until after she died. As a matter of fact, the autopsy genitalia drawing is literally accesible via the British Museum's online collection. I don't recommend going and looking up pictures of her junk because it's disrespectful. But is this respectful to her wishes? As a human being who actually lived through all this and was posthumously exposed? She did not spend an insignificant amount of time addressing herself, living as, and demanding respect as a woman. We already know that Nasu likes to screw around with gender in depictions of mythological characters (otherwise he wouldn't be famous) but he never specifically will state if anyone is any gender. The most we have in definitive terms is Astolfo, Enkidu, Da Vinci (which is ANOTHER can of discourse), and his interpretation of Chevaliere Lia Beaumont. To trans women today it's important to find representation when it's there. I find the treatment of Chevaliere Lia to be disrespectful to her wishes as a human being and especially posthumously. The jokes written about her gender in-game are reminders of both past and present doubts people have about transgender women and I get dysphoric-sick when I read about them. I'm nonbinary and a gender-mess but I would prefer people to respect D'eon as a trans woman specifically rather than as nonbinary because the circumstances of her life are too close to the struggles that modern trans women face in their lives than that of what I feel a lot of nonbinary experience can sum up to (a lot of it, I might add, has to do with the binary being a factor to begin with - Lia believed gender was fluid but also identified herself as a woman consistently rather than "both" or "neither"). Basically, if you wouldn't treat a trans woman in the news this way now-- why would you do it to one from the 19th century? ...aaaand that's why I only call her Chevaliére Lia/D'eon with that fun 'e' at the end to indicate her chosen gender. Main Sources: •https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/the-incredible-chevalier-deon-who-left-france-as-a-male-spy-and-returned-as-a-christian-woman.amp •Wikipedia, of course, unfortunately, •The British Museum's Online Gallery

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machinistsendeavor · 7 years

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Equius: eq is gonna be in the livingroom, and he's going to very solemnly lead eridan back into his gym, tying his hair back along the way.

Eridan: eri will just be quiet but visibly nervous because fuck he's tall also preparing for his fate

Equius: he leads eri through his house, and the walk probably takes a good few minutes.

Eridan: time for eri to say his last prayers

Equius: yeah basically. he'll let eridan say everything he wants to say. it's all just words. as they get to his gym, which is Fully Surrounded by mangled robo parts from previous fights, he'll turn to eridan in fight stance.

Eridan: eri will be provoking as shit and just try to punch him with a visible fear in his eyes

Equius: And then punch will be blocked. it'll be about as effective as punching a pillow. or. i dunno, something with less give than a pillow, and more give than a brick wall. enough to give him bruised knuckles.

Eridan: well eri isn't even trying to hurt him anymore he knows he's lost pretty much time to just punch him until he punches back he'll just keep telling him to punch him already like "are you scared huh??"

Equius: the first few punches are blocked. after a point, he dodges instead, then shoves eridan onto the floor. which is Probably what gives him a bloody nose. have fun face planting eri.

Eridan: eri needs a little but he slowly gets up again and he's like "is that all you can do?"

Equius: "Is that all You can do? Really try. If you want something out of this, you have to put actual work in."

Eridan: aaand eri will try to land a hard punch just ANYWHERE he isn't even aiming for anything seriously the only thing eri has is stamina that's all

Equius: equius lets it land. like, legitimately. it'll probably hurt them both a decent amount. eq's definitely gonna have bruised palms and shit after this.

Eridan: eri will then at least TRY to go for his face

Equius: .... yeah, eq can take a hit to the face. more out of surprise that eridan is going there than anything. and then i just picture him Shoving eridan away by the face, stronger than he intends to. the flat of his palm right against eridan's forehead/eye area. probably hard enough to give him a black eye, and definitely hard enough to daze him

Eridan: eri will be knocked out for a few minutes

Equius: ... when he comes to, eq's gonna be holding him and checking the back of his head.

Eridan: he'll wake up again and be like "more" just tearing up and starting to weakly sob "m-more" "i deserve more"

Equius: "... You don't." The words are soft, and eq continues checking if he's bleeding or anything horrific.

Eridan: back of his head is probably bleeding a little bruises on his arms like elbows etc eri will suddenly cling to equius and sob into his chest

Equius: ... this is fine. this is almost exactly what he thought would happen, besides knocking out eridan. gentle pats.

Eridan: and he'll sob for a while and then be like "be good to him, b-be a good kismesis, at least for me"

Equius: "I didn't intend anything otherwise. But i don't think you're giving eridan's affection for you enough credit."

Eridan: "i'm hurtin' him"

Equius: "Yes, you are. Because you Will Not Listen."

Eridan: "yes i'm listenin' i'm hurtin' him i've always hurt him and he can't deal with me and i'm not gonna make him put up with this anymore"

Equius: "You are a very exasperating troll. But he enjoys your company. He cares for you. And he Does deal with you. Even if you don't make it anything resembling easy." "... Pitchmates are supposed to challenge eachother. And honestly, you are a much better one than I am." providing idle back rubs all the while. cry it out, you enormous disaster.

Eridan: OH SHIT THAT LAST SENTENCE WILL MAKE HIM SUDDENLY STOP SOBBING ALL OF A SUDDEN WHEN HE REALISES IT "what" and he'll look up at him

Equius: "On that one, single front. You manage to be a better kismesis. Because you are a match for him." He Already regrets saying it.

Eridan: eri's mouth will be agape and he'll look all surprised, even terrified a little "...why"

Equius: "I am Clearly superior, physically. and we rarely have reason to fight, to make eachother improve."

Eridan: eri will suddenly look at the ground, looking like a little kid that's been told santa isn't real... he needs a while to let it all sink in and he'll just be quiet and stare at the same spot

Equius: "... I have no idea why you are sad, just this moment, rather than overjoyed that i said you're better than me."

Eridan: eri will quietly look up at him for a second, then back at the ground and give a small shrug

Equius: ... He liked it better when Eridan was punching him or crying. He's probably got a noticible bruise blooming on his face by now.

Eridan: and he'll finally talk again "i don't-..." and he'll search for words "i don't wanna be superior... deep down i don't"

Equius: "... What a coincidence, neither do i."

Eridan: eri will look up at him "i just want him to be happy. and he looks happier with you"

Equius: "He barely Looked at me, at the party. I came mostly for him, and I didn't see him until ten minutes before I left." "He was with his moirail the whole time. Wondering how he could help you." "Because he wants to. Because he cares."

Eridan: aaaand he'll look away again and need a while to think so he can let it sink in... "but i ruined the party for him"

Equius: "I am fairly sure that is because you were convinced you were going to ruin the party for him." "He didn't invite me. He didn't even mention it to me." He tries very hard to keep any bitterness out of his tone.

Eridan: eri will shrink a little and look scared "he just-... he was so dismissive with me but so happy about everybody else... and usually it's just-... it's me tryin' way too hard to get his attention while it feels like he doesn't and the rest of you who doesn't try gets the exact same attention even though i put so much effort into it... and what would happen if i don't put effort into it? he'd completely forget about me"

Equius: "... I know how you feel." "It may not seem it, but I do. I have to try to get his attention, and I'm always... I'm always afraid that he simply will not see me." "That I will be invisible." "... Unfortunately, that is a problem of his. He has a tendency to focus on so many people, it rarely seems like he can devote a significant amount of time to any of them."

Eridan: eri will look at him again, his expression all soft now, even looking understanding. "i mean how are you even supposed to do that with so many mates..."

Equius: "It is infuriating, honestly."

Eridan: "sometimes, yeah. he's generally bad at keepin' things fair i guess" "already havin' so many mates and then even givin' strangers more attention"

Equius: He makes a face. "Yes."

Eridan: "i don't like how he sleeps around"

Equius: "Me neither."

Eridan: "makes me feel insignificant"

Equius: "Indeed." "Every time I hear he got another mate, even if it is just... any quadrant, i get this... particularly dull rush of anger." "'here we go again', if that makes sense."

Eridan: "i just get stressed like oh boy now i have to work even harder"

Equius: "... unfortunately, I am not that sort of troll."

Eridan: "what do you mean"

Equius: "I can't... Make others pay attention to me."

Eridan: "oh?" "eridan pays plenty attention to you"

Equius: "Eridan barely talks to me." "He rarely initiates conversation."

Eridan: "i mean same it's always me who does it"

Equius: "He doesn't actually Talk, even when he does spend time with me." "I had to... I have to badger him to get him to actually tell me anything important."

Eridan: eri will shrink some more bc he feels guilty since he doesn't have that problem with eridan... eridan shares his thoughts and problems with him more easily........ "yeah same... though i usually don't even try" eri is a compulsive liar

Equius: "... There is no need to lie." he can see through it. He Knows eridans.

Eridan: "what?"

Equius: "Eridan has told me he has important conversations with you."

Eridan: eri will suddenly look VERY scared "uh"

Equius: "the thing we talk about most often is you."

Eridan: "what is there even to talk about when it comes to me"

Equius: "Mostly involving me asking why he puts up with you, and then him telling me how much he cares about you." "Or him telling me not to bother you." "Or him telling me to stop acting like you to get attention."

Eridan: his fins will flick at the last thing "actin' like me?"

Equius: "Your methods for getting attention are very effective. If incredibly annoying and inappropriate." "...Which, i assume, is rather the point."

Eridan: "and you actually try that?"

Equius: "Yes."

Eridan: "huh" eri will look confused

Equius: "It doesn't suit me, and he mostly tells me to stop before going back to paying attention to whoever it was I was talking to" "Often, you."

Eridan: dude eri will start to feel so guilty... "...did i ruin your relationship?"

Equius: "... No. You were simply there when I wasn't." "And you continue to be there when I am not. And I am grateful to you, for that." "... It is just really annoying, when you're there and I am too."

Eridan: "i mean... now i'm gone and you can take over"

Equius: "Unlikely."

Eridan: "why?"

Equius: "I have a tendency to get manic or depressed and not be online for nights, or weeks, at a time. There will always be a gap. And you fill it incredibly well."

Eridan: "i mean he has other mates doesn't he"

Equius: "... Yes." Shrug. "He still needs a pitchmate."

Eridan: eri will let out an exhausted sigh "i need... some time to think about all of this"

Equius: "Please do not fight anyone else in the interim, I promise I will be glad to hit you if you really really want it."

Eridan: eri will think a little more and then smirk weakly "that's kinky, but it's better if you save that for eridan"

Equius: ... He blushes. just really obviously.

Eridan: eri will start laughing at him

Equius: his blush gets worse, and he pulls out a towel. Just hands it to eri. "This is for your nose."

Eridan: eri takes the towel, then he'll try to wipe the blood from his lips (tho it'll soon be replaced with new) and slowly get up again, although a little shaky

Equius: "Be careful. Let me check if you have a concussion." time for eq to do what he does best, if eri lets him. Fuss.

Eridan: gay eri will snort at him all sarcastically "i don't need your fuckin' help. you did enough"

Equius: "There's a reason I wanted you to come to my hive. If you were going to get beat up, I at least wanted it to be with someone who was likely to do something other than beat you to a pulp and then let you bleed."

Eridan: "god, you're not my mum"

Equius: "If you stick around long enough for me to check you over, I will give you anything you want."

Eridan: "what would i want from someone like you"

Equius: "I can make you jewelry, baked goods, a robot or few, or order expensive designer clothing. or a car. or..." ... Shrug. "I have a lot of money, a lot of expertise, and a lot of free time."

Eridan: eri looks all confused "why... why do you wanna do this so bad"

Equius: "Because I don't like hurting people."

Eridan: eri will snort "you're a loser."

Equius: "I will accept that title."

Eridan: eri will smirk at him "i'll be fine. cas probably knows what to do. all i wanna do is just take a shower and have some time to think"

Equius: "... Just let me check you for a concussion. It will only take a minute or two, and it will reassure me."

Eridan: "oh my fuckin' god. fine."

Equius: Success. Nine foot troll decides to rise to kneeling. ... And then quickly decides he'd rather stand than kneel pretty much ever.

Eridan: eri will just watch him with a snort "you like bein' beneath me hm?"

Equius: .. a moment of rubbing his knee. you know. the one. "No." And then out comes the flash light. he does Checking For Concussion things, mostly silently besides requests to look this way or that. and... the result is whatever you want it to be. or i can roll a dice.

Eridan: i think nothing bad happened maybe very lightly

Equius: then he'll just walk him there. and tell him to hold on for a moment, and if eri does then he'll grab brownies for him.

Eridan: eri will be like an upset child "i don't fuckin' like sweets"

Equius: ... consider. "What do you like?" "And what does your mate like?"

Eridan: eri will raise an eyebrow "for me to leave this hive as soon as possible"

Equius: ... Equius purses his lips. Eridan can leave, he's not stopping him. He does however go into the kitchen and start pulling out various snacks. Just. setting them, visibly, on the table.

Eridan: "oh my god..." eri will take a minute to look at them tho bc it's free food after all

Equius: there is Probably at least one thing to eridan's tastes. "Get something for your mate as well, on the off chance he wants to kill me."

Eridan: yesss and eri will take that and sth that has chocolate bc case loves that "yeah he'll probably threaten you i won't say it was you though"

Equius: ... Shrug. "I probably will, if he seems particularly upset." "Have a good night, Eridan."

Eridan: eri will nod and pause... his expression will soften "thank you"

Equius: "... You're welcome." Curse these unfortunate feelings of Pale.

Eridan: aaand eri will leave

#ooc eyes only #long post #eridacnis #rp log #violence tw

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