bittenflesh
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Les Loups, Les Lapins, Le Monde by Houseofchaos for mayhawk
Fandoms: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
15 Sep 2025
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“I just can’t- I fucking can’t believe this! How long have you been a cop?”
Jean’s insides bristle. He was asked to transfer to the 41st - not even asked, actually, asked implies there was a choice. This wasn’t a choice. Not that he would have refused at the time - the 41st is the place where anyone who wants to be anybody goes, at least while they are young and stupid enough to crave a hero’s death.
No, Jean was told to pack his things. That *someone* at the 41st pulled some strings and wanted him. Jean doesn’t know who, Jean doesn’t ask those kinds of questions. He’s starting to consider that it was a lie. Maybe his precinct traded him in in exchange for someone from here. And he’s the sloppy seconds no one wants. That would track.
And it sure feels that way too, watching Sergeant Du Bois rub at his forehead shaking his head, his cigarette wasting away between his fingers. One thing is clear - if anybody at the 41st didn’t pick Jean, it’s Harrier Du Bois, who looks two seconds away from kicking a trashcan and throwing a fit about it.
“Two years, sir.”
Harrier closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and leaves the room without telling Jean to come with.
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Kim hasn’t been sleeping. Harry helps, and watches him unravel.
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Actual literal shit may have been preferable to the sorry state that Harry finds his workspace in. He won't be able to do this alone, but his interpersonal relationships are kind of shit, too. Generally speaking, he has a lot of shit to clean up.
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your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder by paisleycowboys
Fandoms: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
24 Oct 2021
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Harry Du Bois is a tactile person. Kim is learning to be okay with it. Really, he's completely okay with it.
Five times Harry touches Kim and the one time he doesn't have to.
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Three hundred years ago – with the birth of this isola – a countdown began. Slowly ticking. An hourglass with sand borrowed from a future that will never exist. Like a tear through time, a hole to compensate for all that is not supposed to be here yet.
The problem does not lie within the silence of the church. It lies within us.
Human consciousness.
Maybe the presence of a simple priest is what’s holding the world together. The low whisper of continuous prayer like bolts in the substance of humanity.
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Jean Viquemare is a dolorian priest in Martinaise, battling with unwanted desires while simultaneously dealing with the porch collapse at his literal doorstep. Harry bumps right into Jean's carefully balanced temperance with the grace of a drunk bumblebee.