#somewhat unburdened
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it’s october 7th. you hear about the attack by seeing people you followed glorifying the terrorist attack—a massacre, a pogrom—as victory & justified resistance, glorifying a terrorist group that was founded with the explicit intent to kill your entire people
you make a post in which you make it clear you support palestinians and oppose the ways israel has wronged them, explaining that the terrorist group is still not good. you know you will probably get some flacc from the pro-Hamas side, but naively underestimate how much.
you get thousands of notifications on that one post, the majority of them hateful comments.
some of the response is positive. multiple messages thank you for the post, expressing bafflement that it’s controversial.
a few Israelis are upset at the loaded language in your post, but explain their problems with it civilly. you called Israel “apartheid”. they ask you what apartheid laws Israel has. you admit you honestly don’t know.
your inbox is flooded with anonymous hate from anti-Israel leftists.
over the course of a few weeks you have received hundreds of death threats, a dozen rape threats. people accuse you of being pro-genocide. you’re a literal Nazi. you’re racist, you thirst for the blood of Palestinians. you’re brainwashed by propaganda, a shill for The Zionist Entity. a few of the hate messages are from literal Neo-Nazis; the overwhelming majority are from leftists, many of them queer.
you are considering suicide.
you see footage of the october 7th attacks. you see footage of the bombings in gaza. you see footage of a Jewish man being murdered at an anti-Israel rally.
a popular creator you follow posts in support of an antisemitic hate group that masquerades as a Jewish organization. this organization regularly posts blood libel and other antisemitic rhetoric, works with groups that are even more explicitly antisemitic, including celebrating October 7th, holocaust inversion, blood libel, “Khazar theory” and others. more than one of the orgs they work with is pro-Putin.
your former roommate liked the post.
graffiti appears on a street you frequent that says “#freepalestine” and “end settler colonialism”
the boyfriend of the friend you spent most of the summer with makes his first post about the war. it’s a reposted comic that mocks and downplays the october 7th attack.
you doubt he’ll be receptive to criticism. he’s shared leftist memes about “monied elites” pulling all the strings and evangelicals being modern day “pharisees” in the past, and getting him to understand why that was antisemitic was like herding cats. you try anyway.
another of his Jewish friends also pushes back. he smugly dismisses her, tells her she’s falling for Zionist propaganda and uses several antisemitic tropes. you go off on him. he just deletes your comment.
you give up. you’re done. you block him.
you see anti-Israel posters and billboards around town
you mention what happened with the guy you went off on to his girlfriend—the friend you’ve grown very close to, who you’ve been listening to as she unburdens her fears for the future and complains about her bf’s BS over the last year. she doesn’t respond to you.
a friend of a friend shares posts tokenizing fringe groups that spread blood libel and have collaborated with holocaust deniers. you know they don’t know what you know, so you explain what those groups are. they seem somewhat receptive, apologize, and take it down
the next day they share several more posts that dip into antisemitic tropes. you mention this to your mutual friend, that you’re worried about them being radicalized. you’re not sure how receptive they’ll be to continued criticism
you have a confrontation with the foaf. in the meantime they’ve shared even more antisemitic posts. they say they didn’t mean to cause you distress but instead of stopping they effectively block you.
the “end settler colonialism” vandalism has been counter-vandalized with the words “commie propaganda” in place of “settler colonialism”. you don’t know if this is an improvement.
a month passes. the friend whose bf you went off on still hasn’t spoken to you. you see she shared a post defending an SJP chapter that posted Nazi cartoon caricatures of Jews repurposed in “Anti-Zionist” memes. you unfriend her on all social media platforms but you can’t bring yourself to block her number.
you see a friend of someone whose couch you surfed when you were homeless harassing Jewish celebrities with “Free Palestine” comments. you block them.
you’ve lost count of how many people you’ve unfollowed or blocked, or who’ve blocked you. friends, content creators.
when a friend takes an unusually long time to respond you worry if it’s because of your posts about antisemitism.
most of the podcasts, youtube channels, and other content creators you regularly engaged with no longer feel safe. you wonder who will be next
a couple friends wish you a happy hanukkah. you don’t celebrate much aside from lighting the hanukkiah and making some latkes.
you see posts about a destroyed chabad menorah, antisemitic comments on Jewish celebrities’ Hanukkah posts.
your neighborhood is covered in pro-Palestine & anti-Israel posters. some are seemingly innocuous, some are JVP “not in our name” posters. some call for intifada. “globalize the intifada” “Zionists fuck off!” “solidarity means attack!”
a man kills himself shouting “free palestine”. you learn about his suicide by seeing posts from several popular accounts you followed glorifying it.
you follow a bunch of jewish accounts on social media and commiserate with them about everything happening
your jewish friends post screenshots of the dead man’s antisemitic, pro-Hamas views. you look at his reddit and find even more horrific shit: anti-Ukraine posts. mocking Zelensky. “elites” are “lizard people”; the only named individual he calls a lizard person is Jewish. you start to notice a pattern: a lot of the people he dislikes just so happen to be jews.
several people you know share a post glorifying this man’s suicide. most are acquaintances, one is someone incredibly important to you.
you wonder how they would respond to your suicide.
you tell the close friend that shared this post how it scares you. you show them the receipts of the man’s antisemitism. their response is a single sentence. they didn’t know about the antisemitism.
they don’t apologize.
you notice none of your irl friends, even your closest ones, interact with your posts about antisemitism. you are able to vent to a couple friends, but no one has reach out to you
you try not to read into it. you try not to take it personally.
you haven’t slept well in months. you’ve always been an insomniac but not like this. you’re not sleeping until 4am, 6am, even 9am. even when you get to bed at a decent hour and get a full night’s rest it takes you hours to get out of bed.
a few weeks go by. the friend with the single sentence response shares a post saying they’re excited and proud to join a group to help palestinians. you’re excited and proud for them.
a couple days later, they share a post about a fundraiser to help a palestinian family get out of gaza. you note to yourself this is a much more effective & less concerning form of activism than the pro-suicidal antisemite post.
your friend shares another post about the fundraiser. it’s a joint post between their group and another group.
you open the other group’s page
the page is just a wall of signs from rallies. you swipe through one after another: “from the river to the sea”, “by any means necessary”, justifying/denying the atrocities of october 7th, calling for violent revolution. anything done in the name of resistance can’t be terrorism, all Israelis are terrorists. Jews aren’t indigenous; they’re white colonizers. holocaust inversion. other vile, thinly veiled violent rhetoric
you feel sick to your stomach imagining talking to your friend about it.
you already feel like you’re burdening the few friends you can talk to about this. you already feel like you think about it too much, talk about it too much. but you can’t not think about it; it affects every aspect of your life.
you’ve filtered out relevant keywords on more than one social media site to avoid the worst of it. some still manages to leak through.
there isn’t a single friend you regularly interact with that you don’t fear the moment when they will switch from listening to your concerns to seeing you as the evil zionist or indoctrinated hasbaranik they’ve been warned about.
it’s not an irrational fear. it keeps happening. you knew it would then, and you were powerless to do anything about it before, and you continue to be as it happens again and again.
you don’t know what to do about any of it.
#idk just kinda wanted to document what this has been like all back to back#I know some of these on their own might come across as not that big of a deal but all together#they add up#tw for the all of it#cw trauma dump#antisemitism#i/p#tw suicide#tw suicidal ideation#tw death threats#tw rape threats#tw october 7th#tw terrorism
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I love everything about dad!Eddie!!!!!! It’s the cutest thing ever!!! Are your requests open? If so could I request dad!eddie with pregnant wife!reader and they’re little boy who’s so excited to have a little sibling? Their boy is convinced it’s a girl and Wayne somewhat is too and just lots of sweet fluff and their day to day as a family and Eddie being so infatuated with his pregnant wife 🥰🖤🖤 I just love the thought of Eddie being a dad and loving all on his pregnant wife
Dad!Eddie is my weakness! I actually thought this was a perfect setup for a part two to this story about Eddie picking your son up from school! I hope you enjoy this little family 🩷
Words: 3.5k
“Eddie, I can do it myself,” you say with a chuckle.
“Don’t be silly,” Eddie says. A low grunt escapes his lips as he loads himself up with as many grocery bags as he can. It wasn’t enough that he wouldn’t let you go shopping for food on your own, now he had to risk hurting himself by carrying everything in one go so you don’t pick up a single bag.
Jack hops out of the backseat and holds his arms out for one of the plastic bags his dad has. Eddie obliges and lets him take two light bags, one for each hand. Usually, you do the grocery shopping alone, but now that you’re in your second trimester, your husband insisted that you have some help. It came at a price though. Having both Eddie and Jack at the grocery store made the food bill go up by twenty bucks because they kept grabbing things off the shelves that they thought looked good.
“I’m not useless, you know,” you lament as you follow the two boys into the house. Jack can’t reach to lift the bags up to the counter, so you assist him with that, managing not to get scolded by Eddie.
“Of course not,” he replies as he unburdens himself of the packages. He walks over and rests his hands on your emerging bump. “You’re growing our second baby.”
“My sister!” Jack chimes in. You and Eddie watch as the five-year-old grabs a chair from the kitchen table and drags it over the counter. His little arms and legs push him up so he can see the bags on the counter.
“Still think the baby’s a girl, huh?” you ask, walking to stand next to him. He nods as you wrap your arm around his tiny shoulders.
“I know it,” Jack states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. That was interesting to both you and Eddie, seeing as you had both elected not to find out the sex of the baby. “Grampa Wayne knows it too.”
“Wayne says he thinks it’s a girl, bud,” Eddie reminds him. Jack shrugs this off like it means nothing to him. “And what’re you doing up here at the counter?”
“Gonna help,” the boy answers as he pulls a bunch of bananas out of a bag.
“Sweetie, you don’t have to do that,” you tell your son.
“Wanna,” Jack says with a shrug. “I’ll help Daddy and you can relax.”
“Good man,” Eddie says, ruffling the kid’s brown curls. Your husband’s eyes widen in question when you arch an eyebrow at him. “What? Raising a little gentleman here.”
“We are,” you acquiesce, leaning in to kiss Jack’s head. “But I’m not some weakling, guys.”
“Nope,” Jack muses as he inspects a jar of peanut butter. “You’re super strong, Mommy.”
The praise from your son makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and spin him around—but you’re pretty sure that would give Eddie a heart attack.
“The strongest,” your husband agrees. He saunters over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. “The most beautiful.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “The sweetest.” Kiss. “The smartest.” Kiss. “The best.”
It doesn’t matter how long the two of you have been together, his words still cause heat in your face and butterflies in your belly. The way he stares into your eyes with such adoration and love has your knees feeling weak. You refuse to let them buckle though, or Eddie would have a cow.
“Well, thank you, my studly charmer. But you might want to pay more attention to your son than me if you want to have any of the Oreos we bought.”
Eddie spins around to see chocolate crumbs dusted across Jack’s lips and cheeks, a sneaky smile on his face as he’s slowly pulling his hand out of the blue packaging.
“Hey! Hands off my cookies, shortstuff!”
“How’s that feel, princess?” Eddie asks as you stretch the muscles of your torso out. There had been a cramp in your lower back that he just finished rubbing out.
“So much better, thank you,” you say with a content sigh as you lean back against his chest. “If you keep calling me ‘princess,’ what’re you gonna call the baby if Jack is right and she’s a girl?”
Eddie hums as he wraps his arms around your body to rest them on your bump. “You underestimate the stash of pet names I have, baby. Angel? Little chick? Kitten?”
“You know I’m giving birth to a human, right?” you tease. Eddie slips his cold hands beneath your pajama top, making you let out a small yelp. Shoulders shaking with laughter, he reaches up and covers your mouth with one hand.
“Shhh, you’re gonna wake him up.”
Jack is fast asleep across the hall, but he’s always been a light sleeper. Neither you nor Eddie is looking forward to how cranky that will make the little boy once the new baby arrives and cries all night.
“Have I ever told you how absolutely beautiful you are?” Eddie asks as he lays his head down on top of yours.
“Mm,” you muse as you let your eyes slip closed. “Not in the last twenty minutes or so, no.”
Calloused hands rub softly over your bump, gentle and warm and relaxing enough to lull you to sleep.
“You’re just s’perfect,” Eddie mumbles against your hair, more to himself than to you. His praise has your body flushing and you snuggle further back into his warmth.
“Do you think the baby is a girl?” you ask, doing your best to push sleep off.
“I don’t know. It’s what all those silly little tests we’ve tried have told us. So, I guess that’s what I’m leaning towards,” Eddie admits. “It’s no secret I want a daughter, but if we have another son, I’m going to love him every bit as much.”
Nodding slowly, you lift one of his large hands to your mouth so you can press kisses on the rough skin there.
“What about you?” Eddie asks. “Any motherly intuition telling you one way or another if Baby Munson Number 2 is a boy or girl?”
“Nope,” you say. “Sorry to report that my body does not bring those findings to my brain. And what about you, huh? You’re the one who sent your swimmers to find my egg. You telling me that you don’t know if the best swimmer in your lineup is a boy or a girl?”
Eddie chuckles and presses a few quick kisses to the crown of your head. “We should get some sleep, babe.”
“M’kay.”
You’re already halfway there as Eddie leans over and flicks the lamp on the nightstand off. As your husband maneuvers himself below you, you let him move you how he needs to, far too tired to even let out a groan when his knee somehow knocks against your spine.
Eddie lays his head down on his pillow and pulls you into his arms. You waste no time tucking your head below his chin and nuzzling into the warmth and security of his chest.
“Goodnight, baby. I love you.”
After a few moments of heavy silence being all that responds to his words, Eddie cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of your sleeping face. There’s a peacefulness about you when you sleep and the way your lips part slightly has Eddie chuckling.
Yep, he sure was right before. You are just so perfect in his eyes.
Sunday family dinners are something Eddie only saw in movies growing up. Sure, he and Wayne had dinner together most nights but there was no other family to have dinner with. No aunts or uncles to come over or no grandparents to visit. Ever since Jack was born though, most Sundays have been family dinner nights. Sometimes some of your family would come over or you’d go over to theirs, but most weekends it was Wayne coming over or the three of you traveling the few miles over to Forest Hills to have dinner at the trailer. This week, Wayne is dropping by, and Eddie has enlisted Jack to help him make dinner.
“Okay, now a teaspoon—no, that’s a tablespoon. There ya go. Dump that into the bowl. Perfect!”
Jack beams with pride and does a little wiggle on the chair he’s standing on.
“Now what?” Jack asks.
“Now,” Eddie says as he plucks his rings off his finger one by one. Your son’s eyebrows furrow together when Eddie even takes off his wedding ring—that’s not one he usually removes. “We get our hands in there and mix everything together.”
“No rings?” Jack asks, pushing his sleeves up his little arms.
“No rings,” Eddie affirms. “I don’t want stuff to get caked in them.”
“S’not cake,” Jack tells his father with a giggle. “It’s meatloaf!”
“Silly me,” Eddie says. “Ready?”
Jack nods and the two of them stick their hands in the large bowl, raw ground beef squishing between their fingers and cold ketchup and egg yolks squelching as they work in tandem to combine the ingredients. Little giggles travel out to you in the hallway as you make your way towards them. Both of your boys have their backs to you as you enter, and you lean against the archway and cross your arms over your chest as you watch them. Their heads are close together and murmurs of their conversation sound like a dull hum from the few feet away. Eddie tries to move his hair out of his face by shaking his head, but to no avail. Chuckling to yourself, you push off the wall and slip a scrunchie off your wrist as you make your way to him.
Eddie startles, not knowing you were there as you collect his hair at the back of his head. He lets out a self-deprecating huff of laughter as you tie the hair at the nape of his neck. The right shoulder blade beneath his black t-shirt is too tempting as it moves back and forth with the motions of his arms; you just have to press a kiss to it. A soft smile curls at the corners of Eddie’s lips as he and Jack finish mashing all the ingredients together.
“It’s gonna be delicious,” you say as you snake your arms around your husband’s waist from behind. Resting your cheek against his back, you feel the muscles flex and stretch beneath his skin as he wipes his hands off on a towel.
“What should we have with the meatloaf?” Eddie asks.
“Sweet potatoes!” Jack cheers as Eddie tosses him the towel.
“Ooh,” you croon, picking your head up from Eddie’s back. “That sounds really good. With cinnamon and butter.”
“Yum!” Jack hums as he wipes his little hands off.
“Whatever my loves want,” Eddie says. He turns in your grip to wrap one arm around your shoulders. “Guessing baby Munson wants sweet potatoes too?”
“Good guess,” you tell him with a peck on the cheek.
Eddie ends up preparing the root vegetables by himself because you fall asleep on the couch with your son curled up to your side, snoozing as well. He hardly minds though, preferring to be the one doing any and all work and letting you and Jack rest. The clock above the oven keeps catching his eye, checking to see if the time Wayne said he’d be by is approaching any faster. As happy as he is to be seeing the closest person he ever had to a parent, he doesn’t want the doorbell to disturb your sleep. Jack? That would be fine because then the little boy would be more likely to sleep through the night. You were so tired though from pregnancy that you could nap for hours and still sleep all night long.
Deciding he could go for a cold beer, Eddie pops open the fridge and pulls out a can. He nudges the door closed with his hip but knocks it a little too hard and sends the jars and bottles that are on the inside of the door sliding around. Eddie winces and cracks open the beer can as quietly as he can. The sound of footsteps has Eddie groaning, but then he hears how fast and light they are, and he realizes it’s Jack who woke up.
“Dinner ready?” the sleepy boy asks, rubbing his right eye with the heel of his hand.
“Not yet,” Eddie replies before taking a long swig of beer. “Soon, though. And Grandpa Wayne should be here any minute.”
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“Is the baby hurting Mommy?”
A deep frown creases Eddie’s face and he sets his beer down on the counter.
“Of course not. Why would you think that?”
Jack shrugs and walks closer to his dad. Meeting him halfway through the kitchen, Eddie hefts the boy up and balances him on his hip.
“She’s always tired.” The five-year-old sighs and lays his head on his father’s shoulder. “She cries sometimes. An’ you don’t want her to do lots of stuff. Like when I get sick or hurted my leg.”
“Nah,” Eddie assures him with a shake of his head. “The baby isn’t hurting Mommy. It’s just that the baby is growing in her tummy and that takes a lot of Mommy’s energy. And it’s easier for her to cry because the baby growing makes her more emotional. Like when you’re tired, right? You get all cranky and whiny.” He tickles Jack’s belly, making the little boy giggle and squirm around in his arms.
“So, you don’t want Mommy to do stuff cause she’s tired?” Jack asks once he’s caught his breath.
“That’s part of it. But it’s also because I love her so much. Mommy’s already doing so much just by growing a baby. That’s the most important job, so anything I do is to make things easier for her.”
“I wanna help. I love her too,” Jack says.
“I know.” Eddie presses a kiss into the boy’s curls. “You do help her.”
“How?” The adorable way he scrunches up his little face reminds Eddie of your expression when you get confused by something.
“By being you,” Eddie says, bouncing your son in his arms. “You make her happy and you make her laugh.”
“That helps?”
“So much!” Your voice has both of them turning to see you walking into the kitchen. The bright grin on your face tells Eddie that you heard enough of the conversation to know what’s going on. “I’m okay, sweet boy.” You rub the back of your fingers against his cheek, and he gives you a gap toothed smile.
The ring of the doorbell has Jack’s head turning towards the front door and scrambling to get out of his dad’s arms. Eddie sets him down and the sound of little feet thumping down the hallway fades from the two of you.
You expect Eddie to follow your son out of the room, but instead he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs your body up against his.
“How was your nap, beautiful?”
“Good,” you tell him as you slip your arms around his neck. “But I don’t like waking up without you there.”
“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Well, I would’ve been there if my little family didn’t want me to make sweet potatoes so badly.”
Playfully, you roll your eyes at him and lean up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Not true. If you weren’t making food for dinner, you would’ve been doing something else so that I wouldn’t have to do it later. Throwing in a load of laundry or balancing the checkbook.”
“Don’t think you want me doing that last one again,” Eddie says, wrinkling up his nose in the way that you find utterly adorable. “I still don’t know where that seventy-five dollars went.”
“Guess you’re just going to have to let me handle some things,” you say with a shrug.
Before Eddie gets the chance to respond, Jack’s booming footsteps run back into the kitchen, followed by a heavier gate approaching.
“Grampa Wayne is here!”
You drop your arms from around Eddie’s neck, but he keeps his tight hold on your waist.
“Tell him to take you out for pizza,” Eddie mumbles, too low for Jack to hear, as he lowers his head and presses a kiss to the side of your neck.
“Down boy,” you mutter in reply and press your hands against his chest. Eddie groans and reluctantly drops his arms from around you.
Wayne steps in the kitchen and ruffles Jack’s curls. “Hey, Ed. Hiya darlin’,” the older man says as approaches you. “How’re ya feeling?”
“Feeling pretty good,” you tell him. “Your nephew is still treating me like I’m fragile, though.”
“Not fragile,” Eddie interjects. “Just precious.”
The oven timer beeps, and your husband is immediately on it. He slips the oven mitts on and ushers Jack out of the way so he doesn’t get caught in the wave of heat that will escape.
Wayne steps up next to you and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I know he can get a bit much,” the man says softly, “but he just wants to make sure his girls are taken care of.”
“Ah,” you hum, resting a hand on your bump. “Forgot you and Jack are both on Team Baby Girl.”
“What can I say? Kid is persuasive,” Wayne says with a playful look in his eye.
“You’re telling me. All he has to do is look at me with those big brown Munson eyes and I almost cave and let him have that cookie before dinner that he’s begging me for. But I don’t think even Jack’s cuteness and coercion can determine the sex of a baby.”
“Maybe not,” Wayne says with a chuckle. “But he sure can make me wanna agree with him that the baby’s a girl.”
“She is!” Jack says, hopping over to stand in front of you. He leans in and presses a smacking kiss to your belly. “My sister. Can't wait to play with her.”
“You’re gonna be the best big brother ever,” you tell him, cupping his small chin in your hand. The way he smiles up at you fills your body with the warmth of love and affection.
“Dinner is ready,” Eddie announces, dropping the oven mitts down on the counter. “Jacks, help me set the table.”
“I’ll grab the glasses,” you say.
“Uh uh,” Eddie chides, stepping over and taking your hands in his. “I can handle—”
“Eddie,” you cut him off. “I can carry four cups.”
Heaving a sigh as if this is the world’s worst inconvenience, he acquiesces. “I guess that’s okay.”
“How kind of you,” you deadpan, arching an eyebrow at him. As you turn around to open the cabinet, Eddie watches you with an adoring smile. When you step into the dining room, Wayne lightly smacks his hand against his nephew’s back.
“She ain’t made of paper, ya know.”
“Oh, I know.” Eddie slips his hands into his pockets and cranes his head to watch you set down a glass at each place setting that Jack is organizing. “Part of me is amused by messing with her now. But mostly…” Eddie trails off, a shy smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I just wanna take care of my girls.”
“Team Baby Girl too, huh?” Wayne asks.
“Oh yeah,” Eddie agrees with a laugh. “We’ve done all the old wives tale tests. She’s a girl.”
“Got a name?” Wayne asks.
Jack is still meticulously setting up the silverware at each seat at the table, but you make your way into the kitchen in time to hear Wayne’s question.
“We do,” you answer his query. “Wanna be the first to know?”
“Just don’t tell Jack,” Eddie adds.
“I’d be honored,” Wayne says.
Matching smiles on both your and Eddie’s faces, you nod at your husband for him to do the honors. Eddie’s face lights up and the childlike gleam in his eye makes him look like Jack’s twin. He takes a step closer to his uncle so the little one won’t overhear in the other room. Wayne leans in towards Eddie in anticipation. Your husband seems to notice this and takes enjoyment in keeping Wayne in suspense.
“Eddie, if you don’t tell him, I will.”
Grabbing a stack of napkins, you stroll past the two men and Eddie reaches out to swat at your ass.
“Come on and tell me, boy,” Wayne says, annoyance leaking into his tone.
“Fine, fine,” Eddie says, clearly enjoying himself. “Audrey. Audrey Munson.”
A little gasp has everyone turning their heads to see Jack standing in the doorway.
“Is that the baby’s name?” he asks.
“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says, clearing his throat. “If she’s a girl.” You hadn’t intended to let Jack know the name just in case you were all wrong and the baby was a boy—which you knew Jack would still love, but he’d be bummed he was wrong. But your son’s happiness has you and Eddie letting all of that go and enjoying his reaction.
Jack grins and starts jumping up and down in one spot, his little hands clenched into fists in his excitement. He runs over and cups your baby bump in his chubby hands.
“Hi, Audrey. I love you!”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fan fiction#request
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please pleASE PLEASE FINISH THOSE NIGHT TIME HC. IM BEGGING BABY PLEASE
Midnights | Nighttime Headcanon's
I totally forgot I added this to my masterlist and never finished it! It's been a while since i've written any hc's so forgive me if i'm a little rusty.
Rhysand
Rhys is usually busy with his High Lord duties throughout most of the day so you don't see each other during busier days.
So nighttime becomes somewhat sacred as it is the only time you have his undivided attention.
Rhys is a bit of a night owl, and sometimes even when he's dead tired he'll procrastinate sleep just to spend more time together.
Night times are spent sharing stories about your days, lounging in bed with your Mate, doing your joint nighttime face routines (Rhy's is very extensive)
Eventually you'll settle into bed and drift to sleep in your Mates arms.
Azriel
Azriel hardly sleeps, and when he does it's not until the early hours of the morning.
Sometimes you have to bribe him to step away from his work and just come to bed.
When he does give in he is often dead tired and therefore very affectionate.
Not that he isn't regularly but sleepy Az is a different type of affectionate.
His guilty pleasure is taking a hot bath with you and using lots of soaps and oils to help him relax.
He practically melts into the water as he releases all the tension he's been holding.
You'll wash his hair and his wings and when you're done he'll take you to bed where he'll climb into the warm sheets basically curl around you like a cat often muttering praises and thanks into your skin as he gives in to sleep.
Cassian
Cassian works hard everyday and often his work is much more physical than anyone else in the inner circle.
He trains himself every single day on top of training everyone else, often he spends the majority of his day in the ring practising new techniques and strategies.
This often leaves him physically and emotionally exhausted at the end of the day.
His favourite part of his day is when the sun goes down and he can come home to you.
Usually he'll find you in the kitchen preparing a meal for you both.
Some primal part of him secretly loves the thought of you taking care of him like this, but he also loves that you're a strong and independent and could definitely put him on his ass in the training ring.
He'll often just watch you as you prepare the meal or sometimes he'll help out even though he's a terrible cook and definitely more of a hindrance than anything else.
Other days he'll immediately go and take a shower to wash off the days dirt and change into something more comfortable.
By the time you sit down to a meal with him the moon is usually high in the sky.
You'll enjoy a glass of wine as you watch Cassian clear away the dishes before he'll take you to bed.
Often you'll end up laying in bed talking until one of you falls asleep.
And after a particualrly hard day sometimes he won't say anything at all, just curl into you as you run your fingers through his hair until he starts to melt into your touch and gives in to sleep.
Eris
Eris is always busy he has so many duties and responsibilities to fulfil that he hardly finds the time for it all
That usually leaves him pretty tense though he can't let that show in front of his father.
Only when he is in the safety of his apartments can he let the mask slip a little and be the real Eris.
That usually involves coming back to his rooms at night and enjoying an hour or two of comfortable silence with you.
This usually consists of the two of your wrapped up together by the fire, maybe reading, maybe just enjoying each others presence and other times it involves the two of your surrounded by a pile of sleepy hounds.
Either way Eris is happiest in these moments, unburdened by his title or the weight of his responsibilities.
It's these simple, quiet moments he lives for.
His nights usually end with you un-braiding his hair and brushing it through before retiring to bed where Eris reads long into the night, one hand wrapped around you as you sleep peacefully.
Lucien
Lucien is more of a morning person, so he usually keeps a pretty consistent nighttime routine and never really stays up too late.
Lucien likes to finish his work for the day pretty early if he can.
He likes to take some time out in nature as dusk begins to settle, he might walk, or ride, or just sit, that all depends on the day really and he enjoys to do this alone though he will often invite you along.
He enjoys the sense of freedom it brings and the calm of being in the open air.
Lucien gets home and immediately melts into his favourite chair by the fire where he might read but often he prefers to sit and drink and talk with you, and sometimes his two closest friends, Jurian and Vassa.
Often this leads to loud recounting of epic tales and lots of laughter that drifts through the house.
When everyone else retires for the night Lucien will take you back to your room, draw a bath, which you usually end up joining him before retiring to bed.
He's usually dead tired by this point so it doesn't take long before he's sleeping, snoring lightly and drifting into dreams.
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar x reader#eris vanserra#azriel x reader#azriel x you#eris x reader#eris x you#cassian x reader#lucien vandaddy#lucien x reader#lucien vanserra#lucien headcanons#eris headcanons#cassain headcanons#azriel headcanons
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Rise Ponderings:
The Turtles With Japanese Names
I've seen a lot of headcanons lately that support the "Rise boys' given names ARE their colours and they only got the artist names later on" narrative so I'd like to share my own.
Rise Splinter is undoubtedly very Americanised but I think that despite him forsaking his familial duties and old life, he’s still Japanese, is still a Hamato. So, subconsciously, he gave the boys Japanese names (of their corresponding colours, of course).
On that note, for all that Splinter has Celebrity-Who-Gives-Their-Kids-Unique-Names energy, I believe that he would still have enough decency to give them somewhat proper Japanese names not just 'Aka', 'Ao', 'Murasaki' and 'Orenji'.
However, for a period of time, the English-colour-names Splinter uses in the show would have been how addressed each other because they are, for the most part, an English-speaking household. Until an eight-year-old April came along insisting that those weren't 'real names', the turtles English names were 'Red', 'Blue' etc.
After adopting 'proper' English names, those became the common form of address, though Splinter still calls them by the English colours because it's a habit for him. They don't mind.
They don’t use their Japanese names often. It’d mostly be during serious-talk time, in official stuff, calling someone by their full name or teasing.
Ironically, in Splinter's (read: my) effort to not be a basic bitch, most of the boys' Japanese names are female. You can bet they tease the shit out of each other about it. The only one that actually takes offense to the teasing is Donnie whose name is very common and recognisable, so he always gets asked why he has it and/or if he realises that it's a girly name.
The Names
*NOTE: I'm using Kanji here. Fair warning, they could be written wrong, so if there are any Japanese speakers out there, do correct me.
Hamato 'Raphael' Shuiro
Shuiro 朱色 = vermilion
Raph’s name is the only one that isn’t a real given name but I thought it suited him.
Colour Symbolism:
Besides being one of the most dominant colors in Japanese culture, red is associated strongly with authority, strength, sacrifice, passion, joy, and happiness. It's also regarded as an auspicious color in Japan.
Frequently said to have Eldest Daughter Syndrome by the fandom, Raph is the ultimate authority among the brothers. He self-appoints as leader not because he necessarily wants to be, but because as the oldest and the biggest, he feels like it's his responsibility to look after the others. Which often takes great strength and sacrifice. Surface Pressure from Encanto, anyone?
Furthermore, red, specifically vermilion, is very symbolic in Japanese architecture:
Red is the color of torii – Shinto shrine gates – temples, and traditional daruma dolls. Red is said to scare away evil spirits and represent protection, strength, peace, and power.
All in all, very fitting for the big brother and family protector, if you ask me.
Hamato 'Leonardo' Aoi
Aoi 青い = blue
Aoi is a unisex name; meaning hollyhock flower when used for girls and blue for boys. I'm using the male meaning for Leo.
Colour Symbolism:
Blue commonly represents the sea and the sky (for which Japan is surrounded) and symbolizes purity, dignity, calmness, stability, security, and fidelity. Blue is also regarded as a lucky colour.
In this case, blue is rather in juxtaposition with Leo's personality, but looking at it from a franchise perspective, blue is indeed a leader's colour.
Back then, Japanese society was strictly hierarchical and displayed through the colour of their robes. Of the colors that were allowed for common folk, the color blue was work by higher ranking people. It symbolized wealth and prestige, while also remaining a color of the common folk.
That being said, Leo's a little different from his predecessors. Eventually, he will grow into the role of the leader we know and love. But even when he was unburdened from being leader, he was still the strategist. Leo's leadership in fights is a balance between what is uniquely Rise and the mission-mindset of the leaders in blue who came before him, strategies that are fun, wacky and maybe a little unorthodox yet still as effective for the team.
Hamato 'Donatello' Sumire
Sumire 菫 = violet
Sumire is usually a girl's name but I don’t think Splinter would’ve cared all that much about gender.
Donnie doesn't either and even likes his name, though it has caused him a lot of grief over the years. A lot of people think it's strange for a guy with his personality to have such a feminine name, and he's really sick of having to defend his name after introducing himself. Part of why he wanted 'Donnie'.
Colour Symbolism:
Like in the West, purple in Japanese culture is associated with royalty, as purple dye was rare and only available to those of a higher status. It can also reflect on nobility, spirituality, and wisdom.
Out of everyone, Donnie embraces his colour about the most. His clothes are purple, his tech is purple, his lab is bathed in purple lighting. Purple is Donnie's thing. This, in a way, ties in with the colour's exclusivity back then.
Flower Symbolism:
In Hanakotoba (flower language), the meaning of violet is sincerity, a small love, and a small bliss. Violets are a common gift, as they are an ideal way to show appreciation for a family member or friend and to express sincerity or love.
I think this is very Donnie. What he lacks in the emotional department, he makes up for through his tech. He creates things for his family, making them all kinds of personalised gizmo. Sometimes it results in disaster but the intention to help is there. Gift-giving is his love language.
Hamato 'Michelangelo' Mikan
Mikan 蜜柑 = tangerine
Mikan is a common Japanese girl name. Baby girls named "Mikan" are usually joyful, positive-thinkers, smiley and generally happy people.
Mikey loves his name and doesn't care that it's girly and cute, no matter how the others tease him about it. (SIDE NOTE: I swear the near-matching names wasn't intentional. I was just looking for a name that means mandarin orange for a bit I'm writing).
Colour Symbolism:
Orange is symbolic of love, happiness and the sun.
The youngest of the family, Mikey is optimistic and cheerful. He brings joy and colour to the household through his art. He encourages everyone to be express their love openly and always tries to be supportive.
Fruit Symbolism:
Besides good fortune, wealth and longevity, the fruit mikan can be tied to family because of its role in Japanese traditions. In Japan, there is a word “Kotatsu de Mikan”, which means:
A family sits around a kotatsu (a traditional Japanese table with an electric heater attached to the underside), watching TV and eating mikan — the traditional picture of a harmonious family seen in the wintertime.
TLDR; I really love how each turtle has a role to play in the family, how their respective colours are so appropriate for who they are as people, and I wanted their Japanese name to reflect that.
Mikey is all about family. He's the heart, always the peacemaker, always bringing everyone together.
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#the pics aren't mine#So many iterations of TMNT and no Japanese names?#A travesty#rottmnt#rottmnt raph#rottmnt leo#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt mikey#japanese names#rottmnt headcanons
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Inspired by this Ghost post.
Still debating actually properly writing more about it but until then more thoughts in tags
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Thinking about what would happen if Gojo Satoru was reader's husband in our world.
The same man but different, still a teacher, but sweeter, softer, unburdened by expectation.
But then he dies. Whether by a horrible accident or some sickness, but either way his death traumatizes reader.
Until one day she wakes up next to him, alive, breathing, there.
Same lover only different, more confidant, more sure, somewhat more aloof. But him nonetheless.
They discover later that she has a lack of cursed energy, a complete void of it, something almost entirely unheard of.
They conclude that she’s from a different reality entirely, one without cursed energy at all.
Same world but different, same woman but different, same man but different.
The question being, is the difference too much to overcome?
#gojo satoru#jjk#gojo x reader#jjk angst#gojo x reader angst#gojo x you#i feel like i could go on about this for way longer#series maybe??#but fr#the difference in Gojo between sorcerer him and civilian him is living rent free in my head#like think about how much calmer he is as a regular dude#or how hard hed have to try to make sure you dont see how much the stress of being a sorcerer really effects him#or how easily youd see the cracks in his facade#and how much youd wanna help him#and how much he'd struggle to let you#and you'd love him#hes still your husband after all#but seeing him so untouchable is like a slap to the face#even the rain cannot touch him in this world#yet he was helpless in the other
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Donna Beneviento x Gender Neutral Reader - Misc. Headcanons
For Donna, her veil is a large aspect of her identity outside of her home. This isn’t for any other reason than the fear of judgment from others due to the scar on her right eye. Regardless, she is more than happy to take it off around you as a symbol of the love and trust that she has for you. This takes quite some building up to on her part, seeing as she was bullied quite often for her looks especially when she was little. With your loving and care however, she is able to at least somewhat surpass that trauma and reveal her true identity to you with your loving comfort and care, and lots and lots of affectionate appraisals to how cute and gorgeous she looks.
Adding to her usage of her veil, eventually she reaches the point where she is comfortable pulling it back in public, if only to reveal part of her cheek and her mouth. This is so she can better display her emotions nonverbally, either through a smile or an overly exaggerated frown, or even as an invitation for a quick kiss when she’s feeling especially affectionate. This is usually done when she is confident that not many people are watching, but still within a public setting. It warms your heart to know that she’s gained this confidence to be more open with her emotions in public, simply by wanting to display her love and emotions to you.
As you can probably tell, Donna is incredibly nonverbal when it comes to communicating. If she can get the point across without having to talk, then that’s what she will do. In private and sometimes in public, this is through using facial expressions to indicate how she feels towards certain things and situations, how you’re acting and how she feels about it. She will also point and gesture at things as an indication to her interest towards them. This isn’t to say that she hates her voice, and indeed you love it when you hear her deep and dulcet tones being whispered into your ear, it’s just that talking takes quite a lot of emotional effort for her, and she’d rather not have to go through that process. It takes a while to adapt, but in time you begin to understand her body language and the way she tries to communicate how she feels using it and come to see it as quite affectionate and endearing.
Donna is quite the sleepy type, especially because she is quite the night owl, often staying up until the early hours of the morning working on one of her hobbies such as knitting or writing especially if she finds it particularly engrossing. Unfortunately on her part, this means that she usually ends up being quite tired during the day, adding to her lethargy and unwillingness to partake in any activity more strenuous than walking or sewing. A cute aspect of this however, is how often she will take a nap on your shoulder during the day as you sit next her, and much like how a cat falls asleep on your lap, you daren’t move as disturbing her would feel like an act of cruelty. You also love staying up with her during these late nights, as even simply watching her work on her hobbies is enough for you to become enraptured with how calm and unburdened, she appears whilst she is engrossed in these things.
She also isn’t one to eat that much, which you find quite alarming at first. She only really eats one meal a day and typically only has a few snacks outside of this meal. You soon come to understand though that it’s not as if she does that much physical activity and so would not need to eat that much to get by. However, you would still prefer if she was a little less lethargic, and so over time you convince her to add more and a little more variety to her diet, so she isn’t just scraping by each day. She is also an excellent cook, and an expert on a variety of Italian dishes that she is more than happy to cook up for you as and when you need it. The Bolognese sauce she makes is to die for, so having it served with any kind of pasta is always a treat. This is another nonverbal way of displaying her affection towards you, and seeing you well fed and enjoying something she made for you fills her little dark heart with joy.
As for when she does communicate verbally, she usually leans in right next to your ear to whisper something affectionate into your ear. Because her love for you is overwhelming due to her prior lack of affection, this is one of the few things to draw her out of her shell. Her deep voice reverberates through your neck and sends comforting shivers down your spine. In that moment where she is drowning you in eloquently spoken tokens of affection, you feel utterly taken by the warmth and comfort her voice brings, a reminder of just how dedicated she is to you. As she pulls away and smiles at you warmly, you think to yourself that anything less than a lifetime spent with this woman would be time well and thoroughly wasted, this is all you’ll ever need.
Overall, her affection towards you is quite subdued in fact, and to some may seem quite distant. This is understandable given her circumstances but given time you start to know and understand things about her that other people simply pay no attention to. It’s not that she puts no effort in, it’s just these efforts are much more subtle and a lot less verbal, but no less loving or caring than any other person, and perhaps even more so. Loving Donna can be rough at times, she has little self-confidence and can be quite insular, but you live for the times when she does come out of her shell and displays affection towards you, and most importantly herself. Over time, and given your undying love towards you, she begins to gain confidence in strides, and it is in this that you find your own self meaning, by enabling such a precious lady to find her own self-confidence, and blossom into a caring and doting person whom you adore immensely.
Thanks for reading! 💖 This was just a few quick ideas I’ve had in my head that I decided to elaborate on in headcanon form, I truly hope you enjoyed them. Please do let me know if you’d like to see anything else like this in the future, this isn’t the extent to which I have in my head, and I’d be more than happy to write something very NSFW once I put my mind to it, believe me I have a lot when it comes to that sort of thing 😏
#resident evil village#resident evil 8#resident evil 8 village#re8#re8 village#donna beneviento#lady donna beneviento#lady beneviento#house beneviento#re8 donna#donna beneviento x reader#donna beneviento headcanons#resident evil headcanons#resident evil
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Blind Dates 2024: Capt. Marion Brennan, WAC
My second submission for this year's @blind-dates-fest! I'd love to introduce you all to Marion Brennan.
Fandom: Masters of the Air (2023)
The waiting was the worst part.
She’d been overseas for nearly a year now, and she could take everything else that came with the job in stride - the bloody faces, the vomit, the smell of piss and fear seeping out of flight suits, the way a boy tried to steady his shaking hands so that his buddies wouldn’t see that he was still scared. But the waiting was always fresh, always raw - and the fear returned anew each time the planes went up, and each time they came back down.
And when they came back down, she went to work. Except for today.
Marion surveyed the names on the large blackboard on the other side of the Operations Room, reading each one over as though she didn’t already know them all by heart. Her boys, day in and day out. Move them around, re-assign and re-group them, but she would know them even when their own mothers wouldn’t. Because I see them when no mother should - and hear the things no mother should ever have to hear.
Did you take any flak?
Did you see any chutes?
And was he on the radio?
What heading was that?
Tell me what the plane’s condition was.
What time was that?
"Why, it’s barbaric," one of the new women had said once, after watching a particularly grueling session in the interrogation rooms. (Marion had made the flight engineer tell his part of the story twice, blood already clotting his face from a wound under his helmet, his face white with exhaustion.) "Making them tell you all that all over again. Those boys have just been through hell and you make them do it twice?"
Out loud, she explained about accurate after-action reports, finding coordinates for downed airmen, establishing times of death and declaring Killed In Action status. But it was more than that. If I have to explain it, you’ll never understand, Marion wanted to say. They come in bloody and shaking and afraid, and when we are done they leave the mission with me, and my girls, and I let them return to the world unburdened.
And who will do that for them in Telergma?
She knew the whole base was on edge. It was one thing to send out a task force knowing that they would come back to you, that after eight hours inside the inferno there was something you could do to ease their way in the world by bandaging a wound or patching a wing or serving a cup of coffee. But this waiting? This was the worst sort of waiting imaginable, because no one knew what they would find there. Was there an ambulance? Hot coffee? A bed with clean sheets?
When you land there, who will count you in? Who is there to care?
“Captain Brennan.” Marion turned away from the ops board to see Colonel Harding standing in the doorway. He looked like he’d slept in his uniform - a first, for him. Army Air Corps COs didn’t just fall asleep on couches, and men from West Point even less so. “I didn’t think you took shifts in this room.”
It was a polite way of saying that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be - and he was right. Captains didn’t take night shifts in the ops room - even female captains, whom Man and the Army had decreed a somewhat lesser species. She tugged a little at her jacket. “I sent Sergeant Wilcox along to bed - the poor girl was nearly asleep in her chair and I didn’t think she was much use to anyone in that state. ”
Harding didn’t seem to think much of that. “That shift change was hours ago. Where was her relief?”
More bad news. Marion took a breath and braced for impact. “Sergeant Hastings has the flu, and Wilcox thought she could use the rest. She didn't want to leave the post unmanned. I told her to go to bed. I can answer a telephone as well as the next woman.”
She waited for the blow to fall, but it didn’t come. If anything, Harding looked...impressed. “That was kind of you, Captain.”
Kind! What a word. But Harding wasn’t made of stone. Everyone was worrying about this one, and he knew it. It was one of the things that made him a good leader - that he had his nose in the wind, as it were, instead of being unreachable in his office with his reports. Still. Kind wasn’t a word you were supposed to use for officers. “It was also against regulations,” Marion acknowledged, trying to be as matter-of fact about it as she could. “You can write me up for it tomorrow morning if you feel it's appropriate.”
Harding actually laughed at that, and she realized, belatedly, that it wasn’t a sound she heard very often. (And why should she? Most of the time they spent together was reviewing debriefing reports.) “Do I already have a reputation for being that much of a hard-ass, Captain?” He winced and paused. “My apologies. My language.”
And just where do you think I’ve been the last twelve months, Colonel? Curse as much as you like - I won’t break for hearing it. “I've heard worse, sir,” she assured him. “Regulations exist for a reason, and as the CO you're responsible for maintaining order and making sure your instructions are followed. Including watch rotations. It might be good to set an example. ” He looked impressed by the answer - possibly more than he needed to be. “My father was a West-Pointer, sir. Career Army, too.”
That, at least, impressed him where it needed to. “Is that so?” He studied her for a moment, processing this new information. “I can see that, now that you've said it. Is that how you got here?”
She nodded. “We moved a lot as a kid, and when I turned 18...Army life was all I knew. I started as a clerk, and worked hard, got a few promotions here and there, and when they let us put in for overseas assignments...” She let that hang for a moment, smiling as she thought about what she’d been spared because she hadn’t gotten what she wanted all those years ago. “I never did make it to Manila, or Maui, but maybe that’s for the best. Hamilton Field was about as far West as I got.”
She wasn’t in the habit of giving her life story out around the base - her girls needed a leader more than they needed a friend, and the scant four or five years she had on most of them was only good for so much, where authority was concerned. But it felt right that Harding ought to know a little something. After all, wasn’t he the one coming in with a reputation behind him, and the shoes of the former CO to fill? Everyone knew that he’d been at West Point, that he’d coached football, that he’d come to Thorpe Abbotts by way of Palm Beach and Spokane, Washington.
“And you still like the work? Little bit different than what you’d be doing at home.”
“Free a man to fight” looks different from here, that’s for sure. After everything she’d seen, everything she’d heard, she could say that much. “I do, sir. It’s important - making sure that the facts are straight, that we’ve learned everything we can before it fades out.” She had another thought, and paused, considering whether or not she should share. “I think they tell things differently, to a woman. They used to try and be more precise - cut around the edges a little wide so I wouldn’t see the bad parts. I think they know that we’re all used to it, by now.” I’ve been in every single op this wing has flown - turret, tail, and cockpit. I fly them in my sleep.
Harding nodded, considering all of it in that thoughtful way of his - a coach reviewing game-day footage to look for his next play.
There was some movement, at the door of the ops room - a woman coming in and realizing, late, that the person she was looking for wasn’t there. Marion spoke up. “Lieutenant Callaway, can I help you with something?”
The lieutenant's face was plainly guilty - a daughter caught sneaking in the front door with her shoes off - but she was trying valiantly to play it cool. It almost made Marion smile. "I was just...wondering if there was any news yet, ma'am. My shift's just starting and I ...thought I'd tell the girls, if we’d heard. Sergeant Wilcox said she'd tell me, if she...got news."
"Sergeant Wilcox was sent to bed," Marion replied. (Was that why she’d stayed on duty past her time? Because she wanted to be there to report out to Callaway?) "There's been nothing so far. We'll send a runner to Tower if we hear anything."
Callway nodded, obviously disappointed by this news and more unnerved than she had a reason to be, and she left looking a little shaken. Marion looked over at the Colonel and saw he was studying the lieutenant's exit with mild interest.
"Something there you think I ought to know about, Captain?" He asked, his expression thoughtful and vague.
Marion knew what he meant. A total ban on fraternization was impossible, given the confines of the base, but there had to be some separation of church and state, and making girlfriends out of her officers was a good way to undermine productivity. Still, if Cordelia Callaway had a beau, Marion knew she also had enough brains to keep it to herself, and she wasn't about to go spoiling that for her. She was a good egg, at the end of the day - maybe just the thing one of those fly boys needed to keep himself on the straight and narrow. "They all care a little, Colonel. I think it's impossible to live like this and not to." That's the strange thing about the army, isn't it? You get assigned to a place and suddenly you've got a whole band of brothers you never asked for.
Brothers, husbands, sons. Everything to everyone - one big, mad, teeming family.
Another noise at the door - Sergeant Dacre, a tiny mouse of a woman, nearly squeaked when she saw her CO and her supervisor in deep conversation, the lights half-off and the day just beginning.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir, I thought Sergeant Wilcox...”
“Captain Brennan was just leaving, Sergeant,” Harding said with a knowledgeable smile. (They were starting to teach that earlier - how to be a softer touch with the women. Marion could remember officers who would have shouted at Dacre to get her ass inside and moved her to tears.) “I don’t think we’ll need to do anything in the way of reprimands, Captain Brennan - for any of the business,” he added, being intentionally vague while Dacre readied her station. “But tell that Hastings girl she ought to get herself on the sick list, if she’s thinking she can just get out of work for a cold.”
“It’ll be the first thing I do, Colonel.”
The phone buzzed, and Harding swooped to answer it before Dacre could get her hand in. “Yes? Yes.” A visible sign of relief crossed his face, and she saw his shoulders relax. “Yes, very glad to hear it. We’ll look for those directly. Yes, thank you. Good-bye.” He put the phone back in its cradle and beamed. “Ground Control has them at Telergma. No details yet but - someone made it through.” He took a deep breath, still smiling. “I’ll get it out on the PA but you’d better tell Callaway out at Tower first. An officer doesn’t break her word.”
She almost smiled at him for that. The worst part, over. Now the details would come, but she could face that like she always did. “Of course, sir.' A pause, and - "I hope you have a good morning, sir.”
“And you, Brennan.”
Someone appeared with coffee, the room whirring into life as the day rotation came on board, and Marion took her leave, pausing at the door to look back at Harding, now studying the map with renewed enthusiasm.
Hughlin never made much of a father, she thought. All that waiting nearly did him in. But I think you’ll do just fine.
--
So that's Marion! She and the version of MOTA she inhabits can be perceived as being adjacent to the alternate history in my fic The Darkening Sky.
If you'd like to meet Cordelia Callaway, you can read more of my writing for her here at her tag on tumblr.
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Work-in-Progress Wednesday
Happy Valentines day, lovely mutuals and followers! <3 Who would I be if I didn't have a somewhat appropriate snip for today, hm? ;)
Tagging my valentines: @oblivions-dawn @dirty-bosmer @bostoniangirl21 @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @vivifriend @umbracirrus @skyrim-forever @rainpebble3 @stormbeyondreality
A sudden gasp leaves her mouth as she feels the rough stubble of Ulfric’s beard brush against the back of her neck. Soon his fingers follow as they begin to tug at the straps of her glass plate.
“We have work to do—or at least I do.” She looks over her shoulder to him. “Letters do not write themselves and Tolfdir promised to send a few mages this way for me to train.”
A low hum is all that answers her as his fingers continue to work. They drift down to release more buckles as she continues to shed more of her armor.
“All you’re doing now is being distracting.”
“Am I?”
“And difficult.”
He leans in closer to whisper in her ear. “You don’t say.”
Dahlia turns to him, armor finally off, and hugs her arms around her waist. As her eyes make their way up to meet his, they move slowly, distracted by the shape of all the hard lines and contours of his chest. Suddenly, she finds she feels naked, even a little embarrassed despite the thin layer of sweat-soaked underclothing she still wears. Not even in the first days of meeting him has she ever felt so small as she does when standing in front of him now. A small shiver runs up her spine, and she averts her eyes from him, arms tightening around her middle. “Instead of standing here and staring, it might be more useful if you took off your own armor or ran a bath.”
She avoids him, not only with her words but also in body language. It stings him deeply to see her make herself so small in front of him, especially when she has done so much for him.
Gentle fingers tentatively reach out to touch the bottom of her chin and raise it to look at him. More uncertainty meets him there, diluting the brightness of her of her dark green eyes, and he can see it plainly. She is left awash and drifting in the currents of her own self-consciousness away from him; however, Ulfric refuses to let her go. He will not let her drown. Not when he can bring her back to shore. “What is wrong, my heart? Tell me what troubles you, and allow me to unburden you.”
#skyrim#skyrim fanfiction#ulfric stormcloak#ulfric x dragonborn#dahlia wintersnow#winter writes#wip wednesday
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A Galling Yoke, Part 13
<- Prev | Next ->
for the “It’s all my fault” and “You have to let me go” squares on my July Break Bingo card
See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.
Word Count: 3.6k
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader
Rating: Teen
“Oh, goodness, are you up and about already?” he exclaimed.
“W–William?” you managed to say.
“What are you doing out of bed and out here?”
“I? What am I doing here?” you stammered. “What are you doing in this flat at all!”
Your brother didn’t seem to hear you as he enveloped you in his arms, inadvertently breaking your contact with Sherlock to hold you tight. “Dear sister,” he said into your hair. “You looked so ill when I arrived. I was already worried when Holmes dropped me off at Voss House and you were not there, but when he detailed your condition upon appearing on his doorstep… I cannot believe you met that dreadful Mr Trew all by yourself—”
“Trew?” Somewhat reluctantly, you broke from the warm embrace to look at William. “Is that the name of the hired—” You were suddenly hyper-aware of Sherlock’s gaze on you. “That— That is, who is this Mr Trew you speak of, William?”
He gave you a sad smile. “Holmes knows everything, Sister. He came to see me last week, and as soon as he told me what you planned to do, I… I confessed all.”
Your skin felt as cold, as clear, as fragile as ice. “No.”
“Yes, I—”
“No, William,” you gasped, clutching at him. “You cannot—”
A steady hand landed on your shoulder. Softly, Sherlock said, “My lady, we need not make any decisions yet. Let us simply discuss the facts first, yes?”
With an exhale, you shakily released your anxiety. “All right.”
Still holding onto you, William led you to the dining table. “I have prepared breakfast,” he told you, tentatively, the way he used to shyly give you hand-crafted gifts as a child. Maybe that likeness was why you couldn’t help but smile kindly at him.
“Indeed? And do you manage food better than Sherlock?”
A strangled noise of outrage came from beside you, but you brushed it aside at your brother’s laugh.
“I should hope so!” he said. “I have been interested in the skill for years. It is an uncommon pastime for the heir apparent of an earl, I know, but it gets to be so lonely and empty at Jotyard Manor. My only enjoyment came from visiting with the tenants to manage the estate—which is how I was introduced to the world of baking and cooking. Of course, with Father usually looming over my shoulder, it has only been in recent months that I have been able to dedicate significant time to my hobby.”
Taking that in, you nodded. “Recently, he would have been far more occupied with Sherlock’s case than with ensuring you were the perfect heir.”
William’s smile wavered. “Indeed.”
“How did Father become involved at all?” you demanded.
“My last Season in Town, I met a…a woman. She was lovely, and accomplished, and thoughtful, and diverting, and I— I—”
“They fell in love,” stated Sherlock.
“Yes. The eldest daughter of the second son of a baron, Miss—”
“Goulding!” you exclaimed. “Miss Emily Goulding?”
Both men stared at you.
“How did you—?”
“Mere bavardage over tea.” You waved away their astonishment. “At least, I had thought it was. Dashed you not the lady’s hopes?”
He winced. “I meant not to, but I suppose I did, yes. When I decided I had found her who could be my partner in and for life, I…I remembered what I had done.”
A heavy silence fell over the table, so thick you felt suffocated.
“Miss Goulding was everything bright and perfect,” whispered William. “And I could not taint that with my sins. The realisation sent me spiralling, and before I knew it, I was confessing all to Father.”
Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table. “I have seen it many a time before. The human need to unburden oneself—the urge to divulge. What is remarkable in this case is that Pashbroke did not merely want some soul to know his crime: he wanted the truth to come out to everyone.”
“But of course, Father would not allow that,” you said. Lord Coltidge had told you that much.
Sherlock nodded. “That is where I came in. He would have me uncover the murder but not the culprit—not the true one, at least. But when you”—he tipped his head in your direction—“threw all our evidence in the fire and claimed you had hired the killer, I knew it could not be so.”
The detective had slipped into his investigator trance, laying out simple facts with a gravity that was concentrated and cold, yet you somehow felt weightless and flushed.
“After thinking and planning for some days, I returned to Shropshire to see you”—this time, he tipped his head in William’s direction—“and as we filled each other in on the happenings, the pieces came together.”
“The letter,” you spoke up; it was the main piece you didn’t understand. “That was you, Brother, was it not?”
He had been avoiding your gaze, but abruptly, he met your eyes with a burnish to his. “I knew Sulyard would be a poor husband for you—at Harrow, he was known as temperamental and spoilt, which could have only been abidable by a wife of a different disposition than yours. I could not imagine the two of you agreeing on much and being happy together, but I was not aware that he was an utter…utter savage until I came to stay in Voss House with you for the first time.”
Carefully, you kept your face blank as you thought back to that period of your life. The arrangement was an unusual one, but it had worked for the two families involved: the Voss London home was part of your dowry, so it belonged to you and Edmund, with the caveat that your brother would get to use it during the Season until he married. Ultimately, William had only had to manage this awkward balance with Edmund thrice, each one progressively tenser as you tried to keep Edmund from blowing his top and William from seeing it. But the first time…
“Edmund was not so bad yet, in that first year of our marriage,” you said.
Sherlock’s lip curled into a snarl, but before he could make any biting remarks, William said flatly—
“I heard how he spoke to you. I saw how you hid away from him. You were not you, Sister; your light had dimmed, your life was being squeezed out of you—and I knew it was his doing.”
You swallowed hard, but your mouth had gone unnaturally dry. You hadn’t realised that…
“When I returned home,” continued William, “I tried to speak to Father, but he insisted that Sulyard had been a complete gentleman to him. So I wrote to Sulyard directly, if anonymously. I had hoped warning him about his behaviour would suffice, but when I returned the next Season, I saw it would not. I spent those months trying to think of a solution, but I—” Jaw clenched, he shook his head. “I was a fool for taking my time. So naïve was I that I even returned to Jotyard when the Season ended, thinking I could continue my planning from there. When Mrs Rogers wrote to us about your fall down the stairs, when I came straight to Town and saw for myself the brutality Sulyard was capable of…I knew I could waste no more time.”
“Perhaps you could have found another solution with a less panicked, less hurried mind,” said Sherlock. “But I understand entirely that your greatest concern in that instant would not have been finding the perfect plan, but taking too long to execute it and being…” He cleared his throat. “Being too late.”
To let them stew in their thoughts for a moment, you stood and fixed some plates for the three of you. They both really are affected by the idea of me being hurt. As strongly as you disapproved of William’s high-handedness in protecting you without involving you, you could appreciate now that he had not seen another option; if Edmund’s mistreatment really had been more visible than you’d thought, William must have known it would have proven difficult to get close enough to you that he could consult you with Edmund remaining none the wiser.
William’s breakfast really was delightful, but you stored that comment away for another time. “So,” you ventured, “the plan you came up with was this Mr Trew?”
Your brother picked at his food with more vigour than he nodded. “He is a mason who also offers his expertise with his hands and tools for…non-masonry-related work. We met a few times to work out our understanding, and he had seemed perfectly respectable, if a little rough around the edges.”
“For one who had such dark dealings,” cut in Sherlock.
“Yes, that,” conceded William. “It was not until the night of the actual, er, job that I learnt just how ruthless the man could be.”
You sucked in a breath. “You were there?”
“Not until the end,” he reassured you. You did not feel particularly reassured. “I had agreed to provide the phaeton for the set-up of Sulyard’s accident, so I had to be there eventually. But when I arrived, I saw the, ah…the woman with whom Sulyard had been spending the evening. Trew had thought her dead as well, but I ascertained that she breathed yet. I was horrified that she had been injured so grievously, and even more so when Trew hesitated not to finish her off.” He pushed away his plate with a clatter. “I had only wanted that degenerate Sulyard dead, not any innocent bystanders!”
You reached out and grasped his shaking hands in yours. “Of course, William. It is not your fault.”
“How can you say that?” he choked out.
Squeezing his hands, you waited until he looked up to speak. “Because I can guess”—you faltered at Sherlock’s sharp look and cleared your throat—“that is, deduce what happened next. Miss Algar is still alive and indeed under better care than she likely was with Edmund. You must have told Mr Trew that you would handle the eyewitness, that you would ensure she caused not any trouble. A man like that would not have been mollified by words, so you must have forced his hand—you used yourself as insurance, did you not?”
With a few surprised blinks, William’s distress dissipated from his face. “Yes, it was so. I had, needless to say, agreed to keep quiet about Trew’s hand in Sulyard’s death, but I refused to do so about Miss Algar. I would be willing to implicate myself if he harmed her any further, and to avoid that, he would have had to silence both of us. With my help, Sulyard could be made to disappear, and an unmarried spinster with no family would vanish easily enough, but Trew would not risk killing the Earl of Coltidge’s only son.” He paused. “Yes, indeed. You are rather good at this, Sister.”
Sherlock’s sly grin of agreement shone in your periphery, but you shoved away the butterflies in your stomach in favour of staying focused.
“Well, Mr Trew must be regretting that decision now,” you said. “He believes a connection has been uncovered between Miss Algar and him. I doubt he shall continue as he has been with that loose end prodding at him.”
“Not to mention the added loose end of his encounter with you,” said Sherlock.
Flinching, William yanked his hands out of your grip. “Oh, dear heaven! I forgot all about your injuries—”
“Oh, Brother—”
“Sherlock told me about your head wound and your burns and your—”
“William.”
“He says this ‘second degree’ bosh means you shall be all right but I cannot help but think—”
“Pashbroke.” Sherlock’s interjection is a clean cut, short and neat. “The head wound is already nicely healed. The burns were only partial-thickness and posed no complications—I doubt a faint scar shall even be noticeable by Christmas.”
You considered the spotless, precisely wrapped dressing around your hands. “Is that so?”
“Yes, I am fairly confident,” he said, turning to you now. “From your description of the incident and from the look of the injuries at first and at subsequent intervals where I cleaned your bandages, I would say the current had not been so strong.”
An unexpected rush of guilt-polluted air escaped your lungs. “Would you say, then, that Mr Trew was not overly harmed by his shock either? Not…killed?”
A beat passed. William’s expression morphed more dramatically, but Sherlock’s reaction was faster—without hesitation, he leaned forward and bent his head to look straight into your eyes.
“I assure you, my lady, if any harm has befallen him, it is not your fault.”
Your head moved up and down in agreement, but to your own surprise, tears began to flow down your face. “This is all such a mess. I want not Mr Trew to die, nor can we let him hurt anyone at Cable Street or us ever again. I want not to go to Scotland Yard, nor can I let my little brother be punished for saving me. Such a mess—and it is my fault, Sherlock. How are we to fix any of this? Oh,” you sobbed, “it is all my fault.”
He was out of his seat and moving towards you before you were finished speaking, yet William stopped him with a quick hand on his arm.
“Holmes, would you please excuse us?” he said. “I think a candid conversation is long overdue between my sister and me.”
Though he hesitated, and did not look particularly pleased, Sherlock bowed his head and made himself scarce. Not pulling his punches, William immediately turned to you and said, “You have only just made me accept that I am not at fault, and you go and blame yourself?”
Having no idea how to respond—had your brother ever spoken so frankly to you, or to anyone, before?—you focused on cleaning your face with a napkin.
“This is not a question of fault transferred, Sister, but of burdens shared.”
“I want not to burden you either—”
He stunned you speechless with an uncharacteristically sharp shake of his head. “Why not? A heavy load is not necessarily a bad thing, or else there would be no joy to be had in exploring the world with your belongings on your back, no satisfaction to be found in the physical labour of a tenant-farm or of a modest kitchen.”
“But this is not your heavy load, William.”
“It is no evil to share a burden if one chooses to make it a connective affair rather than a…budgetary one.” At the arch of your eyebrow, he explained, “I allow that this is a poor metaphor. But why keep track of assets and liabilities instead of the bridges they build? After all, what made our bond is our Hyatt blood and Voss name, but what made our bond inimitable and special is the loss of our mother together, the loneliness of our childhood home, the limelight of being the Earl of Coltidge’s offspring.”
As he paused to take a breath, you reached out and, this time, held him tight.
He went on, “Rather than defy it, we ought to be grateful for what we have shared, burdens or not, for by that connection, I shall never lose you.”
“I would hold onto that connection no matter what,” you whispered against his shoulder. You ached with the recollection of the times he would skin his knee or be upbraided by a tutor, and you would pick him up or hug him close and let him cry into your neck. Your arms would start to slip around him and your skin would get covered in mucus, but oh, what you wouldn’t give now for the power you had then, however minimal, to reassure, to protect, to shield him.
Your brother—your little brother, heavens—cupped the back of your head and held you fast. “I have no doubt of it,” he said. “Because we shall always be brother and sister, you have to let me go—”
“William,” you begged.
“—and because we shall always love and be connected to each other, I know you can.”
Screwing your eyes shut, you leaned fully into him and stayed there for a very long time.
At some point, you managed to pull away with a sigh. “You have become rather wise, have you not, Baby Brother?”
He wrinkled his nose. “There is no need for such a sobriquet. You are not that much older than I.”
“Evidently, I am also losing ground in emotional maturity.”
“And worldly experience.” A smile, timid but bright, spread across his face then. “Did you know, I did always envy you your widow’s freedom? Without fail, I was despondent when I returned to Father’s shadow after my annual stay in Town, but this year, I have started actively chafing at his restrictions and observations. I am almost looking forward to the shedding of my viscountcy.”
Your brow rose. “Truly? You are ready to be cast off as an unspeakable name in the Voss family and make your own way in the world?”
“Well, I am ready to learn to be ready,” huffed William. Neither of you, then, was under the illusion that losing access to all that privilege and all those funds would be a smooth transition. “Though, of a certainty, I shall make use of the connexion one last time: to escape the hangman’s noose and avoid the French’s national razor.”
A cold sweat passed over you, yet you found comfort in his words. Lord Pashbroke may not be an actual peer of the realm—not yet, or ever now—but as a titled gentleman, he still was unlikely to be condemned to death. The “Lord” before his name might only be a courtesy, but courtesy had its perks.
“Wherever you are sent,” you promised him, “you may write to me for assistance of any kind, at any time. You shall not be completely friendless in the world.”
His smile turned bold, a sight you had never been granted before, as he leaned forward to kiss your forehead. “I know.”
The two of you stood and cleared the table, cleaning up side by side, surprisingly in sync for siblings who had never done housework, never mind balanced it together, prior to that morning. And as you did, you reminisced over cosy memories of Jotyard Manor and the handful of escapades that had somehow remained secrets between the two of you. You seized the opportunity to tell each other things you had never found the time to before—apologies and affirmations alike—and gratitude really did creep up on you. Many people did not get this opportunity to say goodbye, you knew.
Still, your heart leapt to your throat when Sherlock returned: you did not want this time with your brother to end. Sherlock must have read something in your mien, for he actually resembled a fish for a moment before managing to speak.
“Is… Is everything decided, then?”
You looked at William with wide eyes. If he had suddenly changed his mind, you would not blame him and would still happily take his place. But there was a firm set to his jaw that looked unfamiliar yet not unsuitable on him.
“Yes,” he replied. “In fact, I should not like to drag my feet any longer. I shall head to Scotland Yard now, before any more obstacles or incidents arise.”
Sherlock’s nod was level, but the flex of his previously taut hands betrayed his relief. “You ought not to be alone for that. Besides, my escorting you can ensure that the constabulary gets the correct message.”
That shot another dose of stress through your nerves. “I would come, too,” you said.
Sherlock pulled back his shoulders. “No, my lady, you must remain here. Your body is still recuperating from your illness.”
And your knee from pushing it, the reasonable, responsible part of your brain added traitorously.
William took your hand and squeezed your fingers. “This past hour we have received is, I believe, a very good adieu,” he said softly. “Please, let us not change it?”
And you could not deny him that.
You walked them to the door of the flat, and Sherlock let William exit first.
“Be well, Sister,” he said with one last hug. “I love you, and I thank you for everything. Everything.”
You watched him start down the stairs so intently that you didn’t notice that Sherlock wasn’t following.
“I hope you shall not worry yourself too much,” he said, and startling, you turned to look at him. “His lordship shall be all right. And whatever does happen, this is not your fault. I apologise for my hand in making you think that it was.”
You startled again. “Your hand?”
His eyebrows beetled solemnly. “I should not have reproved you for marrying Sulyard. I acted as though you were foolish and weak for not fighting your father’s wishes and for growing into the perfectly poised lady you never were at Ferndell when, in truth, doing so was the wisest, bravest way for you to survive. Of all the players in this game, you have gained the least and lost the most.”
In spite of your brother’s uncertain fate and Mr Trew’s unknown next moves and the general surfeit of emotions about everything, you felt a smile break out on your face. “Oh, Sherlock.” You didn’t know what else to say, so you settled for stepping into his space and pressing a kiss to his cheek, which lingered until you found the words. “You should not worry, either. I think I too shall be all right.”
And you realised, after going back into 221b to watch and wait, as you pondered William’s words, that you truly believed you would be.
And with that, the mystery has been fully revealed to the reader! It has been an incredible journey; thank you all so much for reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting. But fear not—we’ve still got other plotlines to wrap up. :) Also, William was surprisingly tricky to write, and I’m not fully satisfied with the dialogue flow, so as always, feedback is welcome!
Taglist [comment below if you’d like to be added!]: @theyaremorethanjustfictional @wonderlandfandomkingdom
#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes x you#henry cavill sherlock x reader#enola holmes#a galling yoke#the dimensions of fandom
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So just out of curiosity, what’re the Shepherds thoughts on Brionys whole amnesia situation? And follow up, what would they be like if they ended up with amnesia too? Sorry if two questions is too much, you don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to!
Hi there, how the ROs would react if they ended up with amnesia has been answered over in the #amnesia tag! As for how they feel about Briony's amnesia, it mostly goes:
Blade: it's a somewhat bizarre backstory, but not the craziest thing he's heard (especially in relation to everyone else). Mostly he sympathizes with her fears that something from her past could come back to blindside her, that aspect of it appeals to his natural paranoia so he's keeping a wary eye out in case that day ever happens and he needs to have her back!
Trouble: he feels bad for her; relationships are important to him, and while he lost his parents young, he at least knows enough about them to have closure about it--Briony doesn't have that, so he sympathizes with the 'not knowing' aspect of it and feels really bad for her! Mostly he just tries to keep her spirits high and not make her dwell on it, since nothing much can be done, so he never brings it up!
Tallys: amnesia is basically like her worst nightmare: having lived for so long and being a Keeper means history and personal recollection is really important to her, so she's privately horrified by what Briony's been through and is always around to talk about it with her, but she doesn't want to pry or bring it up unprompted... Since Briony's never brought it up to her, though, they don't end up ever really discussing it!
Shery: she feels bad for Briony, but at the same time sees how happy and fulfilled Briony seems to be as her current self, so she doesn't think it's too much of a big deal because Briony never seems to let it bother her? She's more focused on helping her feel at-home and comfortable and helping her learn "new" things rather than trying to recover stuff about her personal past and memories!
Riel: he's intensely curious about Briony's past: it's probably one of his biggest "private projects" at the moment, lol, he's been conducting quite a lot of research in the background... he knows that Briony isn't all that interested in doing any deep dives herself, but doesn't really understand that on an intellectual level. If it were him, he'd stop at nothing until he knew... Anyway, he's going to dig up as much as he can and just hold it in private in case the day ever comes that it could come in handy for her!
Chase: honestly, although he's sympathetic to Briony, there's also something kind of freeing about the idea of having amnesia? Of having the opportunity to start over, completely unburdened by the chains, burdens, and traumas of the past, and to create a new life entirely on your own terms? It's not like he envies her, but he can see ways in which it's not as bad as it might seem at first glance!
Red: he's pretty much in Riel's boat, but is more respectful of Briony's privacy LOL he's intensely curious about her origins, but won't pry unless she asks him to! Mostly he's focused in helping her re-learn magic and is kind of her tutor to keep her brushed up on lessons she may have "forgotten", and very patiently explains common cultural ideas or concepts that she's ignorant of. He's kind of fascinated by the idea of an adult Mage having no memory of how to formally use magic but still being able to wield it anyway, and is low-key keeping extensive notes about muscle memory, mnemonics, and etc.!
Ayla: she doesn't think too much about it, honestly! To her, Briony is Briony: the fact that she doesn't remember much about her past doesn't really have any bearing to her? 🤷🏻♀️ She feels a vague sense of protectiveness towards her, like the idea that one day her past might come back to reclaim her/take her away from the Shepherds, and Ayla's not going to let that happen easily lol, she's theirs now!!
Lavinet: she's sympathetic, but to her, Briony's amnesia is a small aspect of her and their friendship, so she doesn't think too much about it, especially because Briony herself prefers not to dwell or talk about it very much! I think the idea of being captured and held as a slave while having amnesia was more horrifying to her than having amnesia itself!
Halek: he like barely remembers Briony has amnesia because she acts so normal and chipper on a daily basis that it's easy to forget, honestly lol! When he does remember, it's like "huh. you know, that would be a bummer if I couldn't remember [x]" but other than that, it's not much of a thought to him because Briony herself doesn't really make it a big deal!
Hope that all makes sense!
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"noodle?" "yes, you are a noodle. my noodle. it's cute."
PROMPT AND GLADIO!!!!!!! ITS LITTERALY THEM
"You're growling again," Ignis sighed as he once more pointed out the noise Gladio made every so often at Prompto and Noctis's antics.
"Can it Iggy," Gladio muttered as he sipped on the cup noodles broth he had left in his cup. He let out a breath, shaking his head at seeing Prompto suddenly chasing Noctis around while attempting to get his camera back. He made a fist and adjusted in his seat next to the camp fire.
"May I ask why you're so angered at their play?" Ignis inquired.
"Look," Gladio began. He felt somewhat irate at Ignis's attempt at playing therapist, but decided to come clean. "It's not that I don't want them to have fun. We could all use some laughs after everything that's happened..."
"But?"
Gladio sighed. "We lost our home, Ignis. The Niffs took everything. We don't know if our loved ones are going to be okay, and the fate of the world is riding on the shoulders of a twerp who can't be bothered with, and he's messing around with blondie over there acting like it's another day in high school!"
"You sound quite exasperated."
"You think!?" Gladio exclaimed. He made a face, realizing he was a bit harsh and apologized to Ignis under his breath.
"It's quite alright," Ignis reassured. He hummed for a moment, observing the boys from afar. "I see where your concerns lie. I admit to feeling a sense of apprehension, but.."
"But?" Gladio raised a brow, turning his head.
"Maybe a soft heart during a tough time isn't so bad. Perhaps you could try and join them in the fun? It might unburden the mental load you're carrying."
"Don't make me laugh!"
"Suit yourself." Ignis shrugged. He dusted his gloves, and prepared to make dinner for the night; leaving Gladio to his thoughts.
Gladio muttered a few curses to himself, and decided to take his mind off everything by making another cup noodle while waiting he waited for Ignis to complete the main course. If there was anything that could soothe his thoughts, it was cheap food and silence.
"Gladio, look out!"
"Incoming!"
Before he could dodge, Gladio felt his body tumble forward. The cup noodle flew into the air, and he heard the distinctive yelp Prompto was known for when he was harmed. Gladio grunted as the world stilled, no longer a chaotic mess of dirt and gods knew what.
"Son of a---" Gladio paused as he leaned up and looked to his right. Prompto was sitting beside him in a daze. His skin turning white as a ghost upon seeing the anger that flashed behind Gladio's gaze.
Gladio's eyes combed over Prompto. His hair was coated in noodles and pieces of beef. The smell of the broth mingling with Prompto's hair product created a pungent odor that had Gladio wishing he was sniffing shit from an Anak instead.
His hair was coated in noodles and pieces of beef. His nose grimaced at how the smell of the broth and Prompto's hair product created a pungent odor that had Gladio wishing he was sniffing shit from a Flexitusk.
From afar, Noctis was covering his mouth to suppress a laugh.
Gladio let out a sigh. "Noodle."
"Noodle?" Prompto gulped.
"Yes. You are a noodle." He picked up a noodle fragment from the cup and placed it upon Prompto's head as if crowning a king. "My noodle. It's cute."
"What the--?!"
Gladio laughed as he grabbed a hold of Prompto, trapping him in a playful headlock while he messed with his hair further.
"Gladio! Hey, hey! You're making it worse!" Prompto exclaimed in between fits.
"Noct! Help me out here! He's flailing like one of those fish that slapped you earlier!"
"Right behind ya!"
"I hate you both!" Prompto yelped.
Ignis looked up from the grill to watch as the three descended into chaotic play. He let out a huff, shaking his head and smiled before going back to preparing the meat from the fish Noctis had caught.
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#drabbles#final fantasy xv#ffxv#gladiolus amicitia#prompto argentum#noctis lucis caelum#ignis scientia#ffxv gladio#ffxv prompto#ffxv ignis#ffxv noctis#chocobros#camping#play fighting#final fantasy fandom#final fantasy noctis#final fantasy gladio#final fantasy ignis#final fantasy prompto#thanks nonny i appreciate it
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For the ask game
Faith, 2 & 12
2. Favorite canon thing about this character?
Oh god um. Um. I guess just that all she thought about in early season 3 was how much she cared about Buffy. Like she heard about Buffy before she enters the show, she literally sought out this incredible slayer when she had no other options. She’s constantly trying to make Buffy think she’s cool and be involved in her life in every way she can. Like Buffy sees it all as Faith trying to take her friends from her, but Faith is literally just trying to make the only friend she thinks she can. Also when she told Scott’s date he had an STI as revenge for him dumping Buffy. Incredible, no notes
12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?
Okay okay there’s this one line in season 7 when Faith meets Dawn again, for the characters, but for the first time, for the audience, and Dawn says something about “tried to kill your sister types.” But Dawn seems like super personally hurt about it. In our version of season 3, we see how Joyce gets somewhat close with Faith. In a version of season 3 with Dawn, the one the characters remember, I like to imagine that Dawn got incredibly close with Faith. Faith was way more relaxed about telling the 12yo scary slaying stories, Faith generally expressed that they should cut Dawn a little more slack, that kind of thing. It’s also pretty clear that Faith never got to be a kid, and didn’t get to be around kids either. I think seeing Dawn would have meant a lot to her, to get to know her and vicariously live being a relatively unburdened tween and get to experience someone actually looking up to her. So yeah, two of them are super close, Dawn is talking about how Faith would be a better sister than Buffy, how when Buffy goes off to college Dawn will be happy because it means she gets more time just with Faith, she wants to be just like Faith when she grows up, that type of shit.
And then Faith betrays them anyway. I just think that added level would severely up the emotional stakes. How long did Buffy try to keep it from Dawn because she knew it would break her heart? Did Faith ever threaten Dawn directly? Once she was in a coma, did Dawn ever try to find which hospital so she could go kill Faith herself?
#ty for the ask <3#faith lehane#faith btvs#buffy the vampire slayer#btvs#other favorite canon thing tbh: she’s incredibly hot oh my god
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I saw your ask request and I was thinking Levi for #34 "I can no longer remain professional" on the second list you mentioned 😍
"𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕…" *ೃ༄ 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒 -- 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗
suggestive themes, modern au (hope that's okay!!), power play (levi is your boss), age gap, making out, getting caught
levi ackerman, by all accounts, was a hardass.
as his personal assistant for the better part of a year, though, you liked to think you could decipher some of the mysteries plaguing the man. his facial expressions (or lack thereof), his tone, his body language... most of the time, you could gauge levi, and either brace yourself or make yourself scarce if need be.
today was an exception to your steadfast belief.
levi had been in a quiet lull all morning. it wasn't too out of character for your boss, but he lacked the usual sharp wit and biting tongue that usually accompanied your morning office routine together. instead of the flurry of insults and gripes he'd mutter under his breath while combing through his email, he silently read, glancing over to you and your little desk across the room every few minutes.
he had to have noticed you noticing him. he was a smart man.
still, it continued throughout the day, coming to a head once you gingerly placed his lunch before him on the sleek desk. "your usual," you said, carefully setting the hot tea down beside his meal, "and i made lemon balm for your tea today. i hope it tastes okay."
it would, you knew it would pass his test. you'd slaved for months trying to perfect his tea and save yourself the heartache of watching him dump it into the trash like he'd done a handful of times before.
"mn. thank you." he muttered, eyes sharp over the little bridge he made with his interwoven fingers. awkwardly, you nodded, and broke away to scurry behind your own desk across the room. this tension was thick, palpable, real enough to scoop out of the air to make way for an unburdened breath. after a second or two of silence, you started to unbox your own meal, but paused once your name was called in a rather flat tone.
you picked your head up and met levi's steely gaze.
he was standing, hands stuffed in the pockets of his charcoal slacks as he slowly worked over to your corner of the large room. he cleared his throat as he crossed the expanse. "you've done exceptionally well in the months you've been under me," he began, that silken deep voice of his catching some part of your chest in a vice grip. you blinked up at him as he sidled up beyond your monitor. "i'll say i'm impressed."
a strange warmth settled in your face, something you wished you could've willed away as you cleared your throat. "thank you, levi. i've tried my best."
the praise felt somewhat foreign coming from the raven haired man. not that he was particularly cold towards you most of the time; you could just tell levi was not a man that dripped with charisma and a silver tongue.
he sucked his teeth, choosing to busy a hand with a tiny stuffed toy you kept on your desk. he squeezed it before sitting it back exactly how he'd found it. "you go out of your way for me, quite a bit, actually. even when it burdens you. why?" levi tore his gaze up to settle on you, scanning your face as if he could just read your mind instead of waiting for your drying mouth to cooperate.
"i..." you started, caught, "i'm not sure what you mean. i'm your assistant, aren't i? i'm supposed to make your day easier."
and levi hummed. a low, monotone sound, grumbly as it left his throat. he held your gaze for a moment longer before breaking it away, glancing down. "yes. of course." suddenly, you felt like a spectacle -- perhaps it would've been presumptuous to assume he was peering at your chest, your collar bones, maybe even the very slight splash of cleavage that peeked up over your blouse buttons. perhaps you were imagining things on a wired, nervous mind.
tentatively, you stood, wincing at the scrape of your chair. "is there anything i could be doing differently?" jumped from your mouth. you cursed yourself the instant the words floated into the air. didn't he just praise you? the first utterance of gratitude past simple thank yous?
it seemed levi shared your sentiments, as his lips twitched into a covert grin. "such a people pleaser. you should kick that before it bites you in the ass." he flicked a hand through his hair and sighed. it seemed the man was battling something, mulling something over in that sharp mind of his as he watched you fiddle with your hands. "i can't ask anything more of you professionally," he started, tone somewhat stiff as it worked itself out between tense jaws, "but i'm afraid i can no longer remain professional."
it should've struck you as odd when the man joined you behind your desk. it should've raised some red flags (or perhaps an entire stadium of them) when he reached for your hand. and it shouldn't have felt so devastatingly good when he placed ghost-like kisses across your knuckles.
a jumble of nerves swelled in your body as he eyed you. examined, studied, levi carefully deconstructed your body language. "feel free to stop me at any time." he mumbled into your skin. peculiarly, his touch was soft. gentle. measured. levi's smooth lips worked up your arm, onto your shoulder, and paused as he came face to face with you. his breath smelled minty, mixed with that expensive cologne you've picked up for him once or twice. the proximity had you seeing stars. you realized you had yet to move, or utter a single word, or do much of anything since this strange moment began to unravel. you could hardly even breathe; so you forced some air into your lungs with a sharp inhale. "levi?" you tried, voice small.
"yes?" he replied. you were nearly chest to chest, your boss damn near looking through you as you scrambled for the courage to do something. "something wrong?"
it didn't feel wrong. well, on a very surface level, you knew it should've -- this was inappropriate, perhaps even immoral, but your body was alight with excitement. "no," you whispered, "keep going."
and so he did. with at least ten years on you, you knew levi had to be experienced, even if he came off as somewhat standoffish on the outside. that fact alone only fed the furnace that burned in your core, flames jumping up and flicking into your chest as his hands found purchase at your waist. levi brought your foreheads together, brushed your nose with his, ghosted his lips over yours in the most tantalizing tease. "remember, you can always stop me. no hard feelings." he muttered, waiting for your ditzy nod before fully planting his mouth over yours.
it was intoxicating. the flutter of excitement, arousal, and new experiences thrummed under your skin, pushing you further into levi's secure hold. you let him kiss you against your desk until you couldn't breathe -- pulling away just to gulp in some air like a novice, even though you weren't. something about levi made you feel naive in that respect, like his stony demeanor reduced you to nothing but a vying schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher.
it wasn't until levi scooped you up by the back of your thighs and sat you on your desk that you realized the gravity of the situation. first of all, he was a lot stronger than he looked. second, your legs opened to welcome him between them a lot easier than anticipated.
his hands were everywhere. your neck, your hair, your arms, your waist, your thighs. you decided you had to catch up -- gingerly, you let your hands run over his neat dress shirt, across the expanse of his chest and over his shoulders. this earned you a deep breath, something akin to a soft groan right into your awaiting mouth. you could hardly think over the sensation of his tongue massaging yours, or his thumbs swiping across the tops of your clothed thighs.
levi parted from your mouth just long enough to feed that fire in your core. "i've been thinking about this for a while," he grumbled, squeezing at the plump flesh beneath his hands, "about you."
lips plump and slightly swollen, you wanted to speak, to say anything -- but your heart leapt into your tight throat at the sound of the door swinging open behind you.
"levi, is your phone dead? where's your assis--" erwin's brassy call shot ice into your veins, even as the sentence fell dead in the air.
"get out." levi bemoaned, ripping his hands away from you, leaving the space he occupied feeling rather cold in contrast. "fuck off, erwin!"
and he did, the blonde fucked off and closed the door behind him, only after shooting you both an airy chuckle and an oddly self satisfied wink.
perhaps you'd missed something, a conversation you were less than privy to between the two men. at any rate, your heart threatened to burst from your chest as levi groaned and laid his forehead against your shoulder. he slumped in a rare moment of defeat.
"i'm sorry about that idiot." he started, back to that tone that bordered on bitter, "i understand if you'd like to forget about this now."
but you swallowed, running a hand over his back. levi felt warm to the touch. somehow, you'd always imagined your boss to have skin like ice, so tough nothing could break through it. but he wasn't a marble statue before you, he was simply a man -- a man that burned with desire, and more recently, embarrassment.
"i-i don't," you licked your lips, "want to forget, i mean. i'd like to..." you just had your tongue down his throat, and now you can't speak? you cursed yourself. but levi lifted his head, searching your face for a moment as you tried again. "i'd like to do this again. outside of work."
the usually stern man blinked at you, his steely resolve chipping for just a moment before he straightened up. "only if you're sure. and don't worry about erwin, he won't tell anyone. he's just going to be extra fucking annoying for a while."
you could deal with annoying. you could deal with erwin's knowing smile and glimmering stare if it meant you could continue... whatever that was... with levi ackerman.
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LWJs confession in the cave wasn't selfish, he was trying to save WWX!
Recently I've seen quite a few people talking about LWJs confessions after the Bloodbath of Nightless Sky. A lot of posts are claiming LWJ was being selfish, unburdening his feelings for WWX at such a moment. Personally, I just don't think people are fully appreciating the circumstances that led up to his confession.
Obviously the timeline is given to us somewhat fragmented. MXTX masterfully flips between the present and flashbacks in order to give the reader snippets of information here and there, for them read to piece together once everything has been revealed. WWX recalls what he thinks happened during the Bloodbath of Nightless Sky later in the novel. Looking at the conversation WWX has with LWJ before he confesses, we can see the motivation behind it all.
Chapter 78
Suddenly, the limpid notes of a zither interrupted Chenqing. Wei WuXian put down Chenqing and turned around to see a person sitting on another of the ridges, guqin laid across his lap. His snow-white robes seemed to burn the eye amid the dark of the night. Wei WuXian spoke in a cold voice, “Lan Zhan.” After he greeted him, he again placed his flute to his lips, “You should’ve known since long ago—Sound of Lucidity is useless to me!”
Lan WangJi flipped the guqin onto his back. Instead, he pulled out Bichen and attacked straight at Chenqing, as if he wanted to sever the flute playing such wrongful notes.
Wei WuXian spun around to dodge the attack and laughed, “Fine, fine. I knew since the start that we’d have to fight a real fight like
this one sooner or later. You’ve always found me disagreeable no matter what. Come on!”
Hearing this, Lan WangJi’s movements paused, “Wei Ying!”
Although he shouted the words, any sane person would be able
to tell that Lan WangJi’s voice was clearly shaking. However, right now, Wei WuXian had already lost his judgement. He was already half-mad, half-unconscious. All evil was being augmented by him. He felt that everyone loathed him and he loathed everyone as well. He wouldn't be scared no matter who came at him. It wouldn't matter no matter who came at him. It was all the same anyway.
At this point WWX feels like the whole world is against him. He feels so alone. When WWX sees LWJ trying to stop him, it just breaks him even more. He always wanted LWJ's attention because deep down he had romantic feelings towards him. But over the years, due to a lack of communication, constant misunderstandings and JCs relentless poisonous words seeding doubt in WWX's head and heart - he wrongfully concludes LWJ really does hate him. Unfortunately WWX was already losing control over himself, clouding his judgement and mind - so he doesn't notice how much his accusation has effected LWJ. LWJ is clearly in distress and extremely worried about WWX.
Because we aren't privy to the actual scene where he confesses, we only have LXCs account of that. But, it still gives us some understanding of what happened.
Chapter 99
“Young Master Wei, in that night, you took the two halves of the Stygian Tiger Seal and pieced them together. After you were satisfied with the killing, you were a spent arrow as well. WangJi
was injured on your rampage. He was in no better shape than you, barely supporting himself by leaning on Bichen. In spite of this, as he saw you stumble away, he immediately followed.
“Right then, not many people were still conscious. I, too, was almost unable to move, and I could only watch as WangJi, whose spiritual powers were clearly about to be drained, staggered towards you. He brought you onto Bichen as soon as he grabbed you, and you two left.
“Four hours later, my spiritual powers, having finally been restored, I hurried back to the GusuLan Sect in search for assistance. I was worried that if those from another sect found you first, WangJi would be considered your accomplice. The best scenario was his name being forever tainted, and the worst his life being taken away right then. Thus, along with Uncle, we chose thirty-three seniors who had always thought highly of WangJi and searched for two days on our swords in secrecy. Only then did we find signs of you two within the Yiling region. WangJi hid you in a cave. When we arrived, you sat blankly on a rock within the cave. Holding your hand, WangJi was giving you spiritual energy. He kept on whispering to you. But throughout the whole time, you repeated the same two words at him.
“ 'Get lost'! "
Wei WuXian’s throat was dry. His eyes were red as well. He couldn’t say a single thing.
From what we know, we can surmise LWJ could see WWX was in utter turmoil, feeling totally alone in the world now he's lost everyone dear to him. Not long ago, he had shouted in distress that he always knew LWJ hated him. LWJ wanted to comfort him and make him understand he didn't hate him at all. He wanted him to know he wasn't alone and LWJ was by his side, because he loved him. He wanted him to understand he still had someone fighting in his corner. That is why he confessed his feelings for WWX - granted it wasn't the best of times and WWX was totally catatonic by this point, but it was all he could do to try and get through to him and comfort him.
Already seriously injured, with diminishing spiritual powers they were both incredibly worse for wear - it might have even crossed his mind that they both might die soon anyway. LWJ knew it wouldn't be long before someone found them and another fight would ensue - possibly costing their lives. He was fully prepared to risk everything to save WWX. So yes, a tiny part of him might have confessed because he needed to. But the fact that it was to try and help WWX is more than apparent. He didn't expect anything in return, he didn't expect WWX to confess his undying love, he just wanted WWX to know he wasn't alone. He was just desperately trying to save the man he loved, however he could. LWJ wanted to show WWX that he had, and always would be here for him.
#mdzs wwx#mdzs lwj#mdzs wei wuxian#mdzs lan wangji#mdzs novel#wangxian#mdzs#mo dao zu shi#mdzs meta#lan wangji was not being selfish#mdzs cave confession
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*pokes head out of the great expanse of information that is the internet* DID I HEAR YOU SAY KAEYA ZHONGLI BESTIES AGENDA do elaborate because I am. I am. in need.
AHAHAAHAHAHAHAH YES YOU DID HEAR CORRECTLY.
Look
They have so much inherent angst based on Kaeya's origins and Zhongli's orgins.
And I'm definitely going to get into some fanon/headcanon territory here.
But like-
I headcanon that whatever part Zhongli played in destroying Khaenri'ah he feels horrible about it.
Meeting Kaeya would be a grenade of emotions for him.
Like on one hand:
Hey! This guy is a living Khaenri'ahn, maybe i can do small things to pay him for what I've done Not that I could ever total repay it
ON the other:
OH SHOOT I MESSED UP SO BAD BY HIM I SHOULD JUST NEVER SPEAK TO HIM EVER AND IF HE WANTS ME TO PAY FOR MY CRIMES I WILL.
Initially Zhongli would probably just be a good ole formal acquaintance. Being pretty normal about everything (he's good at compartmentalizing and burying pain) except in weird instances where he'd get really intensely invested in Helping Kaeya.
Kaeya is like "Okay this dude is strange. Nice! But strange."
Eventually the truth would come to light and that would be a mess, not exactly sure how it would go down? I usually play with the idea of Kaeya being pretty angry with Zhongli and softening when he realizes how much Zhongli regrets and how human he is.
The start of their actual friendship would be climbing over the hurdle of Zhongli.... well being overly gracious essentially?
Kaeya would have to slap him being like "Dude you need to not bend to my every request for star's sake."
Like, kaeya can understand given how much he feels like he messed up, but at this point he genuinely wants to be friends with Zhongli, not have Zhongli be his dutiful archon butler.
It'd take a bit for Zhongli to shake the behavior because the guilt complex runs DEEP.
Also Kaeya would have to open a lot. Zhongli is old as dirt (ha) So he can probably see through Kaeya waaaay more than he's comfortable with.
Zhongli is thankfully not horribly heavy handed? But I can see him being somewhat petty or poking at Kaeya before he's ready.
Kaeya would have the bonus of Zhongli already knowing his Origins! But he would still have to contest with worrying about him flipping out over the spy thing (not to mention Zhongli was the Contracts lord.)
Zhongli would also not be super cool with kaeya's more reckless and under-explained stunts. Its probably already somewhat nervewracking for him that most of his friends are mortal. Them making ill-advised decisions would not sit well with him.
but with time I think they'd have a beautiful friendship!
They're both protectors and have Older Family member vibes (grandpa and older brother)
Zhongli would be invested in seeing Kaeya grow past his trauma and the horrible things that happened to him and his people.
And Kaeya would be invested in seeing Zhongli live a happy unburdened life (he understands too well holding what feels like the weight of the world.)
And just in general I think the way they can play off of each other is really fun? Just personality wise. They're both really smart but also feel like they'd have a great time discussing stuff over tea, Really random or inane stuff.
I imagine they're both kinda fed up with the Anime Plot they're born into xD
I feel like they're both little things people. LIke zhongli going on and on about the flowers being beautiful this morning and Kaeya would just be sitting there like "yeah :]"
They realize how much that stuff matters.
Somebody save Zhongli if Hu Tao and Kaeya are in the same room tho. SFDLSDIHGDFIGLDHFGLASIDGHDFG
Also they'd both be doing "Woe, therapy be upon ye" at each other SADLFIHSDGLIDFHGDFGHFG
Also both of them adore kids. ;;v;;
The capacity they have for understanding each other's pain. Just being the "stop being strong, I know, you can't hide it from me." and "i'm sorry you have this burden, you should've never had it." and "i'm so afraid of what I am harming the people I love."
THere could be so much solidarity and comfort and understanding.
And conflict and frustration too! I can see them easily being very hypocritical with each other without intending too xD
So yeah! Just their whole deal can be so fascinating and fun, both of them would have so much baggage to work through with each other. And I can see every step of that journey being delightfully fun to dig into and play out in different ways!
#Ask#anonymous#genshin impact#zhongli#kaeya#isa screams#I love they so much#i'm so soft for their frienship ToT
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@draconisa sent a tipsy ask
Another night, another party. Fundraisers, dinners, corporate events: the blissful nights of her calendar that remain free are few and far between, peppered between days so busy that she hardly had time to breathe. It’s not like her to indulge at these things — at least, not past the ceremonious glass or two — but the one she’s sipping is Number Three, and it’s woefully undiluted by food.
(She should have eaten lunch.)
Still, it’s nice. Her thoughts are quiet, smile bright, unburdened by the constant thread of worries that usually played through her mind. Unburdened, too, by any awareness in her surroundings: she turns and stumbles directly into a man that she hadn’t even realized was there, and her Pinot Grigio laps out of her glass, spilling out onto his suit. She freezes. The immediate, unbidden urge to laugh is stopped by a hand pressed to her lips, wide eyes lifting now to his. “Oh, I’m — oh.” Do not smile. “I’m so sorry, really.”
"Fuck," the King stepped backwards too late, and his pristine white shirt was splattered with wine. Marvellous. He's going to smell like an alcoholic for the rest of the evening. "Yeah, you seem really sorry," he muttered, his gaze raising from his shirt to meet the eyes of the clumsy woman in front of him.
His annoyance abated somewhat as he saw how beautiful she was; he always did have a weakness for a pretty face. "It's fine," he assured her, "I've got plenty more shirts."
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