#<i spent too much time looking for a picture of that specific newspaper this goes in the tag

[svampira]

@duckdotimg 's temerice vs the ocean house hotel (click on the gif for better quality)

[cosmicoceanfic]

2.2k, available on AO3

Dean and Cas jog down the stairs of the Bunker, duffle bags in hand. Sam notices that they seem a little looser in the way they walk, which is a relief. Both Dean and Cas have been holed up in their respective rooms for the past few weeks. It’s good that their trip to bury God’s book for Jack worked out for them.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, guys.” Sam smiles, closing his book and standing. “How was your trip?”

“Went alright.” Dean dumps his duffle bag on a chair. “Cas and I got married. Taught him how to change a tire.”

Sam drops the book. It lands on the ground with a heavy thud. “You what?”

“Taught him how to change a tire,” Dean says, a little slower this time.

“No, not that one, the other- you got married?”

“Yeah.”

“The tire changing exercise was helpful.” Cas drops his duffle bag as well. “Especially since I will be continuing to use my truck.”

Sam can’t tell if they’re actually, legitimately fucking with him or not. “You weren’t even a couple when you left!”

“Then we were,” Cas says. “And then we were married.”

“How long was it between getting together and getting married?”

“Bout, hm.” Dean turns to Cas. “Three days?”

“It was on the third day, yes.”

Sam gapes at them.

“Why?” he manages.

Dean shrugs.

“Mostly we thought it’d be funny,” he says.

Sam doesn’t even have an answer to that.

“Aw, buck up, Sammy,” Dean tells him. “It’s almost like you’re not happy for us.”

There’s a slight apprehensive edge to his tone that snaps Sam out of his reverie. “Of course I’m-“ he moves around the table and hugs Dean, who allows it, and then Cas, who brightly returns it. “Congratulations, guys. Long time coming, I guess.”

“Thanks, man.” Dean claps his hands together, which Sam sees now has a faint glint of gold to it. “I’m hungry. Cas, you hungry?”

“I am almost always hungry.”

“Part and parcel of being human, buddy.” Dean gives him a clap on the shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll make us sandwiches.”

Sam watches, still feeling somewhat bewildered, happiness for them somewhere rolling around in that haze, as the two head out of the room, linking hands as they turn towards the hallway.

This isn’t the whole truth, naturally.

This is the reality:

For three weeks, Cas and Dean had hardly spoken, too uncomfortable, too awkward, until Jack had asked them for help, and if there was anything they could not ignore, it was their son coming to him when he needed them.

The trip to bury the book in a remote corner of the country had changed things, softened them, slowly but surely, until after five days, Dean plucked up his courage.

“Cas?” Dean had said as they walked into their motel room for the evening. Cas had looked at him, blinking sleepy eyes, patient.

“I love you,” he’d told him, steeling himself for whatever it was that came next.

“I know,” Cas had answered.

Dean had stared before he could get out “did you just Han Solo me?”

A soft, almost bashful expression crept across Cas’s face, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean gaped.

“Son of a bitch,” he’d said, and lunged in for a kiss.

Three days later, after slow and less slow kisses, linked hands as they drove on back roads, curling up in the same bed, exhausted from the road, Dean left to go get coffee for him and Cas when he stumbled across a pawnshop.

It was a gut decision. The sort you make without thinking through the implications, because it just feels right in the moment, and how could it be anything else later?

It caused more low level panic, however, after the two cheap gold rings had been purchased. He looked down at them in the little plastic baggy they’d given him at the pawnshop.

It’s a lot, he’d thought. It’s a lot, really fast. And he could already picture the look on Sam���s face when they came home, contorted in that specific expression he got when he’s pissy about being confused, the you left for one week and you came back-

Dean closed his fist around the bag before he shoved it in his pocket, stopping by the little donut shop and picking up two coffees and a couple crullers. When he got back to the motel, Cas was in one of his last clean tee shirts and toweling off his hair.

“Got these,” Dean said, putting them on the little piece of furniture the TV rested on. This was a bad idea. He was already acutely aware of what a bad fucking idea this was. His stomach wouldn’t stop clenching. “Little sign in the window says it’s one of the best restaurant in the area according to the newspaper. Course, it could be a really shit newspaper, so-“

“Why are you nervous?” Cas squinted at him as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Is there something supernatural in town that requires our attention?”

“No.” Dean had spent his whole goddamn life successfully bluffing his way out of situations and Cas could see he’s nervous at the drop of a pin. “How can you tell I’m nervous?”

He looked almost exasperated. “I know you. I know when you’re nervous.”

He did, didn’t he?

Hell, even if it wasn’t too late to back out now, he wouldn’t want to.

“Don’t freak out,” he said.

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Okay, well.” He sat down on the ground. Kneeling would be… too far. Too much. He was going to have to do this in a way that made sense or he was gonna panic. “Don’t… start freaking out.”

Cas leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he’d said clearly. “And I will not start freaking out.”

Dean got distracted just looking at his face for a few seconds, which had to be in the top ten dumbass Dean Winchester moments, but when Cas’s eyebrows went even further up his forehead he cleared his throat and started fumbling in his pockets.

“Do, uh.” He held out the bag to Cas, who took them with a vaguely baffled expression. “Do you want to wear these?”

Cas stared down at them, bewildered.

“Are these what I’m assuming they are?” he asked slowly.

“Um. I mean, I can’t read your mind, Cas, but-“ Cas gave him a very particular look. “Yes. Yes, those are… what you think they are.”

Cas turned them over in his hands. “Oh.”

“We don’t need to do the whole… shebang. We could just wear them. Unless you wanted to do the whole shebang.”

“I don’t know about ‘shebang’.” Cas did finger quotes while still holding onto the rings and Dean kind of wanted a do over where he did this better just looking at him make them. “It feels like it’s very fast and a long time coming, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, well.” Dean looked down at his hands. “Look, I’m not good at this. You had this whole speech and it was… really good and I’m not. I’m not good at making those speeches. But it’s just… been you, man, it’s been you for a really long time. And it’s the kind of thing where your gut is to say it was always gonna be you, but it wasn’t, right? It wasn’t always gonna be us, Chuck said as much, so that makes it… better, doesn’t it? It makes it better cause we did it ourselves. Even when we didn’t know we were working at it together, we were working at it together. And I’m so glad it was you. Of course I’m so glad it was you. And I want to be doing this with you for as much forever as we get, so. It just… made sense, even though it kinda makes… no sense. I want to do all this with you anyway. The rings, they’re just… they’re just giving it a clearer name than it had before. And if you don’t want that, then it’s fine, because I’ll be here with or without them.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Dean stared with a little determination at his hands, waiting.

“It was a nice speech,” Cas said, sounding a little choked.

“S’okay.”

“No. It was nice.” Dean finally looked up to see Cas looking a little amused, eyes wet. “Take the compliment, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “Okay.”

Cas gently turned the bag over in his hand, pulling it up and lightly tipping them out into his palm. He held it out to Dean, who slowly took one of them. They sat there, both holding onto their rings.

“Last chance to take it back,” Cas whispered.

Dean coughed out a bark of laughter. “You first.”

Cas made a similar noise. He quietly slid his ring on at the same time Dean slid on his. He stared at his hand, tilting it this way and that. The gold glinted a little.

“Hey,” he mumbled, unable to keep the slightly giddy grin off his face. “Look at that.”

“Yeah.” A hand slipped into his field of vision as Cas linked theirs together. Dean stares at them, gold against gold. “Look at that.” Cas squeezed it. “Did you ever think someday you’d…”

“No.” Dean swallowed, looking up at him, still grinning. “No, I figured I’d be dead by now.”

Even a joke about his death didn’t seem to be enough to tamp down Cas’s grin. “I’m very glad you’re not.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Not just for this. Dean had a lot of reasons to be grateful to be alive these days, more than he’d ever expected. But this? This was number one right now.

“We can do the shebang if you want.” Cas couldn’t seem to pry his eyes off their joined hands, either. “I don’t… know much of what’s required for such things. But we can do it, if you want.”

“Can we just… see how it goes?” He winced. “I mean, see how it goes like, see how we feel about that, not like, see how this goes, I’m, I’m really clear on how solid I am about-“

“Yes. I know.” Cas stood and pulled Dean up with him. He was about to groan about how fast he pulled him up when Cas lightly tugged him forwards and kissed him, which is about the only thing that would have made Dean let go of his hand. “It’s only wise to take at least some part of this slow.”

He wouldn’t always, he thought. He kinda liked the idea of a big party with all their friends and maybe Sam officiating, even though he’d never stop hearing about it. But everything that had happened had happened in the space of a few days and he just needed… more than that few days to process it.

“Did you want my last name?” Dean had asked.

“Of course I want your last name. I don’t have a last name.” Cas looked thoughtful. “I think we should tell Sam we did it because it was funny.”

Dean kissed him again. “I’m so glad I married you.” It did funny things to his stomach just to say it.

“You didn’t marry me.” Dean rarely got to see Cas’s face like this, split open with a grin so wide his nose scrunches up. “You threw a ring at me.”

“Handed you. I handed you a ring.”

“It felt like throwing.”

“Give it back, you son of a bitch, I’ll do it again-“

“No-“ Cas laughed. “No, don’t you dare. I liked it how it was.”

“What are you giving me shit for, then?”

“You have found,” he said, still smiling wide. “A way for me to say I will give you shit forever.”

Dean swallowed.

“Awesome,” he manages.

“Your coffee’s getting cold and it’s presumably good coffee. Let’s reheat it and get on the road.”

Dean had taken his hand, then, linking their fingers up.

This is back to the present:

Dean and Cas are sitting in the kitchen at the little table. Cas is reading the newspaper while Dean eats his sandwich. Nobody eats faster than Cas, he thinks, not a person in the world, and the thought makes him suddenly, irrationally fond.

“You’re looking at me,” Cas says without looking up from the newspaper.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Just am, I guess.” He gives him what he knows has to be a slightly dopey grin. Cas looks amused and returns his attention to the paper. Dean keeps watching him for another few moments.

“Husband,” he says finally.

“Hm?”

“Husband. That’s you. You’re my husband.”

Cas does look up then with a soft smile. “You’re my husband,” he replies, and kisses him gently. “Would you like to go find a movie to watch?”

“Sure.”

The two of them stand and walk out, hands linked, a quiet joy permeating the air between them, a high key contentment radiating off of them for all to see.

[graceful-starker]

No Way Home

SPIDER-MAN: NO WAY HOME SPOILERS!!!

I am putting the summary and the warnings under the cut so that you can’t be even a little spoiled unless you hit the read more button.

Summary: the first installment in a series that will be ongoing. This first installment is Peter’s life adjusting to everything that happens in the movie.

Warnings: canon.

Chapter specific warnings: missing his friends and family a healthily normal amount, adjusting to a new life, mild canonical violence.

Notes: in the future there will be sadder installments, and some installments from the before, etc. But everything in this fic could 100% be considered canon. It wouldn’t mess with anything in canon if Marvel made it happen lol.

~~~~~~~~

Peter sighs heavily as he sinks into his bed, one hand resting on his chest and the other supporting his head above his pillow.

It’s been a long day. Always seems to feel that way, now. A long, hard day of working for someone who hates his guts, followed by a long, hard night of stopping crime, followed by a short, lonely break that’s meant for sleep but is often spent the same way—laying down, eyes closed, but mind never stopping.

Peter sighs heavily, sitting up and pulling his mask off. He looks down into it, rubbing his thumb over the cheek of it. He checks his phone to see that his alarm will go off in about an hour, and the cycle will repeat itself.

He walks over to the desk with his camera and sewing machine, plopping the mask over his camera. He unzips his suit, leaving it a messy pile on the floor. Instead, he pulls on some sweats and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. He’ll shower after he wakes up, he’s too tired tonight.

He goes around his apartment—all one room and one bathroom of it—and turns off the lights and lamps, before locking his door and window and crawling back into bed. This time, under the covers.

Peter must actually manage to get some sleep, because he’s startled when his alarm goes off. He groans, but doesn’t hit snooze by some miracle.

Peter quickly cleans himself and gets dressed for the day, camera slung around his shoulder and mask deep inside his jacket pocket.

He’s already lived through everyone knowing who he is, and he would rather die than go through that again.

He makes his way down to his favorite coffee shop, slipping his phone into his pocket as he goes to the cash register. “Hey, MJ, how’s it going?” Peter asks softly.

MJ looks up from her own phone, pushing his coffee towards him. “Fine, counting down the minutes until I get to go home.”

Peter smiles as he takes the cup, pushing his two dollars back to her. “I hear ya.” He hesitates, heart clenching in his chest. It always does, whenever he sees her. No matter how much time passes, he’s still so in love with her.

On days like today, when MIT is out for the holidays and MJ is waiting with his morning coffee order that she for some reason memorized a long time ago and Peter feels especially lonely, he almost regrets his decision. Almost. He almost breaks, asks her out again. Even if he doesn’t tell her the truth, he can try again, can’t he?

But then, another customer walks in, and MJ gives her customer service smile and says ‘have a great day, sir,’ and gives the new person her full attention.

And when he stops looking at her, stops looking into her eyes, he remembers.

Because on good days, when MJ is out of the state and Peter hasn’t seen her in a few months, it’s easier to remember why he let them go. Why their lives are so much better without him in it. Why they’re safer, and happier, and it becomes easier.

Peter thanks her again under his breath, before he walks back out of the shop and to the subway. He sips his coffee on the train, one hand scrolling through the news on his phone. He softly laughs to himself as he sees the newspaper he works for. Spider-Menace at it again, with a picture Peter himself took. Gotta love count-down timers.

He shuffles his way off the subway, and throws the empty cup in a garbage can. Too many people litter in New York.

He moves with the crowd, all the way until he’s at his building and he has to make his way inside.

“Hey Julie,” Peter says as he walks past the front desk. The sweet old lady smiles and says ‘good morning dear,’ and buzzes him in.

Everyone he works with likes him, except for his boss. Peter thinks he subconsciously remembers everything that happened pre-spell, and that’s why he hates Peter.

Either way, Mr. Jamison hates him. That’s for sure.

“Parker!” Is barked loudly, and the man would have dropped his camera if he weren’t Spider-Man. “Get in here!”

Peter hurries to do so, knowing that making the older man wait will do nothing but make his day even more miserable than it already has to be. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m going on air in an hour, and I don’t have that video of Spider-Man you promised me!” He grumbles.

Peter bites his tongue, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “I sent it to your email last night, sir. I was up all night waiting to spot-“

“Did I ask for a sob story?” The older man yells, slamming his hands on his table. “Did you send it to Jefferson? He’s the one that edits these things! And he says he didn’t get it!”

Peter breathes slowly through his nose. He definitely CCed Jefferson. “I’ll forward it to him again, if he lost the email.”

“Good,” Jamison gruffs, shuffling the papers on his desk. “And Betty Brant is coming up here later today, so everything better run perfectly Parker, or I’m blaming you!”

Peter blinks. “Betty Brant? What’s she-“

“For god’s sake Parker, Betty Brant! You know, only the daughter of the man who runs the most respected news agency in all of New York? You know how much money we could get if his daughter is working here?”

Peter shifts his weight. “Why would she work for us if-“

“Listen Parker, I know you didn’t graduate high school, but do you know what nepotism means?” Jamison asks rudely, nose turned up.

Peter clenches his fists in his jacket pockets, taking a deep breath. “So he’s sending her out to a competitor in order to avoid claims of nepotism?”

Jamison nods, lifting his face so the make up artist can put powder on it. “But of course, he can’t his legacy embarrass him! So he’ll pay for us to make her look good, make her succeed. Plus, she’s barley going to be here anyway. She’s full time at Columbia for journalism, and daddy’s money guarantees she doesn’t need a job to pay rent. It’s literally just to put on her resume. Win-win Parker, win-win!”

Peter nods, turning to make his way out of the room again. “Alright, thank you Mr. Jamison. I’ll make her feel welcome.”

“See to it that you do, Parker! We need daddy’s money!”

Peter sighs and makes his way to his own office, booting up the computer. Technically, he’s supposed to do research on Spider-Man during this time. But Peter knows everything about Spider-Man already, so instead he uses this time to do personal research.

Some days, he looks up his old friends, just to see how they’re doing. There’s never much to see, selfies on Flash’s Instagram, a social justice tweet from MJ, a Facebook post about his latest computer-science project from Ned. But it’s always nice to see.

Some days, he checks on May’s charity. Just to make sure they’re still doing a good enough job, that they’re making May proud. Or, she would be proud.

Other days he looks up the Avengers, sees what they’re doing. There’s never much to report; it would appear that defeating the greatest threat to all the universe is enough to scare away most threats to the entirety of earth.

But most days, he just looks around to see if he can find some local crime to fight that night. He works for the Daily Bugle to live, but he lives to be Spider-Man.

After work, Peter gets to be what he lives for. Webbing up a would-be mugger. Punching a guy about to steal a car. Sometimes, on really exciting nights, he gets to fight a really dangerous person. Like tonight, he got to have an almost hour long fight with this asshole that manage to create a slick suit that was web resistant. But the police showed up eventually, and they helped Peter take the guy down.

“Thanks for the help, Spider-Man,” one officer says, slamming the door to the back of the cruiser. “Don’t know what we would do without you!”

Peter laughs breathlessly, holding his ribs. He breaks them like every other day, it’s very annoying. “Just trying to do my part!” He salutes, and then webs himself away.

Tonight, he gets home early. It’s only 3am. He throws himself on the bed, one hand resting on his chest and the other supporting his head.

He closes his eyes, taking deep breaths, willing himself to calm down.

After all, he has to do it all again tomorrow.

[midwinterblinder]

This is me trying

Chapter 10: “I know you, Jo.”

Josephine looks up from the board in front of her with a frown when the phone rings. The phone rarely rings in their apartment and when it does it’s usually Hilton or one of Gina’s friends. But Hilton is out with Gina and from the phone conversation she heard part of earlier that evening she could make out that Gina’s friends knew about her being out tonight as well. So who could be calling?

She reluctantly gets up from where she was sitting on the floor by the coffee table to pick up the phone. “Hello?” She asks wondering who it could be as she makes her way back to her previous spot, her eyes already focussing back on the board.

“Hey.” A familiar voice breaths out on the other end of the line and Josephine’s breath catches in her throat. Of all the people that could have called it just had to be him. He must know Hilton and Gina are out tonight, which means he called to talk to her. Knowing that causes a familiar warmth to spread through her chest, a warmth that was almost constantly there when they were together, but it also brings a wave of anxiety. What does he want to talk to her about?

“Benny.” Her voice sounds just as breathless as his and Benny closes his eyes for a moment as he tries to picture her there in the apartment with him. Just listening to her breathing on the other end of the line is enough for him to imagine her being here with him. They’re both silent for a moment until Josephine can’t take it anymore and speaks up. “Gina’s not here.” She lets him know.

“I know.” Benny says as he opens his eyes. The words have left his mouth before he can stop them and he curses himself for admitting that he’s specifically calling to talk to her. His eyes move around the room as he tries to come up with a reason for the call that won’t give away how much he misses her, and it hits him when he sees the newspaper still open on the table. “I, uh, heard you were at a tournament this weekend. How did it go?” He asks as if he didn’t just buy a newspaper to find the answer to that question.

Josephine is taken aback once more, not expecting him to call about the tournament. She was afraid he was calling to asks why she wouldn’t accept his invite or why she still refuses to tell him why she left, so the subject of chess is surprising but welcome. After all, chess is familiar territory for both of them. “It went pretty well. I won.” She tells him as she relaxes slightly now that the conversation has taken this turn. “Not that it’s surprising. It was only a small tournament and I wouldn’t even call the top players there average.”

Benny can’t help but smile slightly at her words. She always talks down her own accomplishments. The complete opposite of Benny himself in that regard, which is why a lot of people didn’t understand why they were together. “But you won.” He says and he can picture her shrugging. “And don’t shrug your shoulders at that. You can be proud of your accomplishments, you know.”

A slight blush appears on Josephine’s face as his words come through the line at the exact moment she shrugs. “How did you-“ She stops herself from finishing her sentence when she hears him chuckle.

“I know you, Jo.” He states as if they haven’t spend the past four years away from each other. The statement causes the warmth in her chest to spread even further, but it also causes her eyes to sting because they will never be able to go back to that. Benny feels the weight of his statement as well. A feeling of pride of still knowing her so well mixed with a feeling of pain from not having her with him anymore.

She clears her throat to get rid of the lump that was starting to form and picks up the conversation again to get rid of the newfound tension. “You didn’t see them play though.” She says as her free hand moves to a pawn by the side of the chess board in front of her. “They were really bad.”

But Benny isn’t having it. “Maybe they weren’t that bad, maybe you’re just that good.” He tells her as he leans back against the pillows behind him. “How was the final?” He asks as he gets comfortable.

Josephine smiles slightly as she thinks back to how the man sitting across from her at the final was sweating by the end of the game. “Let’s just say it reminded me of your theory on Caro-Kann.” She says and her smile grows when she hears him chuckle.

*****

It’s two hours later when Gina steps through the door of the apartment with Hilton. Josephine looks up from the game in front of her when she hears the door open, the phone still pressed to her ear as she was talking Benny through some of her games of that weekend. She hadn’t realised how long she’d been on the phone with him until just now. “Jo?” Benny’s voice sounds from the other side of the line as he wonders why she suddenly stopped talking.

“Uh, sorry.” She quickly says as Gina and Hilton take off their coats. “Gina and Hilton are back.” She states and Gina gives her a questioning look. Josephine looks down at the board to avoid Gina’s eyes.

“Oh.” Benny mutters. “I didn’t realise it was that late already.” He adds as his eyes move to the chess clock on his table. He doesn’t want to end the call, but judging by Josephine’s silence she doesn’t really want to continue their conversation with Gina and Hilton there to listen in. “Maybe we can continue this another time.” He suggests. “Because I would like to know how it ends.” He adds with a smirk.

His comment has the desired effect as it causes Josephine to let out a slight laugh. “Oh please.” She scoffs as her eyes move over the game in front of her. “If you can’t see where this is going you’ve officially lost your touch, Watts.” She blushes slightly when she realises how flirty her tone is, but it’s too late to take back now.

With her eyes still on the board, Josephine misses the shocked looks on Gina and Hilton’s faces. The couple exchanges a look before focusing back on Josephine and what they can hear from the conversation.

Benny’s smirk grows at her comment. “Don’t worry, I’ve still got it.” He assures her. “Goodnight, Jo.” His tone gentle as his smirk melts into a fond smile. It had been nice to talk to her. It brought him back to all the times they spent hours on the phone when one of them was at a tournament while the other stayed in New York, or even further back before they lived together and they spent hours talking through strategies and theories.

“Goodnight, Benny.” Josephine says quietly before she gets up from the floor to hang up the phone. Once the phone if back on the hook she is faced with curious glances from Gina and Hilton and a blush forms on her cheeks as she tries to think of a way to explain what just happened.

“So, Benny called?” Gina asks, even though the answer is obvious. Josephine nods as she turns to walk to the kitchen the make some tea. “What did he want to talk about?” She goes on as she sits down on the couch, but keeps a close eye on Josephine.

Hilton leans against the wall and he looks from Gina to Josephine as he wonders how this conversation will go. “He wanted to know how the tournament went.” Josephine says as she keeps her eyes on the kettle. “We were just talking through some of the games.” She shrugs.

“Any new insights?” Gina asks as she raises her eyebrows at her friend, who just shrugs. Part of Gina wants to tell Josephine that she can’t do this to Benny, that it’s cruel to give him hope like that only to crush it again once they actually come face to face with each other. From what Hilton told her she could make out that Benny still cares about Josephine. And Josephine might be her friend but so is Benny, and she doesn’t want him to get his heart broken all over again. “How long did you talk?”

Josephine sighs as the kettle starts to whistle. “I don’t know, a while.” She says as she glances at the clock and realises that it had been at least two hours. “We just talked about chess. It’s not a big deal.” She tries to brush it off as she pours some water in a mug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an article to write.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Riding the Lightning: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

There are only two hours left, so if you’re going to do something, then you need to do it now. Penelope has been working overtime to see if she can’t track down Riley without the help of Sarah, but she really made sure he wouldn’t be found. She really doesn’t want Riley to surface.

“Check all police and hospital records dating back to September 1990,” Gideon asks of Penelope, and she gets straight to work.

“You know, you should check local newspapers to see if anyone reported any abandoned babies,” Spencer suggests.

“Yeah, I don't give a damn where the governor is, we may have found proof that Sarah Jean is innocent,” Sam Shapiro says over the phone.

“She really only had a maximum of three hours between police visits. It was four p.m. so traffic was pretty heavy. Whatever she did with Riley had to be local,” Spencer theorized.

“In 1990, there were three babies that were abandoned in Septemeber,” Penelope reveals.

“Three-year-old boys?” you ask.

“None.

“Why doesn't she just tell us where Riley is?” Spencer says in frustration.

“She is protecting him against Jacob. She refuses to let him be Jacob’s last victim. If he knows who his real parents are, then he’s haunted for life, and that’s exactly what Sarah doesn’t want.”

“Look, they are being executed within an hour of each other. What hope do we even have to finding him in time?” JJ asks.

“You know, it's quite possible, she doesn't even know where he is anyway.”

“No. she knows. We’ve got to get into her cell. Y/N, come with me.”

You follow Gideon to find the warden since he is the only one who can grant her access outside of her cell. He’s right outside of Jacob’s cell, and as much as you despise being around him, it’s for Sarah. Once he sees you, he smiles evilly, but you ignore him as best as you can.

“You've come to see the show?” Jacob asks.

He’s in the process of being shaved for the electric chair, but you ignore him.

“We need to get into Sarah Jean's cell. I believe the proof--”

“I can't do that!” Charles Diehl hisses and takes you two off to the side. “All official lines of communication are now over.”

“We just need five minutes,” you beg.

“Agents! They want the memory of these two individuals erased.”

“Five minutes. Please. That’s all we need,” you plead.

Charles sees the desperation in your eyes, and he just sighs with a gentle roll of his eyes.

“Five minutes.”

“Thank you. Come on,” Gideon urges.

He takes you to Sarah’s cell once it’s clear to go inside and look through everything she has. It isn’t much, but you don’t have a lot of time. Gideon goes straight to work in rifling through the books and mattress for something, but you’re drawn to the painting of her son in the field. He’s running happily, and you realize there is something pulling you to that specific painting. Gideon notices you just staring at it, but he doesn’t yell at you to keep looking. He knows you have something.

“What is it?”

You reach for the painting and take it off the wall, turning it over to reveal a newspaper clipping of a teenage boy. It’s about an award that he won, but there is no mention of what the award is, where he got it, or his name. However, you take one look at this picture and know it’s Riley.

“This is Riley. He’s alive,” you say and show him the picture.

“Let’s go.”

Gideon puts everything back the way it was before leaving the cell. You can’t be here when Sarah Jean comes back, and luckily, Penelope isn’t that far from her cell. As soon as the technical analysis sees the picture, she freaks just a little.

“That's Riley. It's her son, isn't it? Someone tell me it's him, please,” she begs.

“Yes, it is,” you nod.

“JJ, circulate this photo to the press. See if anybody recognizes this boy,” Hotch orders.

“Do I say who we think he is?”

“No just put him out as the missing persons.”

Before she can leave, a loud noise goes off that signals something. It’s not a good noise, you know that for sure.

“Okay, what does that mean?” JJ asks.

“It means Jacob is being moved to the execution chamber,” Spencer says.

You grab the photo of Riley and inspect it. There is nothing on here that suggests where he is because Sarah cut out the words. All she wanted was a picture of him, and that was enough for her.

“She cut around the photo so no one can read the text. He was two when he disappeared. This boy is sixteen or seventeen. If he's Riley, it would mean it's a recent photo.”

“Once Jacob's dead, do you think Sarah Jean would tell us if this is Riley?” JJ wonders.

“No, she won’t,” you shake your head.

“Gideon, she has to know we know.”

Gideon gives one single nod as the two of you head over to Sarah’s cell where she is finished being prepped for the execution chamber. She knows you took her photo which means she knows you know Riley is alive and well. It doesn’t take long for Jacob to be killed, and as soon as he is, you hope Sarah will tell you where Riley is.

“Jacob is gone. He's no longer any threat to Riley. Tell me where he is. We can stop this madness,” Gideon says when he sees her.

“There is no greater gift in life than that of being a parent. Yet so many of us abuse and squander that gift. You can deny being a parent all you want, but I know you are one,” she says to you. “I made my decision fifteen years ago. This has never been about Jacob. It's always been about Riley.”

“That's why we can't let you do this,” you beg.

“This isn't about you and me.”

“I know it isn't. That's why I'm not going to let Riley lose the greatest gift he knew he had,” Gideon declares.

“But that is my gift to him, and I'll not let you destroy that.”

You two leave her cell, and Gideon looks at you with a curious gaze.

“Are you a parent?”

“No. She’s lying,” you shake your head. You refuse to open the locked parts of your mind. There are a lot of secrets back there, and they are locked away for a reason. “We have to find Riley. Come on.”

You two head back to where Penelope and the rest of the gang are.

“Only people Jacob allowed Sarah Jean to know were the family she cleaned for,” Gideon thinks out loud.

“Sarah Jean worked for wealthy families all over Hampton. Let's go over all the families in the state of Florida who were looking to adopt in 1990, and let's see how many lived in Hampton,” Hotch orders, and Penelope goes to work.

“Families looking to adopt... hundreds.”

“How many from Hampton?”

“Uh, three families. The James', the Coulfied's, and the Sheffield's.”

“Looks like the Sheffield's removed themselves from the list in October 1990, and then moved out of Hampton,” you note when you read what’s on her screen.

“That's one month after Riley vanished where did they go?” Gideon asks.

“Uh, Keystone Heights. We got a match on the photo. It was in a piece of local daily news.”

“Call Morgan and Elle and tell them to get to the Sheffield's house.”

You take out your phone and dial Derek’s number with waited breath.

“You got something?” Derek answers.

“Get to the Sheffield’s house. We found her son. Keystone Heights,” you say and give him the address.

“That’s not far from here. We’re on our way.”

“Thanks. Call when you get there,” you say to him and look at Gideon. “He’s going there now.”

“Byran Sheffield,” Spencer reads from the real article the picture came from. “Local cello prodigy, seventeen-year-old Byran Sheffield won a scholarship to play the cello.”

“Let’s go,” Gideon motions for you to follow him.

You rush over to where Charles Diehl is taking Sarah to the execution chamber. They haven’t gone in yet, and you arrive just in time.

“We found him. We found her son,” Gideon reveals to the warden.

“Unless I receive an official stay of execution from the governor, I'm duty-bound to see this through,” he sighs.

“My son is dead, agent Gideon,” Sarah tries.

“I have agents on the way to his house as we speak, and the governor is standing by.”

“Why can you not accept the truth?”

“We can't. This isn't it,” you say emotionally.

“Agents are with in minutes of finding her son, alive,” Gideon says to Charles.

“I am truly sorry,” he sighs and pauses right outside the door. “Hold here.”

“What wouldn't you do for your son to give him a life you could never hope to dream of? I am at peace in the knowledge that my son is free to be whatever he chooses to be.”

“If he knew who you were, do you think he'd choose to allow you to walk in there?” you ask.

“If he knew who his parents were, can you imagine the damage my legacy would leave him?”

“Can you imagine what he would feel? Knowing his mother spent fifteen years on death row, innocent of all charges, just so he can be free of her?” Gideon argues.

“Not me, Jacob. It isn't just my life you have in your hands. It's Riley's life, too. You have the chance to save my son's life.”

“We choose to save yours, too,” you sniffle tearfully.

“My life ended the day I met Jacob,” she repeats herself.

“Gideon, I've got Elle. She says they're at the Sheffield's house,” Penelope says over the earpiece.

“It’s time,” Charles sighs and reaches for Sarah Jean.

“Take your hands off her,” Gideon snaps and speaks into the earpiece next. “Tell Morgan to kick the door and get in the house… whatever it takes. I said take your hands off her.”

“Agent Gideon!”

“A few moments, please,” you beg.

“Gideon, they've got him. What do are we doing here?” Hotch says from next to you two.

“I'm standing here because of choices I've made. Don't let my son be Jacob's last victim. Let me go. Let us both go,” Sarah begs with tears in her eyes.

You can’t help but cry at this because she is an innocent woman being killed for something she never did. Gideon sees this, but he knows he can’t do that to her. It’s all up to Gideon right now, and he makes the right choice.

“Tell Morgan... it's not her son. That we've made a mistake,” he sighs sadly.

“Let him go it's not the boy,” Hotch says into his earpiece.

“Would it be too much to ask if you two are the last faces I see?” she asks of you and Gideon.

“No, it wouldn't,” you whisper.

She gets taken inside the room, and you and Gideon make your way to the gallery where there are other people. You can’t believe they are here to watch a monster die, but you know she is completely innocent. You’re full-on crying right now, but Gideon is keeping it together better than you are.

Sarah Jean sees you two, and she just smiles at the thought of going in peace. You hold eye contact until the black cloth is placed over her head, and you just continue to let the tears fall for the woman who did what she thought was right.

“What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world, remains and is immortal." - Albert Pine

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[ottomanladies]

I have a lot of interest rest in Ottomans. How fashion changed after 1860s in Ottoman women? Ottoman fashion which is shown in Payitaht Abdulhamid in 1890s, was it real? Please explain with pictures

I am sorry for the long wait, I had internet connection problems.

After 1860s is a very specific time but I'll do my best. We can't forget that talking about fashion in a setting like the Ottoman empire is way more difficult because women weren't supposed to be portrayed or photographed so the material is scarce.

It was after the visit of the Empress Eugénie that the women of the palace and the wives of the high functionaries copied as nearly as they could the appearance of the beautiful Empress. They divided their hair in the middle, and spent hours in making little bunches of curls. High-heeled shoes replaced the coloured babouches [slippers]; they even adopted the hideous crinolines and abandoned forever those charming Oriental garments, the chalvar and the entari which they considered symbols of servitude, but which no other fashion has been able to equal in beauty — Zeynoub Hanoum, A Turkish Woman’s European Impressions

The chalvar, called şalvar in Turkish are the characteristic baggy pants that women (and men too) would wear underneath their several layers of clothing.  The entari was worn over the undergarments and the şalvar:

These are all XIX century entari.

In any case, rich women began to abandon these clothes for more European ones especially after the visit of Empress Eugénie in Istanbul. This can be seen clearly in children's fashion:

Nazima Sultan in 1876 and Naime Sultan in 1882

Saliha Sultan in the 1870s

In this period [1867], the young ladies and young girls had completely abandoned the old dresses with three tails or trains and the baggy pants underneath; fashion now demanded shirts with a single train which was caught up and attached to the belt – there were now petticoats instead of şalvars or the baggy pants previously worn. The headdresses had also changed with the times and now usually matched the costumes; there were earrings with jewels, medallions and elaborate hairstyles, garnished with precious stones. — Leyla (Saz) Hanımefendi, The Imperial Harem of the Sultans. Daily Life at the Çıragan Palace During the Nineteenth Century

As for outerwear: 

Women changed the thicker cloth they had traditionally used for their feraces (long flowing outer garments) for a much thinner material. They changed their yellow boots of morocco leather for shoes with trimmings of imitation gold thread, which they wore with thin, white socks. They began to use thinner veils and they turned covering themselves into a method for making themselves more alluring, a trend appreciated by Ali Rıza Bey, who commented that ‘the veils of our women, which were a means of ornamenting the face rather than concealing it, became finer. How charming the colourful feraces looked! And these finer veils were unable to obscure the beauty [behind]’. — Ebru Boyar, Kate Fleet - A Social History of Ottoman Istanbul

These photographs are great examples of just how fine veils had become. They basically did not hide any feature and this was a problem for conservatives (and sultans as well):

The çarşafs had become merely ordinary dresses, the feraces had turned into sleeveless capes, the veils had become too thin. [Abdülhamid II] issued an order that this should not occur. Further, women were not to wear coats or short, tight-waisted jackets which imitated military styles — Ebru Boyar, Kate Fleet - A Social History of Ottoman Istanbul

In the photograph above you can see a western dress underneath the ferace and several rows of what seem to be pearls.

In the XIX century, women (especially wealthy women of course) began to go out more, especially to pleasure gardens or at the Bosphorus shore. This meant that new accessories began to be used, among them the parasol. As pleasure gardens (ie. parks) were public places, men and women could see each other in these occasions:

A parasol in the rowing boat! It explains what the person wants to say. For example, if it is bent a little to one side, it means ‘I am annoyed with you’, if it is bent over further, ‘I am really angry’, if it completely covers the face, it means ‘you will not see my face again’, ‘I don’t want to see you, have you still not understood?’, if it swings hard from right to left, it signifies ‘don’t stay, pass by’, ‘return, go’, if it falls slightly to the front, it is in the place of a greeting, ‘welcome, sir’, if it falls a lot, ‘my heart has beaten again’, if it goes to the back, it means ‘oh!’, if it leans all the way over backwards, ‘what a state I am in, see me and have pity!’, if it is held to the side, ‘oh, how fine, what happiness this is!’, if it is opened and closed, it means ‘not tonight, tomorrow’, if it is closed and stays so, ‘we will make an appointment for the following day — Ebru Boyar, Kate Fleet - A Social History of Ottoman Istanbul

Men too had secret gestures:

making signs with the eyes and eyebrows, winking one eye, making as if wiping your face with a handkerchief, smelling the handkerchief with which you have just wiped your face, sighing deeply, and placing your hand over your heart. Placing your hand on your temple and half-closing then closing your eyes means ‘I am dying for you’, unbuttoning of one or two buttons of the waistcoat means ‘my heart is palpitating, I cannot bear this beating’. If you have a cigarette in your mouth, even if it is newly lit, and you take it from the corner of your mouth and hurl it away, this is because women do not like addiction to tobacco any more than its smell. To call over a beggar and give him a few coins demonstrates your compassion and generosity. To be busy looking at the posters outside Manakyan’s theatre is a sign of liking romantic themes such as La Dame aux camelias or Countess Sara. — Sermet Muhtar Alus, 30 Sene Evvel İstanbul. 1900’lü Yılların Başlarında Şehir Hayatı

... clothing made in European fashion, top hats, fancy canes, pet dogs, piano lessons, French language lessons, operas, dances, and balls, to the eventual employment of Western literary forms such as the novel, short story, and newspaper and the print culture it introduced, which had profound effects in creating new visions of Ottoman society and the individuals living within it. These literary forms constructed a new image of an Ottoman as a refined man "introverted, very sensitive, knowledgeable in Western music and literature, conversant in a Western language, positivist, attributing value to human beings, and subscribing to a Western style of life" — Fatma Müge Göçek, Rise of the Bourgeoisie, Demise of Empire; Ottoman Westernization and Social Change

Of course the same craze invested the Palace. Sisters Fatma and Mediha are clearly wearing European gowns and accessories:

Fatma Sultan around 1870 and Mediha Sultan in 1888

In the photograph below we can see Refia Sultan dressed exactly like a European woman in 1865. 1865 is very early but she was very interested in everything that came from Europe.

I was not able to identify these people but they're clearly from the Ottoman empire:

the lady is particularly interesting because not only is she wearing a European-style tiara but she seems to be also wearing the Order of the Charity (the white sash) 1st class, which was usually awarded to princesses.

Here we have sisters Hatice, Fehime and Fatma (all daughters of Murad V). The European style of their clothes and accessories is pretty evident.

Rukiye Sabiha Sultan on her wedding day in 1921

other photo of Rukiye Sabiha Sultan’s wedding

So... yeah, by the fall of the empire clothes were completely European.

[peakyblinderswhore]

req:  A date with Tommy Shelby. Umm, not actually date, it's just that he and his wife haven't been able to spend time together due to work and he just randomly goes to his wife's study and finds her working and then she asks him what he wants (she's annoyed with his behaviour lately) and he goes "can't I sit in my wife's study to just look at her?" I mean, yeah something like this and then they drink together and slow dance and then make gentle love and just sleep away. Sorry if it's too lengthy 🙈

wc: 1.6k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, smoking, left to your imagination at the ending ;)

Tommy sits back on his leather desk chair and thinks about all the things he’s been doing lately. Most of them involved seeking you out and prying for answers to his questions or just to exist in your presence. His eyes sweep over all of the things laying on his desk, including the pen he had abruptly placed down when he decided that he’d had enough; he thought the words would be tattooed in his brain by now and yet he still does the brunt of the work sometimes. It drained him mostly but occasionally it kept his very busy mind focused on this and only this.

Tommy pushed with his foot to swivel the chair a little and his eyes shifted to land on the frame adorning his desk, a little reminder to himself of why he still exists today. Inside the frame was a picture of you and him on your wedding day, surrounded by John’s kids who had been flower girls and flower boys. It wasn’t something Tommy was aware was a thing but you had insisted that they get equal opportunity and as he had expressed not wanting to lose the rings, you said it was a win-win. He just has Arthur hand them over when it gets to the important part and you cry at the sentiment. You had everything planned out, even down to when to cry and when not to cry; he’d always loved you for the little, impossibly specific things about you. He knew you probably would cry most of the day but it was your way of trying to comfort him whilst also including his nieces and nephews in the wedding, something they hadn’t been allowed to do at Arthurs and Linda’s immaculate Christian wedding.

Tommy’s lips curl absentmindedly as he remembers the day he wedded you. It was undoubtedly one of the few things he was so positively sure of that Polly didn’t even prepare a counter argument like she had for Arthur (She never had the chance with John since Martha was pregnant and on the verge of showing just how pregnant). 

Deep in thought, Tommy tries to remember the last time the two of you spent some time together, that wasn’t bound to dinner tables and quiet breakfasts. The breakfasts were quiet as the two of you ate and caught up on the news by reading the newspaper most mornings. Sometimes he would smoke and you would frown slightly at his actions but never commented. He would always let it burn in the ashtray the second your fingers searched for yours in reassurance despite the light scowl present on your temples as you continued decomposing the front-page news of the day. He adored you and studied you at breakfasts, more often than not, leaving his breakfast to go cold and later apologising to the cook when he asked for another slice of toast instead of eating his cooked breakfast. Tommy usually removed the poached eggs from his plate and put them on a saucer before silently nudging them towards you. You always lifted your newspaper higher and hid the smile gracing your lips, hoping that he wouldn’t see it but he always did and he always felt his heart flutter at the sight, no matter the fact that you’d been married already for a few years and he hoped it would never fail to make his heart flutter for years to come.

Deciding that he’d had enough for the day, Tommy lifts himself from his desk chair and makes his way towards your study, where you often lay reading or sat painting or sometimes could be found just airing your thoughts to the painting of the horse that Tommy had bought for you at auction for your anniversary one year. You had named him Honeysuckle. Tommy had been over the moon that you loved his present as he had always enjoyed spending his off time with horses whenever he could. He preferred horses over people, not including you.

Today, when Tommy padded into the room in a pair of slippers you had insisted on gifting him (you said it was silly for him to walk around in work shoes when he was at home and therefore he should wear something comfier for the comfier setting), you were sitting in an armchair, the leather faded from the sunlight that pooled through the tall windows, your hair pulled back and tied out of your face by a simple scarf and a book resting on your folded legs.

Tommy’s chest swelled with adoration, loving how the midday sunlight hit your face and made you glow from where he was standing. The book you were reading was well thumbed despite the leatherbound spine, instantly telling him that you were researching the appropriate things for your small business. He sat down on the loveseat opposite and pulled out a cigarette.

You twitched, hating that he had come into your space to smoke when he could’ve just as easily smoked in any other room in the house or on the grounds somewhere far away from you. He knew you hated him smoking as it reminded you of your father who chain smoked like it was going out of fashion until the day he died. He also knew you tolerated it as best you could as Tommy didn’t smoke as severely as your father once had.

“Tommy,” you began, not taking your eyes away from the line you were currently trying to etch into your brain, “this is a cigarette-free space.”

He smiles, enjoying your nagging despite not directly addressing the thing that was bothering you.

“Alright I’ll put it away,” he says and tucks it neatly back into the case he had pulled it from and left them to rest on the wooden tabletop next to him.

“I was just repeating the only rule we agreed on in this house.”

“And I just wanted to listen to you say it, again.”

You shifted how you were sitting so the book rested on the arm of the chair and you rested your head on the palm of your hand, flicking between pages with the other.

“I don’t see the appeal in listening to me repeat myself.”

“I like hearing the sound of your voice as it travels through the room,” he replied, not missing a beat. He smiles and waits for you to lift your head to face him. You wondered briefly if you had forgotten what he looked like since this morning’s breakfast… probably not,

He waits for you to say something back but nothing comes and you make no moves to continue the conversation, “Don’t you wanna see if my face has changed since this morning?”

Stilling, you wonder how he knows you so well. You leave your finger below the line you were reading and point your gaze in his direction. You drink in his features, take note of the slippers you had been nagging him to wear and offer a tight smile, “What are you after, Tommy?”

“Can't I sit in my wife's study to just look at her?”

You frown and pull the bookmark down and close the book before resting it next to your own wooden tabletop. Looking over at Tommy Properly, you see that he’s sat with one leg draped over the other, a smug grin resting on his face and his eyes glistening as he watches your every move.

“I suppose you can.”

“Drink?” He offers as he leans forward, uncrossing his legs and begins pulling whiskey glasses from the centre of the lowered table between the two of you and pours himself a single, not wanting to push it too far tonight.

Hesitantly, you nod and wait for him to pour one for you. He holds the glass out to you and waits for you to take it from his fingertips.

You reach to take the glass from him. Your fingertips brush over his and he pulls you towards him by your elbow. You let out a gasp when your met with Tommy’s clothed chest, holding your glass close to your chest and try to push away from him but he just sighs and gruffly says, “I know I haven’t made too much effort to spend some time with you recently but this is me saying I’m sorry so please don’t pull away.”

His blue eyes bore into your own as you look up to study him, “Alright,” you whisper and rest your head against his shoulder, swaying in his arms as he sways with you, humming something you don’t quite recognise straight away. He hums it like a soft lullaby you would sing to a young child.

Breathing in his scent, you nuzzle your head further into his neck and press your lips against the bare expanse of skin that you could reach while you were in your moment of bliss. You sip from your drink and hum along with him, not wanting the moment to end. It was a breather and something you had missed from his soft side in recent days.

“Hey,” he lifts your chin to face him. He presses a kiss to your lips and watches as you chase his lips when he pulls away, “Follow me.”

You let Tommy guide you through the decorated halls of your home until he leads you into your bedroom, glasses long forgotten on one of the sideboards, left for one of the maids to clear away later on.

He undresses you slowly and drinks you in before you do the same to him, spending the rest of the afternoon together, tangled in the no-longer clean sheets in your shared bedroom.

900 ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ!

ꜱᴇɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ/ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ’ʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴀɴ 1000 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴꜱᴇ.

[nonstoplover]

For The Better (two) ~ Michael Corleone

masterlist

Summary:  (y/n) is back to living life alone, and it’s not long until she finds company to divert her thoughts from the fight whilst Michael keeps on trying to find a way to win his wife back. 

Words: 4.2K

Approximate reading time: about 20 mins

A/N: since i received so many likes and reblogs on the first part (which i'm incredibly grateful for), i decided to continue it. i hope it didn't turn out too cheesy and bad. if there'll be the same amount of interest in this part too, i'll maybe write a prologue even! something about how they met maybe. i hope you enjoy ♡

previous chapter

The days seem to end faster than before since I always find something important to do, not like when I was still living in the house.

There I had to keep myself busy with cleaning, rearranging the photo frames on the shelves and walls in our shared room with Michael, reading or just (slightly impatiently) waiting for him to finally finish work and be able to spend some time with me.

Now I have all the freedom I wanted, I spend every minute with something to help make this world a better place.

It feels good to help people in need, and it's never enough to make me fully satisfied, but I have to admit that even though it's the most important thing in my life and I love doing it with every fibre of my being, I almost only do this with such motivation and force to keep Michael Corleone out of my mind.

It's pretty effective, I have to say. Diving into my work even when it's the middle of the night is enough for me to stop thinking about my husband and the life I've been living until only two weeks ago.

Usually I work until I'm so dead exhausted that I faint from tiredness and only wake up in the morning when I have to leave for another meeting or something else that's work-related.

Habits from my previous lifestyle stay with me, for instance, I always keep the small revolver I got a few years back (a unique one specifically designed for me) in my handbag, ready for using.

I still keep an eye on the news of that world, the one I left behind, only hoping that I won't find anything terrible about the Corleone family, my family.

Every day I notice someone who's watching over me, probably because Michael ordered it, and about every three days Connie, Fredo or even Tom appears at my door to ask about me.

These conversations always go the same. They ask me how I'm feeling, I politely answer. They ask me if I had changed my mind about leaving them, I say no, not yet. They ask me if I need anything, money or protection, I say no, I'm fine. They incidentally tell me about how miserable Michael's feeling, and I close off all my real emotions, pretending that it doesn't affect me, when in reality, it feels like another sliver is breaking off from my heart every time I hear his name.

Usually as soon as they leave, I break down crying right there on the floor, and stay there for at least another hour or so until I can calm down and convince myself yet again that what I did was the right choice.

Weeks go by like this slowly turning into months, and the only difference is that the number of occasions of a Corleone visiting me is slowly starting to get rarer and rarer with time until it all comes to an end. None of them knock on my door anymore, trying to convince me to come back.

I think they accepted the fact that I've chosen. And that my decision simply can't include their lifestyle. Not for now, anyway. I told Michael I need a break, and I'm keeping myself to it.

I'm slowly getting better, mentally and physically as well, I can feel it in my blood and my bones. I feel much calmer all the time, anxiety and fear completely disappearing from inside of me, only that little emptiness stays. The part of me that loves him, misses him and needs him. The part I closed off when I walked out of his office that night.

I manage to make a couple friends even in this short amount of time, all through work or living in the same neighbourhood, and I even start to live a more proper social life, occasionally going out to pubs, even a couple parties as well, or simply just the pictures once in a while.

No one seems to know who I am, or more precisely who I was, no one connects me to the Corleone family anymore. And for this little while it feels nice to be just (y/n). Not (y/n) Corleone, not Mrs Corleone, just plain old (y/n).

One Friday my friend Marjorie convinces me to accompany her to a party held by one of her friends, and then only a couple hours later I'm standing on the staircase leading to the front door of a huge house, my arm linked with my friend's.

Music slightly sweeps out through the door as we wait for it to open, then the usual greetings and introductions take place as soon as Marjorie's friend opens the door.

Only an hour later I find myself sitting on the stairs inside the house, half-heartedly listening to the chaotic noise the music and people's chatter causes, but mostly I'm just deep in thought.

"How come a beautiful lady like you not being out there on the dancefloor?" A male voice suddenly speaks above me out of nowhere.

I spin my head around in curiosity, seeing a young man slowly walking down the stairs behind me. I scoot to the side to give him more space to walk by me, a shy smile on my face from the given compliment.

"I guess I'm not in the mood for it at the moment," I admit with a shrug.

"Glad I'm not alone then," the man chuckles as he passes me, stopping at the end of the stairs, his arm held out towards me. "I'm John, by the way."

"I'm (y/n), nice to meet you."

"Mind if I join you?" John signals towards my seat and with a polite motion of my arm I let him sit next to me.

We spend the following one or two hours talking before I decide to eventually go home. John immediately offers to walk me home, and I gladly take his offer. Who would want to walk alone at this late hour anyway?

Throughout our walk I try to make myself confess to him that I'm married, I don't want him having false hope, I don't want to give him mixed signals. But I just can't. There's never a moment I could say something like this.

And a part of me feels so good that after such a long time, a man shows interest again in me.

In the end, we part ways and I close the door behind me, leaning against the wooden surface, the weight of the truth still pulling me down.

It's not like you did anything wrong, I have to remind myself. You had a conversation with an interesting person, then walked home with him so it'd be less dangerous out in the streets. There's nothing wrong in it.

But somehow it still feels bad. The fact that I've spent time with a man without Michael's knowledge makes it feel like I'm doing something bad.

It's not like I'll ever meet John again.

Oh how wrong I was.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Third Person's Perspective:

Michael's unstoppably pacing up and down in front of the desk in his office, impatiently waiting to hear the latest news about his wife.

He doesn't even notice how late it is in the evening, all he cares about is to finally hear a knock on his door.

Half an hour later he's raging. The poor young boy he sent out tonight to watch over (y/n) stands in the corner, fear clear in his eyes. He's never seen his boss act so mad before.

Michael already forgot about the boy, all he can think about is the image of his wife and another man inside his head.

Could (y/n) really get over him this fast? Did he mess this up so bad that it truly is over?

Suddenly he feels like crying, again, and this makes him even more angry. He can't believe he acts so childish. A grown man should never cry. At least that's what he learnt in this world.

He storms out of the room without taking further notice of the now obviously shaking boy, determined to talk with Tom as soon as possible.

- - - - - - - - - - - 1 week later - - - - - - - - - -

Michael slowly gets out of the car, his eyes never leaving the outline of his wife inside the café on the other side of the street.

He decides to stay in the shadows, and luckily he finds a free table at the café opposite to the one (y/n) is sitting in.

He sits down, and whilst pretending to read the newspaper in his hands, he keeps an eye on her.

Ever since he found out about that other man, he himself goes every time to watch them interact instead of sending someone else.

There have been already a couple meetings he have stormed out from because of this, nothing seemed as important as his wife.

His wife. His. Is she even still that? He ponders, chewing on his bottom lip until he feels the familiar taste of blood on his tongue.

His glance travels back towards the other side of the street, trying to figure out with examining eyes what she feels from the way she moves and behaves.

He can almost swear there's nothing flirty or romantic in her behaviour, nothing but a simple friendliness, and that wouldn't be surprising. (y/n) has always been the kindest person he ever met in this world.

But still, that little voice in his mind keeps repeating that on that Saturday night, he walked her home, arms linked, looking cozy from what that poor kid he sent out to watch her reported.

His heart aches every time he sees her smile, or when her shoulders lightly shake as she's laughing away at something the man said because it's not him that made her happy.

Still, he can almost even hear the sound of her giggle in his ears, the most beautiful sound ever existed. Oh, how much he misses to hear it.

He feels his fingers curl, nails digging into the skin of his palm as anger sparks up in chest again.

He would do anything just to be able to talk with her, hear her voice and feel her presence around him again.

He needs her to survive, to stay alive, more than anything or anyone, now he knows it, and he can only hope that he'll be able to tell it to her soon.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(y/n)'s Perspective:

John takes the truth like a true gentleman. He says he's not even that much surprised. He says, I always thought that there's no chance for such a lovely woman like you to be without a husband.

But he still insists on us keeping in touch, he says I became one of his greatest friends since that party, and I have to admit, it feels lovely to be able to speak with someone who understands me in such a level.

I tell him all my thoughts and feelings about Michael and our marriage, even the reason why I decided to take a break, with successfully not giving away who he is and what his job is.

I tell him how much I miss my husband, our conversations, how even after all that negativity and pain I experienced in the past year I still yearn to be by his side, to be a member of that family. How wonderful it felt to belong somewhere after growing up in such a corrupt, non-loving family that only cared about social ranks and money.

I tell him how when I can't sleep, it's Michael's face I see in the dark, and when I'm feeling down or when I'm anxious, I try and repeat his words and his voice, as if he's right by my side, calming me.

I tell him how I still love him with every beat of my heart. Every breath I take is for him. Every thought I have is about him. Every waking moment his image fills up my mind.

John offers amazing, useful advice that help clear my mind enough so I can think the whole situation through from another point of view.

One day we decide to take a walk in the nearest park, trying to enjoy the warm weather as much as we can after finishing our drinks in the café we always go to.

On the way there, I feel so free and happy that I take a few steps ahead of John only to twirl around, my arms spread wide in the air and a giggle escaping my lips.

Just as I'm turning back, my eyes follow my moves and suddenly see something I have not at all expected to see. I take a double take, squinting a bit so I can see in the shadows on the other side of the street more easily.

When I find what I was searching for, my heart skips a beat. It truly is him. Michael.

I immediately start marching towards him, not even glancing around before stepping on the road, John's worried exclaims following me in the air as he tries to keep up with my sudden, fast pace.

Michael stays in one place, watching me motionlessly. He knows there's nothing he can do after being noticed. He knows now that I know he has been watching me.

His eyes are cold, his face emotionless as I reach him. My heart feels so happy that the oh-so-waited sight is finally in front of me that it takes me a few moments to register that he's not so happy to see me.

To see us at least. Because the next moment his eyes shift towards the just arriving man accompanying me, and his whole body just goes even stiffer.

Then his eyes move back to me, and we stare at each other for a couple silent minutes, waiting for the other to say something.

Me, for a reason as to why he's always following me or for a sign that he realised what we have is something that's not worth throwing away.

Him, probably for a reason as to why I'm spending my time with another man.

"(y/n), is everything alright?" John speaks quite lowly next to me. "You know who this is, maybe we should just leave."

For a moment I think he knows. That somehow he managed to figure it out that my husband, the man I complained so much about is actually the head of the Corleone family.

But then I realise he's only talking about the man in front of us being Michael Corleone. Not my husband, just the mafia boss.

Michael glances back at John and if looks could kill, I'm sure he'd be dead by now. I never thought those chocolate brown eyes could look so cold.

"It's alright, John. We're fine," I answer, eyes never leaving my husband.

"What do you-" he starts to ask, but suddenly Michael snaps, shutting him up in a millisecond.

"She said it's alright, didn't you hear?"

And even though his voice is harsh, cold, angry and full of some kind of hatred, it still sends a shiver down my spine and butterflies fly around in my stomach.

After so many nights of trying to remember his voice in my ears it's a true miracle to actually hear it.

"You can leave me here, John, I have a few things I need to do." I turn towards him, fingers lightly touching his arm to make him place his full attention on me.

"I'm not leaving you alone with this man," he shakes his head swiftly, the tone of his voice giving proof how negatively he's thinking of the man in front of us.

Michael's already taking a step towards him, arms moving to his side but since I know him so well, I'm right in front of him in under a millisecond, palm against his chest to calm him down like I did so many times before.

"It's okay, Michael," I speak lowly. "We don't want to make a scene, now do we?"

Shooting a quick glance at John above my shoulder I can see that his mouth is wide open, jaw dropped down to the ground as the thoughts clearly chase around in his mind fast. He's trying so hard to process what he has just seen, and when he does, his eyes widen, matching the other parts of his facial expression.

"You... he... your husband is Michael Corleone?" His voice shows nothing but pure shock as he manages to understand the situation.

"He knows you're married?" Michael's voice rings in my ear, making me look back at him immediately, my arms falling back to my side as I take a half step back.

He looks almost the same surprised as John, he obviously didn't think this to be the case.

"Yes, he is, and yes, he knows." I answer to the both of them before looking deep in Michael's eyes. "I think we should go somewhere more private now. We have quite a lot of things to talk about."

Michael nods, so I turn back towards John.

"I'm honestly sorry that we can't make it to the park today, but we'll catch up another day, alright? I think you know how important it is now for me and my husband to have a conversation..."

"Absolutely, yes, I know. I hope everything goes right," John nods, his voice still a little raspy from the shock he just went through.

"I'll talk to you later then, if that's okay with you."

He nods once more before slowly turning around and making his way away from us.

"So what do you think, can we use your office?" I look back at my husband, and he nods right away, motioning to the side where the car for us is already ready to take us back to the Corleone household, not to my surprise, to be honest and fair.

My heart stammers so loud I'm sure Michael can hear it as we get closer and closer to the house, but I can't help it. The variations of how this conversation could turn out make my stomach churn in nervousness and anxiety.

But at least this time I'm entering it knowing clearly what I want. And I won't settle for anything less.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

By the time we reach the office, we've met Connie and Tom, both of them surprised to see us walk so casually through the house, as if nothing had happened.

I wave at them with a shy smile on my face, only hoping that they're not mad at me for my earlier behaviour.

They both wave back and they seem glad that I'm back, which makes me a little more relieved already.

Then the door of Michael's office closes behind my back, the sound waking me from my thoughts as I slump down on the same arm chair I was sitting in the last time I spoke with my husband, months ago.

He follows soon after, pulling his own chair around the desk so he'd be closer to me. He knows how much I hate it when he's sitting on the other side of the desk when we have a comversation, like I'm just another client.

"I've been thinking. A lot." Michael speaks up a few silent minutes later.

"Me too," I admit.

"Do you want to start or should I?"

"Maybe I'll start, if that's okay with you."

He nods immediately, looking a bit relieved he has some more time left.

"I had quite enough time to think this whole thing through, to truly find out what I want and what I need in my life. Last time you promised you'd change. I honestly hope you're still determined to do that, because that's the most important thing for me. For us." I pause, giving him a chance to answer.

"Of course, I'm actually already getting there. Been trying for the past month or so, you can ask Connie, she'll prove it."

"Lovely," I nod. "Well then, it makes this easier for me to say the following things. You know, I truly missed you and the whole family, and being with you. I really think that this break was very much needed, because now I can see crystal clear that I do love my life the way it has been, and I'm able to pinpoint all the positive things about living here."

Michael's eyes slightly widen as he silently listens to me talk, he probably didn't think to hear these things from me so easily.

"I didn't stop loving you, Michael, not for a single moment, and if you still want this, and if you do promise to change, then I think I can give another chance for me to live here and be a part of this family."

He sucks in a breath, a small smile appearing in the corners of his lips already.

"Who was this guy then?" He speaks up a few seconds later.

"A friend, who would it be?" I ask back in surprise.

Is this really the most important thing he wants to say now?

"I don't know, I just heard a couple things," he shrugs, and as he looks away, clearly not being able to keep the eye contact between us going, I suddenly understand it.

The reason behind why he had other people watch me. Why he himself watched me.

"Oh, so when you hear something, you believe it straight away, don't you? Do you really think I'd ever cheat on you?" I scoff, even the assumption making a slight anger bubble up in my chest.

"No, I don't." Michael answers, his voice quiet and unsure. He knows how pathetic he sounds for asking such a question from me. He knows me and that I'd never do such thing.

"You don't have to go and be jealous of the first man I speak to outside this family."

"I know," he nods, eyes still searching some non-existent thing on the floor, avoiding mine.

I wait for him to gather his thoughts, waiting for something else he might say. As we sit in silence, my eyes searching his appearance, I notice the slight differences I haven't had the time to see before.

He lost a little weight, that one's obvious. A couple light creases appeared on his face, making it look like he's done a good amount of stressful thinking. His whole posture radiates some kind of different wiseness, something that wasn't there when I last saw him.

But even with all these small differences, his face is still the same beautiful, it's still the same marble statue. Or maybe he's even more gorgeous now, looking kind of more mature.

"So you want to come back?"

I can tell he's trying to keep his voice emotionless, he doesn't want to affect the answer I'll be giving.

"If you still want that too," I say.

A beat passes as his eyes finally look back into mine, the connection making my heart beat already faster.

"Of course I want that, (y/n)." Michael starts smiling even wider now. "Why do you think I spent so many hours out in cafés or just thinking through half the nights on how to win you back?"

A similarly wide smile appears on my face as he watches me with a raised eyebrow.

"I love you, (y/n). You're still the one and only for me, the love of my life. My feelings will never change, no matter how cliché it sounds." Michael shrugs, a chuckle leaving his lips.

We stand up in the exact same moment, stepping towards the other, and it feels just like the first time we ever declared our feelings towards the other.

Just like we're the same giddy teenagers we were at the start of our relationship.

I feel the exact same butterflies flutter inside my body when his fingers ever so lightly touch the backs of my hands, then as his right hand moves up and cups my cheek, bringing me closer, I feel myself growing impatient, and the next thing I know is me leaning in, crashing our lips together.

We kiss like it's the first time we have ever kissed, like the past so many years have never happened and we're back on square one.

When we run out of oxygen, we lean back only until our foreheads are still touching, giggling as if we're kids.

"I love you, Michael, but please don't ever be jealous." I whisper.

"I love you, (y/n), but please don't ever leave me again." Michael whispers back.

And in this exact moment I know that I'll never leave again, because there won't be a reason for me to do that. I can feel it in the way he speaks, the way he looks at me that he will try his best to change, and it'll be more than enough for me.

That break we had just strengthened our relationship, our marriage. It truly was for the better.

.::the end::.

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[hank-mcdankblade]

I Know A Bottom When I See One Princess (Part 3)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary

Chapter 1: You and Dean have been pals for as long as you can remember, practically raised together. Are things still the same as you remembered when you reconnect with him after a couple years apart? Well there is one thing you see differently and you’re about to call him out on it.

Chapter 2:  After you flirt back with Dean you start to rethink all of your life choices. Why did you flirt back instead of making fun of him? God it would be so much easier if you were just a genderless blob. Hopefully the new supernatural case a friend of your mom’s gives you will distract you from all this romance mumbo jumbo.

Chapter 3: You and Dean both start to realize your feelings are not what you both originally anticipated them to be. If only you two could actually talk like adults instead of bantering like childish 8 year olds. The case picks up when you see a certain someone’s name over every case, a certain boomer’s name.

Chapter 4: You and Dean do some sleuthing into Chrissy’s apparent death. After learning the truth your trip to Wendy’s/Jack in the Box gets interrupted by Chief douchebag. Rick takes the three of you on a nice drive to the mountains to introduce you to his daughter.

Word Count: 5,041

Warnings: Many, Many swear, Dean being a little shit, pg-13 thoughts from a certain green eyed hunter.

  ______________________________________________________________________

      The car was quiet. You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you were the cause of it. You reminded yourself that there were a million other reasons as to why the drive was silent. Hell there were hours spent in this car with nothing but the sound of guitars and dig of the tire against the road as background noise. All you needed was each other’s company and nothing more. The rational part of your mind was scolding you to shut the hell up about it and stop worrying, pointing out multiple pieces of evidence disproving your original theory. Meanwhile your much less rational side disagreed. She was a bit of a dumb bitch, but very persuasive. It was practically her superpower to ignore all the facts and blindly believe in her opinions.

        “Hey, sorry about springing the whole relationship thing on you. Just thought it’d be easier to fly under the radar as a couple….” You clenched your hands and wrung them together. Your eyes glanced at Dean to your left, quietly gauging his reaction. 

       “Don’t apologize, it’s ok. It was quick thinking. And who knows how suspicious detective douche would’ve been if you hadn’t.” Dean only took his eyes off the road for a moment to look over at you, lying through his damn teeth.

       “True…guess Jen was right about the cops being jumpy here.” Finally, with that off your conscience you could relax into the leather seats with ease. Things were fine. You were just putting way too much thought into this flirting with Dean thing. It was just how your relationship with him was and everything was ok. 

       You were fairing much better than Dean though. Dean’s grip on the steering wheel could be described as vice-like. The insides of his fingertips could feel the stitches in the fabric of the wheel. It felt like he had cotton shoved into his head, there was only one thing consuming his thoughts. Was he really interested in having you the way you spoke of the other night? Bent over and vulnerable while you took advantage of him? Thank god that his right foot was preoccupied with the gas pedal or his entire leg would be bouncing. 

        To you his face looked stoic, and void of emotion. Dean’s eyes were painted with a foggy filter. Mentally he was miles away from the Impala. Every couple of minutes or so he would come back and hyper focus on a different part of the reality in front of him. Dean sometimes focused on the way his joints bent or how his skin felt, and other times focused on how you were too close to him and too far away at the same time. Dean’s hand was shaking, aching to have it on your leg, give you a good squeeze or anything just something to feel you and your skin on him. He wanted to feel your firm grip on him, on his legs, his hands, around his throat. He wanted so badly for your hips to be driving his into the mattress, coming up and down bouncing on his cock until he came closer and closer…

        “Ready to head in and get some info.?” Your delicate voice slowly reintroduced him to the present. Dean looked in front of him and saw a beige building that looked like it was built in the 60s and was never remodeled since. The black letters on the brick wall by the front door read, ‘Grand Mesa County Libraries Central Library.’ His body was slowly returning to its normal temperature as he stepped out of the car. 

        “Yeah, let’s do it.” Getting back on track Dean prepared himself for the first step in every hunting trip you two took, do some re-con and get info about the case. He was gonna have to put his thoughts of you on the back burner for now, which was easier said than done. Once you passed the threshold, the smell of old carpet and moth balls slapped you in the face. It was a nostalgic potent smell that reminded you of your kindergarten years and would haunt you for the rest of your life. Looking around, the place did not seem too busy. There were a few people scattered across the building casually mulling through books and movies to check out.

        “Wanna check the newspapers and I’ll look into local lore?” You two nodded to each other and went your separate ways diving deep into yellowed paper and books with broken spines. Soon enough you could no longer hear the soft thumps of Dean’s boots.

        After scanning the isles you checked out a couple books and started a nest by the computers. The first thing you knew you had to check out was the case at hand. You tapped away at the very out of date computer keyboard.

        Disappearances Grand Mesa National Forest

        There were about a thousand hits online for disappearances. The hard part would be finding information from a reliable source. The first few minutes into researching changed your posture as your spine straightened up and mind shifted into its case-mode. Everything in the world went blurry except for the books and screen in front of you.

~~~~

        ‘Newspapers…newspapers.’ Dean’s fingertips brushed over the tops of age softened newspapers. Once you spend months in different libraries you tend to pick up what their usual lay out was, so the newspapers were an easy find. Thankfully instead of having to search through the records by hand, this library had a computer to search key words in to find articles. If Dean ever went to hell, he was sure that being forced to dig through newspapers by hand would be his torture. 

        ‘Newly-Wed couple from Illinois vanished without a trace. Last seen in Grand Mesa National Forest.’

        ‘Scouts No Longer Holding Summer Camp in Grand Mesa National Forest After Four Scouts Lost to the Curse.’

        ‘The Grand Mesa Curse strikes again with the disappearance of a family of three.’

        Seeing the pictures from the crime scenes made things real. Of course Dean knew the hidden reality that the supernatural world truly was, but sometimes it was easy to forget. It was easy to forget that there was true evil in this world, that there was evil more than just a greedy billionaire or corrupt politician, but pure evil that only sought to drag as many souls to hell as possible. There were so many families that had their loved ones ripped from them without a reason, completely unknowing of the darkness that lurked so closely to them. They would be driven mad with the lack of ‘logical’ facts in their eyes, cursed to never know what really happened and given answers that felt bitter to the taste. Others had their eyes opened unwillingly, shown what was behind the curtain before they could even sputter out an answer. Dean wondered what he would’ve chosen had he been given the choice. Would he rather know what killed his mother and spent his life fearing those that hid behind human faces? Or would he rather go on with his normal apple pie life never finding closure in the death of his mother? Neither option had more pros or cons than the other. He could spend a lifetime mulling the answer over and never find one that felt fight.

        “Excuse me, are you looking for something in specific? You look a little lost…” Dean turned his attention upwards and saw a young librarian. She looked like she was probably a couple years older than him, a native here for sure.

       “Huh?” Dean blinked a few times before really processing what she said to him while he was on autopilot. “Oh, no. I’m alright but thanks.” Dean offered her a smile before going back to flipping through the stacks of old newspapers. 

        The librarian nodded before looking at what headlines he was choosing. She raised a brow as assumptions about who this mysterious man was filled her head. “Interested in the Grand Mesa Curse huh?” Now there was something useful that he needed. 

        “Uh…yeah. Somethin’ like that. Know anything about it?” Dean leaned his arms on the newspaper stand. Any info you two could get would make this whole operation go smoother. 

       The woman let out a short breath of a laugh and shook her head. “It’d be impossible to live around here and not know about it. Around this time of year nobody really goes up into those woods, and especially near the mine shafts.” She paused for a beat and then continued. “My name’s Shan by the way.” Shan looked at Dean with an eagerness in her eyes. The gesture fell on deaf ears and Dean simply smiled back at her.

       “Dean.” He held out his hand to hers, and gave her a firm shake. “Well, I’ve got all I need for now.”

       “Feel free to call me if you need anything.”

        “Will do, thanks.” What a nice lady. 

~~~~

        After collecting a handful of articles from different newspapers, Dean headed back to you ready to get down to business. You were hunched over a loud keyboard like a goblin, typing away all the notes you were compiling for future use. There were probably about 15 tabs open on one browser and 17 pages from various books that had been dog eared. From the looks of it, Dean could tell you were already on a roll. Not wanting to disturb you, he silently pulled out a chair next to you and started to flip through and score the articles he had. 

        About an hour later you two felt confident enough in your information to start piecing something together. 

       “Hey.” An unfamiliar voice interrupted your work process forcing you out of your thought bubble. When you looked up you saw what you assumed was a librarian who worked here looking right at Dean with some form of recognition lighting up her features. “Thought I’d check in to see how you were doing with the Grand Mesa Curse.” There was something in the tone of this girl’s voice that really put you off. Instinctively you tried not to reveal your true thoughts with your facial expressions. There was nothing on her, or within her, that was tripping up your Slayer signal, so she definitely was not a monster. Regardless, something was feeling weird as you looked between the two of them.

       “Pretty good actually, just getting some basic information.” The two of them chatted for a bit before the girl eventually left to actually do her job. Ok there was a possibility that you were being harsh, but this girl was interrupting your research session so regardless she’s being a bother. Human or not.

       Ok…

                Deep breath….

       You took a moment to restart yourself in a sense. She was human, and she wasn’t even at your table for too long so why were you so on edge around her?

        Next to you, Dean felt something in the air shift and looked over to you. Your eyes were still glued to the computer screen but your vibe felt different, more ridged, and that worried him. Still looking at you, Dean nudged you with his elbow.

        “Hmm?” You hummed, still focused on your research.

       “You ok? You seem…upset.” Damn him for knowing you so well. Hunting together had given him the skill to pick up on all your tells. You didn’t know whether this was a blessing or a curse.

        “What? No I’m ok.” You spared him a moment of your attention before returning to work. Dean slowly narrowed his eyes at you. The slightly higher pitched bubbly-ness in your voice was not genuine. You were lying, but he wasn’t going to press you on it in such a public place. 

        The moments drew longer and blurred together as you two eventually got back into the swing of things, but there was something that caught your attention as the hour flew by. It happened every fifteen or so minutes when you would catch a glimpse of that girl that talked to Dean. She would linger by the book stands and rearrange the books there, giving herself an excuse to look at Dean while she ‘worked.’ With each time she stalked near, her act became less and less convincing and it was starting to tick you off. You had work to do and she couldn’t take the hint with the piles of books you two had. Not to mention how little Dean seemed to pay attention to her advances. If she was a monster, she was a very poor one at that, but if she was a human then you had an idea of what she was after. Either option made you want to pull Dean’s chair closer to you, look over his shoulder to see what he was working on even though you already knew. A burning feeling started to ignite with every trip she made past your table. 

        Annoying woman aside, you two had found some important information. The history of the Grand Mesa National Forest was pretty plain. The forest was created by President Benjamin Harrison in 1892. No amount of digging brought up any supernatural affiliation. No massacres of any kind, no Native American burials, and no cults made that forest their home either. So this meant no large scale hauntings, which honestly relieved you. This narrowed the field down. Looking over articles from books and online and newspapers brought to light what was commonly known here as the “Grand Mesa Curse.” 

        It started about two decades ago when a group of college kids traveled up into the mountains for Christmas break. According to their parents they only planned on staying for a couple of days. Things took a turn for the worse when it had been three days after the kids were supposed to be home and no one heard from them. Entire search parties of police officers, family and friends, and many other volunteers combed the forest the best that they could. No bodies were found but their campsite was destroyed and barren. The press and police chalked this up to be the fault of the bears that roamed around, and the same was happening with the most recent case. Luckily this time around there was one girl who survived the attacks, Chrissy Hamilton. 

        There had been a couple cases before this particular one as well that dealt with bear attacks and missing people, but the thing that made it stand out was that the disappearances grew in number afterwards. They were all around the same time and similar location. Something that caught your eye immediately was that a girl from the group of college kids had the same last name as the sheriff you and Dean saw. 

        Lydia Sullivan, daughter of Rick Sullivan, went missing two decades ago and was never found. Her mother, Emily Sullivan, passed away soon after not being able to handle the death of her child. “Ok so if his daughter got merked, why is Sullivan Chief of Douchebags so lax with all these cases? You’d think he’d take his time.” Your tone of voice was low and gravely coming out slowly. That ass hole’s name was popping up everywhere. Rick Sullivan oversaw every single disappearance case in the Grand Mesa National Forest district since his daughter went missing. The man was seen as a determined father that wanted to keep Colorado’s kids safe. He may not have worked every case personally, but the records stated that he went over the paperwork and guided his officers. 

        “Maybe he’s luring kids into the forest? What purpose would he have to cover all of this up though if he wasn’t involved?” Dean leaned his forearm on the back of your chair to get a closer look at what you had. 

        “Doubt it, on all their suspect lists they show alibis too and his checks out. So that means that all of this is coincidental. He could be overseeing every case because he feels guilty for letting his daughter down?” 

        “Like a coping mechanism?” Dean sat back in his chair, eyes focused on a blank part of a wall as he tried to process everything. 

        You nodded. “Yeah, those things that normal people have.” You gave Dean a smirk knowing full well that both of your coping mechanisms included heavy amounts of alcohol and repression. Dean rolled his eyes at you with a smile that mirrored yours, remembering all the countless nights where you two would stay up far too late with a bottle of whiskey. Many times at the end of those nights the thoughts and pictures that kept you up at night would tumble out from your mouths. Subconsciously the space between you two would shrink, physically and emotionally. Dean could count on his left hand how many people he trusted and felt safe enough around to be vulnerable with. After all the shit you’d been through and years you’ve known each other, if he didn’t trust you he would never trust anyone. 

        “Hey, me again. Wanted to let you know that I found a couple of stragglers for the paper you two are putting together.” Jesus Christ this librarian really couldn’t see a moment when it was right in front of her could she? You had had enough of this girl’s talking. You thin string of will power snapped and opened up the lines from your direct thoughts to your mouth.

        “Why are you here?” Your eyes narrowed. Dean was taken aback. He had seen you lose your temper before, but only on those who truly deserved it. I.E. bar assholes, clowns/mimes, and religious nuts trying to convert you. This wasn’t the usual anger he was used to seeing before you knocked someone out, it was a silent subtle kind that would creep up on you if you didn’t watch for the signals. He was seeing all of them in slow motion. 

         Your jaw was clenched, no doubt thinking of biting her head off if she didn’t scamper off back to the corner she came from. What was usually a smile was replaced with a thin line that showed no welcome. But the thing that scared him the most was your eyes, cold and distant. Those eyes had never been directed him, eyes void of compassion. 

        Shan flinched just the slightest, brows pulled together not expecting such a reaction. “Uh-um, I’m here to help. It’s kind of my job.” She bit back at the end of her sentence, though her stare was not nearly as intimidating as yours. When she talked to Dean earlier she assumed that the two of you were merely classmates or just friends, but she had a bad feeling that she barked up the wrong tree. Your aura seemed dangerous, like a crazy jealous girlfriend. 

        “It’s your job to creep around the patrons and watch them from afar while you pretend to do your job?” One brow was quirked as you leaned back with your knees open and arms crossed. The attitude you were throwing was one that would rival middle schoolers and mothers looking to talk to the manager. It was very out of character for you to be petty, it always made you feel sick afterwards.

        Shan narrowed her eyes back, cheeks flushing a deep red. “Excuse me-”

        “Listen sweetheart, my boyfriend and I have a lot of work to do and you’re being a bother. So how about you get back to your real job and stop making googly eyes at my partner huh?” Your bite was sharp as a knife, cutting deep into Shan’s emotions. She took one look at Dean, who was currently preoccupied with staring at you, and quickly scampered off. You shut your eyes and opened them with only one goal in mind. The faster you knew about this case, the faster you could get the hell out of this library.

        Those thoughts that Dean were having to put on the back burner suddenly moved to the front. “So…..was she somehow endangering our hunt that you had to cover for us again?” The smug bastard was referencing what you did because of Detective Sullivan.

        “Yes. She was endangering our efficiency.” Your fingertips flipped through a book closest to you, anything to not look at Dean. In the tone of his voice you knew he was pleased. 

        Dean was more than pleased, albeit a little confused about his feelings but pleased nonetheless. He loved hearing the commanding tone of your voice, telling some other girl to back off of him. Telling that girl to back off because he was yours. A needle pricked at the back of Dean’s mind as he replayed the rollercoaster of emotions he felt. He liked that moment. He liked your tone of voice, but why? It was because of the insinuations he could make. You wanted him. You wanted him to yourself, there was a possessiveness to what you said and how you said it. It was dominant and commanding. 

        No. Dean liked it because it meant you wanted him. He was not a bottom, and he did not like that interaction because you were possessive and domineering. 

        ……

        “Mmmhhmmmm,” Dean hummed, his inflection rising up and then down. Now it was his turn to lean back into his chair. His perfect lips were pursed with a small smirk, one brow quirked with intrigue. “You sure someone wasn’t jealous of a pretty lady giving me attention?”

        “Sorry but the only pretty lady I see in this library is me,” Your voice attempted to make you seem preoccupied with cleaning up your space. Your fingers moved a lightning speed as you emailed yourself all the notes you had taken and shut down all the programs you had opened. “So I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Your facial features moved in a comical way depicting a dramatic expression of confusion, with a hand on your hip. The table was finally free of all your possessions, the last notebook was zipped up into your backpack.

        Dean had you right where he wanted you, embarrassed and caught. He knew you would dodge and change the subject as quickly as you could if confronted with a topic you didn’t like. “I’m gonna remind you of this!” He shouted to you with his hands cupped around his mouth.

        You were already speeding off to the car, desperate to run away from this conversation and what it could come to. If anyone was going to be in control of a situation, it was going to be you and you’d fight anyone and everyone for that control with your bare hands. 

        “I’ll forget it!” You yelled back at him over your shoulder, bleaching your mind of any itchy feelings you were experiencing. 

        “Constantly!” Dean yelled back, only to receive the bird from you. He laughed and tumbled after you, happy to finally have some new material to ruin your day with. 

~~~~

        After five minutes of Dean looking like the cat who got the cream, white all over his smug stupid whiskers, you arrived at a locally owned diner. If you rolled your eyes anymore you were certain that you would go blind, and yet it would still be worth it just to let Dean know that you were mildly inconvenienced by his existence. The hum of the impala came to a soft halt. With the combination of Dean teasing you and your hunger, you may have strangled someone if you didn’t get fries in you soon. 

        A bell attached to the door rang out once you two stepped foot inside. Only the waitress on staff bothered to look up from her post behind a counter, the other employees were too engrossed in just making it through another eight hour shift without losing their minds.

        “Seat yourself wherever you like, I’ll be with you in a second!” She flashed a bright smile before dipping into the back of the kitchen. You and Dean nodded before following her directions and finding the corner booth in the back, cause that’s where all the cool kids sit. And with you two sitting there, only the coolest of kids sat there. 

        Dean leaned his chin on his hand and gazed at you. “So do you wanna talk more about how you secretly have a crush on me?”

        “No.”

        “Maybe about how you were totally going to duel that hot librarian for my hand?”

        “Rot in hell.”

        “Oh! Oh! Maybe we can discuss your feelings on a certain other topic that’s definitely unrelated.”

        Your unamused eyes continued to look at him, giving him no response hoping that he’d take the FUCKING hint. “Oh yeah? And what topic would that be?”

        “Me, and my cute face.” Dean winked and did his signature blue steel look. With a loud bang you hit your head on the table, laying your arms on the table around your head limp.

        “Deaaannn, I swear to god I will strangle you until the last breath from your lung is used.”

        “So what you’re saying is that you want your hands on me? You want to touch me?” Dean leaned closer and dropped his voice as low as he could go with every word that came out of his mouth just egging you on to do something. “You wanna put your hands all over my body?” 

        You whipped your head up, eyes wild and craving revenge, and you were just about to open your mouth and verbally destroy this stupid boy’s whole career when your waitress popped herself in front of the table. 

        “Hi! I’m Audrey, and I’ll be taking care you guys tonight. Have you been here before?” She had the whole speech memorized and recited it off as she handed you both a menu. 

        “Why no we haven’t! Darling aren’t you so excited to be here?” Dean grabbed your hand across the table affectionately with a huge fake smile. The weird vibe Audrey got from this table was throwing her off but regardless she had a job to do. 

        ‘Some of us will never eat again…’ You thought to yourself, thinking of all the places you could stab Dean with a fork. 

        “Thrilled.” You stated, pointedly glaring at Dean and his boyish charm getting the best of you. Audrey smiled to herself and started to understand what was going on and dismissed her earlier thoughts. After getting you two started with drinks she left you to look over the food options. 

        “Can I guess what you’re gonna get?”

        “As long as I get serve you cyanide afterwards.” 

        Dean settled into the booth and looked off into the distance to pretend to think very hard. “You are gonna get a cheeseburger with everything on it, as rare as they serve it. Side of fries and a large lemonade because even at age 23, you’re still an 8 year old.” 

        Damnit he was right. 

        You shared Dean’s smug look, ready to dish back what you were served. “Ok fine, you’re going to get the most overloaded bacon burger in order to cash in on that heart attack you’ve been waiting for forever, but hold all the vegetables because we want this one to be a big one. Side of fries and a shitty great value coke.”

        Dean nodded slightly and clapped quietly for you. “Right you are.” A moment was spent in silence, just the two of you laughing at each other smiling like love struck idiots. Your eyes tore away first, landing on a newspaper that was from today. The headline was the real reason you decided to pick it up.

        Local Crazy Believes Creature of the Night Kills Friend

        You flipped through the pages to find the story. It was published today and showed a picture of your sole survivor, Chrissy Hamilton.

        In a sad attempt to get some attention, Chrissy Hamilton offers her break out story. 

        “It was like my friends’ voices were coming from two different directions!”

       “This thing was too fast to see…”

       Clearly this is just another example of our country’s failed mental health system…

        “I wouldn’t spend too much time reading that malarkey…” Audrey said with her eyebrows pulled together, eyes cast down as she refilled your water glasses. 

        “Do you know her?” You asked, laying the paper flat on the table for Dean to see too.

        Audrey sighed as she stood back up, water pitcher straining her left wrist. “She’s my best friend. I’m not sure what really happened up there, but the newspaper doesn’t have to ruin her reputation like this and publish a drag story.” Her jaw clenched at the mention of the newspaper.

        “Does she have any enemies at the newspaper, maybe that would want to defame her?” Dean spoke up. Audrey eyed Dean caught up in her own thoughts.

        “We’re trying to run a counter story to get the Denver Times to redact the article.” You butted in, if this girl was going to give you anything it had to seem like she wasn’t gossiping with customers but giving info to fellow truth seekers. 

        Audrey pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “No, but the police chief doesn’t seem to like her. I don’t have any evidence to back it up, but I’m pretty sure he went to the head news correspondent and told him to run the article.” As more information poured in, the two of you couldn’t seem to figure out what the hell this cop’s problem was. He seemed to do everything in his power to derail this investigation, the dude was definitely hiding something. 

        “You’re pretty sure?”

        “Yeah…they’re drinking buddies so it wouldn’t surprise me.” Audrey’s attention was pulled away when the bell at the front door rang again. “If you guys have any more questions I can answer them after my shift.” 

        You and Dean shared a look. “The same voice coming from two different directions and super fast? I think I have an idea of what we’re looking for…”

        “Can we please talk to that Hamilton lady first, I’d very much like to drag this out before I freeze my balls off…”

_______________________________________________________________________

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[fruitlicense]

Why Mako and Bolin are initially (and arguably continually) shit at relationships

Okay, I’ll preface this by admitting that I love both Mako and Bolin. I know some of you absolutely hate Mako and while he did do some dumb shit, I don’t think we’re at the level where bemoaning the fact that he didn’t die violently is necessary. Is he problematic? Yeah, but he’s also redeemable, and a little thought about his and his brother’s backstory goes a long way to explaining why he was so shitty to begin with.

The big question is this: where did Mako and Bolin get their understandings of what a healthy romantic relationship should be?

1. Their Parents

Assuming that San and Naoki had a loving relationship, which I’m assuming they did because they look pretty happy in this (fuzzy, sorry) picture and also because of Yin’s description of what San’s letter home said (“It says he married a beautiful girl from the Fire Nation, and had two wonderful sons.”), they were Mako and Bolin’s first understanding of what a healthy romantic relationship should be.

As parents, San and Naoki should have exemplified and taught what was okay and what wasn’t. Unfortunately, they died when Mako was eight and Bolin was six - not really ages at which you’re gonna get into discussing the nuances of romance with your kids. They probably got the basic consent stuff that people see in day-to-day life (always ask before you just take something, share your toys, don’t handle other kids roughly, etc.) but I doubt they were taught much more than that. As for the stuff they learned from observing? Childhood memories can get hazy, and they were relatively young at the time. Chances are they didn’t understand much, since they just didn’t have the context for it.

2. Media???

This is an admittedly shaky point, but since they live in a society that has books, newspapers, radios, and (later) movers, Mako and Bolin probably picked some stuff up about romance just by living in the world. There are definitely some romance novels out there that probably shouldn’t be used to dish out romantic advice, as Jinora and Ikki proved in Book 1, Episode 5.

This is just a (fuzzy again, sorry) screenshot of the episode transcript from the Avatar wiki so you can get a more specific idea, but my point is, getting romantic advice from a book in the Avatar universe is about as helpful as it is in our world - it’s a toss-up whether or not you’re going to get something remotely useful. I can’t say for sure if Mako and Bolin had access to books and radio shows with romantic plotlines before the start of the show (apparently according to the wiki, Mako read some of Jinora’s books after he broke up with Korra, it’s in the trivia section), but it’s worth speculating to cover my bases.

3. The Triple Threat Triad

This is the big one, folks. If Mako and Bolin’s parents died too early to teach them about healthy romantic relationships and there’s no guarantee what they were able to pick up from the media... that means that Mako and Bolin spent their early teenage years learning everything there was to know about romance from the Triple Threat Triad.

I shouldn’t have to explain why Triad members are the literal worst people to learn any life lesson from (except maybe Ozai), but imagine this hypothetical situation: you are a thirteen-year-old boy with your first real crush, and the most approachable person you can go to for advice is a dude nicknamed Shady fucking Shin. No wonder Mako was a hopeless mess! Triad members seem like they’re predominately concerned with getting what they want (money, power, respect) and saving face, and none of that translates well to equal, respectful, honest, healthy romantic relationships. If you’re looking for people who’d condone or even encourage cheating on a partner, lying to a partner, and/or leading a romantic interest on (not to mention writing off women as crazy fangirls or potential girlfriends you can weigh the benefits of and pick as favorites), an organized crime syndicate will probably turn someone up. I don’t think that Mako necessarily believed in that stuff, but I think he internalized some of those examples, and when you throw the kid into a pile of emotional turmoil, he’s going to fall back on the stuff he knows, which in this case was some profoundly shitty stuff.

The Triad bullshit would probably also explain Bolin’s flawed flirting tactics - assuming that every girl you meet is into you (Korra, Ginger) and whatever weird exaggerated stuff was going on in the very beginning of his relationship with Opal (before she called him out on it) seem like things an impressionable kid might have picked up from some not-so-great role models. Luckily for Bolin, it seems like he did eventually understand why that stuff wasn’t cool and made an effort to stop. He’s a good kid at heart.

4. Other Pro-benders

We can hope that maybe Toza or another bending mentor got Mako and Bolin back on the right track once they started living at the pro-bending arena, but honestly, we don’t have much information on how connected they were to other pro-benders. We do know that they were in pretty deep with the Triple Threats, since Mako was learning lightning techniques from their leader.

My overall point is this: Mako and Bolin - but especially Mako - made some shitty mistakes regarding romantic relationships. I don’t condone their actions, but I can see how they might have picked up those bad habits from the few role models they had in their lives - especially since they’re only eighteen and sixteen at the beginning of the show (eighteen-year-olds and sixteen-year-olds are incredibly stupid. not many people are at their best in high school). I’m not asking anyone to forgive characters they don’t want to forgive or suddenly switch their stances on who they hate and who they don’t, but I do think that context can explain why good characters do shitty things and give them a chance to at least be redeemable.

I’m not trying to start any arguments either, just throwing some ideas out there.

-

A final quick aside: when San and Naoki died, Mako took on the role of “parent” for Bolin, which led to Mako becoming reliant on a sense of control. This isn’t super relevant to my overarching point here, but I wanted to mention it somewhere since it does provide some explanation (NOT justification) for Mako’s constant need to be in control and how that influenced his actions.

[icarus-suraki]

unusual asks: 4, 14, 37, 79

4. do you like your name? why? Ah ha ha ha, so I'm not going to tell my real name, but I'll say that my first, middle, and (probably obviously) last name are all family names. My first name isn't so bad, except that my mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and a number of other relatives all have the same first name. It's really a family name on my mother's side. It's not a bad name, but it doesn't feel like my name because I've been called by my middle name all my life. With so many people with the same first name, it makes sense, right?

My middle name is...different. I mean, I'm a woman (though I'm a bit sloshy on that sometimes) but my middle name is a really old, slightly ugly-sounding name that's usually given to boys. It's a family name, formerly a surname--and since my family is undeniably Southern, we follow the good tradition of giving daughters family surnames that were "lost" in marriages. And that's how I, a girl, ended up going by a name that's basically on par with Cuthbert or Aethelrad or Gruffudd. It did not make my school-years easy, no.

And my last name is a strange spelling of a Dutch name--if it were English, it might be something like the surname "James" being spelled like "Jaymesse." We aren't quite sure how it came to us since we can only trace it back to one person. We know when and who he married, but we have no information about him before or after that. We know he was out of the picture when his wife was pregnant (whether he died or ran off or was kidnapped or something we don't know). His wife, at a loss as for what to do, went to her sister's house and lived with her sister and her sister's husband for a while. And then she named the baby after her sister's husband??? But with her own (now our) last name???? She was an interesting woman. But we just don't know much about the man who gave us our last name. There's some family conjecture that he might have been an Eastern European Jew and, when that came out, that was totally unacceptable to his wife and her family. So either she left him or he left her. Either way, we've still got the name. And now, whenever one of us with the name goes to Europe, we like to confuse the locals. (I think I got more of the British Isles genes, but my brother definitely got the Dutch genes because he looks like a damn Tour de France cyclist.)

Do I like my name? It's not the easiest to live with, but it's got a colorful past. So I don't always like it, but it's interesting, to say the least.

14. if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? This is so hard to answer because it changes based on my mood and the season. Sometimes I'm like "I want to live somewhere tropical and warm in a house that almost doesn't need windows with long sheer curtains where I can be a hippie doing yoga and eating smoothie bowls up in the trees." And other times I'm like "Wouldn't it be interesting to live in Japan? Maybe Tokyo, but more like Kyoto and out in the suburbs. Or maybe out in the country, like a real Studio Ghibli place." France crosses my mind too, sometimes Paris, sometimes Provence, sometimes Normandy...

But I think, and this is probably pretty predictable, that the most aesthetically-comfortable place, to me, would probably be the Lake District in the UK.

Is the UK all that great in ever sense? No, for many reasons (Brexit is only one of them). But in terms of weather, wildlife, scenery, familiarity from children's picture books, I think it's got to be the Lake District (and environs).

It was one of the last places we visited when I did a summer abroad. We'd done London (exciting but such a city), we'd done Scotland (rather craggy and gray), we'd done Bath (I was sick as a dog so I can't make much of a judgement and would like to go back), we'd done Oxford (and I thought I was a snob, fuck me), we'd done Yorkshire (suddenly the grimness of the Bronte sisters makes sense)... And then we took this long bus ride northwards and up into the Lake District and it was such a...relief in a funny sense of the word. Trees! Fields! Foxgloves! Stiles over fences! Walking paths! Lovely cottages!

If I was appallingly rich, I'd find an old cottage to move into and live there and grow a cottage garden and probably have a Patterdale terrier named Toby or Tommy and take lots of walks.

The Cotswolds were a close second, as I recall, but not quite as much of a spiritual(?) relief.

37. do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? The greatest irony of being a librarian is that everyone thinks you read all the time but you often don't have enough time to read at all.

Some librarians manage to pull it off, but I don't. I've gotten picky about books as I've gotten older. I had to lead some book discussions at my libraries, so I've had to read some very boring books (in some cases the book was boring but I did understand why books like it would appeal to some people). And I just don't have the mental capacity to suffer through boring books if I don't have to. So, no, I don't read all that much--

--in terms of books, at least. I've found that I'll read zillions of articles: longform, shortform, magazine, newspaper, online... I've got a few websites for sources and I'll just kind of look around and then suddenly say, "Wait, what?" and find myself reading, say, a GQ article about two Mormon brothers accused of murdering their parents and the whole backstory of the situation. If you drop a longform article about Weird Shit in front of me, yeah, I'll probably read it.

Which actually makes me wonder if I might want to read more nonfiction at the moment. Hmmm........

But favorite book? Favorite favorite book? Fuck, I'm such a sucker for Ulysses. I know, everyone's like "it's dirty!" or "it's too hard to understand!" And that's cool. But for me, it reads rather like poetry to me, dirty bits and all. And I love it and it has saved my life a few times. James Joyce got me through my 20s, okay?

I had hoped to go to Ireland, and Dublin specifically, in the summer or fall of 2020. Obviously that didn't happen, lmao. But part of my idea was to research tattoo shops before I went and to get a line from the "Ithaca" chapter tattooed on me somewhere. The line is:

"The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit"

It's got to be one of my favorite lines in all of literature. T. S. Eliot has a couple of lines that are close seconds (it's almost time to read Ash Wednesday again and, hnnnngh, it's so good), but between the Eliot lines and the Joyce lines? Yeah, I'm going with the heaventree of stars.

I am a terrible person with a dirty mind. What can you do?

79. do you believe in ghosts? Most of the time I'm like: "Nah, I don't really believe in ghosts. It’d be kind of cool if they were real, right? But, nah, l don’t."

And then I'll watch some really good “real” ghost videos and it'll be about 11:30 at night and I'm immediately "I have changed my stance re: ghosts and I will be sleeping with the light on. Goodnight."

But generally speaking? As someone who has spent the night in a couple of supposedly haunted places? I guess I'm more in the "I want to believe" category. It'd be cool, wouldn't it? But I don't think it'll happen.

Now that said, I do still wonder about the Gray Man With The Hat that my mother and I have both seen on different occasions. It has to be something about how human brains understand certain things in certain situations (esp. related to light/shadow). We both wonder if it might be kind of like a "collective unconscious" situation, where something unfamiliar is interpreted as something familiar and then the brain puts that familiar "icon" (which is Pete Lorre in M, evidently?) over whatever the image the brain can't compute.

It's not directly related to ghosts in the typical sense, but I do have strong feelings about certain Jungian concepts (I have an aunt who's got some major Jungian background)--sometimes in a mystical way, sometimes in a more rational way. So I guess that's why I feel like I, personally, don't believe in ghosts as ghosts are generally viewed today. But I also think that people who say they've encountered ghosts shouldn't be dismissed immediately as wrong--they experienced something, I absolutely believe that, and it’s not fair or kind to dismiss them out of hand.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 11

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor.  All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed.  The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away.  In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

-

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’.  Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma​!  @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist  |  AO3

---

Sunday, April 14th

“Ta da!” Rose said triumphantly, laying three pictures down on the desk. 

The first was Peri Brown - twenty-three, she was the daughter of an American newspaper magnate.  A botanist by trade, they shared a love of science and nature.  A (potential) marriage of opposites meant she would be ideal to breathe life and fun into the palace, with her bubbly optimism and can-do spirit.

In the middle was Romana Trelundar, a brunette beauty and Italian Countess.  The epitome of elegance, she would bring grace and decorum to the role. At thirty-five she was the oldest of the three, but brought a level of maturity to the match the younger women might not.

Then, third, was the highest-rated of the three, Rose’s top choice if Reinette didn’t pull through.  

Twenty-seven year old Clara Oswald was the daughter of an English Earl from the Midlands.  After a few aimless years out of uni, she’d found a love for teaching literature.  After discovering the King’s dedication to the Children’s Center, Clara’s roots in educating and tending to children put her near the top of the list.

All three smiled up from candid photos Mel had pulled from their Instagrams.  They were the final three, the culmination of two weeks of frantic matchmaking, and one of them would hopefully result in an untarnished reputation for Rose, when the lucky one married the King.

Her heart clenched.

“Great job!” Mel gushed, as they peered down at the photographs together.  “I knew you could do it.”

“We’re not done yet,” Rose warned.  “Not until the King says ‘I do’.  Then we can relax and celebrate.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be celebrating,” her friend said, with just enough of a hint of mystery in her tone to catch Rose’s attention.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mel shrugged, slurping at her ever-present glass of carrot juice.  “I’m just looking forward to seeing how this all turns out.  Attending a royal wedding.  On your birthday!”

“Me too.”  Rose worried her lip.  So much was riding on the success of this job, the idea of failure was unthinkable, and every time it was alluded to, her breath caught and her heart ached with nerves and worry.

“Did we get his surveys back?”

“Nope.  He said he’s not quite ready to hand them over yet.  Starting tomorrow he’ll spend a full day with each of them – Wednesday night he’ll let me know.  He said he wants to be sure.”

Studying the three pictures in front of her, Rose let her gaze drift up towards Reinette’s picture, which was still tacked onto the corkboard mostly out of hope.

Please let him find someone.  Please let him find the one.

-

Wednesday, April 17th

With nothing to do but wait, Rose and Mel spent the first half of the week getting in touch with Reinette and arranging her travel.  With her job almost complete but for him to make his decision, she had no excuse reason to spend the day shadowing him, though she continued to be summoned to share meals.

She told herself (and Mel, not that her friend ever asked) that her enthusiasm was for the opportunity to hear about how his relationships with the women were progressing. 

Which would have been true, if he told her anything.

By Wednesday night she was ready to tear her hair out with frustration, equally eager and terrified to hear who he would choose.

It has to be Clara, right? she worried her thumbnail, as Ryan led her through the palace ostensibly for dinner.  Will she be there?  Where are we going, anyway?

“His Majesty is down by the lake,” Ryan said, stopping at the doors to the patio that faced said lake.  Holding out her coat to her, his expectation that she would join the King was clear.

“Thank you,” was all she said, wrapping the trench coat around herself and stepping out the door, grumbling to herself.  If I‘d known I was coming outside, I would’ve worn pants.  Thinking they’d be inside for the night, she’d worn a cocktail dress and heels just as she had most of the evenings, leaving her legs bare and freezing.  Her only consolation was that the ground was so solid, her stilettos didn’t sink into the dirt.

First thing that check is buying are new shoes, she thought, picking her way down the worn dirt path.  She could see him, now, a solitary figure at the lakeside, illuminated by the moonlight.

In another life, it would be utterly romantic, and if she were one of the three potential matches she would think he was about to propose.

“Hi,” she said quietly when she got close enough, not wanting to startle him.

“Hey.”  The King let out a heavy sigh, and Rose’s heart simultaneously clenched and eased.

Stepping up she stood shoulder to shoulder with him, only inches away from touching as they stared out at the water together.

“What’s going on?” she finally asked, after several freezing minutes.  She didn’t want to rush him, but the air was even colder down on the shore, and she would shortly shiver herself to death.  “How did your days with Peri, Romana, and Clara go?”

The King shrugged, glancing her way, an unenthused expression on his face.  “Fine.  They were all lovely women.  In another universe I could have been friends with any one of them, maybe.”

“And in this one?”

He licked his lips.  “Nothing.  Not one damn butterfly.  I’m sure they’re perfect for someone, but that someone isn’t me.”

“Nothing?!” Rose demanded, incensed and a little offended.  Did he even try?  Is he just trying to waste my time, run out the clock?  “Okay maybe not love, but nothing?  What’s wrong with you!”

“Oi!”

“I know what I’m doing,” she insisted.  If he doesn’t marry one of them, someone, then my career is done.  “Those women could be perfect for you!  Were you open to it?  If you don’t open your heart you won’t find anyone!  Are you just determined to- to- to make me fail?”

Surprisingly, the King managed to keep his cool, though he gave her a severe look.  “You said I’d know,” he maintained, “and I did know – that they weren’t right.  Surely there must be other women.  What about that French girl?”

“Reinette,” she snapped, “will be arriving tomorrow night.  Your engagement party is a week from today.  I suggest you think very carefully before dismissing her so quickly as well.  At this point, there are no guarantees.”

And turning on her heel, she stomped back up to the palace without waiting to be dismissed, fuming all the way.

-

Ian watched her go, too amused to be surprised or offended by her lack of consideration for protocol.

You’re a total goner, Ian Reginald, the little voice in the back of his mind whispered, and sighing, he knew it was right.

Sticking his hands in his pockets he made his way to the palace, surprised but pleased to enter his dining room to find her already in her chair, arms crossed.  She was still stewing, but she was there, and at the moment that was all that mattered.

She pointedly didn’t rise when he entered, not saying a word until their first course was served and they were alone.  “Tell me why you didn’t like them.”

“They weren’t-” you “-right.  They were interesting, but I wasn’t interested.  No spark, no butterflies.  No fireworks.”

“Was there something specific?  Something I can use to adjust the formula, I mean?  Too… old, too young, you want a blonde or a brunette or a redhead?  Spanish, Eastern European, American? Nobility?  Wealthy?  I just- I don’t understand how all of them could be so wrong!”  Rose viciously stabbed at her salad, and he had to hide a smile.

“Let’s see how it goes with Reinette,” he said gently, “and then… then we’ll see.”

He would play along, meet the woman, spend time with her.

And then, he would figure out how to convince his sister to let him marry Rose.

Happy indigestion indeed.

-

Thursday, April 18th

Ian spent the next morning in a state of placid panic, as he waited on pins and needles for Reinette to arrive at the palace.  He felt a tiny bit bad about dragging her to Gallifrey just to waste her time, but it had to be done, and he had to give her a fair chance before dismissing her.

Rose had arranged a late dinner for them to meet, in the restaurant attached to the largest inn in town.

She went along for the ride, ostensibly so she could formally introduce them, though he suspected it was mainly to badger and lecture him when he couldn’t escape.

With a desperate seriousness and blazing eyes, she let him have it, and he could hear the occasional snort from Graham as she ranted, but Ian paid far more attention to her mouth than the words coming out of it.  With every severe gesture the pom on the top of her beanie waved.

It was adorable.  She was adorable.

“Are you even listening to me?!” she demanded, snapping him out of his daze.

“Of course,” Ian rolled his eyes, blatantly lying; judging by her narrowed gaze, she knew it as well.

Pursing her lips and crossing her arms, she said, “I’m working on finding more candidates if you’re not happy with her, but please give her a chance.  The wedding is in nine days.  You need to decide.”

“All right, all right,” he dismissed, not quite ready to tell her he had decided.  He would have dinner with Reinette, then tomorrow morning sit down with Donna and Sarah and tell them his plans.  Provided they agreed, Rose could be wearing his ring in less than twenty-four hours.

His stomach rioted at the idea, but in a good way, and he found her description of happy indigestion to still be on the nose.  “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck!  And behave.”  The car pulled to a stop and they got out, Ian offering Rose his hand and thrilled when she took it.

She led him into the restaurant and towards the booth tucked in the corner.  The locals in the restaurant recognized him, starting to stand, but he just smiled and shook his head.

A lithe blonde poured from the booth at seeing them to stand next to it, dropping into a technically perfect curtsey.  “Your Majesty,” she murmured, the words rolling off her tongue with a delightful French accent.

“Your ladyship,” he replied, taking her hand and kissing it gently.  To his amusement Rose’s face twitched, a sour expression flashing across it, in jealousy he hoped.  “A pleasure.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Rose bit out, smiling so brightly he thought her face would crack.  After seeing so many genuine grins from her, it was easy to tell how fake this one was.  She is jealous!  “Bon appetit.”

And she spun on her heel and left, Ian watching her go with a twinkle in his eye before settling down on the far side of the booth, across from Reinette and giving him a visual of the entire room.

Picking up his menu, he peeked towards the door to see Rose standing there, door half open, watching with what could only be described as a longing look.

I just have to get through tonight, then tomorrow she will be mine.

-

Despite his preoccupation with Rose, he found Reinette to be a decent dinner companion.  If he wasn’t already arse over teakettle for Rose, he might have even found himself drawn to her.  She was clever and witty, full of confidence but not herself.  They shared many interests, and even knew many of the same people – her family home in France was less than an hour’s drive from the Gallifreyan/French border.

Exactly as Rose had predicted, she would make the perfect queen of Gallifrey.

But she wasn’t Rose.

Deciding to forgo a ride back to the palace, after seeing Reinette to the stairs as she was staying in the attached hotel, he stuck his hands in his pockets and walked back.  It was a solid two-mile walk, but for as often as he did it it was nothing to him.

The crisp, clean air helped clear his mind, and he plotted out first his conversation with Donna and Sarah, and then how he would broach the subject with Rose.  The first he wasn’t concerned about; the two women were constantly raving about her, how impressed they were with her, and had nothing but good things to say about how she had organized the benefit for the Children’s Center.

His worry was how to start the conversation with Rose.  His gut said she felt as he did, that his feelings were not unrequited, but that she would take convincing.  She hadn’t come to Gallifrey to marry, and if she did become Queen, she would have to give up the life she knew.  Her dedication and love for her career were obvious, and he was sorry to know if she accepted she would have to leave it behind.

Whistling softly to himself as he climbed the steps to go around to the back patio, wanting to avoid the fuss of walking in through the front door, he spotted her leaning on the balcony of the upper level of the garden, staring out at the lake.  Walking on the lower path to stand beneath her, feeling like the Romeo to her Juliet and trying to remember how exactly the scene started so he could quote it to her, he heard her speak.

“I’ll be home once the King is married on Saturday.”  A pause, and he realized she was on her mobile.  Talking to her mum?  He knew the two were close, and he wondered if he should announce his presence; given the angle and darkness, she probably couldn’t see him.  “Come on Mickey, don’t be like that.”  Mickey?  Who was Mickey?  “Of course I miss you.”  What?  “I’ll be home soon, we can start planning the wedding then.  I’ve got to go though, it’s late.”  Wedding?  “Love you too.  Night.”

Love you.  Love you.  Love you.

The words repeated in his mind as Ian’s heart shattered into a trillion tiny pieces, laying broken and bleeding on the flagstones.

How could I have been so wrong?

[hufflepuff-ravenclaw-reviews]

Proven Innocent Season 1 Episode 10

As you might imagine, Wren (Yes, I finally was able to find her name...) has been spending her nights with Madeline, even though she's supposed to be in a halfway house. She wakes up one morning following a nightmare, and joins Madeline on the floor. (It's never been explained, but Madeline prefers to sleep on the floor, even though she has a very lovely bed.) Madeline says that she needs to go to work, and Wren has job interviews. However, when Wren expresses her displeasure over the jobs offered by the halfway house, Madeline offers to get her a job at the law firm as a clerk. (Basically pulling legal files and reading law books to find the specific thing needed for a case. Tedious work, but necessary.)

Wren is given a job at the law firm, although Madeline only introduces her as my “friend”. Violet explains that a lot of the people that they've helped have trouble finding jobs, even if they were completely cleared of all charges, so they take them on.

Just then, a naval JAG officer comes in with the case du jour. The first female who would have become a navy SEAL who apparently snapped and killed her commanding officer/teacher. If you're familiar with other legal dramas, you'll know that those military court systems are an absolute joke, and if somebody wants to frame you for murder... well... Good luck with that.

Before we kick that off, let's talk about the Bellows subplot that never actually connects to the main plot. (Again.) Isabel goes in to tell him about a meeting, and finds that he's got his wall of Rosemary's murder. You know, with the pictures, the newspaper clippings, the random bits of string that connect everything...

She tells him that she does have Levi's trust now, but she doesn't think that she knows anything. As she looks at the map, she mentions this one spot in particular Levi told her about. Rosemary and Madeline would hang out there a lot. So Bellows thinks that it's where Madeline went when everybody was looking for Rosemary. He wants to drain/search the lake around that specific spot in the hopes of finding the murder weapon, which was never found. He had previously wanted to drain/search the entire lake, but it was too big and the price too high. But if he can narrow it down...

Later, his former boss, now obviously retired, drops by. When Bellows mentions searching the cove for the murder weapon, this guy is LITERALLY the only one who says “Why the hell are you so obsessed with Madeline Scott?” Instant like; I've been saying this for quite some time now. They talk about this... or rather, the guy tries to tell Bellows to move on with his life, and compares Madeline to Moby Dick for Bellows. Bellows refuses to listen.

Eventually, Bellows makes the call to have the cove searched.

They go to talk to their client, who does confirm that she had been in a drunken fight with the guy she didn't murder right before he turned up dead. As you might imagine, she got a whole lot of shit from the men about her being a woman... and that's what the fight had been about. She then goes on to say this about the gun that was found in her locker: the day before the murder, they'd done an inspection, and there had obviously been no gun in her locker, or anywhere among her things, then. So in order for her to have gotten the gun, she should have driven drunk into town, bought an illegal gun, gone back, murdered the guy, put the gun into her locker, and then just... gone to sleep. This makes Easy think that she was framed, because why else would the gun have been in HER locker?

Madeline, Easy, and the JAG officer go to the scene of the crime, on the military base. They're contemplating the house next door, and saying that the people who lived there might have been able to see something. Just then, other JAG officers come up and arrest the three of them.

They don't like them snooping around, which as you might imagine, is highly suspicious. Madeline is quick to point out that the guy in charge was the father-in-law of the murdered man, and his judgment isn't sound about the issue. He should step back from the case. Easy also mentions that nobody bothered to question the neighbor, and the guy gives permission for them to look into the matter further.

Meanwhile, we're also getting a subplot with Bodie and his on-again-off-again girlfriend, the police officer. If you'll remember, she broke up with him after Bodie kind of tricked her into giving information for a case. However, it's clear that they want to patch things up again. She makes him promise that he can either use her for information or they can be a couple. Bodie says that he wants everything and they kiss.

Some time later, she comes by his house... with her son. Well, sort of. She says that he's actually her nephew, but she has temporary custody over him as her sister cleans up her act from drug addiction. However, she first got custody of the kid two years ago... and... well. You probably know how this is going to turn out. Bodie is uneasy, but he did say that he wanted all of her.

Madeline, Easy, and the JAG officer go talk to the neighbor. However, much like everybody else so far, he didn't see nothing, and he has nothing to say. They complain about people helping cover up the crime in order to help their COs, but then Madeline calls over to the man's son. He mentions that the night that this happened (keeping in mind that the incident occurred 4 years earlier), that he heard a noise, looked out the window, and saw a man running from the house. Madeline questions about the kid's use of “he” pronouns, and the boy confirms that it was a man. He did tell his dad, but his dad said that he must have been mistaken.

With this new info, they go to the JAG court, but the judge completely and utterly scoffs over the idea of an eight year old as a witness, without so much as hearing what the boy has to say. After some talking, they do agree to give them three days to investigate; Easy also asks for all of the relevant files.

Violet is recording her podcast about the company, and this client du jour, when she notices Wren watching her from outside. (the recording studio is all glass, so it's not like it was super obvious or anything.) They talk for a moment, and Violet asks Wren what her story is. Wren says that she robbed a store with a gun, but the clerk got hurt, so she did twenty years. Violet says that she spent half of that time with Madeline, her best friend. And she seems to imply that she knows that Madeline and Wren are more than just friends.

As they're looking over the files back at their office, they notice that there was an incident report about the murdered man and another officer just days before he was murdered. They question why this was never brought up in court, because the other officer would have been a suspect. However, the name is redacted, and the courts insist that it's classified and has nothing at all to do with the murder. Madeline is obviously not convinced, as you might imagine.

While Madeline is trying to get the files unredacted, Bodie and Easy go talk to some other navy officers/teachers, who continue to give them the round-about. She clearly snapped, she wasn't fit for the job, why'd she kill my friend? Blah-blah-blah.

Later, Madeline pulls in some favors with somebody high up the political chain of command to get a copy of the unredacted files. Surprise! It's the father-in-law. So they obviously go and talk with him. He says that he got into a physical fight with his son-in-law because his daughter had just had a baby and the deadbeat dad was spending half of his time at the bar and not even helping. He also says that he was at some thing that the Pentagon confirmed this to be the case.

Easy and Madeline go back to talk to their client, and bring up the rumors that keep going around that she'd been sleeping with her instructor. She denies this, but says that they were friends, which is also frowned upon. (Not just sleeping together, but like... just talking to your student isn't allowed. Yikes.) Anyway, she says that he would confide in her, but she never told anybody about this. She goes on to say that he was having PTSD-like nightmares, and keeps bringing up something over and over.

So Madeline and the JAG officer look into the name that their client gave them, but there was nobody named that that the victim would have served with. However, a quick search on the computer shows that the name is of a place rather than a person. It's in the Middle East, and there was an incident report with the victim and his team at the place. And surprise! The guys that Easy and Bodie had talked to were members of the victim's team in the Middle East.

So they go talk to one of the two men. He hems and haws and gives them the run-around again before Madeline wears him down. He says that they were going towards a house when they heard a bang. They opened fire, because that's what you do. However, inside, they found zero guns and only just not only civilians, but largely women, children, and the elderly. One of the old men was still alive and likely would have survived if they'd helped him, but one of the other members of the team killed him so that there would be no witnesses. They then agreed to never talk about what had happened.

However, obviously, this needs to come to light now. Madeline drags the man who killed the innocent old man onto the stand, and not only has him say about what he did in the Middle East, but also brings up the fact that the gun found in her client's locker belongs to him... which he bought while he was deployed in the Middle East. What an idiot.

So the courts find the client not guilty, clear her of all charges, but also reinstate her into the navy. (Although why she'd want to go back to such a toxic place is beyond me, but if it makes her happy, then sure.) There's a tender moment in which Madeline pins a metal onto the lady's uniform, and then they all pose for pictures.

Later, Violet asks Madeline about her relationship with Wren, and asks that they're more than friends. Madeline confesses that she still likes guys, but Wren is different somehow. She doesn't know what would happen if the two of them were to break up, because would she date a guy? Would she be interested in finding another girlfriend? She doesn't know if her love of women extends beyond Wren or not.

And what's Levi been doing this episode, you ask? He goes into the cafe where the gothic chick works to find Heather harassing her about talking with Levi. Levi gets into Heather's face. Heather then drags up Levi's shitty behavior from 10+ years ago, stating that as a college student, he was obsessed with Rosemary, which was why he kept coming back around the high school, even though he'd already graduated. And the entire time, the gothic chick is like “Dude, you're embarrassing yourself. Stop already. JFC why.” The gothic chick then says “tell him about Sparrow Ridge.” Heather won't say anything else, and just leaves.

Later, after the case, Levi calls Madeline and the two of them go to this abandoned house. The name on the mailbox says “Sparrow Ridge”. He mentions what the gothic chick said to him, and he looked it up on the internet. He breaks in without a care for breaking and entering because the house is condemned anyway. They look around for a moment before he motions towards a doorway that's all boarded up. Madeline kicks the boards down enough that they can get through, and go down into the basement. There, they find an unholy amount of candles and what looks like a circle on the floor... Awfully “blood is dripping from the walls and I'm going to read Latin from this book made of human flesh” nonsense if you ask me. They open a??? Cupboard? Closet? And find the initials of Heather, the gothic chick, and Rosemary, as well as a couple of others that aren't brought up. Under each set of initials are tally marks.

And something tells me that this is about more than Heather selling prescription drugs at school with daddy's prescription pad.

[wumblr]

All of the allegorical chapter intros from Warped Passages

Entryway Passages: Demystifying Dimensions

“Ike, I’m not so sure about this story I’m writing. I’m considering adding more dimensions. What do you think of that idea?

“Athena, your big brother knows very little about fixing stories. But odds are it won’t hurt to add new dimensions. Do you plan to add new characters, or flesh out your current ones some more?”

“Neither; that’s not what I meant. I plan to introduce new dimensions--as in new dimensions of space.”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re going to write about alternative realities--like places where people have alternative spiritual experiences or where they go when they die, or when they have near-death experiences?* I didn’t think you went in for that sort of thing.”

“Come on, Ike. You know I don’t. I’m talking about different spatial dimensions--not different spiritual planes!”

“But how can different spatial dimensions change anything? Why would using paper with different dimensions--11″ x 8″ instead of 12″ x 9″, for example--make any difference at all?”

“Stop teasing. That’s not what I’m talking about either. I’m really planning to introduce new dimensions of space, just like the dimensions we see, but along entirely new directions.”

“Dimensions we don’t see? I thought three dimensions is all there are.”

“Hang on, Ike. We’ll soon see about that.”

*Questions I’ve actually been asked.

Restricted Passages: Rolled-up Extra Dimensions

Athena awoke with a start. The previous day she had read Alice in Wonderland and Flatland in order to seek some inspiration about dimensions. But that night she had the strangest dream, which, when fully conscious, she recognized as the result of having read the two books on the same day.*

Athena dreamed she had turned into Alice, slipped into a rabbit hole, and met the resident Rabbit, who had pushed her out into an unfamiliar world. Athena had thought it a rather rude way to convey a guest. Even so, she had eagerly looked forward to the upcoming adventure in Wonderland.

Athena was in for a disappointment, however. The resident Rabbit, who was fond of puns, had sent her instead to OneDLand, a strange, not so wonderful, one-dimensional world. Athena looked around--or, I should say, to her left and right--and discovered that all she could see were two points--one to her left and another to her right (but in a prettier color, she thought).

In OneDLand, all the one-dimensional people with their one-dimensional possessions were lined up along this single dimension like long, thin beads strung out along a thread. But even with her limited purview, Athena knew there must be more to OneDLand than met her eyes because of the outrageous din that met her ears. A Red Queen was well hidden behind a dot, but Athena couldn’t miss her strident yells: “This is the most ridiculous chess game I have ever seen! I can’t move any pieces, not even to castle!” Athena was relieved when she realized her one-dimensional existence shielded her from the wrath of the Red Queen.

But Athena’s cozy universe did not last long. Slipping through a gap in ONeDLand, she returned to the dreamworld’s rabbit hole, which had an elevator that could take her to hypothetical, other dimensional universes. Almost immediately, the Rabbit announced, “Next stop: TwoDLand--a two-dimensional world.” Athena didn’t think “TwoDLand” a very nice name, but she cautiously entered all the same.

Athena needn’t have been so hesitant. Almost everything in TwoDLand looked the same as in OneDLand. SHe did notice one difference--a vial labeled “Drink me.” Bored with one dimension, Athena promptly obeyed. She quickly shrank to a tiny size, and as she became smaller, a second dimension came into view. This second dimension was not very big--it was wrapped around in a fairly small circle. Her surroundings now resembled the surface of an extremely long tube. A Dodo was racing around the circular dimension, but he wanted to stop. So he kindly offered Athena, who looked rather hungry, some cake.

When Athena ate a morsel of the Dodo’s dreamcake, she started to grow. After only a few bites (she was quite sure of this, as she was still rather hungry), the cake very nearly disappeared; all that remained was a very tiny crumb. At least Athena thought there was a crumb, but she could see it only when she squinted very hard. And the cake wasn’t the only thing that had vanished from view: when Athena returned to her usual size, the entire second dimension had disappeared.

She thought to herself, “TwoDLand is very yodd indeed. I’d best be getting home.” Her return journey was not without further adventures, but those will be kept for another time.

*Or perhaps this story is a result of my having begun my education at the perhaps questionably named Lewis Carroll School, P.S. 179, in Queens. 

Exclusive Passages: Branes, Braneworlds, and the Bulk

Unlike the studious Athena, Ike rarely read any books. He generally preferred playing with games, gadgets, and cars. But Ike hated driving in Boston, where the drivers were reckless, the roads were badly signposted, and the highways were invariably under construction. Ike always ended up stuck in traffic, which he found especially frustrating when he could see a nearly empty freeway overhead. Though the empty road would be tempting, Ike would have no way to quickly reach it since, unlike Athena’s owls*, he couldn’t fly. For Ike trapped on slow roads in Boston, the third dimension was no use at all. 

[*nb: owls are mentioned in the chapter body:]

When you peg someone as one-dimensional, you actually have something rather specific in mind: you mean that the person only has a single interest. For example, Sam, who does nothing but sit at home watching sports, can be described with just one piece of information. If you felt so inclined, you could picture this information with a one-dimensional graph: Sam’s proclivity to watch sports, for example. In drawing this graph you need to specify your units so that someone else can udnerstand what the distance along this single axis means, such as the number of hours Sam spends per week watching sports on TV. (Fortunately, Sam won’t be insulted by this example; he is not among the multidimensional readers of this book.)

When we describe most people, however, we usually assign them more than one, or even three, characteristics. Athena is an eleven-year-old who reads avidly, excels at math, keeps abreast of current events, and raises pet owls. You might want to plot this too (though why, exactly, I’m not really sure). In that case, Athena would have to be plotted a s point in a five-dimensional space with axes corresponding to age, number of books read per week, average math test score, number of minutes spent reading the newspaper per day, and nubmer of owls she owns. However, I’m having trouble drawing such a graph.

“Hey, Athena, is that Casablanca you’re watching?”

“Sure is. Want to join me? This is such a great scene.”

You must remember this, A kiss is just a kiss, A sigh is just a sigh, The fundamental things apply as time goes by.

“Hang on, Ike. Don’t you think that last line’s a little weird? It’s supposed to be so romantic, but it almost sounds as if it’s about physics.”

“Athena, if you think that’s strange, you’ve got to hear the opening verse of the original:”

This day and age we’re living in, Give cause for apprehension, With speed and new invention, And things like fourth dimension, Yet we get a trifle weary, With Mr. Einstein’s theory...

“Ike, you don’t really expect me to believe that, do you? Next thing I know you’ll tell me Rick and Ilsa escape into the seventh dimension! Why don’t we forget I ever said anything and just sit back and watch the movie?”

[nb: actually true]

Relativity: The Evolution of Einstein’s Gravity

Icarus (Ike) Rushmore II couldn’t wait to show Dieter his new Porsche. But as proud as he was of his car, he was even more excited about his Global Positioning System (GPS) that he had recently designed and installed himself.

Ike wanted to impress Dieter, so he convinced his friend to drive with him to the local track. They got in the car, Ike programmed in their destination, and the two of them set off. But to Ike’s chagrin, they ended up in the wrong place--the GPS system didn’t work nearly as well as he had thought it would. Dieter’s first thought was that Ike must have made some ridiculous error, like confusing meters and feet. But Ike didn’t believe he could have made such a stupid mistake, and he bet Dieter that wasn’t the problem.

The next day, Ike and Dieter did some troubleshooting. But to their dismay, when they went for a drive, the GPS was even worse than before. Ike and Dieter searched again for the problem and finally, after a frustrating week, Dieter had an epiphany. He did a quick calculation and made the startling discovery that without accounting for general relativity, the GPS system would build up errors at the rate of more than 10 km per day. Ike didn’t think his Porsche was fast enough to warrant relativistic calculations, but Dieter explained that the GPS signals--not the car--travel at the speed of light. Dieter modified the software to account for the changing gravitational field the GPS signals had to pass through. .Ike’s system then worked as well as the readily available commercial variety. Relieved, Ike and Dieter began to plan a road trip.

Quantum Mechanics: Principled Uncertainty, the Principal Uncertainties, and the Uncertainty Principle

Ike wondered whether Athena was making him watch too many movies or Dieter was talking too much about physics. But whatever the reason, the previous night Ike dreamed he met a quantum detective. Dressed in a fedora, a trench coat, and with a stone-faced expression, the dream detective spoke:

“I knew nothing about her except her name, and that she was standing there before me. But from the moment I set eyes on her I knew Electra* would be trouble. When I asked her where she came from, she refused to say. The room had two entrances, and she must have come through one. But Electra whispered hoarsely, ‘Mister, forget it. I’ll never tell you which.’

“Although I saw that she was shaking, I tried to pin this lady down. But Electra paced frenetically when I started to approach. She begged me to come no closer. Seeing she was agitated, I kept away. I was no stranger to uncertainty, but this time it had me beat. It looked like uncertainty was going to stick around here for a while.”

*The name refers to the electron, not the character in Greek mythology.

The Standard Model of Particle Physics: Matter’s Most Basic Known Structure

Of all the stories she had read, Athena was most thoroughly perplexed by Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Princess and the Pea.” The story tells of a Prince who searched unsuccessfully for a suitable princess to wed. After he had searched in vain for weeks, a potential princess arrived by chance at his palace, seeking shelter from a storm. This soggy visitor thereby became the unwitting subject of the Queen’s litmus test for princesses.

The Queen prepared a bed, which she piled high with mattresses and eiderdown quilts. At the very bottom of the pile she placed a solitary pea. That night, she showed her visitor to the carefully prepared guest room. The next morning, the princess (as indeed she proved herself to be) complained that she had not been able to sleep at all. She had tossed and turned the whole night, and found she had actually turned black and blue--all because of the uncomfortable pea. The Queen and Prince were convinced that their visitor was truly of royal blood, for who else could be so delicate?

Athena turned the story round and round in her head. She thought it fairly ridiculous, even the most sensitive of princesses, would ever have discovered the pea by lying passively on top of the pile of mattresses. After many days’ deliberation, Athena found a plausible interpretation, which she rushed to tell her brother.

She rejected the common interpretation that the princess proved her royal nature by demonstrating delicacy and refinement with her sensitivity to even something as minor as a pea under a pile of mattresses. She offered an alternative explanation.

Athena suggested that when the Queen went away and left the princess alone in the room, the princess threw decorum to the wind and gave vent to her boisterous youthful nature. The princess ran around and jumped up and down on her bed until she was exhausted, and only then lay down to try to sleep. Through her rambunctiousness, the princess compressed the mattresses so much that for a brief moment the pea stuck out like a sore thumb and gave her a small bruise. Athena thought this princess was still rather impressive, but found her revisionist interpretation much more satisfactory.

Experimental Interlude: Verifying the Standard Model

Ike once again dreamed he met the quantum detective. This time, the sleuth knew what he was after--and he had a pretty good idea where it should be. All he had to do was wait--sooner or later, if he wasn’t mistaken, his quarry would appear.

Symmetry: The Essential Organizing Principle

Athena uncaged three of her owls and let them fly around. Unfortunately for Ike, he had left the top of his convertible down that day and the curious owls flew right in. The most mischievous of the owls pecked at the car’s interior and ended up tearing it a little.

When Ike saw the damage, he stormed into Athena’s room and demanded that she watch her owls more carefully in the future. Athena protested that her owls were almost all well-behaved and she need only keep an eye on the bad one. But by that time the owls were back in their cages, and neither Ike nor Athena could identify which one was guilty.

The Origin of Elementary Particle Masses: Spontaneous Symmetry Breaking and the Higgs Mechanism

The stricter enforcement of speed limits made long-distance driving a nightmare for Icarus III. He longed to race as fast as he pleased, but police pulled him over nearly every half-mile. The cops never bothered with dull, neutral cars, but harassed only the lively, turbo-charged vehicles, like his own.

Ike resigned himself to driving only short distances, since that way he could avoid the police altogether. Within the half-mile-wide region around where he started, police never interfered and he could always drive impressively fast. Though the Porsche engine’s force was unknown outside his neighborhood, closer to home it became legendary.

Scaling and Grand Unification: Relating Interactions at Different Lengths and Energies

Athena often felt like she was the last to be told anything interesting. She didn’t even hear about Ike’s adventures with his car until after he had owned it for over a month. And she didn’t learn them from him directly--she learned about them from a friend of hers who had heard about them from Dieter’s cousin’s brother, who had learned about them from Dieter’s cousin, who had heard about them from Dieter.

Through this indirect route, Athena was told Ike’s remark, “The influence of forces depends on where you are.” Ike’s uncharacteristic pronouncement completely mystified Athena until she realized that the message must have been distorted along the way. After thinking about it for a while, she decided that Ike’s real remark must have been, “The performance of Porsches depends on the model of the car.”

The Hierarchy Problem: The Only Effective Trickle-Down Theory

Ike Rushmore III came to an ignominious end when he drove his resplendent new Porsche into a lamppost.  He was nonetheless happy in Heaven, where he could play games all the time. He was a gambling man at heart.

One day, God Himself invited Ike to a rather strange game. God told him to write down a sixteen-digit number. God would roll the heavenly isocahedral die. Unlike a normal, cubic die with six sides, this die had twenty sides, with the digits 0 through 9 written twice. God explained that He would throw this die sixteen times and construct a sixteen-digit number by listing the results, one after the other. If God and Ike came up with the same enormous number--that is, if all the digits matched in the correct order--God would win. If the numbers weren’t exactly the same--that is, if any of the digits failed to match--Ike would defeat God.

God began to roll. The first side that came up was the number 4. This agreed with the first digit of Ike’s number, which was 4,715,031,495,526,312. Ike was surprised when God rolled correctly, since the odds were only one in ten. Nevertheless, he was pretty sure the second or third number would be wrong; the odds of God’s rolling both numbers correctly in succession was only one in a hundred.

God threw the first die for a second and then a third time. He rolled a 7 and then a 1, which were also correct. He kept rolling until, to Ike’s astonishment, He had rolled all sixteen digits correctly. The chances of this happening randomly were only 1 in 10,000,000,000,000,000. How could God have won?

Ike was a bit angry (one can’t get very angry in Heaven) and asked how something so ridiculously unlikely could have happened. God sagely replied, “I am the only one who could expect to win, since I am both omniscient and omnipotent. Howeer, you must have heard, I do not like to play dice.”

And with that, GAMBLING FORBIDDEN was posted on a cloud. Ike was furious (of course, only a little). Not only had he lost the game, but he’d also lost the right to gamble.

Supersymmetry: A Leap Beyond the Standard Model

When Icarus first arrived in Heaven, he was directed to an orientation seminar where the authorities explained the local rules. To his surprise, he learned that right-wing religious groups were essentially correct, and family values were indeed a cornerstone of his new environment. The authorities had long ago established and traditional family structure premised on the separation of generations and the stability of marriages; a top would always marry a bottom, a charmer would always align with a strange bird, and an uptown girl would always marry a downtown cool cat. Everyone, including Ike, was satisfied with the arrangement.

But Ike later learned that the social structure in Heaven had not always been so secure. Originally, dangerous energetic infiltrators had threatened the hierarchical foundation of society. In Heaven, however, most problems can be solved. God had sent everyone a personal guardian angel, and the angels and their charges had heroically worked together to avert the threat to the hierarchy and preserve the ordered society that Ike could now enjoy.

Even so, Heaven was not entirely safe. The angels turned out to be free agents, with no contract binding them to a single generation. The fickle angels, who had so bravely rescued the hierarchy, now threatened to destroy Heaven’s family values. Ike was appalled. Despite Heaven’s well-advertised attractions, he was finding it a surprisingly stressful place.

Allegro (Ma Non Troppo) Passage for Strings

Fast forward a millennium.

Icarus Rushmore XLII was trying out his new Alicxvr Device, Model 6.3, that he had recently purchased from the Spacernet. (Icarus III’s interest in speed and gadgets had apparently been passed down through many generations.) The Alicxvr was designed to let the user view things of any size, from the very small to the very large. Ike was pretty sure that most of his friends who had purchased the Alicxvr Device would first try the large settings, of many megaparsecs, so they could see into outer space beyond the known universe. But Ike thought, “I know just as little about what is happening at extremely tiny distances,” and decided to investigate a miniscule scale instead.

However, Ike was an impatient sort. He couldn’t be bothered to read the extensive instruction manual accompanying his device and instead decided to plunge right in. Blithely ignoring the red indicator overlapping the smallest sizes, he adjusted his dial to the 10 -33 cm setting and pressed the button labeled “Go.”

To his horror, he found himself space-sick in a wildly oscilllating, precipitous landscape filled with strings. Space was no longer the smooth, anonymous background he was accustomed to. Instead it was jiggling rapidly in places, heading into pointy sections in others, or wandering off into loops that pinched off or later rejoined the surface. Ike fumbled desperately for the “Stop” button and only just managed to press it in time to return to normal with his senses intact.

After recovering his stability, Ike decided he probably should have read the manual after all. He turned to the “Warning” section and read: “Your new Alicxvr Device Model 6.3 works only for sizes larger than 10 -33 cm. We have not yet incorporated the latest string theory developments, whose predictions physicist and mathematicians connected to the physical world only last year.”

Ike was very disappointed when he realized that only the newer Model 7.0 included the latest results. But Ike then caught up with the most recent string theory developments, souped up his Alicxvr, and never got space-sick again.

Supporting Passages: Brane Development

Ike Rushmore XLII decided to dive down once again to the miniscule Planck scale. Happily, his souped-up Alicxvr worked perfectly and he smoothly arrived in a ten-dimensional universe filled with strings. Eager to explore his new environment, Ike cranked up the hyperdrive attachment he had purchased from Gbay. He watched with fascination as strings collided and tangled in mesmerizing ways.

Although Ike worried that the Alicxvr might break down, he was curious to learn more about this novel world. So he increased the pressure on the hyperdrive lever. At first strings collided together even more frequently. But when he cranked up the lever still more, he entered a new, completely unrecognizable environment. Ike couldn’t even tell whether spacetime was intact. But he kept cranking up the hyperdrive, and, strangely enough, emerged unscathed.*

However, his surroundings were now quite different. Ike was no longer in the ten-dimensional universe he had started off in. He was instead in an eleven-dimensional universe filled with particles and branes. And, odd as it seemed, nothing in this new universe interacted very much. When Ike looked back at his controls, he discovered the hyperdrive lever had mysteriously reset to low. Confused and rather exasperated, Ike cranked up the lever once again, only to find himself back where he started. When Ike checked thee controls, he discovered that the hyperdrive lever was once again back at low.

Ike thought his Alicxvr was probably malfunctioning. But when he checked his up-to-date manual he discovered that his device was operating perfectly--high hyperdrive in ten-dimensional string theory was the same as low hyperdrive in an alternate eleven-dimensional world. And vice versa.

The manual didn’t say what should happen when the hyperdrive wasn’t very low or very high, so Ike entered the spacernet and put himself on the wait-list for an improved version that would solve the problem. But the Alicxvr designers promised only that the release date would be some time within the millennium.

*Actually, according to the duality we learn about in this chapter, even the probes used to study a given version of string theory change character when the coupling becomes strong. So if Ike really was part of the string world, he, too, would change.

Bustling Passages: Braneworlds

Icarus III was becoming increasingly disillusioned with Heaven. He had expected it to be a liberal, forgiving environment. But instead, gambling was prohibited, metal silverware was forbidden, and smoking was no longer allowed. The most restrictive constraint of all was that Heaven was stuck on a Heavenbrane; its residents were forbidden to travel into the fifth dimension.

Everyone on the Heavenbrane knew about the fifth dimension and the existence of other branes. In fact, the righteous Heavenbraners often whispered about the unsavory characters sequestered on a Jailbrane not too far away. However, the Jailbraners couldn’t hear any of the slander that Heavenbraners spread about them, so all remained peaceful in the bulk and on the branes.

Sparsely Populated Passages: Multiverses and Sequestering

Despite its explicit prohibition on the Heavenbrane, Icarus III ultimately returned to gambling. After ignoring repeated reprimands, he was sentenced to confinement on the Jailbrane, a distant brane separated from the Heavenbrane along a fifth dimension. Even after he was sequestered on the Jailbrane, Ike doggedly tried to contact his former buddies. But the distance between their two branes made communication difficult. He was reduced to flagging down passing bulk mail carriers, many of whom ignored his entreaties altogether. The few who did stop always conveyed his messages to the Heavenbrane, but at a frustratingly leisurely pace.

Meanwhile, back on the Heavenbrane, disaster loomed. The guardian angels, who had so bravely rescued the hierarchy, had no respect for the other residents’ family values and were on the verge of creating intergenerational instability. Heaven’s fallen angels considered all pairings acceptable and encouraged everyone to mix with a trophy partner from another generation.

When Ike learned of the threat, he was aghast and he resolved to redeem the situation. Ike realized that by using the slow and deliberate manner with which he was constrained to communicate with the Heavenbrane, he could judiciously feed the massive egos of the unruly angels living there. Thanks to Ike’s helpful intervention, the angels stopped threatening the social order. Although Icarus III still had to serve his sentence, the relieved residents on the Heavenbrane honored him forevermore in urban myth.

Leaky Passages: Fingerprints of Extra Dimensions

Athena had to admit that she missed Ike. Even though she had often found him annoying, she was pretty lonely without him. She was looking forward to spending time with K. Square, an exchange student who was planning to visit. But she was appalled by the closed-mindedness of her neighbors, who were all apprehensive about K. Square’s arrival. It didn’t matter that he spoke the same language and behaved the same way as everyone else. In the current climate, K. Square’s foreign origin alone was enough to make them wary.

When Athena asked her neighbors why they were so anxious, they replied “What if he sends for his heavier relatives? What if they’re not so well behaved as he is and stick to their foreign laws? And when they all arrive together, what will happen then?”

Unfortunately, Athena heightened their suspicions by telling them that K. Square and his relatives couldn’t possibly stay long in any case, since they were all very unstable and the K. Square family could visit only during the commotion of energetic gatherings. Recognizing her unfortunate choice of words, Athena reassuringly added that the foreigners would stick to local laws during their brief and exciting visits. Convinced, her neighbors then joined her in welcoming the K. Square clan.

Voluminous Passages: Large Extra Dimensions

Now that K. Square’s visit was over, Athena spent a lot of time at the local Internet cafe. She was exhilarated by her recent discovery of some mysterious new websites, the most intriguing of which was xxx.socloseandyetsofar.al. Athena suspected that these suggestive sites were a consequence of the recent AOB (America On Brane)/Spacetime Warner multimedia merger, but she had to go home before she had time to investigate.

When Athena arrived at her house she rushed to her computer, where she once again sought the exotic hyperlinks that had been so readily accessible at the Internet cafe. To her frustration, however, CyberNanny prevented her from reaching the forbidden dimensionally enhanced sites.* But by cloaking her identity with her secure alias, Mentor, Athena vanquished her cybercensor and succeeded in finally returning to the mysterious hyperlinks.

Athena secretly hoped that K. Square had sent her a message that was hidden in a webpage. But the sites were not easy to understand, and she managed to pick up only a few potentially meaningful signals. She resolved to study their content some more and hoped the merger--unlike the other merger with a similar name--would last long enough for her to figure them out.

*Physicists post their papers on a website that begins with “xxx”: check out xxx.lanl.gov. Internet filters have occasionally forbidden access to this site as well.

Warped Passage: A Solution to the Hierarchy Problem

Athena awoke with a start. She had just revisited her recurring dream, which had again begun with her entering the dreamworld’s rabbit hole. In this episode, when the Rabbit announced, “Next stop, TwoDLand,” Athena ignored him and waited to hear the choices that remained.

At the three-spatial-dimensional stop, the Rabbit announced “If you lived here, you’d be home by now.” But he refused to open the doors, despite Athena’s pleas that she did indeed live there and very much wanted to return home.

At the next stop, uniformed six-dimensioners tried to enter. But the Rabbit took one look at their inordinately large girth and abruptly closed the doors, saying that they couldn’t possibly fit. They quickly departed once the Rabbit threatened to cut them down to size.*

The elevator continued on its extraordinary journey. When it stopped again, the Rabbit announced, “Warped Geometry--a five-dimensional world.”** He gently pushed Athena towards the door, advising her, “Enter the funhouse mirror--it will take you home.”

Since the Rabbit had mentioned a fifth dimension, Athena found this highly unlikely. But she didn’t have any choice but to enter and hope the tricky Rabbit was right.

*As we saw in Chapter 18, extra dimensions can be uniform, large, and flat. The Rabbit is skeptical about this idea. **This counting includes a dimension of time.

The Warped Annontated “Alice” ¹

Athena stepped out of the dreamworld’s elevator into the warped five-dimensional world and was astonished to see only three spatial dimensions. Was the Rabbit playing games, pretending to take her to a world with four spatial dimensions when in fact there were only three? What a funny way to travel to what looked like an ordinary world!²

With great gallantry, a local received the puzzled new arrival. “Welcome to Branesville,³  our glorious capital. Permit me to show you around.” Athena, who was tired and confused, blurted out, “Branesville doesn’t look all that special. Even the mayor looks completely normal,” although she had to confess, she wasn’t entirely sure as she had never seen a mayor before.

The mayor to whom Athena referred had arrived accompanied by the Cheshire Fat Cat, his Chief Advisor. The Cat’s job was keeping tabs on everything in the city, which was greatly facilitated by his skill at catching people unawares--especially surprising in lgith of the Cat’s enormous bulk. The Cat loved to explain that he owed this skill to his ability to disappear into the bulk, but no one ever understood what he meant.⁴

The Cat materialized next to Athena and asked if she would like to accompany him as he made his rounds. He warned her tha she had better be comfortable ith bulk, to which Athena eagerly responded that her favorite uncle was in fact very, very fat. The Cat looked skeptical, but agreed to take her along. He offered Athena cream cake with butter frosting, in which she happily indulged. And off they went.

Athena wondered what it was she’d eaten. She now appeared to be on a four-dimensional slice of a five-dimensional world, and as far as she could tell, she was no thicker than this thin four-dimensional slice. She exclaimed, “I am like my paper doll! But whereas Dolly has two spatial dimensions in a three-dimensional world, I have three spatial dimensions in a four-dimensional world.

The Cat grinned sagely and explained, “You are now conscious of what I like to call The Bulk. You are still in Branesville, but will be leaving (and growing) momentarily. Branesville is in reality part of a five-dimensional universe, but the fifth dimension is warped so discreetly that Branesville residents are completely unaware of its existence. They have no idea that Branesville is the border of a five-dimensional state. You too mistakenly concluded on your arrival that there are only three spatial dimensions. The new Athena, untethered from the brane, is free to travel out into the fifth dimension. May I suggest for our destination another village called Weakbrane, at the other edge of the five-dimensional universe?”

What a strange five-dimensional journey it turned out to be. After leaving Branesville, Athena found herself moving in another dimension, and growing as she did so.⁵  When the observant Cat noticed the confused look on Athena’s face, he reassuringly explained, “Weakbrane is close by and we will be there very soon.⁶ It’s lovely, but don’t be alarmed when you see that, like the Branesville residents you encountered, Weakbrane residents scoff at the notion of four spatial dimensions. You, who can see out into the bulk, will see a huge shadow on Branesville, ten million billion times bigger than the one with which you started. Almost everything else will seem to you and to them to be entirely normal.”

But upon her arrival in Weakbrane, Athena noticed one other thing. The four-dimensional graviton had quietly accompanied the travelers on their journey and was softly tapping on her shoulder. He touched her so extremely gently that she had barely noticed.⁷

But she couldnt’ ignore the graviton when he launched into a litany of complaints. “Weakbrane would be so exciting, were it not for the superior influence of the entrenched hierarchy. The strong, weak, and electromagnetic armed forces on the Weakbrane permit me only the most feeble strength.” The graviton whined how everywhere else he was a force to be reckoned with, especially in Branesville, which is ruled by an oligarchy with comparably strong forces.⁸  Weakbrane, where gravity was the most suppressed, was the graviton’s least favorite place.⁹ The graviton turned to Athena in hope of enlisting her in his plan to wrest power from the reigning authorities.

Athena thought she had better leave immediately and looked around for the rabbit hole, but couldn’t find it. She did find a white rabbit, whom she expected to be an efficient guide. But the Weakbrane rabbit had an alarmingly sluggish gait, and kept repeating how happy he was that his date would wait.¹⁰ Athena realized that this rabbit wasn’t going anywhere, so she found a more anxious rabbit she could follow, and worked her way back home. Once she understood the physics implications, Athena enjoyed her dream enormously--though it should be noted that she never again ate cream cake.

¹ This title borrows from Martin Gardner’s delightful Annotated Alice, in which he explains the wordplay, math riddles, and references in Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. ² The brane itself is large and flat and has only three spatial dimensions. Only gravity makes contact with the additional dimension. Remember that the five-dimensional space has four spatial dimensions (and one of time), whereas the brane has three spatial dimensions. I’ll still call time the fourth dimension, and I’ll call the additional dimension the fifth. ³ Branesville is the Gravitybrane. ⁴ The Fat Cat, unlike Branesville residents, is not confined to the brane. ⁵ Everything is bigger and lighter near the Weakbrane. Athena’s shadow over Branesville grew as she got closer to the Weakbrane and further away from the Gravitybrane. ⁶ The fifth dimension does not have to be very big in order to solve the hierarchy problem. ⁷ Gravity is feeble on the Weakbrane, where the graviton’s probability function is so small. ⁸ On the Gravitybrane, gravity is no weaker than the other forces. ⁹ The petulant graviton is complaining that on the Weakbrane, gravity is much weaker than the electromagnetic, weak, and strong forces. Gravity would be much stronger (and have a strength closer to that of the other forces) closer to the Gravitybrane. ¹⁰ Things are bigger and time is slower on the Weakbrane.  The rabbit’s laxness is accounted for by rescaling time. 

Profound Passage: An Infinite Extra Dimension

Athena woke up with a start. Her recurring dream had once again taken her down the rabbit hole. This time, however, she asked the rabbit to take her straight back to the warped five-dimensional world. Athena arrived back in Branesville (or so she thought). The Cat soon appeared, and she eagerly turned to him, anticipating her dream cake and a delightful excursion to the Weakbrane. She was sorely disappointed when the Cat told her there was no such thing as Weakbrane in this particular universe.*

Athena didn’t believe the Cat and thought there must be another brane further away. Proud of herself for understanding how, in the warped geometry, further-away branes had weaker gravity, she decided it was probably called the “Meekbrane” and asked the Cat whether she could go there.

But once again she was in for a disappointment. The Cat explained, “There is no such place. You are on the Brane; there are no others.”

“Curiouser and curiouser, thought Athena. This clearly wasn’t exactly the same space as before, since it had only a single brane. But Athena wasn’t ready to give up. “May I see for myself that there is no other brane?” she asked in her sweetest tone.

The Cat strongly advised her against it, warning, “Four-dimensional gravity on the brane is no guarantee of four-dimensional gravity in the bulk. Once I nearly lost everything but my smile there.”

Athena was a cautious girl, despite her many adventures, and she took the Cat’s warning to heart. But she often wondered what the Cat meant. What did lie beyond the Brane, and how would she ever know?

*The geomery of this chapter is warped, as in the previous ones, but now there is only a single brane--the Gravitybrane. Although this means that there is an infinite fifth dimension, this chapter will show why this is perfectly fine with the warped spacetime. 

A Reflective and Expansive Passage

Ike XLII as ready to live large. He wanted to test the Alicxvr’s ultra-high settings of many megaparsecs, with which he could explore places beyond the Galaxy and the known universe and experience distant regions no one had ever seen before.

So he was thrilled when the Alicxvr took him to distances 9, 12, and 13 billion light-years away. But his excitement diminished when he tried to go farther and his signal strength fell precipitously. When he aimed for 15 billion years, his exploration aborted completely: he no longer received any information at all. Instead, he heard, “Message 5B73: The Horizon customer you are trying to reach is beyond your calling area. If you need assistance, please contact your local long-distance operator.”

Ike couldnt’ believe his ears. It was the thirty-first century, yet his Horizon service still provided only limited coverage. When Ike tried to contact the operator, a recording said, “Please stay on the brane. Your call will be answered in the order in which it was received.” Ike suspected that the operator would never respond, and was wise enough not to wait.

Extra Dimensions: Are You In or Are You Out?

Athena’s dreams about OneDLand, branes, and five dimensions were passed down for generations. When Ike XLII heard them, he wanted to check whether there was any truth to her stories. So he took out his Alicxvr and went down to a very small scale--not so small that strings would appear, but sufficiently small to check whether there was a fifth dimension. The Alicxvr answered Ike’s question by sending him off to a five-dimensional world.

But Ike was not completely satisfied. He remembered the bizarre things that had happened earlier on when he had fooled around with the hyperdrive option. So he once again cranked up the hyperdrive lever--and once again, everything changed drastically. Ike couldn’t identify a single familiar point. He could tell only one thing: the fifth dimension had disappeared.

Ike was mystified, so he searched the spacernet to see what it could tell him about “dimensions.” He waded through numerous sites that he recognized from his more embarassing spam, but soon realized that he’d have to refine his search. When he still couldn’t find anything definitive, he conceded that he wouldn’t know the fundamental origin of dimensions any time soon. So he decided to turn his attention to time travel instead.

(In)Conclusion

Icarus Rushmore XLII used his time machine to visit the past and warn Icarus III of the disaster that awaited him should he continue driving his Porsche. Ike III was so astounded by his visitor from the future that he heeded Ike XLII’s warning. He traded in his Porsche for a Fiat and subsequently led a full, contented, and slower-paced life.

Athena was ecstatic to be reunited with her brother, and Dieter was happy to see his friend, though both of them were confused since it seemed as if Ike had never left. Athena and Dieter realized that the time travel that Ike reported to them was pure fiction. Even in dreams, the Cat never looped through time, the Rabbit never reached a stop with extra time dimensions, and the quantum detective refused to contemplate such odd behavior of time. But Athena and Dieter preferred happy endings. So they suspended disbelief and accepted Ike’s fantastic story all the same.

[north-texas-madhatter]

An old country boy... Sitting with my dad in the back yard at the edge of Tandy Hills overlooking downtown Fort Worth you would never know that you were in the presence of such greatness. He looks as old as time, Parkinson’s causes his hands to shake as he points to a family of raccoons just at the forests edge. My mom asks if anyone would like some tea and my dad cracks some corny joke that he has grown famous amongst friends and family for. I know he is hurting but for a man who could dig a ditch in 110 degree heat on his ranch he keeps a stiff upper lip but not one so stiff as not to smile at his own jokes.

He grew up in Springtown, Texas. A small dusty blue-collar town in the Bible Belt. The son of a Southern Baptist piano teacher (a kind but tough to the point frontier type woman) and a soft spoken father who worked for Swift / Armor Company. He was born in a room in a rock house sitting on a creek just outside of town and learned what tough was while working in the cold of winter and the stifling heat of summer. He bailed hay and saved up for college with a broader horizon in mind beyond what his small town life had to offer.

One of the earliest memories I have of my dad was a visit to his work for the Fort Worth Water Department. I stood there watching the bubbles percolate up through the basins of sand as he explained how water purification worked. I wasn’t all that interested, but his white lab coat looked neat and clean. The room was huge with high ceilings and I still remember the smell of chlorine being added to the water to make it safe for consumption by the general public. The building still stands today with beautiful archways and broken glass glittering in the sunlight just off the viaduct bridge off North Main Street.

On our way home we stopped at the Public Market building where I played outside. He soon emerged carrying a huge plastic cylinder that he had purchased from Cadillac Plastics. “What’s that dad?” I would ask. “We are going to do an experiment”, he replied. At that time the water was taken from a lake, sent into settling tanks, run through sand and lime and chlorine added so that you could drink it but my dad had an idea. One day he had been sitting eating a sandwich on a dock when a smelly, oily boat tied up next to him. He thought it was terrible that even with the filtering they did they still could not get all of the oil out of the water. So he took the cylinder and filled it with all the elements of the process already in place and ran a few gallons of water with a teaspoon of oil added. After doing this multiple times he could find some oil still present in the water that we would be drinking. But then he added activated charcoal to the process.

Performing the same test the oil was no longer present. I don’t have all the formulas or specifications of the process, but I can tell you that I do remember the look of joy on my dad’s face as he told me what he had accomplished. Now, this was not a new idea, the ancient Egyptian’s all the way up to Bear Grylls have used this process but for some reason water treatment plants at his time were not deploying this time tested solution for water purification. Afterward the process would be used worldwide.

After working for the Water Department my dad went on to get a job for General Dynamics in Fort Worth. He had two good friends in life. A Chinese fellow name Billy and an odd but very sweet man named Don. Billy, he met in college and is the reason he was able to pass his math classes. Billy would encourage my dad to study hard, often alternating between sitting and standing for hours cramming for tests. My dad would become lifelong friends with Billy and his wife, who later moved to New York City. My dad would attribute much of his early success to Billy and his study skills. Then later he would meet Don, another person who would be an influence. Don was a genius. Possibly one of the deadliest designers at the time.

He was tall, skinny to the point of being gaunt and paranoid for good reason. It was on a camping trip with my dad and Don in Colorado that I would find that he had three guns on him at all times. Scared of bears I asked how we would defend ourselves? That is when he delivered a .357 from a shoulder holster beneath his jacket and two more guns from pockets. It isn’t that he particularly liked guns or even had an interest in them. Not the smaller ones anyway. But when people say, the Russians might be after me, he really meant it. He was a weapons designer. He designed missiles, rockets and one particularly nasty device that would launch over the top of enemy troops and send small projectiles cutting them to ribbons. My father said that Don worked in a “special area” of General Dynamics where a sentry stood at the door and anyone found trying to enter without the proper clearance could be shot on the spot. With a frame like Ichabod Crane he would wave his hands around wildly if my father’s jokes were too long. But despite the many who may have met their demise at the devices created by Don he was a considerate and quiet man who loved dogs and would give the shirt off his back for friends (or a .357 for bear protection)

In a lab sitting across from the windswept runway of Carswell Airforce Base my dad could see planes landing and taking off again. The roar of war planes were constantly performing for the possibility of attack with their audience, a row of ominous behemoths, whose only purpose was to bring death and destruction on an epic scale, B-52 Stratofortress’s (Nuclear Armed). Rows of them ready to take off on a moment’s notice with a one-way ticket to Russia to deliver the ultimate gift, certain doom. To see these planes, take off all at once, meant possibly the end of the world.

It was a necessary evil, a deterrent, a status quo – a sword constantly at the ready.

Now, my dad hands me a picture, it is yellowed on the edges, black and white. He is standing with another man in front of dials and in another loading a large oven looking device. “Here I am putting carbon into an adhesive and compressing it for the skin of military planes” I sat there with surprise! “So this was the early stages of stealth technologies?” – “Possibly” he said with a sly smile.

The picture showed him, young slim and handsome in his black framed glasses surrounded by all kinds of technology we might see in an old Frankenstein movie. He carefully rises from the swing. The family of raccoons now eating from cat bowls scurry back to the forest at the bottom of the yard. He goes inside and shuffles through a mess of files laid out ready to tell a story to whomever might happen by. Emerging from the house he hands me a piece of what looks like charcoal with some material bonded to it. “I could have gotten in a little trouble but I forgot this was in my drawer until years later” Seems, that in many cases absent mindedness goes along with being genius and my dad fit the absentminded scientist to a tee.

It was rough and obviously aged but what I held in my hand was a piece of history. It allowed US warplanes to slip into enemy territory undetected by radar and destroy enemy SAM (Surface to Air Missile) sites. This saved countless numbers of military lives and air wars to be over in a matter of hours rather than months. It was a material that absorbed radar and along with the profile of the plane and placement of engines made it almost invisible to the enemy. That is until it was in sight, followed shortly by a bomb that incinerated the observer and the missile battery targeted by the specter pilot.

My dad’s talents were not spent all on the doom and gloom of warfare. He also worked on the first rocket to the moon. And would be thanked by one of the Astronauts personally for his and the countless number of other scientists who worked on the Saturn V Rocket. The rocket that propelled them away from Earth to the Big Cheese in the sky. A rocket that had its predecessors as test rockets, some that would blow up into ribbons raining back to the ground for my dad and his team to collect and figure out why.

After the Vietnam War contracts for war planes would slowly disappear. Layoffs were on everyone’s mind but my dad seeing the writing on the wall got a teaching certificate and finally after surviving two layoffs was handed his slip. He had saved the company thousands and thousands of dollars, saved an untold number of American’s lives, helped put men on the moon and won two General Dynamic’s Presidents awards. But nothing could save him from the letters of R-I-F (Reduction in Force) the dreaded layoff. And with a wife and young son to support he went home to his family.

That Christmas was dismal. We were worried what to do as my dad looked for a job. We drove through the city to see the Christmas lights to try and cheer ourselves up. That is when we noticed a man sleeping on a park bench in downtown Fort Worth. It was bitter cold and all he had was newspaper, we were not sure if he was even alive. We pulled the car over and my dad went to the trunk where he had an old blanket for emergency should we ever break down on the side of the road. Back then Winters were cold and blue northers could bring a warm t-shirt and shorts kind of day to a blustery snow filled sky in a matter of hours. Handing my mom the blanket they together placed it over the man but he made no movement.

When we got home my mother was concerned and called the police to let them know there was a man who we thought may be deceased. We all kinda sat there on the big burnt orange sofa that was so much the fashion of the late seventies. That is when we decided that instead of buying each other presents for Christmas we would pool our money and buy blankets for the homeless. It was the most memorable Christmas I had until the present ones spent with our own children. We handed the blankets out across downtown. My father soon after landed a job as a middle school teacher at Irma Marsh Middle School.

I never forgot that Christmas and how grateful people were that had far less than us. I would later be hiking through Tandy Hills Park and stumble upon a homeless camp. There was no one to be seen but from the items left behind it appeared that a woman had lived in the dug out hovel. There was a Bible, pictures of two children and a makeshift stove. It was close to the Holidays and a tree nearby reminded me of a Christmas Tree we saw while driving around handing out blankets. I returned a few days later with toilet paper, first aid items, canned food and Christmas Tree ornaments. The location of the Hovel was just down the hill from a stray Mimosa Tree that stood lonely on a hill next to the highway.

As Christmas approached my mom and I piled into her big blue Lincoln and drove downtown to do some shopping. As we approached the hill where the Mimosa tree stood I could see something reflect as it caught the sunlight. It was decorated with Christmas Ornaments! The same ones that I had left at the hovel. I would later learn that the woman who had lived in the woods picked herself up, got a job at the local homeless shelter and returned annually to decorate the tree. After her passing, friends and people from the community began decorating the tree in her honor and it was aptly named The Homeless Christmas Tree. It inspired a beautiful children’s book that my wife and I now read to our children every Christmas season. The tree is now slowly disappearing, and I have always wanted to create a sculpture to put in its place. Maybe something to add to those many retirement projects that I have planned.

It is now getting late and the mosquitoes are biting. I look at my parents and they look back, it is still a warm Summer evening but a cool breeze can be felt blowing through the trees. The cacophony of cicadas chirping out their symphony is almost deafening and it is time to leave one family to return to another. I know they won’t be here forever but my parents have made a lot of lemonade from the lemons handed to them over the years and it has prepared me for the challenging times I have had in life. Times that if just seen in a different perspective can bring great things to be achieved during uncertainty. Because in the end we would never know true greatness without great struggle. Or how a poor country boy can reach for and finally grasp the stars – my dad.

[sabrinamerican]

LG - IT’S JUST ANOTHER REFRIGERATOR... (COPY BASED)

This is a mock campaign for the brand LG for their specific refrigerator model LG GN-C422SGCC. The objective for this campaign is to increase sales. It does this by showing off the features of the fridge through the copy in an informative, friendly and relatable tone to our target audience. Our campaign title “It’s just another refrigerator…” is to show that in essence it’s just another refrigerator but with special features that can benefit the user’s life. 

Print Ad 1

Copy: All refrigerators need doors, but with our refrigerator, you get more than a door. You get a Door Cooling function, that little upgrade that you deserve. When your children constantly raid the fridge, leaving the door open, you don’t have to worry about the other things in your refrigerator. Because the additional air vents by the door cools 35% faster than other refrigerators. It may be just another refrigerator, but this one works harder for you.

Print Ad 2

Copy: All refrigerators stay cold, but with our refrigerator, you’ll understand why that’s so important. You’ll get LG’s own Linear Cooling technology, something you don’t have but will need. When you store food in the fridge, freshness cannot be neglected. Thus, while other fridges fluctuate around 5 degree Celsius, this one only fluctuates within 0.5 degree Celsius. It may be just another refrigerator, but this one works harder for you. 

Print Ad 3

Copy: All refrigerators have compartments, but with our refrigerator, you get full control. You get the power to control the life of the fruits and vegetables in your refrigerator with the Humidity Control, extending it or shortening it, as you wish. The different levels of humidity can cause your fruit and vegetable to either have a longer life, rot or wilt faster. But if you play your cards right, your produce can retain its freshness for an extra two weeks.  It may be just another refrigerator, but this one works harder for you.

Print Ad 4

Copy: All refrigerators come with a price, but with our refrigerator, you get returns too. You get to invest your money into where it really matters, especially when you’re spending less than RM200 on your fridge’s electricity bills every year. With 5 Stars on the Energy Star Rating, it only uses 374kWh every year. So you can save for your children’s education, your retirement or for that dream vacation. It may be just another refrigerator, but this one works harder for you.

notes: images sourced from cookingblueprint.com, pngio.com, pngimg.com and pngtree

CRITS

Adrina Binti Adam

The LG one i really like the copies but I don't understand the pictures. I think the middle visual should show how it "works harder for you" so when someone actually reads the whole copy, they look back to the main picture and they're like OH ok that's why that picture. Otherwise it's still like oh, is it chocolate? how does that work harder for you? This one is good for print ads but maybe not for online ads because the copy is too small and facebook does not allow too much text - only 20% text in the visual. Otherwise I like it, just the middle picture I don't understand.

Adrissa binti Adam

LG - It's just another refrigerator. This campaign is more of a miss than a hit because the headline isn't strong enough for consumers both in terms of messaging and design choice to have consumers to continue to read through the caption afterwards. An advertisement should be able to capture someone's attention upon glancing it on the first go so that they are inclined to want to know more about the product. Either visually or through your messaging. Design-wise - Your choice of colours are good as they are eye-catching if this was a newspaper ad but the design can be pushed further if you played with the typography a bit more to have it more eye-catching for consumers to want to read. Because of how thin your choice of font is, the hierarchy of the overall design is lost. Headline Messaging wise - I kind of understand that you want the audience to think that it's just another kind of refrigerator.... or is it but I think the play of words could be better to show better insinuation that it's MORE than just your regular refrigerator as well because right now the choice of words for your headline is quite passive rather than a balance of promotional/passive. Your context after is done quite nicely in both promotional/passive but because of your headline on how lacklustre it is both in messaging and also visually, it is hard to want to continue reading what's special about the refrigerator even if your context after explains it perfectly to why this is not just another refrigerator that won't push the extra mile for you. 

Lyla D. Murugayah

LG Posters

I understand the copy option to downplay the fridge but with a line like that your visual should be crazier. Now there's a massive disconnect between the line and the visual and the tiny Body Copy at the bottom.2. I'm still not too sure what the visual is. Is it pencil shavings?Chocolate touilles?3. You have a line that says "A refrigerator that works harder for you". That could have been your campaign line and your body highlights a diff feature with a complementary visual. I.E Fridge door wide open and maybe a frozen hand grabbing food in the fridge. (Just an idea)4. The last 5 star rating line didn't fit into the category to me. It was too specific to this product.5. the colours used are nice bright and vibrant. 6. Overall there's a disconnect with concept, copy and visual. 

Wan Rezal Ismail bin Wan Othman

For the LG refrigerators: 

It looks like a traditional, old-fashioned print ad where you have paragraphs of copy. It's quite rare to see in the papers these days so I assume this may be an intentional exercise. If it isn't, then I have some concerns. Even assuming the former, the header: "It's just another x with a y," is not something that would make me stop and look at a poster ad in the KLCC tunnel or at the LRT. And because of that, it doesn't generate interest in reading the long copy that's at the bottom left. 

This is a good exercise though in cracking your head on a good headline, which is important. Don't take it from me. David Ogilvy once was quoted, "On the average, five times as many people read the headline as read the body copy. When you have written your headline, you have spent eighty cents out of your dollar."

You're onto something with the approach. It's a twist on "It's NOT just another x with y," which loans points to originality. However, the execution on the copy needs a little empathy. If a salesman has less than 10 words to warm your heart on a product, is "hey buddy, I'm just another windows cleaner salesman," going to attract your attention or make you shut your door?

You have to fill in the need in your audience. As far as copywriting goes, the most obvious one is:

"It's just another x with y BUT" —> Which I'm sure was scrapped because it's just as unoriginal as "It's NOT just another x with y."

Where my suggestions lend in is to utilise and connect your long copy to your headlines, and maybe play with it a little bit i.e.

"It's just another refrigerator which uses rocket science to fuel cold air."

or

"It's just another refrigerator with a 20 star energy rating."

It's absurd, too good to be true, but it would personally make me look deeper into what you're trying to sell.