Andrew Minyard was born to die. It was the sad, harsh truth of his existence. It was something he lived with everyday, a weight like the world on Altas’ shoulders. He was carrying his demise. It wasn’t even scary, the thought of death. Maybe it’s because death could be compared to a parasite; it lives inside you, festering, forming, until it takes you apart slowly and then you become rot and ruin and dust, until you decay from history itself.
Andrew Minyard knew he was going to die well before he was supposed to.
@alejandra925 asked: Hi Kat! Congrats on the 2.5k followers! I have a RebelCaptain prompt/story request. I’d love a surprise marriage proposal or scavenger hunt proposal story for our beloved Jyn and Cassian.
Now, as it turns out, I am not a romantic person. Like, at all. I literally have spent so much time staring at a blank Word document with this prompt in mind, thinking of literally nothing to write. So, in short, this prompt is way late and I am so, so sorry about that. Hopefully you’ll enjoy what I managed to come up with! (Also, as an apology, it’s also a full 1,000 words!)
With this prompt, I am concluding the Thanks From Kat series!! Thank you to all of my followers and especially to those who sent me amazing prompts. You all are lovely and I’ve loved getting to know some of you through this :)
The alternate title for this fic is “The One In Which Kat Using Way Too Many Italics”
“We should get out of here,” I tell him before I can stop myself.
His eyes widen and he quirks an eyebrow at me, “Are you suggesting we leave together?”
“I’m suggesting we should do something instead of sitting here, talking about how much we hate people who are in love,” I tell him in one breath. With the reminder that I will most probably not remember what happens tonight, I put down my empty glass and says, “So, Harry, do you want to do something crazy?”
Okay, so this reminded me I really should make full body character design sheets but 4 now im just going to give u the basics: Sophomore year:
Jack wears a japanese haori jacket like this:
(its so cool i want like, 12)
he p much wears whats on the far right with the button down and jeans, but more in his canon color scheme.
also at the end of sophomore year Thief gives jack short shorts and crop tops but hAH jokes on him bc Jack thinks theyre nice as hell and buys more and its p much the only type of outfit he where in the last month of school (for some reason tho he oddly really likes the orange one Thief originally gives him)
Okay time for season 5 bc…
So Junior Jack is basically wearing a teenage normal(?) clothing version of what Jack was wearing in the beginning of Season 5. Basically, its a baggy really weird dark grey green hoodie that he wears a leather vest over bc he has his motorcycle and if you ride you gotta have leather So i couldnt find a way to give him his beautiful knee-high socks so he has knee high boots cuz hella
loooook at those gorgeous boots just like that (and look at that gorgeous man holy fuck)
And bc unfortunately for Jack, hes constantly not in a Good Mental State and also unfortunately is hungover a lot so he has cool shades (also bc i wanted some connection to that wicked mask in the intro of episode 1)
got to have some kind of eye protection 2
and jack also has his belt which has a carabiner for a tea thermos (which is a discussion for another post) and some martial arts wrist bands kind of like this:
all in all he looks slightly ridiculous but somehow he pulls it off bc hes Jack and Jack looks great in p much anything
And finally, you might be wondering, “what about when Jack’s a senior? Does he get a design?” well yes he does but I’m still trying to figure that out and waiting to see if Jack gets any new duds in canon I could use as inspiration
“You’re so pretty,” said Verity, perched on the edge of Theodora’s bed and gazing at her adoringly. “Am I really going to match with you at the wedding?”
Theo turned aside from the mirror, smiling. “Of course. We’ll be just as pretty as each other.” She bent down a little. “Would you mind undoing the top hook? I should probably take it off now. Theresa won’t be happy if I get a mark on it.”
Verity unhooked it. “Would she take you off being a bridesmaid, if you did?”
“Oh, no, she wouldn’t dare,” said Theo. “Don’t worry, we’re safe.”
“Chaplain Hopkins, it’s Mrs. Foster. May I come in?”
Mary called softly at the door to Henry Hopkins’s room.
Matron Brannan had said Henry had not been seen yet on the wards and by ten
o’clock, an hour after Mary had herself arrived to help where she could, where
she was allowed as Mrs. Foster, curiosity had become concern, a concern
familiar to her from her former, lofty position. With Mary’s marriage, which
still seemed miraculous a full three months after the ceremony, Anne Hastings
had also achieved her heart’s desire, the post of Head Nurse and the
incontrovertible queen of Mansion House. They two found themselves working more
harmoniously now as Anne did not feel the need to constantly berate Mrs. Foster
as she had Nurse Mary and Mary had agreed with Jed that she would not work as
many hours, mindful of her slow return to health and her responsibilities to
their own household, the servants they employed, their few close friends,
itinerant, independent Plum who came as she pleased and Tippet who slept in her
basket every night. The War ebbed and flowed around them all, seemingly endless
and Mary wondered if there could ever be a victor, what it would cost to win;
she and Jed talked about it late into the evenings, both feeling obligated to
address the greater misery in the face of their own surpassing personal
happiness. They had touched upon it more lightly when Henry came to supper the
past Sunday, before the men settled down to their chessboard and Mary to
hemming the dress she was making for Julia’s baby Miriam and considering who’d
had the best of it, LaGrange or Euler. It had been a tranquil night and Henry
had even been relaxed enough to kiss her cheek when he bid them good evening.
Now there was silence from his room, or something resembling
silence, and Mary knocked again before turning the glass knob and stepping in.
“Mr. Hopkins, I beg your pardon, but you didn’t answer,” she
offered, taking in the disarray of the bed linens, the coat draped across the
chair, the curtains still drawn against a night that had been burned away hours
ago. Henry sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.
“M’sorry, mustn’t’ve heard you, sorry,” he replied, his
voice rough, the words slurred a little as if from drink. It could not be that,
for she’d never known him to indulge very much and there was no empty bottle in
“You’re not well, I think,” she said. He had not finished
dressing and his feet were bare, his braces haphazardly pulled over his
mis-buttoned linen shirt. The cloth around the collar was darkened with sweat,
the same that cast a sheen over his cheeks, along his throat. His face was dark
with unshaven whiskers except where it was pale. She saw the effort he made to
raise his eyes to her and remembered how it had felt when the fever took her,
how even to shift her gaze was an agony.
“Nothing really. A catarrh, I didn’t sleep well. Please
excuse me, I know they must need me below,” he began. The words might have
convinced her if they had been only written on a page but he spoke haltingly,
searching too long for each one, and then he shuddered and pressed a hand
against his lips as if he might be ill.
“You need a doctor or barring that, a nurse, someone to give
you a dose,” she said, startled when his expression changed to a sudden,
“Don’t let her see me this way! I don’t want that, not her
pity. Don’t want her, want her,” he cried, trailing off into a dazed muttering.
Mary laid her hand on his forehead and felt how he burned, but not dangerously.
He was so circumspect generally, so careful and restrained; it had taken the
illness to make him ramble, to imagine the mention of a nurse could only mean
Emma, in whose eyes he wished to be only that which was good and admirable.
There had been some schism between them that both had alluded to indirectly,
the break mending well but not quickly, and she understood how he was afraid of
Emma’s reaction even as he longed for her to come.
“Now, now, calm down, Henry. You’re ill and you’re to lie
down. I may not be the Head Nurse here any longer but I still may nurse you and
give you the medicine you require. I’ll have Jedediah come round to look in on
you, but no one else. Not yet,” she said, nudging his shoulder as she talked to
suggest he follow her direction, helping him arrange his long legs under the
drab blanket. He was not seriously ill at the moment though he could well be,
if he was not tended to properly, and she thought it would suit Anne Hastings
very well if Mrs. Foster spent most of her time focused on the chaplain,
allowing the Head Nurse to shine as the sun without the moon still lingering in
the pale blue sky.
“Emma?” he said, asking so many questions with hazy eyes, a
hand grasping her wrist but gently, his innate kindness making him careful of
“Later, perhaps. When you’re settled, feeling a bit better.
When I need to go home, she’ll come then,” Mary soothed. Henry’s face showed he
had heard her, his forehead less furrowed, the image she had conjured
reassuring to them both. Emma would come sit in a chair beside his bed, the
door opened for propriety and the healthful circulation of the evening air, and
Mary would find herself sitting beside Jed at the table, managing his worries
about her overtaxing herself, acceding when he insisted on taking her to bed
earlier, brushing out her hair and assessing her for any sign of fever, any
alteration in her pulse at her wrist, her throat, where her heart beat itself.
“I’ll fetch a few things and then come back. You’ve only to
call,” she reminded him.
“Mary, thank you, like m’sister, having you here,” he
mumbled and she laughed quietly, correctly him,
“Your friend, dear Henry, but I take your meaning. Rest
now.” She would return with quinine, a jug of water, a basin should be become
sick and she was glad of the copy of Boole’s Laws of Thought in her apron pocket, for she had noticed only a
Bible in Henry’s room and he was not well enough for her to admit that would
not occupy her for the hours she needed to sit beside him. She was his friend
not his sweetheart, so his face alone would not entertain her as it would Emma
when she came as the sun set and found him sleeping more easily, the pain
diminished simply to find her there, his shame forgotten.
“when in distress, draw a dude in a dress” is what i always say
and man a lot of you have been mentioning me on this post and the first time i saw it i fell in love but before drawing yuuri in that dress i had to find something for viktor and lo and behold i found this on my dash