#GREAT READ!!! I THINK IT FITS THEM!! same with crime and punishment

[alien-til-i-stage]

Macbeth, Age 14

Macbeth has always been surrounded by chaos, he thinks to himself. Back when he was still with his guardian, Roulette, his ‘siblings’, they called themselves, were always loud. If they weren’t working, they were playing and screaming.

Maybe not screaming, but it was just as annoying to Macbeth. He hated it, being around them. They were always incompetent and noisy.

Maybe this was karma, he thought to himself as he listened to the other kids playing around him.

He looks up from the book he was in the middle of reading, only to see the other children playing. Most of the kids here had taken a liking to Innamorati, unfortunately Innamorati had taken a liking to Macbeth himself, making to when Innamorati wanted to play around Macbeth, so would the ten other kids who wanted to play with Innamorati. Including Toki, who he despised the most.

He heard shouts and laughter ringing out all around him, Toki and Sebastion were playing a game of tag, while Innamorati was currently reading to Nene and Yumi about some other book. Innamorati had tried to convince Macbeth to join in, however he would rather die than have to spend any amount of time with anyone in general.

Innamorati was just like Juliet. Macbeth hated this the most about him. He hated how Innamorati mimicked his sister, the one he had left behind in Roulette’s care and essentially abandoned. It wasn’t like that, he thinks to himself. But a part of him isn’t convinced by that.

He turns his attention back to the book in his hands, ignoring the ruckus around him. Ignoring how similar it is to the noise he had heard with his ‘siblings’.

“I am a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and we’re both unhappy, and we both suffer.”

Hm? His eyes passed over the text, not taking in what was said. He tried again.

“He is a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and you are both unhappy, and you both suffer.”

Wait, that’s not what it said?

“Innamorati is a fool with a heart but no brains, and I, Macbeth is a fool with brains but no heart; and we’re both unhappy, and we both suffer.”

Ok… There’s no way it includes Macbeth in this story. He thinks to himself. He blinks a couple times, his vision getting gradually more blurry with each blink.

He looks up and sees his siblings playing around him.

He blinks again and realizes it’s just the other kids. His siblings were no longer here.

Whatever, neither them nor these kids matter, he tells himself.

He can feel tears falling and hitting the paper on his book, he hadn’t even realized he was crying.

He heard Innamorari in the distance, shouting to Macbeth after noticing he was crying, but Macbeth didn’t answer.

Maybe he really did miss his siblings.

[hippodamoi]

A friend said she read Crime & Punishment but wasn't impressed by it. All she recalled was an entitled man killing an old woman and pity party for the murderer's poor tortured soul. This was my response to her, I thought others might enjoy it too.

"It is a staunch criticism, not a pity party. There was this idea of a cosmopolitan man, a Nietzschean übermensch was someone capable of transcending social and moral codes. Prime example being Napoleon, a man without parallel. Them being 'great' would make them invincible to guilt because all actions they took would be something considered beneficial to society - Raskolnikov thought he was one of these men, and by devolving throughout the narrative he realizes he is not one of these "great" men, he is just like any other citizen and there is no excuse for thinking morals and laws don't apply to you. It's a direct message to the students and academic men of the time. The old woman is a horrible loanshark and abuses the woman she lives with, her niece, and he tries to convince himself that killing her would be excusable since he considers her a cancer on society. But he also ends up killing the niece to cover up his crime as she returns and witnesses it - removing even that sliver of argument or defense for his actions. He hoped to 'serve humanity' by eradicating the mean-spirited moneylender, but also had the utilitarian idea that he would steal her money and use said money to further his education, so that he could become a great man and have positive influence and help more people. The whole murder has the spirit of a psychological experiment which fits the theme and craft of the novel. Raskolnikov has delusions of godhood and this is after Dostovyevsky has been in a gulag for 10+ years, so he knows that the young think themselves immortal and anointed, a common misconception of the youth in western education at the time and even to this day,

After killing her he realizes just how much he is not beyond good and evil. Something he previously thought was petty, something for plebians.

It has three dimensions, his biography, his christian faith (there's several references to the bible and lazarus who he symbolizes) and criticism/exploration of philosophical ideas. Its a direct response to utopian socialism and rational nihilism. He even foresaw many of the horrors of the russian revolution.

The epilogue is not just redemption, but sanctification. Raskolnikov has become a saint. Russian religion at the time was very orthodox and process-oriented, so we follow the steps of his redemption in the narrative. He confessed his sin out of weakness instead of strength, his transformation from the snivelling arrogant youth to a saint is not verbal, its a lived out experience and process. even the title in russian refers to the carrying of a cross, the very first scene is him crossing a bridge from the dirty streets of Skt. Petersburg to fresh clean air of the pastoral. Both foreshadowing and commentary on the squalor most of the citizens live in. as well as the moral degradation of the cosmopolitan cities. Skt. Petersburg was usually described as extravagant and beautiful in literature, while he describes it as smelly, dirty and sort of a wasteland - a hell, you might say.

There's also this dominating motif of christian authenticity that is typical of russian lit. A christian heart will react in a christian way - meaning it will recognize good and evil in a way that a rationally educated mind does not. (especially in reference to that horrible scene with the horse)

Raskolnikov is described as a misanthrope, and alienated from both religion and other people, leading him to commit same sin as Cain, not killing his brother per se, but a fellow human being. that very act transforms him. something in him dies with the moneylender - his common humanity.

out of that death comes a different life, drawing parallel to Lazarus as I mentioned before. It's like a whole hermeneutic event, his return to common humanity starts with Sonia telling him the very story of Lazarus. anyway, enough of me writing novels about novels! It's so convoluted and deep and I genuinely love it. Its a prime example of literature being an educating, moralizing element capable of engendering empathy and inspiring positive social progress."

[hrizantemy]

Feyre said that Lucien gave her “almost the same speech” that Ianthe did about “tamlin is a high lord. You will be his wife. There are traditions and expectations you must uphold. We must uphold” and feyre also tells him “you sound a great deal like her/Ianthe” when he tells her she shouldn’t ask for “free rein” to walk 3 miles outside and test her powers because what tamlin orders they obey and feyre falling in line is for the “stability” and appearance of the court.

These sentiments are the same ones Ianthe was telling feyre. She doesn’t even know who Ianthe is then and she’s only commenting that Lucian and Ianthe are telling her the same thing.

like come on, why are you so delusionaly hateful about these books, overanalyzing nesta to explain away her awful behavior and find fault everywhere in the ic by twisting every little things and then deny what’s blatant?

This is straightforward. Both Ianthe and lucian on page tell feyre when she expresses that she feels stifled by the restrictions and control tamlin is putting on her that she should go along with it and that it sends a message that will help the court heal after amarantha. It’s not complicated, Ianthe and Lucien don’t have to be the same people to be telling feyre the same thing- they both had an incentive to get feyre to suck ip her pain and fall in line with tamlin’s rules to keep the “peace” and “stability” as they say.

Like can you read or critically think? Or are you just so hateful about these characters that you make up issues?

But I dont know what I expected from a rape apologist like you

It seems my post about what Feyre said to Lucien struck a nerve for you. First and foremost, I have never excused rape, so I’m not sure where you’re getting that from.

Second, every analysis I’ve made regarding Nesta doesn’t excuse her actions. It debunks false claims like her enabling Elain, being ableist, or that she should have been parentified. My criticisms of the characters surrounding her stem from the belief that the punishments don’t fit the crimes in many cases. It’s one thing to hold people accountable, but it’s another to use trauma or struggles as ammunition against them.

Third, people are entitled to their own opinions on matters like this. Just because Feyre didn’t fully grasp what was going on with Lucien at the time doesn’t mean her words didn’t affect him. Ianthe had been harassing him, so imagine how he might have felt hearing those comparisons. Look at it like the situation where Amren compared Feyre to Tamlin when she wanted to protect her sisters. Feyre did what she thought was right at the time, just as Lucien did. That doesn’t make his actions right, but it also doesn’t excuse the impact her words may have had.

Fourth, I haven’t denied anything, so I’m unsure what you’re referring to there. If you believe I’ve misunderstood something, feel free to point it out, but baseless accusations don’t further the discussion.

Fifth, I’m not being delusional or hateful. I dislike certain characters and the author, and I’m entitled to those opinions. Plenty of people read books, enjoy analyzing characters and themes, and form critical opinions. That’s part of engaging with literature.

And finally, if you don’t like what I have to say, you can always block me. It’s simple. Engaging with someone’s posts doesn’t mean you have to agree, but personal attacks and wild accusations just diminish any real dialogue.

[poorshadowspaintedqueens]

Do you think Robert Baratheon was actually haunted by the memory of Elia’s children in the Lannister red cloaks, in the same way Ned Stark and Thoros of Myr were?

Not the same way. But also Robert is the sort of man who will do absolutely anything (e.g. fighting, drinking, eating, sex, hunting, etc) to avoid dwelling on things he doesn’t want to think about. So is he haunted by the crimes committed in his name? Maybe. But he’s not likely to think about it too much, and to avoid the subject if someone dares to bring it up. Given the people who surround him, I doubt anyone would try. Maybe Jon Arryn, but only if it’s necessary.

We know that Jon Arryn was the one who delivered the bones of Lewyn Martell to Prince Doran after the war. We are not told what happened to the bones of Elia and her children. One assumes they were also returned to Dorne, unless someone saw fit to give them a Targaryen fire burial, which seems highly unlikely under the circumstances. But what seems clear is that Robert was not in any way involved in this process.

Ned is partly haunted, I think, by how close he came to saving those children. He may even have been within the walls of the Red Keep, confronting Jaime, while Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch were doing their bloody work in Maegor’s Holdfast. That, coupled with how close he came to saving Lyanna, only to lose her too, means those children will forever be associated with everything Ned has lost and all the people he could not save.

It’s not like that for Robert. Robert “lost” Lyanna, but he wasn’t the one who found her bleeding out and held her as she died. He gained a great deal by the deaths of Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon, but he didn’t even give the order for it, so it was in his interests to distance himself as much as possible. Now, choosing to reward Tywin by making his daughter queen is not a great way of distancing himself, and it’s mentioned more than once in the books that Robert may have been relieved that Tywin did the killing so he didn’t have to. When he refers to the dead children as “dragonspawn” to Ned, I read that as Robert trying to deny the guilt he does feel, and trying to convince himself that he did the right thing by not punishing Tywin. (Ned, we know, wanted Tywin executed for murder and cruelty.)

Thoros is a different case altogether. He has basically zero power is this entire situation; he was just a soldier and a priest witnessing a war and finding only horror in the atrocities, rather than triumph. It’s part of his personal journey, but its impact on the larger narrative isn’t felt until much, much later.

[aphroditesmoon]

♤- ALL THINGS END

CROWLEY X AZIRAPHALE

SUMMARY; a series of unsent letters from a demon, to an angel.

warnings: angst, set after events of S2.

A/N: this is my first aziracrow fic, also i haven't gotten an ao3 acc yet so tumblr it is

♡ "IF SOMEONE ASKED ME AT THE END, I'D TELL THEM, 'PUT ME BACK IN IT' " ♡

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○.-

DAY 1

Dear Diary,

Dear Aziraphale,

It’s been a whole 24 hours without you. I see that Muriel Has been trusted with the bookshop. If you want my opinion, that’s just jolly fucking better. After all, it’ll need an owner who actually cares for it more than you had. ‘Nothing lasts forever?

Well I’ll prove you wrong today, tomorrow and forever. When you’ve realized how wrong you were, and how right I was, I assure you that you’ll come back to a bookshop that’s exactly the same as you left it. I’ll make sure of it, alongside Muriel of course. And we will revel with the deepest joy in ourselves, watching you do the apology dance. You and I can both agree on the fact that your punishment fits the crime. I will not wait for you. Because I know you’ll be back soon enough when you realize that I was, again, right.

DAY 7

Dear Aziraphale,

How’s life as supreme archangel? I bet you’re already on your last straw with lot of them by now. If you’re waiting for me to save you again, you can stop. You have made your bed when you thought you could change Heaven it’s natural course.

You’re probably remembering now, how not even I, not even Gabriel, could change that place. What makes you think you can? With what power? You and your tiny miracles, your insufferable terrible magic tricks that never work, you and your sweet tooth craving a forbidden crepe and some coffee. Some rules like that just can’t be changed, eh? Let alone the big ones, like going against God’s great ineffable plan. The books and I look forward to your groveling.

DAY 30

Dear Aziraphale,

Do you remember Maggie and Nina? You must surely. I’m sure your new job have not been giving you such a power rush that you’d forget those two inevitable lovers. Speaking of inevitable, I thought I’d let you know that they’ve started going out together. Not a surprise, I know. Just some sheltering together from rain, and Vavoom! Works every time. Except with us it probably didn’t. No, the rainstorm had been too strong, hasn’t it? Strong enough to have taken you away from me. Well, when you finally wake up and realize you have free will, you’ll know where to find me. Take your time though, I reckoned the books prefer me over you anyways.

DAY 90

Angel,

I thought I’d inform you that your three month trial has officially ended. The punishment has been upgraded to 2 apology dances. That’s right, you’ll have to do it twice. I also thought I’d let you know how much I hate you. I hate how stupid you are. How incredibly naïve can one be to be sold to a lie, already printed in history. I found your ridiculous magician hat yesterday, yes I ransacked your room. I smashed your special painting by Van Gogh, the ones with the yellow flowers. It can’t have been that important if you could just easily leave it behind.

I also burned your bedsheets. It’s ugly, just something you’d like. Why did you ever need a bed anyways, you read there more than you sleep. And yet I could still smell you all over it. Speaking of smell, I also smashed all of your perfumes together. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea, too much whiskey maybe. Because now I can smell you even stronger. Every second I would stop in my tracks, mistaking the scent for you coming back to me. It’s stupid, just like you.

DAY 320

Angel,

I see that Muriel has been promoted. Good for her, best one of the lot, I see a lot of you in her. Or rather, the old you. Maggie and Nina are moving away. Apparently they’ve been saving money to move away, get a nice condo, open up music store with a café installed inside, a genius idea if you ask me. Good for them. I found your diary. Don’t know how I missed it when I first moved in. You write your feelings conspicuously, you write the same way you talk. Sometimes it feels like you were telling me a story as I read it. I read them with your voice at first, But as I reach the rest 500 pages left, I’ve realized that I had grown to forget how you sound.

The people from the streets must think I’m insane, by the way I’m going around places, mocking your voice as I speak, so I’d never lose it.

DAY 600

My angel,

I lied when I said in my much earlier letter, that I hated you. I could never hate you. Not when you’ve done nothing wrong. You are good, and you were chosen to do more good. I might never understand any of it, or agree with Heaven’s choices and definitions of good. But that’s because I’m a demon, surely. I could never understand you, or love you as you should be loved, no matter how much I wanted to. You have always been, the light by the end of my door, that I can’t seem to reach no matter how hard I’m running. I should not be allowed to say this, but I love you. Despite the fact that I’m barely worthy to. I know, I could try with all my might to know you, know your voice, your smell, to recognize the sound of your footsteps and to feel you even before you make yourself known. I am still not worthy. And yet, all the rules be damned, I love you. I love your silly magic tricks. I didn’t burn your hat. I could never, after all, how would I tell you of it if you ever came back.

DAY 700

My angel,

Funny how life works doesn’t it, I’ll give your boss that. We’ve known each other for more than 6000 years, and here I am, less than two years, out of my mind without my best friend. You’re no longer obliged to come back to me. I free you from my obsession. I will always be yours. I’ve been living as just that, now I’ll die the same way.

I was so sure when I fell, that it can’t get any worse than that. But as you fall further from me, I realized I’ve jinxed myself then. Because this, this is worse than anything. But perhaps it’s all part of God’s ineffable plan. Perhaps loving you is my punishment for asking her questions. To love but not to have. That is my vow to you. That I’ll love you anyway. Despite what I’ve said. Despite what you’ve said.

Despite everything.

DAY 3000

Aziraphale,

If you do one day decide to stop by here one day, You’ll find your bookshop no longer existing. And you’ll find me no longer existing either. If I could pray for one thing, as a fallen angel, owned no debt from God. I’d ask to see you one last time, even as glimpse of scattered  dreams, I’ll take it. One last time before I destroy myself for good

[artisticmenace]

talking abt my characterrss!! read if you want im just letting it out. might be interesting yknow. if anyone really cares too much. spoilers for the comic im going to make if anyone was really wsnting to read that. probably not but just in case yk

Starting off with my two boys from Those Days(and other characters)

Scott: so he was supposed to look like this one guy i kept seeing on pinterest and also jareth the goblin king a little bit but because of the time its set in(and also the fact that his dad is initially thought to be a homophobe) he cant be as flashy. he ended up looking more like inigo montoya.... but i kept his purple crystal earing as a token of his gay witchy king design history. he himself is meant to act a little homophobic despite coming out as a bisexual late into the plot so his design fits. he does wear makeup though. smudgy eye makup done in dark eyeshadow in fact. after the gay subplot and main plot come to a collision he'll get witchier. post high-school i think he and rodney will end up getting fashionable. hes also meant to be a touch self centered. he idolizes his dad to the point he feels he cant be "soft" at all. his dad doesnt care though. he keeps this tough guy routine to the point of not being emotionally mature enough to comfort people that well. scotts fighting habits will kick him in the ass. design wise i need to change his style of clothing a little bit because i think i want this to take place in the 80s.

Rodney: rodney is based on this one guy i had a dream about, and probably all the fanart I've seen of martin from tma. he was originally going to have the same haircut as scott and be thinner, but neither of those design choices were fun, and i wanted to make a short chubby nervous guy instead. his internalized homophobic crime is "my mom is a dyke but because people think that will make me gay i cant possibly be gay because i want to be not like my mom because her gfs are all terrible and" well he might trauma dump a little after that. rodney never met his dad but because of that he had to endure lots of terrible 'stepmoms'(his mom never married them) and they would steal from her and he would get blamed and boom bam child abuse. a lot of people say he turned out better than expected, and he really hates thinking of what he could've done. despite being a great baseball player, he is relentlessly bullied for having a lesbian mom. no one knows exactly who found this out or how. he is equally as much muscle as he is fat, and he's quite strong. unfortunately, he'd rather take the hit than fight back for fear of punishment, not so much from the school but from his mom. scott eventually finds out about Rodney's constant mistreatment, and that's when he decides to let rodney stay with him a while(around their second year of knowing each other). Mr. Haverford just accepts that rodney lives there now as hes super respectful and doesnt say much.

Lucy Campbell: her design should really tell the reader where they are because shes 80s as hell. shes scotts ex. shes kind of a dumb person in general but she knows how to influence people. i dont know how or if ill ever introduce her but she does tattoos and piercings at her house which is by a convenience store named "Myrtle's". Scott goes there sometimes. he doesnt like her anymore and she doesnt like men anymore so they just sit around and smoke. sometimes they drink and talk about life.

Susie Marshall: shes a nice person. she tutors lots of kids including Scott. scott and rodney stop going to her house after scotts dad says susies dad is a really good aim and might shoot them even if they're just there to talk about school. shes pressured into a very isolated and tidy lifestyle by her parents and doesnt really enjoy living.

[katarzyna-]

This? This ruined me. Because you made me realise how true this statement is.

I wanna preface this by saying that under I'm in no circumstances a JKR supporter (for obvious reasons) and I'm also NOT trying to imply that Jenkins is homophobic and transphobic (so please don't send me death threats, read this or don't, block me on sight, idc, even argue with me, but please be respectful). I just know/remember a lot from my younger days.

I'm not saying that these characters have the same arc/story, but there is a shocking amount of resemblence.

Both Lupin and Izzy are shown as outcasts of their already alienated society.

You could argue that pirates and wizards are completely different, but let's think about this. While I know that JKR didn't plan on it, she created a close-knit community with their own traditions, language and wardrobe that lived in secret, hiding from the rest of "normal" society. This image just screams queer. Her portrayal of werewolves was harmful and god-awful, with Lupin being "one of the good ones" trying to conform to social norms and living his whole life in hiding (we will come back to this later on).

While Izzy is respected by others (especially in s2, with Steak Knife, Bill and Ricky, who seems like a fanboy at first, and Jackie since season one, and even the Navy), he does not fit on the s1 Revenge. He is not used to living so openly, so unapologetically as the rest of the crew. He is not used to showing his emotions. Season 2 gives him the opportunity to try that way of life for like five minutes, before he dies. And that's the hurtful part, he only just found his new family, he got accepted into it for a moment, before everything is forcibly taken from him. In these five minutes, he got protective of them, fought for them and took the blame upon himself multiple times, just to save them. And what is more, they defend him back. They risk their lives covering up the fact that he lives, hiding him from a psychotic-ex their Captain. They save his life by performing surgery even when he begs them to just end it all. They bond while making him a prothestic leg, a gift that touches Izzy so deeply, that he stops his self-destructive path and embraces his place in the crew (look at ep5 and 6, he is thriving, he jokes around, trains Stede, offers advice and the drag scene? Truly iconic. He finally allows himself a moment of softness after a lifetime of hardship).

2. Disability/ overall health

While Lupin being physically disabled is mostly fanon, his health is in shambles even in canon. The transformations take a lot of his organism, he is in his 30s during the series, but is described as looking much older, always on the brink of exhaustion. Fans found him relatable, made him a symbol, which JKR kills off without much thought.

While I myself am not disabled, I can recognise that the treatment of Izzy is hurtful. His prothestic is a part of him and using it as a grave marker is just so disrespectful and many fans already brought up this topic. Killing off the visably disbled character feels like a big "fuck you" to those who recognised a part of themselves in Izzy and took joy in his acceptance journey. Before you come to me about him not being the only disabled character, he is the only one with an arc connected to the fact. Ed convieniently forgets about his knee this season. It's like it never bothered him at all. The brace is long forgotten, he runs freely. So, great writing and consistency guys! Good job!

And to the "fans" who say he "deserved it": I'm begging you to just use your brain and think for five seconds. First of all, disability is not a punishment, it cannot be someone's fault. Please rethink your words. And in this particular instance, do you think taking his toes and eventually the leg were appropriate/proportional of his crime of... being mean to Ed in season one? Because "Ed is so babygirl, he cannot do anything wrong" he literally commited a war crime. Check your morals.

3. "Bury your gays" and fan reception

"But OP, this isn't bury you gays, everyone is queer in OFMD!" okay yes, but does anybody else have such a typically queer arc? The whole season is centered about acceptance and belonging. Izzy finds himself experimenting and finally enjoying life. He rids himself of toxic masculinity. He does drag for god's sake. He mixes in with the crew, sings a beautiful love song abot loving a man! (please read the translation from French, not only the English lyrics, bc you loose a whole layer of meaning). He admits his feelings to Ed! (tbh I didn't expect that, especially such early on in the season, but we all know what came later). He even admits the fact to Stede, so it's not like he's hiding the fact anymore.

He is the elder queer, who fought tooth and nail to be where he was. He was disabled. His love was unrequited and he still stayed with Ed for years. He finally escaped an abusive relationship. He was a symbol to many of us. And they took him away, when "he was no longer needed". They made his death a plot device and then didn't even mourn him. His death didn't serve anything except shock value. It didn't motivate the characters to revenge, it didn't help Ed with abandoning the Blackbeard persona, because he has already done that in the previous episode (with Izzy's help/blessing, no less).

And the whole deathbed confession was an apology to his abuser? Wow, what a way to victim blame, Great message, really. Nobody tries to save him, despite the fact that the crew has already done it this season. What are we supposed to think, that once was enough? That it was too much of a burden? Fuck this. Fuck making suicidal characters die. Great message to the fans. You can be happy only when you're young and healthy and a socially acceptable version of queer. Fuck it.

And the fact that they tried to last-minute change his relationship with Ed to a mentorship? Why? There is almost no textual evidence to prove it, at this point it looks like Jenkins realizing he fucked up and trying to backpedal after the backlash.

Lupin on the other hand could very much be a poster child for the bury your gays trope. After JKR found out that people shipped him with Sirius, she kills both of them off. While Sirius's death serves some kind of a narrative purpose, making Harry change, Lupin's is just... there. He dies for the shock value, leaving behind a child which he only has to emphasize that he is straight, duh. The fact that his (also dead) wife was also thought to be queer by fans must be a coincidence, right?

I know it's all a bit chaotic, but I really expected more from a show that promised to be kind and a safe space. I'm tired of having to think up my own endings, of pretending that queer charcters are treated fairly. I really believed them and I'm not making this mistake again.

I'm used to queer-baiting in shows, I'm used to my faves dying, I just never expected it here. I thought we were better than this in 2023, but I got proven wrong.

An open letter to David Jenkins

Some fans believe that we should not vent our anger and frustration to show creators. I don’t believe that. The thing about being a professional is that receiving criticism is part of your job—especially if you have done a terrible job.

OFMD went from groundbreaking to disappointing overnight.

There was a momentum to create a queer media that is smart, fun, sexy, and most importantly, respectful. In the way they are writing these queer characters. Especially older and disabled queer characters, a reflection of a generation of marginalised communities that have gone through so much. To give audience a glimpse of hope in their escapism.

But sir, you choose to Remus Lupin him instead.

This is not just about killing off a character. Hell, I might be willing to accept it. After all, I have read and even written fics with MCD in it—involving my favourite character.

But I want you to know that this is a special case. It is not just another popular character being killed off to drive plots.

I have issue with how you kill off a queer character that represents many marginalised communities in his arc.

Izzy is an abuse survivor who becomes disabled as a result of it. Izzy is a queer elder. Izzy is suicidal but manages to overcome it with the healing power of love and community.

Having him killed off just like that is a huge slap for fans who have gone through what he has gone through. Turns out, even in fiction, in our escapism, there is no joy. Only despair.

Also. Father figure? Where does that come from? Ed has never been shown to have any level of respect for Izzy. So let me ask you again. Where does “father figure” come from?

You have an opportunity to make a difference with OFMD; to be remembered in history for the right reasons. Yet somehow you choose not too. You choose to turn this into cheap, sensationalist entertainment where death and torture are thrown around for shock value.

It is like you have no idea how much power you have by being a professional storyteller.

Let me break it down to you. For you as a writer, perhaps killing off Izzy is nothing but an artistic choice. A plot point to figure out. But for audiences in marginalised groups, stories are mirrors. They see themselves in stories. That is how stories give them hope. This is why OFMD has never been “just a pirate story”. Perhaps this is hard to understand if you have never been part of an underrepresented community in the mainstream media, but this is how many are feeling about your work now. Your legacy.

OFMD has truly become an overnight failure. I don’t know how this happened. I would like to blame budget cuts, but your Vanity Fair interview makes me realise this is all deliberate choice.

So, what is next for us Canyonites?

If anything, this convinced me that queer and disabled people should write. And continue to write.

We can no longer trust major media to speak for us. We definitely can never trust David Jenkins again. Any form of progressiveness that he showed earlier was just coincidence, apparently. Even worse, it was fake.

As my friend Sam beautifully puts it, Izzy belongs to us now. We reclaim that character and give him all the happy endings he deserves in our fic, our art. We transform the works. We write about queer, disabled, suicidal characters the way the deserve to be written. If being a published writer is the path you choose, make sure you make wiser decisions than David Jenkins.

Thank you, sir. It was good while it lasts.

But this is a terrible job that you’re doing.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

You Can Hear It In The Silence

Summary: Sneaking around can be fun, but sometimes the silence is just too quiet, or falling in love with your best friend. 

Pairing: Spencer x Fem Reader (SMUT) MINORS DNI 

Word Count: 3.7K 

Warnings: Smut Minors DNI (It’s smut, nothing kinky but very romantic and soft) oral (both receiving), kissing, lovebites and tame scratching, penetrative sex, unprotected sex in a committed relationship(like last time, let me know if I missed anything) 

Author’s Note: Minors please DNI, I have a lot of other fluff pieces that are totally acceptable for you guys to read. I hope that this isn’t too schmaltzy because that just gives me agita. This is based off You are In Love by Taylor Swift and maybe a little bit of Dress

You Can Hear It In The Silence 

It’s a blurry line, going from best friends to dating. There’s nothing like playing that dangerous game of stolen glances and surreptitious touches in a dark room. Eyes ranking over figures decked out in soft cardigans and tweed blazers or black dress pants and silk blouses, desperately wanting to see more, touch more, taste more. The senses could only sated for so long before the desire for more bubbles to the surface. 

Across the table, Spencer watches as Y/N sips the red wine JJ brought over. It’s hard to not watch her; to not completely hone in on the way her eyes are light with laughter, or the way her hair cascades down her shoulder, blending into the dark green color of her dress. Spencer kills himself trying to not look at her because he knows if he does, he’s done. Or rather, he knows that if he lets himself love her openly, he’ll only end up hurting themselves. So, he sits there, in Derek’s backyard trying to pretend that he’s not staring at Y/N. The only thought that comforts him is holding on to the idea that Y/N is doing the same thing. He supposes that’s what happens to relationships that blossom from the shadows of secrecy. In their attempts to not hurt others, they end up almost destroying themselves. 

He decides to pretend to find Garica’s cuckoo clock fascinating. He stares at the wacky colored birds and swinging arms entirely too long. In the corner of his eye Spencer watches the next couple of moments unfold. JJ and Garcia drunkenly bounce over to Y/N; they put their arms around her in a fit of giggles and smiles. Garcia’s arm extends around JJ’s neck and she lets out a loud announcement for a “Selfie” or rather what Spencer can only assume is a photograph of the three of them. The phone, even though Spencer does have some disdain for the invention, sure does serve its purpose. In all the light rays bouncing around and the blinding flash, pure magic happens. Spencer is aware that it makes him sound like a total sap, but he’s jealous of the phone. He’s jealous that his eidetic memory may only allow him to remember the Y/N’s notes in the margins of her case file or the annual “Happy Birthday, Genius” on a Hallmark card once a year. What he would give to just be able to capture her in the light of company, not hanging on to fleeting memories in the shadows.

Lost in his thoughts, Spencer does not notice an unusually drunk Unit Chief wandering over to the empty chair next to him. All of his awkwardness, Spencer is not sure if he should acknowledge his drunken boss or stop staring at his secret girlfriend. It’s at time like these that Spencer resorts to reciting Crime and Punishment or 100 Years of Solitude either seem ironically appropriate. 

“Reid,” Hotch says, leans in close, far too close for the usual uptight and business-like Aaron Hotchner that Spencer has grown to know. 

“Hotch?” Spencer answers, his voice laced with trepidation and anxiety. 

“You gotta stop staring at Y/L/N. You’re gonna rat on yourselves if you don’t stop staring at her like that,” Hotch tells him, his breath might smell like whiskey, but his eyes tell Spencer that he’s a lot more sober than he seems. 

“Like what?” Spencer counters, choosing to play dumb at best as he could, or at least just slightly clueless. 

“That doesn’t work on me, Reid. You should stop looking at her like you love her,” 

Spencer looks at his boss, at Y/N, and back at his drink. Was he seriously that transparent? 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hotch. Y/N and I are-” 

“Spence! Spencer!,” Y/N shouts as she practically runs over to where Spencer sits with Hotch, watching the rest of the team. 

It’s like Hotch isn’t even there anymore, it’s like no one is even there. God, it might sound sappy, but Spencer doesn’t care anymore. It’s going to kill him playing it like he doesn’t care about Y/N, especially considering he’s doing a mediocre job. 

“I have a really bad headache, Spence. And I need you to take me home,” Y/N asks him, and Spencer notices an eager glint in her eyes that tells him all he needs to know. 

“Keep this between us please, Hotch? Just until we figure it out,” Spencer almost pleads to Hotch who answers with a dismissive wave. He leaves them there to figure out their plans to sneak out of Garcia’s undetected. 

“Hotch knows? Of course you know,” Y/N says with a roll of her eyes and a quick wink at Spencer, whose growing embarrassment from the situation is only second to his excitement at the night to come. 

“Spence, go say goodbye for me? I’m going to head to your car. You really gotta sell that I’m feeling sick,” Y/N tells him, standing a little too close and dipping her hand a little too low on Spencer’s waist for this to be a friendly gesture to any of their friends that might pass by. She takes a peak around the room and reaches her hand into Spencer’s pocket. He gives her a startled glance, but they both know that the thrill of sneaking around like this is kind of worth it. 

As Y/N ducks out of the room, Spencer makes his way to where Emily, JJ, Garcia, and Derek sit at the kitchen table taking shots of a clear liquid Spencer thinks is tequila. Great, Spencer thinks. Him and his secret girlfriend, who as far as the team knows is his best friend, have to sneak out of Garica’s place in front of a pile of loud drunks. Spencer feels his phone buzz, altering him that there is a very impatient Y/N waiting in the car for him  

“Uh, Garcia, Y/N’s got a really bad headache. I think it’s an onset of one of her migraines that she gets from red wine,” Spencer lies through his teeth, completely terrified from the way Emily glares at him. It’s like she can see right through him.

“So you’re taking her home?” Derek asks, speeding along the process and for that Spencer considers himself forever grateful. 

“Yeah, you know we are neighbors after all,” Spencer reasons. 

The awkward silence in the kitchen is only interrupted by JJ’s quiet humming to the song that plays in the background. Derek and Emily share a knowing glance as Penelope starts pouring the next round of shots. 

“I’ll see you guys on Monday, Y/N is waiting for me in the car,” Spencer says without a further glance to his very perceptive colleagues. 

“You go take care of Y/N, Pretty Boy!” Derek yells as Spencer walks out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him, perhaps a little too eagerly. 

When Spencer gets to his car, he stops himself before opening the door. In the light from the lamppost, Spencer can see his reflection in the back window of his car. He runs a hand through his hair and attempts to fix the crookedness of his tie. Smiling to himself, Spencer gets into the driver’s seat of his car and is greeted by Y/N, who even in the dark makes him feel alive. 

“Hey,” he offers nervously. Even though they’ve been together loads of times, there is a tingle of intimidation that settles in his heart everytime she looks at him. 

Never the one to shy down from a confrontation, Y/N leans in and places her hand gracefully on Spencer’s neck and her face looms close to his ear. Her voice is low and seductive and Spencer swears he can feel himself melt at the feeling of her being this close and him able to touch her. He brings his hands up to rest, one on her upper thigh, placed bravely under the slip of her silk dress, and the other draws circles around her elbow.. 

“Spencer, I need you to drive us home,” Y/N tells him a voice that Spencer knows he could never deny. 

He doesn’t answer her, because the silence speaks for itself. They can hear all they need to know in the silence. The quiet way that their bodies seem to just gravitate to each other. Spencer’s hand cups Y/N’s thigh and her fingers graze the back of Spencer’s neck. It’s those quiet touches that tell the other what they are too afraid to say aloud. 

The quietness settles between them even as they pull into the parking spot. It’s like they’re dance partners, completely a routine of sneaking in the shadows effortlessly. Or like they’re actors in a play, pretending that they’re not dying to play the role in reality. It’s a dangerous game that they play. But all of that is forgotten, pushed to the side as Spencer opens the door and the curtain rises. 

Y/N initiates the kiss, pushing Spencer down on the couch. She straddles his waist, her silky green dress spills over her thighs and Spencer is in awe of how the color contrasts against her bare skin. He’s not an artist, but looking at her he’s sure he has laid his eyes on the most beautiful being he’s ever seen. He might not believe in magic, it’s all just science and mind tricks, but he’s nothing but transfixed at the women sitting in his lap. 

“Spencer, please get these clothes off,” Y/N commands in a voice that gives away how badly she wants him. 

“Wait your turn, Y/N” Spencer says in a teasing tone that brings out Y/N’s sly smile. 

“Then do something!” Y/N shouts, getting even more impatient than she was in the car. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, I-I mean you’re always so beautiful, but you’re just so-” Spencer stammers over his words, and the only thing he’s sure of is that his insecurity is the biggest turn off. But Y/N continues to surprise him each and everyday, and tonight is no less. 

“Slow down, baby. It’s just me. There’s no need to go so fast right now. We have all night,” Y/N soothes, craning down her neck to plant wet kisses down Spencer’s neck. She’s probably leaving marks, Spencer thinks, but his desire to be seen as her’s outweighs the teasing from Morgan on Monday. 

The fact that it’s Y/N perched in his lap, kissing down his neck and wiggling around in a way that she can feel everything does nothing to fend off the adrenaline that Spencer’s high off of. 

“I need to see your face,” Spencer says holding her by the shoulders. He reaches around her as she leans back to unzip her dress. She stands so it falls to the ground in a pool of dark green fabric. Her body is out in the open to him and Spencer’s flushed face must be on fire by now. 

“I need to see your face, Spencer,” Y/N says in a way that Spencer knows that he can’t disobey. 

There’s that silence again. That loud silence, filled with lines of unsaid love poems and quiet love songs. The silence that says the perfect things that Y/N deserves to hear, but Spencer is too scared to say. Three months too soon to say, I love you, Spencer tells himself. His mind spins so fast that he feels guilty for neglecting the naked woman standing before him. 

“If you’re gonna fuck me Spence, we’re gonna do it in a bed. I love you and all but this couch is not going to handle me when I get a hold of you,” Y/N says as she runs off into his bedroom, leaving Spencer dumbfounded in her wake. 

Spencer swallows down his fears and anxieties. He sheds his clothes off during his walk to the bedroom. Y/N lies down on his bed and Spencer won’t let the silence speak for him this time. 

“How are you this perfect, Y/N?” Spencer asks as he crawls in between Y/N’s legs. He rests his hands on her upper thighs and looks at her like expects her to answer his question. Spencer dips his fingers down to the place Y/N wants him the most. In the low light from Spencer’s lamp he can see how his fingers glisten. 

“You took too long at Penny’s Spence, I had to start without you,” Y/N explains, a slight flush to her cheeks reminds Spencer that she too is just as affected by him as he is by her. 

“You touched yourself in my car?” Spencer asks pressing a firm kiss on each side of Y/N hip bones. He dances his long fingers up to her stomach, where her own hands sit as if she’s shielding this part from him. 

“Yeah,” Y/N tells him, slightly breathless from the small kisses Spencer places on her stomach and back down to the softest part of her inner thighs. He tells himself that he’s got to slow himself down before he loses it at the site Y/N wriggling and moaning at his smallest touches. 

“I left you a present in your glove compartment, Spence,” 

“Huh, who knew I had such a naughty girl,” Spencer says with an unfamiliar bravery in his voice. Unsurprisingly, Y/N picks up on this and decides to see how far she can take it. 

“I have needs, Spencer. Do you think you can take care of them?” 

Spencer doesn’t respond, but ducks his head down to drag his tongue across her clit, feeling how wet she is. He refuses to break eye contact and realizes how obsessed he would get if she’d let him do this for the rest of his life. Spencer’s eyes carefully watch how Y/N’s facial expressions morph in intense pleasure. It’s like a science experiment. When he plunges his tongue into her, she closes her eyes. But when he blows softly on her inner thighs then leaves hot, wet kisses her fingers come up to latch onto his scalp. He peers at her and waits for the way she moans when he slips one, then two fingers in her. He curls them up in such a way that he knows drives her crazy. 

“Oh my God, Spencer! Please,” Y/N cries, twisting in the sheets. He continues at the pace he’s set, chasing the blissful feeling of her coming undone because of him. The moments leading up to her release, Y/N tears her hand away from Spencer’s head and connects her palm into his. Holding her hand, Spencer whispers praises and presses small kisses into her pussy. 

“Come here and kiss me now, baby. I need you,” Y/N whispers, grasping onto whatever parts of Spencer she could touch. Her fingers move to cup his face and she holds him like he’s made of glass. In between the soft sheets and even softer touches, Spencer knows what it’s like to feel precious. Y/N cranes her head forward to attack Spencer’s neck with kisses. She relishes in the soft and supple skin of his neck. Once again, Spencer finds himself not caring that she’s going to leave marks. 

“How are you this perfect, Spencer?” Y/N asks Spencer, who for the first time in his life does not have an answer for a question. 

He closes his and lets himself float around in the fuzzy feeling in his brain. All he can focus on is Y/N’s mouth. The way her praises make him believe in forever and the way her kisses litter his cheeks, eyes, chest. 

“You’re the perfect one, Y/N. I don’t even compare,” Spencer says as he watches Y/N twist underneath him and somehow maneuver herself so he lies beneath her. 

“None of that, Spencer” She tells him sharply. Y/N drags her nails down Spencer’s chest, not leaving scratches, just light discoloration. Her head and mouth is dangerously close to where his hardened cock lays leaking between his legs. 

She grasps around the base and just gingerly touches him that Spencer is sure he’s going to be blinded from the pleasure. Suddenly he feels almost self conscious. His anxiety is not unknown to Y/N, who lays a comforting hand in his, mirroring her earlier motion. 

“You don’t have to Y/N. I mean if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to think just because I’m your boyfriend and I did it for you-” Spencer rushes out, terrified of what Y/N’s reaction will be. 

“Look at me, Spencer. Do you want me to suck your cock, baby? Look at me,” Y/N says in a voice that Spencer doesn’t recognize and doesn’t dare ignore. 

“Yes,” he breathes out, his voice shakes as he feels Y/N’s mouth take in his tip. He hisses at the sensation. The smallest movements set him on fire. Spencer’s large hands come up to hover over Y/N’s shoulder blades.

“Don’t be quiet, baby. I want to hear you,” Y/N says before she deepens her hold of. She releases him to glide her younger down the side, sending shockwaves of pure pleasure in Spencer’s entire being. 

“You like that, Spencer. You like my mouth on your cock, baby?” Y/N eggs him on. 

Even though he’s lost the ability to speak, Spencer’s moans bounce around the room. He knows he’s a whimpering mess below Y/N, but he’s chasing the feeling of release shamelessly. 

“Y/N, Y/N. Baby, you gotta stop. Or I’m gonna cum right now,” Spencer chants, tightening his grip on Y/N’s hand. He forces himself to calm down to focus on Y/N, but it’s a little difficult when all Y/N is focusing on him. 

Spencer sat up, his back against the headboard, and he pulled Y/N forward so she rested in his lap. She grins up at him, and Spencer can feel his heart squeeze at the look. She’s going to be the death of him, but at least he’ll die a happy man. 

Much to Y/N’s pleasure, Spencer lets out a lewd moan as she grinds down, pressing her wet pussy to his throbbing cock. He feels a little ridiculous getting so worked up and she’s not even inside him yet. 

“Please, Y/N. I need you, I’m not going to last long,” Spencer utters. He says her name like a prayer, it’s a hymn to her ears. 

“I got you, Spence,” she tells him, sheathing his length into her. 

Spencer pulls Y/N in closer so that their chests are flush together. Among the chorus of moans and mumbles of praise, Spencer reaches down to hold Y/N’s hand. He’s not a believer in soulmates. He was sure that he’d never find his match. Never find the one person who’d share his dreams and become his dream. But sitting there, Spencer cannot deny that he’s tethered to Y/N. Their hands link together and mouths refuse to let go, searching for any exposed skin. 

“Spencer,” Y/N groans, leaning her forehead into his. She looks into his eyes and Spencer dares to wonder if her eyes are glassy because of him. It’s magic how someone like her can make a believer, a dreamer out of a man afraid of living. 

Spencer closes his eyes in pure ecstasy. Y/N sucks along the tender skin of his chest, causing him to flush at her ministrations. He can feel her tighten inside him, so he snakes his fingers down to stroke her clit, exciting moans and more fervent kisses along his chest and up to his ear. 

“Just like that, Spence. You’re so perfect my sweet boy,” 

“Y/N, cum on me, cum on me baby,” Spencer cries, finally able to let go as he feels himself come undone underneath Y/N.

Spencer’s whimpers and constant moans set Y/N over the edge. She mewled into Spencer’s shoulder, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin. As her orgasm rakes over her body, Y/N tugs on Spencer’s hair, suddenly quite happy he’s keeping it almost shoulder length. 

Both of them feel their bodies come back to life, their breathing steadies and their hearts seem to beat a little bit slower. Gone were the array of moans. Gone was the burning desire to chase their release. Gone was the sound of praise. All that stands between Spencer and Y/N is the silence. The silence that says quite enough for them. 

The silence that’s braver than Spencer. 

He’s quiet as Y/N flops to his side, entirely spent and tired from the company of friends and strenuous activities that just transpired. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Spence” She offers, turning to her side to look at him. He gives her a straight faced smile, unsure of how to approach the subject. He knows that she knows what he’s thinking about, sometimes even before he’s thinking about it. 

“I meant it, Spencer. I really do love you,” Y/N professes, finally breaking the silence. Spencer swallows as his eyes scan the girl before him. 

“You’re my best friend, Y/N,” Spencer says quietly, and suddenly realizes that it’s probably not what a girl who just confessed her love for you wants to hear. But he knows that Y/N understands-- she understands him. 

“What I mean is, I want midnight coffee nights with you. I want small talk and deep conversations and everything in between,” Spencer says quickly. “I want you in secret Y/N, but I want you in public too,” 

Spencer watches his confession settle into Y/N’s face. He’s scared for the rejection, for the daylight to break on his dream.

“I’ve waited for you to say that for so long, Spence,” She says, leaning in to close the gap between their naked bodies. Spencer pulls her in to rest his chin on top of Y/N’s head. It’s comforting being there, feeling her heartbeat in the tune of his own. He feels safe, wrapped up around in Y/N.

They’re sweaty and smell like sex, but Spencer doesn’t care. His hair is messy and he’s exhausted, but Spencer doesn’t care. His neck and chest are littered with lovebites and marks, but Spencer doesn’t care. After months of running around in the shadows, months of letting the unsaid say what he desperately wants to say, months of being patient but dying with anticipation, Spencer doesn’t care. Spencer doesn’t care because on Monday morning, Y/N won’t drop his hand when they walk into the bullpen. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!!

Taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ 

Comment or send in an ask if you’d like to be tagged (please specify if you don’t want to be tagged in NSFW, but make sure your age is in your bio)

[kusagrasskusa]

Michael Myers X Murderer! Reader - Headcannons - "Death Card"

Also, thank you (Wattpad Person) for requesting this :) I know your the last request I got, so I prolly should have done someone else's request first, but your's was just easiest to find. (Also, I have it bad for Michael so )

Have fun reading this! I'm writing this on my laptop instead of computer so sorry if the formatting turns out worse than usual :/

Also...someone made fun of me for putting, "eight," and, "11," in the same sentence. I guess not many people know this, but anything under ten is supposed to be written out unless their fractions or decimals.

By the way, these basically aren't headcannons lol. It's just me wanting to write out a story but not being good enough to so I just write it down in simpler terms.

Enjoy~

Not only is Y/N just another famous murder who casually takes the lives of people, but she's amazing at hiding

..........until-

Y/N was an abusive home after her parents died when she was a toddler. Her aunt and uncle neglected her but karma came back at them when their car fell off a bridge, causing the pair to drown. The downside for the young Y/N was that she was put into a foster institution. And we all know by now that foster care are full of fights, drugs, weed, alcohol, and shitty employees.

As a young girl entering such a bad place, she was always a target. You know that sense of fear, worthlessness, and loneliness fucked with her head to where she felt lashing out felt great.

She would be unable to stop herself as she plunged a sharp object in and out of this prick that held her down for so long. But once she heard voices from other kids, she ran.

The story made headlines as the next big attack from yet another child. That's right, next. There was someone who inspired her to do what she did.

Of course, she always had that memory in the back of her head. That boy's violent actions filled her with immeasurable awe when she saw the news. However, she always had something more important to think about.

With so much dissatisfaction with her past, she could only fill herself up with adding things on to her in the present, and more in the future.

Y/N would steal Poker cards from people and always use the Ace of Spades to mark her kills by sliding the card into a wound. After all, betting games were the highlight of her day in the foster institution. She was always so good at it that it became her pride.

All these headlines and stories about how evil she is became such a big deal in her head. Such an overwhelming feeling of adrenaline every time she heard the name people would call her.

"The Death Card," is another name for Ace of Spades in most English countries. It was the perfect fit for Y/N.

(Ya'll, I feel like a fucking genius for coming up with that lol)

She was so good at hiding, truly. Kill someone in Kentucky, then move to Missouri. Killing someone there and move to Georgia, and so on.

Only in her hometown was she caught.

Michael was the one who started it all for her, as their same age and hometown made her feel connected to him, and finally where he got caught would be the same place she did.

14 years of hiding and killing led her to meeting him

Michael spent these 14 years sitting in complete silence. No talking, no humming, no singing, nothing. It's like he was always in his own world of thought, too busy in his imagination to interact with the real world.

Of course, there was times when he did pay attention to what's around him.

The news was the only thing he'd really pay close attention to. After all, what if something happens to Haddonfield while's he's stuck in there, and that causes plenty of people he once knew to move away?

But per usual, there was nothing about it

But there was something that caught his attention even by a little

"After 14 years, the notorious Death Card or Card of Death has finally been caught," says the Haddonfield Police Department. "While we're unsure of her motives thus far, we have been able to learn of who she is. Y/N L/N made the headlines once in 1980 at the age of eight as one of America's biggest crime cases with children as the culprit, having brutally stabbed a 15 year old boy. This happened just two years after the Michael Myers case, when a six year old boy stabbed his older sister in 1978. All else the HPD are saying is that her frantic behavior may lead her to a mental institution rather than letting her make legal decisions in court."

Michael paid attention to all the details of the report. For this report to be made about Haddonfield, chances are they'll be meeting each other soon.

The Death Card was a violent killer Michael heard of plenty of times however he never paid close attention to.

(Holy shit these are just headcannons so why am I writing long paragraphs)

He had to say, hearing about her violent stabbings were the highlight of his week. Even if he never felt strong about hearing other people having fun with their lives like she was, he couldn't help but almost feel pushed to do what she is. Living freely and ending those who cross his path...

Saying he was jealous or inspired would be a stretch though

He would spend his days painting paper mache masks while thinking of doing what she was for sure but he hated how she would show off by using those cards as if she didn't have a goal in mind, which was annoying to him. If you have nothing to live for, then kill yourself was his mindset.

Michael watched as Y/N stepped into court. He know hundreds- no thousands- of people watched as this woman of pure evil stepped into the courtroom. Her H/C hair flowed as she walked passed everyone, glaring at them with her cold E/C eyes.

A look of slight intrigue replaced his normal dull expression as he watched the girl stand up before the judge, smiling sassily at the cameras as to tell them to fuck off. Michael can recognize that look of intrusion on her face as she was practically interrogated. Clearly, she hated it there.

He watched contently as all the mystery surrounding the Card of Death was revealed to everyone in this world. Days went by of this court case before finally, she pled insanity. After all, she was known to have some underlying mental conditions as she remained so calm when talking about the varies of ways she would kill.

It's easy to see that many felt bad for the girl. Such trauma growing up led to the creation of this unfortunate human. But Michael? He didn't feel bad at all.

He never was sad or truly sympathetic however...he did feel pity. Somewhere in his soulless eyes held pity for this sad, sad girl he was soon to meet. Not exactly sympathy, but simply pity. And with that came respect.

The day that Y/N stepped foot into those doors was the day the two would meet for the very first times. Over 63 counts of first degree murder in 14 years led to the meeting of these two serial killers. At the time, they were both only 20.

Tables were scattered across the room with people talking or simply sitting alone by themselves on them. There was TV in a few different places around the room and board games in a couple of shelves. In the back of the large room was windows that showed the outside that felt so out of reach forever.

As the metal doors slammed behind her, she felt eyes on her immediately. Y/N slowly scanned the room as she gulped back the intense fear gathering in her stomach. Her lips parted open as she began to breath heavily and press her back on those metal doors.

She was so trapped and scared when she first entered that foster institution. She couldn't help but think of karma when her aunt would hurt her so badly for those five years before she died. But 63 murders are so much worse, so what could karma do to her to balance her evil deeds with punishment?

Laughter and giggled filled her ears as she shut her eyes tightly and covered her face with her arms. Her vision was going blurry; she was having a panic attack. Tears fell from her eyes as she whimpered quietly to herself.

She may be the Card of Death however she never had to be in a large group of people in so long.

Her body jerked as she was suddenly pulled away from those metal doors. She cried out when she saw a large man, around 6'7 (204cm), pull her away.

In just a few seconds, she was pulled to a metal table and forced to sit as the large man stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

Her body tensed unimaginably as they remained still for a few seconds, quiet aside from the occasional sobs of Y/N.

Then suddenly, the pressure on her shoulders disappeared. She heard nothing until the sound of creaking from the seat in front of her interrupted.

Y/N felt eyes on her. They were so intense over her.

A minute passed before her own eyes fluttered open, meeting the man's eyes in front of her.

A shiver ran down her spine when she came face to face with stone cold blue eyes that seemed to hold nothing within them. No light, no soul, and no sympathy. Not only that, but a orange mask made of paper mache covered the rest of his face as well.

The man tilted his head before lifting his hand onto the table, sliding something over to her. Y/N looked down at what he gave her.

"Don't speak. Write."

Michael had given her a paper with these words. His handwriting was hard to read considering he nearly never wrote anything so it took a moment before Y/N got the message. When she did, she looked back up at the man and nodded just a little so it was barely recognizable.

Obviously this conversation was to be secretive so she knew to barely show signs of interactions. The camera couldn't pick up on such a small nod to what evidence is there of them even interacting?

Michael slid the paper back to him and brought a pencil to the paper after erasing the original text. When he slid it back to her, it read, "Don't let anyone know what we say Y/N. They watch everything." When Y/N looked back up at him, she saw him dart his eyes from something behind her to something on the wall between them. She turned her head slightly to the side, noticing a camera on the wall. So she understood.

Michael had dropped on the pencil on the table, meaning it was her turn to reply. She erased the previous text before writing down, "Who are you? How do you know me?" When she slid it back, Michael took the pencil in his hand again.

"Michael Myers. I was a well known case two years before you. We heard a lot about you on TV."

"As in the boy who killed his sister at the age of six?"

"Yes. You know me?"

Y/N's eyes widened slightly as she frantically wrote down a reply. Without even noticing, the knot in her stomach had completely disappeared without a trace.

"I remember seeing your case. I thought about everyday."

Michael didn't reply immediately after reading. Instead, he waited a few minutes and stared down at the table. A look of confusion remained on Y/N's features as she impatiently waited. Then suddenly, Michael erased what was on the paper and simply drew a masked person looking somewhat like himself with a knife in his hand. He drew dead stick figures around it with blood splattering everywhere.

Michael knew that this picture would cover up all the eraser marks and writings that were still slightly visible. So when the guard that walked up behind Y/N without her knowing popped up, he didn't see any text.

Of course, this did lead to the paper being taken away. Then minutes after that, both of the pair was taken away.

If there's one thing as scary as analyzing The Shape and caring for him, it's that person who cares and analyzes him finding him interacting with someone else for the first time.

Whenever Y/N got sat down in her cell, she knew what was about to happen. She was sat down in her bed as a man she'd never seen before sat down in the chair that came with her little desk in her cell with a guard next to him.

Have you ever spoken to Michael? Are you related to him? How do you know him? How does he know you? Have you ever met his family? Why did he interact to you? Why was he drawing things for you? Does he like you? Does he hate you? Did he write to you? Did you hear him talk?

So many questions were asked by this Dr Loomis in such short amount of time. "No, no, I don't, no, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, no, no," and mostly these were your responses. No matter how many times Loomis asked, you dully replied.

You simply said he sat you down and you began to draw together, both filling in a piece of the drawing together.

And eventually, you got out.

Another day went by of "talking" to Michael.

And another.

And another.

The talks were nice and casual. What goes on in the asylum? What goes on in the outside? Who should I avoid? What's the reputation of the HPD?

Do you want to escape?

But it was only a matter of time before finally the two were friends.

Y/N was kinda just in her cell one night in bed. Then she just gasped and widened her eyes. Wait, are we friends? We're friends, right!

Michael already knew of their friendship like two weeks before she did. It felt so...wrong for him. He had always been alone and silent. How could someone like her even be so likeable to him? He didn't really understand it but he knew he hated it.

One day, the two were writing to each other per usual. Michael unintentionally added a pun in one of his comments, causing Y/N to giggle. Michael cocked his head to the side in confusion, strangely feeling heat rise his face and his heart speed up. It was air conditioned so he suspected he may have gotten sick.

Whenever the two had to go back to their cells, that feeling suddenly disappeared. Then it hit him. Oh fuck-

Hell, only a week later did Y/N feel herself experiencing the same symptoms. Michael notices that Y/N would shake and fidget a lot when they interacted, making him wonder of she was cold. As a friend, it was only right for him to sit next to her and hold her close to keep her warm, right? Y/N's face went red and damn that was embarrassing. But of course, that didn't mean Y/N wouldn't hug him back.

Eventually the two were basically cuddling. The two hugging each other warmly as Y/N rested her head on his chest, struggling to stay awake as they got more comfortable by the second.

But of course, Dr Loomis caught eye of that.

The doctor had been looking deep into al the interactions these two evil beings have had. They act so casual, so normal with each other, surely more than just drawing is happening between them, right?

The doctor had pulled them into his office separately to interrogate them. While Y/N bluntly answered his questions to make him just shut up as quickly as possible, she couldn't help but think to herself. She knows that she and Michael are mentally ill, but he should definitely be fixed by now. He's smart and creative and can casually talk to people, so it's like the only thing keeping him here is that the doctors are so ill-equipped that they can't make the necessary breakthrough to save him.

Of course, just a month later, another incident happened like this. Y/N was having a bad migraine so Michael got her to just sit down and wait for him during lunch. He brought over two trays of food for them and was sure to trade with Y/N so she can eat the things she likes and he could have the things she dislikes.

Another time, a bipolar guy ran into Michael and shoved him as if it was his fault. Michael shoved him back instinctively, causing a fight to disperse between the two. As security guards took notice, Y/N was quick to push Michael away softly and ball a fist to punch the fuck out of that guy- like a, "YO WHATCHU SAY ABOUT MY MAN?" type shit. Y/N did this to seem like she was hitting back and that Michael hadn't done anything wrong.

And when each other's birthday's rolled around, they had their own celebration. Y/N was given her own paper mache mask as a gift and a small cupcake from the cafe. Michael was given stolen art supplies that were taken from other guests and also a cupcake.

Y/N slowly stopped having panic attacks, but she definitely had her moments. Of course, Michael sat with her through it.

Dr Loomis recorded all this shit so he can gather data on Michael. Then the question hit him: How would Michael react if Y/N was gone for a few days? Does he truly care about her or is he just using her?

If you think Michael hated Loomis before, wait til he pieced together the disappearance of girlfriend and the extensive eyesight on him from security guards. For the hell he raised about it, he had to get sterilized and put into a cell without being able to get out for a few days.

Y/N remained bored in her cell for days. So what better could she do than annoy the guard watching her? She would just talk nonstop for what felt like hours and hours. The dude watching her was just getting more pissed off by the second.

"Would you shut up? Crazy bitch," he hissed, hitting the cell door. Y/N giggled cockily, shaking her head. Even if she deserved to be yelled at for continuing to talk, the Card of Death refused to back down. But when the guard went inside her cell and locked the door behind him, she got a bit worried.

Y/N got off her bed and threatened him cockily, to which he responded with physical force.

Of course, Smith's Groove is ill-equipped so even with proof of being hit and tazed, Y/N couldn't do anything to get the guard fired. But Michael?

A full month without seeing each other was like a slow suicide. But when they finally got to see each other again, the two was sure to write so much about their time alone as if they were teenage friends discussing their fun weekends. However, things turned dark whenever Y/N brought up the guard.

Michael didn't show any emotions at all, no matter what happens. But Y/N learned to guess how he's feeling depending on how long he takes to respond. Slowed blinking as if he was in thought, and slower reading as got analyze her writing closer were typically bad signs.

About a year had passed since they met at this time. A year to plan to escape. By now, the two were both 21 and fully prepared to leave once and for all.

Whenever that security guard had walked passed Michael's cell one night, Michael had knocked on the door to signal him. Michael slipped a paper through the doorslot, as he was given paper since he doesn't talk, saying he found a dead mouse in his cell. The guard just huffed and let himself inside. Michael pointed to where the mouse supposedly was; and that was a mistake for the guard.

Right as that guard went to look, Michael got behind and covered his mouth before stabbing him in the neck with a paint brush that's but carved into a small blade. Within moments, the guard dropped dead onto the floor.

Taking the keys from the guard, Michael was able to let out nearly every single prisoner to this hell out of their cells. Including Y/N.

The world sister was the only thing left of the pair as it was engraved into the door of Michael's cell. And just like that, the two were gone.

How they got there so fast doesn't matter but eventually Y/N and Michael found an abandoned house to station at until the search around the area disappeared and they could move around quicker.

"I can't fucking believe it," Y/N cheered as she felt tears run down her face from happiness. She swayed across the room, taking in the smell of dust and air. Even something dirty felt so new to her that couldn't help but love it at the moment.

Michael would watch her as he sat down in an old wooden chair, cocking his head. His body was in complete shock as the realization of all that's happened in the past years came crashing down on him. This was the real world? This is what dust smells like? This is what shattered glass and broken wood looks like? This is what trees look like up close? This is what things look like without glass tinting the color?

This is what it feels like to celebrate with someone you love? Michael reminded himself that the girl in front of him changed his life so much. His urge to harm all around him was always so strong, but the thought of her being hurt felt a bad taste in his mouth.

He stood up from the chair, walking towards the ecstatic girl as she cried happily to herself and picked up random things to remind herself of what they feel like and all she takes for granted. She turned her head to him, smiling, "Michael, look, I found a-"

Y/N gasped as Michael gripped his mask and slowly moved it. Y/N watched in awe as for the first time, she saw her only friend in this world's real face. That pale skin and soulless eyes that she grew familiar with became so new to her again.

"Michael..." she whispered, stepping closer to him. Her face heated up as she felt the weight his eyes staring down at her. She lightly bit her lip, a shiver going down her spine.

He took a few steps closer as well, making the two remain inches away from each other. Now at this point, Y/N is questioning if Michael is gonna kill her or is gonna kiss her as he awkwardly put his hand to her cheek, brushing her hair away. She leaned her head into his hand, keeping eye contact with him the whole time.

In just a matter of moments, the two came together in a soft kiss. The moment was quiet as the two did their best to remain calm and together as this moment that was little way's overdue continued.

When the two pulled away, Y/N was quick to wrap her arms around him. Now she wasn't going to cry about it, but damn was that contact she needed so badly. The Death Card and The Shape were basically Yin and Yang with how one is emotional and the other in emotionless but their need for pain and each other is what kept it healthy.

Just imagine how much suffering families went through since the two got out.

[ljf613]

Zuko’s Memory Bias

I’ve talked about Azula’s potential memory bias towards her mother. In that same thread, I mentioned that Zuko also has memory bias towards his parents. What I didn’t think about until I was writing my recent post on his relationship with Azula is how those same biases may have affected the way he perceives her. 

(Warning: This is a very complex topic, and I suggest not reading/engaging if you find it potentially triggering or are unable to deal with it in a nuanced way. I am NOT trying to downplay abuse, nor am I trying to gaslight those who’ve been victimized by it.) 

Azula the Liar 

In “Zuko Alone,” we get a good sense of what Zuko’s life was like as a child. We see him interacting with his mother, sister, and (briefly) his father. And we get some insight into a line from “The Avatar State.” 

[ID: Excerpt from the transcript of the ATLA episode “The Avatar State.” Zuko: “You lied to me! [Cut to Azula, who appears confident.]” Azula: “[Smugly.] Like I've never done that before.”/ End ID] 

There are two scenes in “Zuko Alone” where Zuko accuses Azula of lying to him. Look at these lines, and see if you notice a common denominator. 

[ID: Excerpt from the transcript of the ATLA episode “Zuko Alone.” Young Azula: “[Sing-songy.] Dad's going to kill you! [Seriously.] Really, he is.” Young Zuko: “Ha-ha, Azula. Nice try.” Young Azula: “Fine, don't believe me. But I heard everything. Grandfather said Dad's punishment should fit his crime. [Imitates Azulon.] ‘You must know the pain of losing a first-born son. By sacrificing your own!’“ Young Zuko: “Liar!” Young Azula: “I'm only telling you for your own good. I know! Maybe you could find a nice Earth Kingdom family to adopt you!” Young Zuko: “Stop it! You're lying! Dad would never do that to me!”/ End ID]

[ID: Excerpt from the transcript of the ATLA episode “Zuko Alone.” Young Zuko: “Where's Mom?” Young Azula: “No one knows. Oh, and last night, Grandpa passed away.” Young Zuko: “Not funny, Azula! You're sick. And I want my knife back, now. [Zuko tries to grab it, but misses as Azula quickly moves out of the way, and loudly grunts.]”/ End ID]

Do you see it yet? Twice Zuko thinks Azula is making some kind of joke, and both times (as far as canon shows us, though I’ve seen headcanons that argue differently) Azula is actually telling the truth. 

Azula has no qualms about lying to acheive her goals. We see this multiple times over the course of the series. But if all we had to go by was these two scenes, we might paint a very different picture. 

Because there’s another, more subtle thing that both of these scenes have in common: both times, Zuko chooses to believe that Azula is lying, rather than accept that a parent (read: Ozai, because both of these things are really his fault) has failed him. 

The Beast 

There’s a kind of cognitive bias that often occurs with victims of abuse. Rather than try to explain it, I’ll give an example of a fictional character from a different story who is a very clear example of how and why it happens. 

In book one of Trials of Apollo (The Hidden Oracle), we’re introduced to a girl named Meg McCaffrey. Meg is strong, tough, and great in a fight. She explains that it’s all because of her stepfather, who took her in off the streets and trained her. She seems to genuinely care about him, and talks about him affectionately. 

But there’s another man in Meg’s life: The Beast. The Beast is a constant presence in her nightmares. He killed her first father, and we soon learn that he’s one of the primary antagonists of the story, and planning on destroying the world. 

But eventually, we discover the truth: The Beast and Meg’s stepfather are the same person. 

Meg’s stepfather is an abuser, one who’s used a common tool of abusers everywhere-- detatching from the tool he uses to abuse her and anthromorphizing it. “Don’t make me angry,” he says, “or you’ll wake up The Beast, and then whatever happens is on your head.” 

And because Meg needs to believe that her stepfather cares about her, she projects all her negative feelings about him towards this figmentary “Beast” and blaming him for all the problems in her life. 

Are we noticing the connection to Zuko and his relationship with his father yet? 

My Father Loves Me 

For the first two and a half seasons (especially in season 1), Zuko is convinced that deep down, his father loves him, cares about him, wants him back home. He has to believe that, because if he doesn’t, then what has been the point of everything he’s done until now? 

Which means that tricking him into an Agni Kai and then burning his face must have been justified. It means that capturing the Avatar really will get him back his honor. It means that everything that’s gone wrong in his life is his own fault. 

Or, at least, almost everything. 

You’re Like My Sister 

The first time we ever hear of Azula (other than that shot of her smiling at the Agni Kai in “The Storm”) is when Zuko is talking to (unconcious) Aang after he captures him in “The Siege of the North, Part 2.” 

[ID: Excerpt from the transcript of the ATLA episode “The Siege of the North, Part 2.” Zuko: “I finally have you, but I can't get you home because of this blizzard. [Stands up and looks outside the cave.] There's always something. Not that you would understand. You're like my sister. Everything always came easy to her. She's a firebending prodigy, and everyone adores her. My father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born. I don't need luck, though. I don't want it. I've always had to struggle and fight and that's made me strong. It's made me who I am.”/ End ID] 

There’s something interesting happening here. This is the first time Zuko’s been able to be totally honest about his feelings around Aang, and what does he do? He starts comparing Aang to, of all people, Azula. He’s projecting. He clearly has all of these negative feelings towards Azula, but he can’t do anything about them. So instead, he’s taking it out on Aang. 

Take every single interaction between Aang and Zuko in season one. Now realize that from Zuko’s perspective, he was dealing with his sister. 

Taking Aang prisoner on his ship? Azula. Constantly trying to capture Aang, only to be outsmarted by him? Azula. Shooting a blast of fire when Aang extends a potential hand of friendship? Azula. 

Because Aang, like Azula, is a perceived obstacle between himself and his father’s love. 

Father Says She Was Born Lucky 

Ozai didn’t just belittle Zuko-- he pitted his children against each other. He made it clear to Zuko that, even from the moment he was born, he would never, ever be as good at his sister. 

And all of this has caused a lot of rage and turmoil inside of Zuko. As self-depricating as he is, he does realize that not everything that’s gone wrong in his life is his fault. But we’ve already established that blaming his father would shatter his worldview. 

So who else does he have to blame? 

Azula. 

Azula, who was born lucky. Azula, who’s just so perfect. Azula, the prodigy. Azula, who everyone adores. Azula, who got everything. Azula, who always lies.  

Azula Always Lies 

Zuko talks a lot about honor. He talks a lot about capturing the Avatar. But when he’s stressed, when he’s feeling pressured, when he’s thinking about all the ways his life has gone wrong, he uses a different mantra. 

[ID: Excerpt from the transcript of the ATLA episode “Zuko Alone.” Young Zuko: “[Chanting in a low voice.] Azula always lies. Azula always lies.” Cut to the older Zuko, lying in green grass, holding his traveler's hat to his chest. Zuko: “Azula always lies.”/ End ID]

Azula always lies. 

”Azula always lies” is comforting. It means “father doesn’t really consider me a miserable failure.” It means “he was never really going to kill me.” 

Instead of getting angry at all the ways his father has failed him, Zuko can just blame it on Azula’s lies. That way he doesn’t ever have to admit the real problem. 

Now, I’m not saying that Azula was a perfect sister, or even a particularly good one. I’m not saying that she never lied, because we know she did. I’m not saying she didn’t hurt him, or trick him, or manipulate him. What I’m saying is that Zuko’s skewed perception has lead him to blame her not only for all the ways she hurt him, but also all the ways Ozai failed him. 

“Okay,” you’re saying. “Say I agree with you. Say we assume that all of his negative feelings that really should have been directed at Ozai were instead directed at Azula. But that doesn’t matter now. Zuko eventually did realize that his father was wrong. They had a whole dramatic confrontation where Zuko told him what a horrible father he was and everything! He’s not projecting anymore, and his current feelings towards his sister should only be indicative of her actions and behaviors. Right?” 

Wrong. 

How Cognitive Bias Works 

Cognitive bias is insidious. It doesn’t just affect one memory, it ripples outwards, affecting all of them. And the vast majority of the time, we don’t even notice it happening. 

Zuko called Ozai out for two things, and two things only. 

[ID: Excerpt from the transcript of the ATLA episode “The Day of Black Sun, Part 2: The Eclipse.” Zuko: “For so long, all I wanted was for you to love me, to accept me. I thought it was my honor I wanted, but really, I was just trying to please you. You, my father, who banished me just for talking out of turn. [Points a broadsword at his father.] My father, who challenged me, a thirteen-year-old boy, to an Agni Kai. [Cuts to shot of Ozai, looking angered.] How could you possibly justify a duel with a child?”/ End ID]

Zuko blames Ozai for his banishment, and for the Agni Kai. That is it. 

To be clear, I am not saying that Zuko thinks Ozai was a perfect father before all of this. Not at all. Zuko is aware that Ozai is “the worst father in the history of fathers.” 

But it isn’t like he’s gone back and inspected every single memory that involved Ozai and pinpointed all of the ways Ozai abuzed, manipulated, and gaslit him. He can’t. That requires both a level of objectivity he hasn’t reached, as well as a frame of reference for what normal looks like. Any victim of abuse-- especially childhood abuse-- will tell you that even though they know they were abused, they will often have or witness random interactions that will leave them thinking, “wait, this is what normally happens in this kind of situation? You mean [x] was also part of the abuse?” 

Not to mention that while Zuko didn’t examine his feelings towards Azula at any point before the finale. He had his epiphany about Ozai, and realized that his father had been wrong, but he’d always thought Azula was wrong. 

So while Zuko is aware that he had a bad father, he hasn’t actually stopped to consider how much of his anger towards his sister is actually about his father. 

(Again, I’m not blaming Zuko. None of this is his fault, any more than he’s at fault for the Air Nomad Genocide or the war. It’s just the reality of his situation.) 

Conclusion 

So what am I saying here? 

I’m saying that Zuko’s perception of his sister-- his anger, his frustration, his understanding of who she is-- is fundamentally biased. I’m saying Zuko isn’t viewing her from her own merits. I’m saying that Zuko doesn’t actually know her. He thinks he does, but he’s wrong. 

I’m adding another thing to the list of reasons why Zuko is not the person to try and help Azula through her trauma. 

I’m giving yet another example of how the fandom’s perception of Azula is also biased-- because the vast majority of our understanding of Azula’s character comes from Zuko. 

And unlike Zuko, we can detach ourselves from the narrative enough to realize that it might be worthwhile to re-examine our view of her.

[marjansmarwani]

like I was already brave enough to let go

7.2k || Chapter 1/2 || ao3

Enzo understands that leaving New York in the wake of everything is what's best for TK, but that doesn't make it any easier. Watching his stepson pack up all his broken pieces and move across the country hurts him in ways he can't describe, mostly due to the knowledge that there will be a distance between them that has never existed before. So he takes the time to check-in, to keep track of TK. To be there for him, no matter what.

He's just starting to wish that he had picked somewhere other than Austin, because he is quickly discovering he is not built for this level of stress.

After reading @futures-tense’s Enzo fic (that everyone should read, it is phenomenal) I couldn’t get thoughts of him and his relationship with TK out of my head, so naturally I wrote this. It fits into canon evetns and this is only chapter 1 of 2, because while I so have an outline for season 2 events, this was getting long so I figured I’d at least post what I had. 

Massive thanks to @silvarafael and @justaswampdemon for all their help and support with this, you’re both the best!

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

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when TK opened his apartment door, but the sad shell of the boy Enzo had come to love as his own wasn’t it. 

Or maybe it was, but it hurt all the same. 

“Hey kid,” he said softly, stepping carefully around him and into the apartment. He looked around the small space, taking in all the boxes haphazardly labeled and partially packed. “So, it’s true. Your mom told me but I don’t think I believed her. Never thought I’d see the day TK Strand willingly left New York for Texas, of all places.” 

“Who says it’s willingly,” he said dully as he shut the door behind Enzo. 

Enzo turned and studied him more closely, taking in the downturned eyes and anxious fingers thumbing the seam of his hoodie pocket, “Do you not want to go? Because you can stay here. I’ll talk to your mom, you can stay with us if you…” 

But TK cut him off with a shake of his head, “No,” he said, “I think I need to do this. Dad’s right, I need a fresh start. I can’t...I don’t think I can be here anymore. When I think of staying here, I don’t see a way forward. I think if I stayed here I’d…” he trailed off, but Enzo felt a chill rush through him at the implication of what TK hadn’t said. He tried to meet his eyes but TK looked away, casting his gaze downward and away from Enzo’s sympathetic eyes. 

It hurt him more than he could say to see TK like this. For all his struggles he had always been a happy kid. He had always been someone who found the joy in life where he could and he had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, for better or worse. Seeing him like this and knowing what had happened hurt Enzo in ways he couldn’t fully describe because he didn’t know the right words. All he knew for sure is that this was not the TK he had known and loved for 16 years standing before him. This was a stranger; someone he had only seen once before during a time he had hoped to never revisit. 

He hadn’t asked what happened because he knew enough and he wasn’t about to make the kid revisit it just so he could fill in some blanks. He might not know everything but he knew enough to feel hot anger course through him at the thought of someone breaking that too big heart of his. TK had always been someone who loved fully and completely, and to see that thrown back in his face so spectacularly made Enzo—a typically steady and calm man — strongly consider homicide. 

He had every confidence that Gwyn could get him out of any charges too, but he pushed that thought aside to focus on the scene before him.  

“This isn’t your fault, TK.” 

TK turned away from him, absently picking up some books from the table and dropping them into one of the boxes. “I know I didn’t make Alex cheat,” he says eventually, “but the rest of it? That is completely on me Enzo, no one else.” 

He could sense that the kid had more to say so he let him go, watching from the doorway as he listlessly picked up other odds and ends from around his apartment, tossing them into boxes without any real care as to what the labels on the side said. He knew TK would speak up when he was ready and it was only a few more minutes before he did. 

“Eight years,” he finally said, his rough voice breaking the silence of the half-packed apartment. “Eight fucking years of sobriety, all gone. And that’s all on me. It doesn’t matter what Alex did, I’m the one who made the choice. I am the one who let him have that power over me and…” he broke off, meeting Enzo’s eyes for a moment before looking away and swallowing. “I do need to leave,” he said eventually. “I don’t trust myself to stay here anymore. I don’t know if I’d survive it.” 

Enzo could feel his heart breaking for the kid. He wasn’t a kid anymore — now 26 and an adult — but in Enzo’s eyes sometimes he was still the 10-year-old who met his eyes shyly when Gwyn first introduced them, the 14-year-old who had admitted to him in a terrified whisper that he thought he might like boys, the 19-year-old who had come to him because he wanted to enroll in the fire academy and didn’t know how his mother would take it. The feeling he had now was just like the feelings he had had then. This overwhelming love and desire to protect him from everything bad in the world; from anyone that ever told him he wasn’t enough. 

And just like he had then, he stepped forward, closing the space between them to pull him into a hug. He held him close, pressing his face into his chest and placing a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re making the smart choice then,” he said evenly. “And, as much as I’ll miss you, I’m proud of you for doing what you have to do. You’ve beat this once and you’ll beat it again, I have no doubt about that.” 

He knew he wasn’t imagining it when the body in his arms sagged in relief. It made him clutch him that much tighter as he spoke again, hoping what he was about to say was a given but needing to say it anyway:  “And I will always be here for you, no matter where you live. I’m always just a phone call away, you know that, right?”

TK’s voice was muffled by the material of Enzo’s sweater, but he could still hear the tears in it clear as day, “I do.” 

“Good,” Enzo replied firmly, releasing his grip on TK and stepping back so he could meet his eyes. “Because I will be calling to check-in, that is a promise.” 

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

Watching him leave was bittersweet, but he believed TK when he said it was something he needed to do. He took some solace in the fact that he wouldn’t be alone. Enzo and Owen Strand may have had their differences over the years (many, many differences) but if there was one thing Enzo had never doubted it was the other man’s love for his son. He knew that TK was in good hands, but that didn’t make it any easier. 

He got confirmation they had arrived in Austin in the form of a text that included a picture of a shop selling cowboy hats that simply said, “turns out people actually do where these here. Yes, it looks as ridiculous as it sounds.” It is followed by another two days later that noted the crimes Texas has committed against pizza and though Enzo was still filled with worry, he allowed himself to smile and take it as a sign that he was healing, be it ever so slightly. 

He gave it almost a week before he called. He wanted to hear TK’s voice; to have proof that he really was okay, but he also wanted to give him time. His patience was helped by the fact that Gwyn had spoken to her son but eventually, he decided that he needed to hear from him himself.  

TK answered by the third ring, sounding out of breath. He greeted him warmly, and Enzo could hear the commotion of construction in the background. He raised an eyebrow, “What, did you decide to leave the fire department and become a contractor when I wasn’t looking?” 

This pulled a laugh out of TK and Enzo took a moment to savor the familiar sound. It felt like far too long since he’s last heard it. 

“No. Dad decided we should re-do the firehouse, to give everyone a fresh start. I figured I might as well help out. Besides,” he added with a shrug Enzo could almost hear, “demolition is the far healthier method of coping with feelings, right?” 

“When done with permission,” Enzo quipped in response. “How are you doing kid, has the pizza chased you away yet?” 

TK scoffed, “No, but it was a close thing. Honestly, I really haven’t had that much time to dwell. I’ve been helping with the demo and construction, as well as the candidate interviews and paperwork. I haven’t really taken too much time to think about anything.” 

TK said it matter of factly and Enzo almost moved past it. But he knew TK better than most. “You don’t have to punish yourself, kid,” he told him gently. “All you need to do is heal.”

“I’m not punishing myself,” TK objected, “I’m just...trying to keep busy. To distract myself.” 

TK might very well think that, but Enzo was pretty sure it wasn’t true. But he was willing to move past it, for now. 

“Tell me about the new crew,” he said instead, and smiled as TK launched into stories about a daredevil from Miami and a possible psychic from Chicago. He seemed enthusiastic and Enzo didn’t realize how good it felt to hear that until he had. It was like there was a little bit of life back in his voice and though he knew TK still had a long way to go to make this better, he was relieved to see that he was at least on the way. 

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

For a while, everything seemed to be going great. TK called and texted him from time to time, sharing anecdotes from calls and his new crew, and each time Enzo thinks he can hear just a little bit more of his old self returning to his voice. Sure he complains about one of them, for a while, but that too seems to sort itself out. 

He could tell there is someone new in his life too, even if TK is hedgy about it at best. But Enzo was the first one to know that TK was gay at 14; he knew how to spot the signs. 

“Why won’t you tell me about him?” he asked him one day, voice light and teasing as he stuffed his papers into his bag. “Is there something horribly wrong with him?”

“No,” TK countered emphatically, “there is nothing wrong with him. Absolutely nothing,” he added, almost an unconscious mutter Enzo was not entirely sure he was supposed to hear. 

“So if there is ‘absolutely nothing’ wrong with him, why aren't you going for it?” 

There was silence on the other end as Enzo slid his bag onto his shoulder, patiently waiting the younger man out. 

“You know why,” he eventually said, voice low and sad. Enzo grimaced at how pained his voice sounded and he dropped back into his desk chair with a sigh.

“TK…” he began, but the younger man cut him off firmly. 

“No, Enzo. I...I thought I could. I thought we could have something casual and that I could handle it. But then he wanted more and I hurt him. I don’t want to do that, he doesn’t deserve it. He’s too good to get dragged into my shitshow.” 

“Have you asked him what he wants?” Enzo asked gently. 

The bark of laughter TK gave at that was sharp and harsh, “Yeah, that should go well. Definitely won’t lead to me having to explain to this guy I’ve hooked up with a handful of times all the ways I’m fucked up right now.”

Enzo sighed again, leaning back in his chair, “It won’t always be like this, T. Someday you will be ready to try again, but only if you let yourself consider the possibility. Can you at least promise me that?”

There was silence for a long stretch and Enzo was about to ask him again when TK’s voice finally responded quietly, “Yes.” 

“Good,” Enzo responded firmly, “because no matter what happened, you still deserve happiness. And someday you’ll be ready to let it in again — maybe sooner than you think.” 

The sound of acknowledgment TK made sounded skeptical at best, but Enzo would take it. He knew he was right and he knew that someday TK would realize it too. Maybe even sooner than he thought. 

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

It’s about a week later when Enzo’s phone rings, nearly making him jump as he is pulled abruptly from his stack of midterms. It took him a few moments of shuffling blue books to even locate his phone and when he did he frowned at both the time and the name displayed on the screen. 

“Hey kid,” he said lightly as he answered the phone, “what’s up?” 

He had hoped he was overreacting, that TK was just calling him late because he was on shift and had lost track of the time. He had hoped that maybe the universe was finally giving the kid a break. 

The despair and fear so clear in TK’s voice quickly prove him wrong.  

“Hey Enzo,” he said softly, “fuck, I know it’s late and I’m sorry to bother you, but I just really needed to talk to someone.” 

“You are never a bother,” Enzo told him firmly, capping his pen and setting it down on his desk. “What’s wrong?” 

“I…” TK began before stopping, taking a deep breath and trying again, “I don’t know for sure yet, but I know something is.”

And Enzo believed him. The fear in his voice is so raw Enzo could feel every ounce of it even from a timezone away. “I’m going to need more than that, kid,” he told him gently, leaning back in his chair as he waited TK out. 

“I found something,” TK said eventually, “that I definitely wasn’t supposed to find. And it means something awful. Something I don’t know if I can handle. But it also means he doesn’t trust me,” TK continued, “and somehow that almost feels worse.”

Enzo frowned, pondering all the non-specific details in his mind. He didn’t know all that much about his stepson’s life in Austin, but he knew enough to know that while he was close to his new crew, he wasn’t close enough to be this upset by an omission from one of them. That left him with two possibilities: the mysterious man he was not seeing, or Owen. 

And Enzo knew which option was more likely and it made his heart sink. TK might not be sharing but Ezno knew both the Strand men better than most. If there was something Owen felt strongly enough to keep from his son that TK was this upset about, it wasn’t good news.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is,” he said cautiously, “but is it something about your dad?” 

There was a deep, shuddering breath before TK responded, “Yeah.” 

And Enzo shut his eyes, the hurt and fear in TK’s voice telling him all he needed to know. 

“I don’t know what this is about,” he said eventually, “and you don’t have to tell me. But I do know you, and I know whatever it is you are going to want to be there for him, because that’s who you are. Let him know that, and the rest will follow from there.” 

There was silence again, but Enzo waited TK out. He was familiar with this rhythm; when something was bothering TK he often took his time to make sure he had the words right before he spoke. Over the years Enzo had learned to wait him out knowing that he would get to his point when he was ready.  

He did a few moments later, “I do want to be there for him,” TK agreed, “I just know why he didn’t tell me. He doesn’t think I can handle it — and he’s right,” TK confessed softly, “I don’t know if I can.” 

“You can,” Ezno assured him firmly, “you can do anything you set your mind to. You always have.” 

He let his words sink in for a moment before he added, “And I would talk to your dad before you make any assumptions. Let him know he can rely on you, let him know you want to be there.” 

“You make it sound so easy,” TK said dryly, and Enzo huffed a laugh. 

“In a way it is. It’s just words. It’s the actions behind them that are hard.” 

There was silence again before TK spoke, his voice so quiet Enzo almost missed his next words, “I’m scared.” 

“It’s okay to be scared,” Enzo reminded him, “sometimes fear is the appropriate response.” 

But even as he said it, he could feel his heart breaking. He didn’t know what was going on and while he was sure he would find out soon enough, he couldn’t help but hate whatever it was. TK deserved some time to find himself, to heal and simply exist. He didn’t understand why the universe kept throwing such curveballs at him, but he wished with every fiber of his being it would stop. 

“Sometimes it is,” TK agreed in a tone that made Enzo wonder even more what this was all about. But he didn’t ask; TK would tell him when he was ready. For now he would just be here for him. Sometimes that was all he could do. 

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

As much as Enzo couldn’t help but worry about the younger man, sometimes the updates were a sign that things were getting better for him, slowly but surely. 

One such time came as he and Gwyn were sitting on the couch together, Enzo making a case for watching Jeopardy with Gwyn adamantly refusing. 

“No,” she said again with a firm shake of her head, “it always ends the same way.” 

He shrugged, “I can’t help that you’re too competitive, or that I’m better at it then you are,” he added, giving her a sly grin. 

“We can’t all have PhDs in history,” she said wryly, “some of us need to work for a living.” 

He opened his mouth to fire back a retort but was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. “Saved by the bell,” he said instead with a shake of his head as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He frowned when he saw the familiar name on the screen and turned it so Gwyn could see. 

“Hey T,” he said cautiously as he answered, “everything good?” 

There was a lot of noise in the background but he could hear TK’s voice clearly as he answered, “Yeah, I just had a question for you. These people don’t believe me so I need your cred as a Columbia history professor to back me up.” 

Enzo raised an eyebrow at Gwyn, who had leaned closer to hear. She bit her lip against a laugh and he shook his head fondly, “I’ll do what I can. What’s the question?” 

“Hang on,” TK said, “I’m going to put you on speaker.” There was the sound of fumbling before the background noise grew louder and TK’s voice returned. “Okay guys,” he was saying, “this is my stepdad Enzo. He’s a history professor at Columbia and if you don’t believe me maybe you’ll believe him. You want to ask him the question, Paul?” 

“Man, you didn’t need to…” 

“No, this is a point of pride now.” TK objected indignantly and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to see that she had fully pressed a hand against her mouth to stop any laughter from slipping out and giving away her eavesdropping. “Ask him,” TK prompted and there was a sigh before a new voice joined the conversation. 

“Sir, we are so sorry to bother you. TK’s just being a sore loser.” 

“Paul, right?” Enzo asked and got a sound of confirmation in return, “You don’t have to tell me that, I helped raise him.” There was an indignant noise in the background, likely from TK, but Enzo ignored it. “What’s the question?” 

“Who invented the first movie camera?” 

“Louis Le Prince,” Enzo replied without hesitation, unable to suppress a chuckle at the sound of TK’s triumphant ha! In the background. “You guys thought it was Edison, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Paul admitted sheepishly and Enzo chuckled lightly.

“That’s understandable. Edison was the first person to mass market it and the first to get recognized for it, but Le Prince was actually the first. But he mysteriously disappeared in 1890, right before he was set to take a trip to the US to talk about his invention. So he never got a chance to market it.” 

There was silence for a moment before Paul spoke again, “So is there any proof Edison had him killed or…?” 

“No,” Enzo admitted, “but that is one of the theories for sure. Another is his brother did it over the family will. Either way, Edison was not the first.” 

“Huh,” Paul said thoughtfully, “that’s actually fascinating. Dude, I’m sorry for doubting you.” 

“It’s fine,” TK said evenly, “I am more than a pretty face you know.” 

There was a collective snort from the other end of the phone and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to roll his eyes. She shook her head fondly and he returned his attention to the call, “Any other burning history questions or was that it?” 

The background noise lessened as TK took the phone off speaker. “No, that’s it. Thanks, Enzo.” 

“Anytime kid,” he told him, “you know I love to flex my random history facts.” That got another laugh out of TK, but Enzo could still hear the background noise of a group in the background. The sounds of easy comradery set his mind at ease in a way not much else had since TK had left for Texas. “Why don’t you get back to your friends and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay, thanks again.” 

“Don’t mention it. I love you kid.” 

“Love you too. Say hi to mom for me?” 

“You’ve got it.” 

With that the call was over and Enzo was left back in their silent living room, Gwyn looking at him with a soft smile. 

“He sounds happy,” she said after a moment, her voice warm but thick. He nodded. 

“He does. As much as I do hate to admit it, I think going to Austin may have the best thing for him.” 

“You just hate that Owen was right.” 

“And you don’t?” he asked her with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well that’s a given,” she quipped, leaning closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed them as she rested her head on her shoulder. “I’m just glad he’s doing better,” she said softly after a moment, “I’ve been so worried about him.” 

“Me too,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. That sat in silence for a few more moments, each lost in their own thoughts before he spoke again. 

“So is that still a no to Jeopardy or…?”

She swatted at him and he grinned, ducking away from the light hit. Things seemed to have returned to their equilibrium, and that was a relief. 

He just hoped it stayed that way. 

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

When he was wrested from sleep by the shrill sound of his phone ringing cutting through the late-night silence of his bedroom, Enzo groaned. He swore under his breath as he fumbled for the device, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he did. But when he managed to grasp his phone and saw the name on the screen, all thoughts of annoyance fled his mind. Owen Strand calling him was rarely a good sign. Owen Strand calling him at 2 am promised nothing short of disaster. 

“Owen?” he said as he answered, skipping any and all attempts at pleasantries. “Is everything okay?”

He could afford to give the universe the benefit of the doubt, he decided; even if only for a moment. 

When Owen’s reply came it was in a voice Enzo didn’t recognize. It was shaky and uncertain in a way that the other man never was. 

“Enzo, hey. I’m sorry to bother you but Gwyn’s not answering her phone and…” he broke off with a shaky breath, “I really need to talk to her.” 

“She’s in Beijing,” Enzo replied, sitting up and switching on the lamp beside him. “And given the time difference, probably in a meeting.”

He heard Owen swear distantly before he felt fear rise up in him. Owen calling him at 2 in the morning looking for Gwyn and out of sorts only added up to one thing, but Enzo so hoped he was wrong. 

“Owen, did something happen to TK?” he forced himself to ask; the stress of not knowing was worse than anything else. 

He could hear Owen take another breath, deep and shaky and filled with something else Enzo couldn’t identify on a phone call from half a country away. 

“There was an...incident,” Owen said softly, voice still unsteady, “on our last call.”

Enzo’s mind was already spinning, stumbling from one horrible possibility from another. 

“There was a man with dementia who broke into his old house and a homeowner who had a cardiac event and TK broke down the door and….he was shot.” 

Enzo heard the words, he knew he did. But he couldn’t have. If he had heard them that would mean that TK had been shot and that was not something that could be true. His stepson was a firefighter. It was a profession that came with enough risks of its own. He had spent countless days worried and fearful at the thought of rescues gone wrong, of untamable flames and unstable buildings. Never once had he even entertained the thought of a bullet being a risk to watch out for. Bullets were supposed to be the problem of other people with other jobs — not his stepson, who already had so many dangers to face. 

But it was true. The fear and pain in Owen’s voice told him it was true. There was an edge of both hysteria and despair in his words and that more than anything scared Enzo more than he could say.

“Where?” was the first coherent thought he could form. 

“Just below his left shoulder” Owen repeated mechanically. “His...his lung collapsed before we were even out of the hallway. Enzo, he couldn’t breathe. He kept trying but he couldn’t and there was so much blood....” Owen trailed off and Enzo could hear the unmistakable sound of a sob in the background even as his own hands trembled and his eyes watered. 

“Is he…” he started, but he couldn’t make himself say the words. He couldn’t speak the awful possibility into existence. 

“He’s headed to surgery,” Owen replied. “I don’t know anything more than that, we only got here about 15 minutes ago. I just...I just hope it was fast enough.” 

There was silence then as the two men allowed the same fear to consume them from opposite ends of the country. Enzo felt a morbid camaraderie with the other man in that moment. In the 16 years they had known each other it was safe to say that they had never exactly gotten along. They had always been polite and cordial for the sake of Gwyn, TK, and family gatherings but they were too different in too many ways that mattered to ever truly be friends. They had only ever agreed on one thing, and now that was the thing that tied them together — loving TK.  

“You got him there as fast as you could Owen,” Enzo assured him without hesitation because there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it wasn’t true. “You did everything you could. Any chance he has is because of you.” 

“I think the credit lays more with the paramedics,” Owen objected, “but I appreciate the effort all the same.” 

Enzo opened his mouth again, not quite sure what he was going to say but feeling the overwhelming need to say something, but he was interrupted before he got the chance to figure it out. 

There was a noise on the other end followed by the sound of shuffling as Owen attended to whatever it was. When his voice returned, it was tight. 

“That’s Gwyn on the other line, I’ve gotta take it. But listen, Enzo…”

But Enzo just shook his head, “Don’t worry about it Owen, talk to her. Just, keep me updated?” 

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, “as soon as I know anything.” 

Then with another hurried goodbye, the call was over and Enzo was left in the dark and quiet bedroom, alone. It wasn’t long before the tears he had felt threatening began to fall in earnest as he wrapped his mind around this reality and allowed himself to dwell on it. There was a chance — a very real and terrifying chance — that they could lose TK. That Gwyn and Owen could lose the son they had brought into this world and loved for 26 years. That Enzo could lose one of the people he loved the most. The thought of TK not existing anymore was too horrible to dwell on. 

Enzo was a religious man. He had been raised by a small Jewish family in a large community and his faith had been something that he had always had. It had seen him through so much. But now, with this, he had to wonder. It didn’t make sense that TK — his wonderful, caring stepson who had dedicated his life to helping people — should have to suffer so much in such a short time on earth. It went against everything he had ever believed about putting good into the world. Why should TK — who had never done anything to hurt anyone — have to suffer so? Why should he? He didn’t want to know what life without TK looked like. 

More than anything, he hated that he might find out. 

When Gwyn called him a few minutes later he pushed his own tears aside. He murmured soft reassurances as she sobbed in a quiet corner of a Beijing office building, consumed with fear and grief a world away from her child who was slipping further and further from them with every passing moment. He gave her empty platitudes, reassured her the best he could. 

But all the while the fear was drilling a hole straight through his chest. This, he decided, was the worst fear he had ever felt. 

The worst part was there was nothing he could do but wait, and hope desperately for the best. 

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

The next several days were some of the longest of Enzo’s life. Each day he woke up and went about the day. Each day he kept his phone volume on, not wanting to miss any news either way. Each day an update came from Owen and each day it was the same: no change. 

He debated going out to Austin — he had been halfway through buying a ticket online half a dozen times — but each time he stopped himself. Logically he knew that being there wouldn’t change anything. He would still be waiting, he’d just be waiting there. He told himself he was needed here, that he couldn’t just pick up and go across the country with no warning. It was the end of the semester and he had students to help to finish the course or their dissertation. He told himself staying was the responsible option, but he knew that it was largely just a distraction. But he would take any distraction he could get and so he pushed the guilt of not being there to the side

He taught his classes, he went through the motions. He fielded calls from Gwyn, still stuck in China and frantic with worry. Each day he reassured her; reminded her that TK was strong, young, and healthy. Above all that, he reminded her, he was stubborn. No bullet or coma was going to take him from them before he was ready. 

Of course there was the private fear, the one he didn’t want to share, that he didn’t want to hang on anyone else. The one he was afraid to say out loud. 

It was the thought that maybe, after everything, that was exactly what he did want. That maybe this was an out and that maybe, he would take it. That maybe he didn’t want to be alive anymore. 

But that was a possibility too horrible to accept. Maybe it was selfish, but Enzo knew that even if that was the case, he wasn’t ready. He doubted he ever would be, but he certainly wasn’t now. He knew both Gwyn and Owen would agree. No time was a good time to lose your child — step or otherwise — but now, after this — after everything — was not the time. 

So he waited, and hoped. 

Time seemed to blend together and before he knew it one day had become two, which had stretched into four. Each moment passed the same way — tensely, with no news. 

He knew he had been distracted too — keeping his ringer on during class and checking in throughout his lectures and office hours. He had apologized to his classes after the second telemarketer had caused him to drop everything and lunge for his phone, citing a family emergency and word had slowly gotten around. Soon it wasn’t just him hoping for the best, but most of the Columbia history department as well. Their well wishes were touching, but nothing short of good news was going to make him feel any better. 

So when his phone did finally ring on a Thursday afternoon, 5 days after the fateful call, he picked it up with trepidation. The name on the screen sent his heart racing and he nearly dropped his phone in his haste to answer it. 

“Owen?” he asked tersely, “Any updates?”   

Because since that night they hadn’t spoken. All updates had come in the form of texts and the thought of Owen finally having something to tell him one way or the other simultaneously thrilled him and nearly froze him with fear. 

But it wasn’t Owen’s voice that answered. 

“Hey Enzo,” TK said, the sound of his voice rushing through Enzo’s body like a current of electricity. He sank back into his seat with a wobbly laugh, feeling nearly a week's worth of tension fall away as he listened to the miraculous sound of TK breathing on the other end of the phone. 

“Hey kid,” he said warmly. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. How are you feeling?” 

“Okay,” he answered, “I really don’t feel too bad at all. A little sore, a little tired, but overall not bad.” 

“I hear getting shot will do that to you,” Enzo retorted drily before sighing and running a weary hand down his face. “You scared the shit out of me, TK,” he admitted. 

“Sorry,” TK replied softly, “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Enzo rushed to reassure him, “I know you didn’t ask for this to happen but...shit TK, I am not built for this. Do you think you could avoid getting shot in the future, for my sanity at the very least?” 

“I’ll try,” TK responded with a chuckle, “I don’t remember most of it but I don’t think it’s anything I want to revisit.”  

“No, I’d imagine not,” Enzo retorted wryly. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts and taking comfort from the presence of the other even if it was only over a phone call from half a country away. “So,” he finally said, leaning into normal conversation for the sake of normalcy, “is your dad driving you nuts yet?” 

“Yes,” TK responded emphatically, “he has been hovering non-stop, and he brought a date.” 

Enzo could hear indignant sputtering in the background and Owen muttering something about him not bringing a date, that his date had simply come to visit him to see how he was doing and, maybe because of all the fear and stress of the past week, Enzo could only laugh. 

“That sounds like your dad,” he retorted once he caught his breath, “and I wouldn’t count on that changing anytime soon.” 

“She seemed cool at least,” TK allowed, voice teasing, “I don’t know why he was trying to keep her a secret.”

“Excuse you,” Owen’s voice objected from the background, “I am not the one who had a hot cop sitting by my bedside. You don’t get to talk about keeping secrets.”

“Dad,” TK groaned and Enzo’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh, so the mystery man is a cop,” he teased, “and the plot thickens.” 

Now it was TK’s turn to splutter, “Nope, we are not doing this. That is more than enough from both of you,” he declared and Enzo could hear Owen chuckling at his son’s indignation from the background. It was a slice of normal that he had feared he’d never get again. To be sitting here hearing TK’s voice, teasing him about something so simple as the guy he had a crush on seemed like a miracle and Enzo was grateful for it.

Everything was normal again, at long last. 

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

Sometimes he thinks that turning on news alerts for Austin was the worst decision he had ever made. 

It seemed practical, at the time. An easy way to stay in the know, to have an idea of what kind of calls TK may have seen on any given day. But now he was frozen in the middle of the hallway after one of his classes staring at a notification about a solar storm that had blasted through Austin, leaving devastation in its wake; regretting every decision that led him to this point. 

He knew TK was still on medical leave. He knew that he should be home and resting after only being released from the hospital two days before. But he also knew his stepson and knew that whenever there was trouble, TK was usually not too far behind. 

It was with that thought in his mind that he stepped out out the middle of the hallway and leaned against the wall as he waited anxiously for the call to connect. The sound of a pleasant robotic voice informing him that his call could not be completed filled him with dread, but he forced himself to take a breath. It didn’t mean anything. The grid was likely overloaded right now; Enzo couldn’t say he knew for sure what kind of damage a solar storm could do but he was willing to guess that it wasn’t great for the electronic infrastructure. 

Left with no other options he went on about his day, the familiar anxiety he had only recently shed slipping back over him like a worn winter coat. He tried calling a few more times, trying to ignore how the dread in his gut grew each and every time the call didn’t go through. He resisted the urge to ask one of his science colleagues to explain the specifics of a solar storm; reasoning that dealing with his own uncertainty would be far kinder than having confirmed facts. At least this way, he decided, he could tell himself he was overreacting. 

It was far too many hours before his phone rang; an unfamiliar number appearing on his lock screen. He frowned at it but swiped to answer. He did list his cell number on all of his course syllabi, but for the most part his students stuck to his campus email, or — in desperate times — text. 

“Dr. Cohen,” he answered, mentally placing bets as to whether it was actually a student or a robot trying to inform him about the extended warranty of the car he didn’t own.

To his immense relief, it was neither. Instead, a familiar voice answered, sending a rush of relief through him at the sound, “Hey, Enzo, it’s me.” 

“TK,” he breathed, setting down the paper he had been reading and closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “Are you okay?” 

“More or less,” he answered sheepishly and Enzo was about to push for more than that when he caught the distinct sound of a hospital intercom in the background. 

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, are you in the hospital again?” he demanded and he heard a weary sigh from the other end before a quiet “yeah” was muttered. 

“It’s not a big deal though,” TK rushed to explain, “I’m fine. I just pulled my stitches.” 

There was another voice in the background that Enzo didn’t recognize and could barely hear, but what he could hear made it clear that the other voice was not impressed either. 

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” TK demanded, and Enzo was not entirely sure who he was speaking to, “Let her drown in a burning bus?” 

“You just got out of the hospital!” Enzo objected when he could form words again, “What were you doing somewhere where there was a burning bus?!” 

“We just went out for boba,” TK retorted, “I didn’t expect there to be a solar storm that caused a bus accident.” 

And Enzo forced himself to take a deep breath because that was fair, he supposed. There was no way anyone could control anything like that. Still…

“The next time you move we’re going to need to do some research,” he declared. “Because if it is anywhere as chaotic as Austin, I’m going to have to object.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” TK assured him, “I think I’ll be in Austin for a while.” 

There was a smile in his voice and Enzo somehow had the feeling he was intruding on something, even though TK had been the one to call him. 

“What number are you calling me from?” he asked, testing his theory. 

“I borrowed Carlos’s phone,” TK answered in a voice that said he knew what was coming and he hoped it would at least be quick. 

“Oh,” Enzo replied, “and Carlos wouldn’t happen to be the name of a certain ‘hot cop’ your father mentioned, aka the mystery man I have been trying to get you to tell me about for months?”

“Yes.”

“And when you say ‘we’ were trying to get boba…” 

“Enzo…”  

“And he wouldn’t happen to be with you right now, would he?” 

“Are you done?” TK demanded, and Enzo only laughed. 

“Not nearly, kid; I’m just getting started.” 

And despite TK’s muttering, Enzo could tell that he sounded happier than he had heard him sound in ages. He marveled at the fact that somehow, despite everything, TK had managed to find the happiness and peace he had hoped for him ever since he left New York all those months ago. Between the disasters he had managed to take his broken pieces and fit them back together, maybe even stronger than they had been before. 

It was all he had ever wanted for him, and he was relieved beyond belief that he had found it. 

“You know, this means I’m going to have to come down there soon,” he said instead, “I’ve got to meet this mystery man for myself.” 

He could practically hear TK rolling his eyes, but his voice was impossibly warm when he assured him, “You’ll like him, Enzo.” 

“Do you like him?” he asked.

“Yeah,” TK responded without a moment’s hesitation, “I do.” 

“Then I already do,” he assured him. 

If this Carlos had anything to do with the happiness he could finally hear returned to his stepson’s voice, he couldn’t do anything but. 

[fyodcrs]

Hi hiii Kris here!! I'm here to pester you with BSD questions!! :D We briefly talked about this our conversation before, but I'd like to ask your opinion anyway. Do you have any theories on Fyodor's ability? I find it curious because even Dazai states that he doesn't know what it is and it hasn't been brought up yet. While we can easily state from what we have seen that he can "kill" a non-ability user with just a single touch, could there be something more to it? Perhaps there is a particular reason for it to be still under the wraps? I also wonder if it has any similarities to Ayatsuji's ability (the ability to cause the accidental death of one he considers guilty of a crime if I am not mistaken), as in, it requires certain conditions to be fufilled to work apart from the other person being an ability user.

On a side note, I find it hilarious when there's a "imagine if your icon... " kind of post, and you always add "-but Fyodor would kill me." to it XD If you find this question too boring, I'll ask something else!! Have a great day! ^^💕

*tackle hug* Kris!!! Hi hi hi!!! I was so happy to see this, though I haven't had time to answer until now. And of course this isn't too boring, Fyodor's ability is my favorite thing about him to speculate on and read theories about! :3

*cracks knuckles* Okay, let's get into it. 

So, yes, to reiterate, here's what little we do know about Fyodor’s ability, Crime and Punishment:

He’s the Pale Rider; he can kill with a touch. Physical contact appears to be required, but not skin-to-skin contact. It seems to work if there’s contact with any part of Fyodor’s body.

No one knows what it is, not even Nikolai; I’d wager Fukuchi hasn’t a clue, either. Even Dazai doesn’t seem able to puzzle it out.

His ability did not turn on him in Shibusawa’s fog. 

The only clue we really have to its true nature comes from Fyodor’s god-tier Dead Apple soliloquy:

“Even in the midst of the fog, my special ability did not turn against me like the others. Do you know why that is? I am crime. I am punishment. Did you not know? Crime and punishment are close acquaintances.” 

I think you’re spot on in suggesting Fyodor’s ability is similar to Yukito’s. In Dead Apple, it’s Fyodor who says “I am crime,” and it’s his manifested ability that says “I am punishment.” It’s my theory that Fyodor’s ability allows him to “punish” anyone who has committed a “crime” - or to “judge” anyone who has committed a “sin.” This “punishment” is, of course, death. So if a person has committed a “crime” at any point in their life, Fyodor's touch will kill them. Others have proposed this theory, too. 

If this is the true nature of his ability, what are its limits? Yukito’s ability, from what I understand (I haven’t actually read Gaiden, I only know Yukito through Mayoi lol), allows him to see who is responsible for a crime, and once he’s determined who the criminal is, the criminal suffers an accidental death. I somehow doubt Fyodor’s ability too is limited to people that have actually broken the law. It’s more likely, I think, that Fyodor can use his ability to kill anyone he thinks is guilty of a crime, or a “sin.” This fits more in line with the theme of Fyodor’s character being God’s judgment; it makes him judge, jury, and executioner. Of course, he thinks human beings in general are sinners, especially ability users, so if my theory is right, his ability pretty much has no limits. The only conditions for his ability to work would be that he judges a person guilty and is able to physically touch them.

This might explain why his ability did not turn on him in Dead Apple - because his ability is an act of his judgment. He does not judge himself the same as everyone else. How Fyodor views himself I think is probably very complex, a mixture of an overinflated ego and all-consuming self-hatred (in the real Dostoevsky’s novel, “Crime and Punishment,” this is pretty much the case with the main character, Raskolnikov, and I can definitely see it being the case with Fyodor as well). It’s my personal belief that the reason Fyodor believes abilities are sinful and that humanity can only be saved if abilities are wiped out is because that’s the way he sees his own ability. How terrible must it really be to be able to kill anyone you touch? But, although deep down he may hate himself more than anyone, he still sees himself as above everyone else. His intelligence isolates him from others and makes it impossible for him to connect, and because of the nature of his ability, he has come to see himself as an agent of God’s will, passing judgment on humankind. 

Another explanation for why his ability did not turn on him is that perhaps he has perfect control over it. I definitely think he can control it, because he did not immediately kill Karma or the men who captured him and took him to Ace. I believe I mentioned this before - they would have had to have touched him at some point, and we know from the agent he killed that his ability does not require skin-to-skin contact to work. And I think he might be able to completely control it, and he might perfectly understand it, which is something that perhaps no other ability user really does.

There must be some reason why Fyodor’s ability has not been made known to us yet. I’ve talked a bit here about how, in my theory, his ability has shaped his view of himself and the world, as well as his motivations, so that might be the reason why - because the nature of his ability is the key to understanding the nature of his character. We’ll see - I can’t wait I can’t wait! 

asdfghhgfgh I love those “imagine your icon” scenarios, they’re so much fun. Fyodor would 1000% have killed me in every one. 😂😂

*hugs again* Thanks so much for sending this!! Tell me what you think! And any more questions you want to ask, ask away, or send me some of your theories!  I hope you’re having a great day! (>ᴗ<) ❤❤❤

[weelittleweasley]

Rules and Responsibilities | Fred x Reader

Prompt as requested by anon: Umbridge’s reign has taken its toll on the students of Hogwarts, especially you. Since her arrival, it seems like she has had a personal vendetta against some students in particular, you being one of them Falling victim to the brunt of Umbridge’s punishments, you try your best to keep your injuries a secret to most, especially that of your boyfriend, Fred. When Fred sees you talking more to Draco, your housemate, Fred’s jealousy rises and curiosity gets the best of him. What’s going on?

Warnings: cruel punishments of Umbridge, blood, scars, language

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: This was such a fun prompt! Thank you to the sweet ‘nonnie who sent it in! Xo

The nauseating color of bubblegum pink whisked down the hall, doling out orders before waving her wand as Filch ran behind her, trying to keep the pace. Students glared at the woman they begrudgingly called Head Master. Dolores Umbridge was a curse on Hogwarts, that was for certain. New rules were placed daily which limited the students to just studying and breathing. There was no room for relaxing or fun. A place where everyone once loved became miserable for all.

Not only were Umbridge’s rules unnecessary and pointless, her punishments for breaking her rules were uncalled for and cruel. You had first saw it on Harry Potter’s hand, scar that read I must not tell lies. He brushed it off as it was nothing, but you knew that this woman was a monster in pink. The most horrifying part about it all is that you didn’t know when her reign would end. 

But Harry wasn’t the only receiving cruel punishments like this. You sat down in your Defense Against the Dark Arts class, next to your housemate, Draco. The two of you had a certain distaste for this class, even more so now that Umbridge was the professor. As you sat back in the class, you constantly checked your wristwatch, hoping that it would be over soon so you could bust out of the classroom, do your prefect duties, and meet your boyfriend at the Black Lake. 

“How long is this class again?” you groan to Draco quietly, earning a small smile from him, him trying to stifle a chuckle. “Seriously. We aren’t learning a damned thing and you expect me to sit here and do nothing?”

“Something to add, Miss (Y/L/N)?” Umbridge's voice reverberates in the classroom. In that moment, everyone shifts in their seats to look at you at the back of the classroom. You had been caught. You gulp as you mouth goes dry and Draco just smirks, knowing that you were in trouble now. Finally, it wasn’t him for once.

You couldn’t let Umbridge know that she made you nervous or scared. Instead, you swallowed your fears and calmly replied, “Nothing from me, Professor. Continue.” Your reply was polite, but had a certain kind of snarky tone that made Umbridge’s skin crawl with frustration. She gave you an angry smile and you knew that you had gotten under her skin. But the conversation wasn’t going to stop here.

She starts to walk from the front of the classroom to the back where you sat, relaxed in your chair. Draco looks at you with fear for you in his eyes. “I’ll determine when it’s appropriate for me to continue the lesson,” she simply states, her heels clicking as she slowly walks towards you like a ticking time bomb. “Maybe I should rephrase my statement. You should share what you were saying to Mr. Malfoy with the rest of class. I’m sure it was something very important since you couldn’t wait until the end of the class to talk. Not only are you wasting my time, but your classmates time.”

The false sweetness in her voice made your stomach churn and blood boil. This woman was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Yet you maintained your poise. You smooth out your Slytherin robes and simply speak. “I would love to share,” you sit up, much to Draco and Umbridge’s surprise. “I was just telling Draco that we haven’t learned a damned thing in this class. We have not learned a single thing about magic in the class, so how do you expect us to properly defend ourselves in the face of evil?” you spit.

The students in the class immediately erupt into chatter, knowing that you were right. No one was learning how to protect themselves, especially if He was back. You were speaking the truth that everyone was afraid to speak of. Draco sat next to you with a proud smile on his face, but he kept quiet and simply looked down at his hands. 

Umbridge on the other hand was infuriated by your words. “Well,” she breathed out, eyes burning into yours as a mischievous smile danced across your cherry red lips. “There is no need for you to use magic when there is no direct threat. Not to mention, this class is teaching you very valuable life lessons. Maybe if you listened to my lessons rather than chatting with Mr. Malfoy, you would understand that.”

“Maybe if you taught something worth listening to, I would listen,” you sharply retort earning some ooohs and laughs from your housemates as other students from other houses chatter, laugh, or even clap. Your heart swells with pride at the sight and you smile devilishly at the professor who is shaken at the sight before you.

Umbridge looks around her at the mess of students cheering at your outburst. She musters up a sentence over the cheering crowd and speaks, “That’s quite enough!” Her exclamation makes students stop talking and clapping, slowly dissolving into silence again. “Miss (Y/L/N), you have earned yourself two weeks of detention. After this class, you will report directly to my office.”

She scurries back to the front of the classroom to continue her lecture as you just roll your eyes and sit back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest. Draco looks at you with worried eyes, Now you’ve really done it. You shake your head and scoff, trying to blow off his and your anxieties. You knew what the woman was capable of, but you had to keep your mind from wondering what punishment she would dole out to you. But you couldn’t help it as your palms started to sweat and mouth became dry. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

-------

Like she had instructed, you knocked on Umbridge’s office door after class, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute. Before you left, Draco looked at you scared, asking if you’d be alright. He knew of what Umbridge had done to other students. Even though he hadn’t suffered from those punishments, he knew that students had horror stories of her. You insisted that you would be fine, when in reality you were going mental over the situation. 

But it was too late now. Her voice chimed in from the other side of the door to come in. As you pushed the door open, you stood in the door way as she falsely smiled at you. “Ah, Miss (Y/L/N),” she sighed. “So you can follow direction. Splendid. Close the door and take a seat.”

Obeying her request, you shut the door and sit on the chair next to the desk in her office. Your heart is thumping at a mile a minute. Your confidence from before is gone and you can’t stop thinking about what is going to happen. There was no escaping now. 

She places a quill on your desk and a sheet of parchment. You knew where this was going. You remember Harry talking about this in the Great Hall. Now it was happening to you. Fear flooded your head and you tried to keep your breathing steady and even.

“Now,” Umbridge starts. “I want you to write, I will not speak out of line. The whole sentence. Whenever you’re ready.”

You look at the quill and take a deep breath before picking it up. You hand shook as you carried it to the parchment, gulping nervously. You had to do this. If you didn’t, who knows what Umbridge would do to you. “No ink?” you shakily asked, knowing exactly what the quill did and how it wrote, but asking the question any way to confirm your fears.

Without looking at you, Umbridge says, “No need. Again, whoever you’re ready. The whole sentence. Just once. Then you can be dismissed.”

“But Professor, I’m Head Girl. I’m going to be late for my duties,” you try to get out of your punishment. But you weren’t lying. You were a prefect which meant that you certain responsibilities you had to take care of after class. If you stayed here, you would certainly be late for those duties and you would be stripped of your title.

“The quicker you start, the quicker you can leave and accomplish your prefect duties with no problem, Miss (Y/L/N),” she simply states. 

There was no escape. She wasn’t going to let you leave until you did what needed to be done. You take a deep breath and think, The quicker you do it, the quicker it’ll be over. With that, you start to write across the parchment and your hand starts to sting badly, like someone took a needle and was carving into it. You ignore the sensation and drag the quill across the parchment faster, which only makes the sensation grow and burn and itch more. You let out a pained groan as you suck in a breath through gritted teeth. Keep going, it’s almost over. You continue to scribble and tears start to prick at your eyes as you painfully drag the quill across the parchment. 

Finally done, you slam the quill down and look at your hand. Etched into your skin is I will not speak out of line just like it was on the paper. You look at Umbridge, swallowing the lump in your throat and standing up from your seat. “I’m done,” you speak dully. 

She smiles and speak, “Wonderful. You are dismissed. You will be back here again at the same time for the next two weeks. Have a lovely evening, Miss (Y/L/N).”

Not saying another word, you storm out of her office and down the stairs, scurrying to the Slytherin common room to meet Draco for your prefect duties. This was absolutely absurd. She couldn’t get away with this. A professor physically hurting students? This was cruel. The punishment did not fit the crime. She made Professor Snape look pleasant. 

You burst into the Slytherin common room, Draco waiting for you by the couch. He immediately stands up when you enter, not bothering asking why you were a couple of minutes late. There was no time for teasing you. He was more concerned about if you were alright. But before he could ask you what happened, you held up a hand to get him to stop talking. “I really don’t feel like talking about it. I just wanna get my duties done so I can go see Fred.” The thought of seeing your boyfriend instantly made you feel better, but you knew that you couldn’t tell him what happened. Fred had a bad tempter when it came to you and you knew that if you told him what Umbridge did, he would blow a gasket. 

Draco grabs your hand and examines it, looking at the fresh scars on your hand, blood traced on them. “(Y/N)...” he starts. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, “I don’t need your pity, Draco, I’m fine. Where are the first years?” 

He sighs, “I already took care of it. I didn’t know how long you were going to be, so I dealt with it.” You groan and put your head in your hands, feeling guilty that you left Draco with the bulk of the work of the head boy and girl duties. “It’s no worries, (Y/N). I didn’t expect you to get out of Umbridge’s detention to do your prefect duties.” 

“That’s the thing, Malfoy. I don’t want you to expect me to be a slacker ‘cause of what I did in class that earned me detention. I’m supposed to be head girl. I was given this position for a reason. There’s a certain image I’m supposed to maintain. I have rules and responsibilities like the rest of the students here,” you ramble as Draco grabs your sides.

He looks at you, “You can take a break. If this whole fucking thing with Umbridge makes you late for the next two weeks, it’s no problem. The first years are easy. I can sign off on your duties so there will be nobody suspect. Alright?” You sigh, thankful for Draco’s kindness that came once in a blue moon. “Now, go, run along with your Weasel-bee.”

You roll your eyes and slap his arm, thanking him before running off to the Black Lake. As you ran out of the castle and down to the Lake, excitement replaced the anxiety in your chest. Seeing your boyfriend was always something to look forward to. You and Fred had been dating for almost seven months and yet each day he made it feel like the first day you met. Being with Fred was exciting; he likes hanging around, crackling jokes, and laughing. He was a breath of fresh air. You loved the bloke. People gave you shit for dating the older Gryffindor, but that didn’t stop you; it just made things more exciting. 

Soon enough, the red head’s figure came into sight which made you smile. You remembered about the scars on your hands and quickly dug into your pockets and pulled out the leather gloves you had gotten from Draco last week after placing a bet on a quidditch match. You covered your scarred hand and sighed, hating keeping secrets from Fred, but you knew it had to be done.

“There’s my angel,” he smiles as you approach him, him scooping you up in a tight hug. You smile brightly as he places a sweet kiss on your lips, smiling into the kiss. He pulls away and asks, “You’re late. Everything alright?”

You already felt guilty and you haven’t even said anything yet. “Yeah, prefect duties just took longer than I had anticipated,” you brushed it off, giving him another kiss. He squeezes your frame closer to his body, holding you close. Even though you saw each other everyday, Fred missed you. You didn’t have any classes together, him being older than you, so when you did spend time together, he cherished every moment, every smile, every kiss, every glance. You were Fred’s whole world. When you came into Fred’s life, he didn’t realize how much he needed someone like you. Someone who could keep up with his banter, challenge him, balance him out. You were made for him and Fred loved you with his whole heart. “I missed you today,” you tell him, wiping your lip gloss off of Fred’s lips as he kisses your glove covered thumb. He furrows his brows at your covered hands. “I’m cold. Plus I just won these from Malfoy,” you laugh.

Fred smiles, “’Atta girl. I missed you, darling. Come, I wanna tell you about an idea that George and I had for a new product. It’s brilliant.”

Fred’s cluelessness about your detention sat with you uncomfortably, but in a way it was for the best. He got your mind off of the bad things and let you focus on the happiness in your life. Listening to Fred talk about him and George’s up and coming business and the ideas for products made your heart swell with love. You felt badly lying to him, but you did it to protect him from the unfortunate truth. You were sure he would do the same if he was in your shoes.

--------

As the week went on, you had more detentions with Umbridge and they were getting worse. When your scars would fade, she would make you write again with her special quill and new ones would erupt. She would make you clean her office, sort parchment and other files, and yet continue to make you late for prefect duties. You would tell her that you were late and yet she gave you the same excuse. “The quicker you work, the quicker you get to leave,” she would say cheerily which just made your blood boil. 

In turn, Draco would take on more of your prefect duties due to your detentions. You would run from detention to find that he had accomplished everything already, earning a frustrated groan from you and laugh from Draco. He would just give you a tight side hug and tell you that it would all be okay. Even though you knew he would use this as leverage when he wanted something out of you next week. 

But with the detentions and prefect duties, you had put your hang outs and meet ups with Fred on pause. It made you sad to do so because Fred was your happiness, but if you didn’t take care of what you needed to, you would surely get yourself into more trouble than you had signed up for. That being said, Fred started to get suspicious of why you suddenly put your relationship on hold. 

After prefect meetings became a rarity now, most of your encounters were just passing each other on the moving staircases or in the Great Hall for meals. He started to become worried that you were becoming bored or annoyed with him. Fred would try to pull you aside to talk to you or steal a quick, but you always managed to find an excuse about how you couldn’t stay longer.

“I have to go, Freddie. I have prefect duties to take care of,” you would simply say, stroking his cheek before placing a quick kiss on his lips. 

Before you could turn away, he would grab your hand. “What about after class? Do you wanna meet at the lake?” he would try to get you to be with him. “I feel like it’s been ages since we got to be together alone,” he confesses. His heart yearned for your attention and love. He needed to know now more than ever that you still loved him.

Sighing, guilt rose in your throat at the words that were going to come out of your mouth. After class, you had detention. Your last one with Umbridge. If you missed it, she would surely give you month’s worth of detention. “I really can’t, I have responsibilities to follow, Freddie,” you say, trying not to give much away.

Fred’s heart sank as you told him what he least wanted to hear. “Fine, I understand,” he huffed. “Couldn’t you just tell Malfoy to cover for you for once? The guy’s a prick, but he can cover you for one day, can’t he?”

You lightly laughed. If only Fred knew. “That would be asking too much,” you lie through your teeth. “I have to go now, but I promise I’ll see you soon, okay?” you look at him, genuinely searching his eyes to know that he understood. He just gives you a sad smile and nods his head. “I love you.”

Before he can respond, you were gone, disappeared down the halls. As you left, Fred couldn’t help but feel off. You were hiding something from him and he was going to get to the bottom of it. He was not going to be lied to about something when it came to your relationship of all things. 

Fred started down the halls, down the staircases to the dungeons, to the Slytherin common room. He knew that you would surely be there of all places. But there was no need to even make it to the entrance. Right outside of the entrance, you stood with Draco as Fred ducked behind a wall, watching the encounter.

“This is the last time, I swear,” you tell Draco who just shakes his head.

“I know, (Y/N), you made that very clear this morning, and then again at lunch, and just now. You know I don’t mind, but you’ll have to pay me back in some way,” Draco smirks as you slap his shoulder, rolling your eyes, earning a laugh from him. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. No one’s gonna know that we did this in the first place.”

To you, this sounded like a normal conversation between you and Draco. But to Fred, this sounded horribly. Were you cheating on him with Draco? Were you sneaking around with him, not trying to get caught by anyone? It made sense, the two of you being prefects, you spent a lot of time together.

Fred couldn’t bare the sight of this anymore. He left as quickly and as quietly as he came, his heart sunk into his stomach, but anger that welled up in his chest at Malfoy was palpable. If he ever saw him in the halls alone, Draco was in for a nasty treat from Fred.

You left your short meeting with Draco and braced yourself for your last detention with Umbridge. As you walked to her office, the guilt of lying to Fred was weighing on you more than ever today. Fred looked so disappointed and so sad when you had spoke to him and when you told him you couldn’t see him much today, he looked crush. You didn’t want to give him the impression that you didn’t want to be with him or avoided hanging out with him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. You would spent every waking moment with your love if you could. But you couldn’t swell on the situation too much or else it would make you more miserable than you already were. 

---------

“Alright, Miss (Y/L/N),” Umbridge smiles as you sit at the desk, hand stinging from the pain of writing more lines on her parchment. “You’ve served your two weeks diligently. Have you learned your lesson?” 

You glare at the woman dressed in cheery pink, contrary to her personality. “Yes, ma’am,” you speak with unfaltering eye contact. Bitch. “Since I’ve done my time and done it all perfectly, can I go now?” you give a sarcastic smile.

Umbridge sits behind her desk. “As long as you have learned your lesson, you may leave,” she says as you immediately rise from the desk and grab your book bag. “Before you go Miss (Y/L/N),” she stops you, “you should know, since you’re a prefect, that order is imperative to create a diligent work environment. I will have order. Do I make myself clear?”

Opening the door without a single care, you speak, “Crystal,” before slamming it closed and leaving the wench’s quarters. “Finally,” you breathe out as you leave that wing of the castle, walking through the halls feeling relived that you detention sentence was over. Now you could finally get back on track with your prefect duties and spending more quality time with Fred. 

As you walk the halls, you hear what seems like younger kid crying alongside with a familiar voice comforting them. Turning the corner, you see a young Gryffindor boy rubbing his eyes, probably a first year. Sat next to him was your Fred, he hand his arm around the small boy, trying to comfort him. The sight made your heart swell. Fred was always so good with the younger kids, which just made you fall more in love with him. “It’s all awful, mate, I know,” Fred speaks to the small boy who is cuddled up next to Fred now. “Umbridge is terrible, everyone knows that. But you can’t let her uptight, nasty behavior get the best of you. We can still make the most out of this. She won’t last long, trust me,” he rubs the small boy’s back.

The boy looks up at Fred, eyes red and teary eyed. “I don’t want her to hurt me like she did to Harry Potter,” he sniffles. “She’s so mean. Why, Fred?”

Fred wished he knew the answer to the poor boy’s question. “Because some people are born evil. That’s the way some people are. It’s terrible, but we can try our best to show them the good. You understand?” Fred looks at the child as he nods. 

Before Fred can say anything else, you appear from down the hall and speak, “She’s not as tough as you think.” Fred looks at you and gulps. He didn’t know how to feel. Were you still seeing Malfoy? Were you going to break up with him? Should he break up with you? “Umbridge is nasty, sure, but she’s not invincible,” you walk over to where the boy is sat on the bench with Fred. “Do you wanna know a secret?” you ask the small boy, who is a little weary of you and your Slytherin robes. He looks to Fred for comfort and approval to which Fred offers his a soft smile and a gentle nod, letting him know that you were to be trusted. The child looks back at you and nods, rubbing his nose. Slowly, you show him your gloved hand before pulling the glove off to reveal your scar from punishments with Umbridge. 

The child’s eyes go wide and Fred looks at you mouth agape in shock. “(Y/N), what is going on? What happened?”

You ignore Fred for a moment and look at the child. “Umbridge did this to me. I know it looks bad and that’s because it is. But she taught me that I want to be nothing like her. She’s cruel and nasty and sick and twisted. She taught me that I want to fight harder against her and everything she stands for,” you tell the boy. “If she wants order, then I want chaos. I won’t settle for anything else.” This makes the small boy giggle. “We can follow her silly rules, but at the end of the day, we fight back against her and against her wayward system. So, you just follow alongside your other first years and when the time comes, we fight back. Sound good?” 

The small boy nods and gives you a smile. “Thank you,” he softly speaks looking at you and Fred. 

“Now, run back to your dormitory. It’s past curfew. We don’t need any more trouble, darling,” you tell the child as he nods his head and scurries down the hall back to his room as you instructed.

You and Fred were now alone on the bench, your scarred hand resting in your lap as you looked at Fred who’s eyes were fixed on your hand. “Darling, what is going on?” Fred nervously asked you. Fred never really let you see him scared because he wanted to be strong for you. But this was genuinely terrifying to him. 

Scooting closer to your boyfriend you tell him everything. “I spoke out of line in class two weeks ago. Umbridge gave me two week’s detention and this has been my punishment. Like Harry’s. She has a special quill that writes in the person’s blood and leaves scarring on their hand. It stings when I’m around her and the quill,” you confess. Fred looks at you, scared for you and he feels horribly that he couldn’t have been there to protect you. “The scars heal, but they hurt like hell.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he implores. “If I had known, I would have-”

“Would have what, Fred? Gotten in trouble and been in the same position as me?” you retort and that makes Fred go quiet. “I kept it a secret because I didn’t want you to worry about me. You would have done the same if it were you in my position. I stayed quiet because I didn’t think it was a big deal. I’m on student among many that’s getting punished like this, Harry included. I know it’s not right, but it’s not like we can stop it. She’s head master now.” 

Fred sighs, “I know it’s happening to a lot of students, but it’s you I care about. I want to know that you are alright. I would never forgive myself if something horrible happened to you.”

You place your hand on Fred’s cheek as he leans into your touch, melting into you. “I know, darling, but I can’t have you worried about me all the time.”

He gulps before asking the question that’s been bothering him all day. “So, the detention has gotten in your way of being with me. But...is there someone else that has gotten in your way as well?”

You furrow your brows for a moment and then it clicks. “Oh, Freddie...you mean Draco?” you question as he nods, you lightly laughing. “There is nothing going on there. He was taking over my prefect duties as I was in detention. He’s been covering for me so my responsibilities there are taken care of. It was a simple favor and that’s it. Nothing more. He’ll probably ask me to do his Potions homework for the next two weeks as recompense, but it’s alright.”

Fred lets out a large sigh of relief, relaxing that he knows all of the truth now. “Alright,” he sighs. “I just...I didn’t know if you were avoiding me or just trying to get away from me all together.”

Grabbing both of his hands, you look at him, “No, Fred. I’m so sorry that I made you feel that way. I love you so much and I never want to make you feel like that ever again. You mean the world to me and I never want you to believe that I resent you. I’m so sorry, love.”

Without saying another word, Fred kisses you with all the love he can muster up in that moment. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you close to him as you snake your arms around his neck. You sigh into the kiss as Fred’s touch makes you melt into him. His lips are gentle, but passionate against yours as he kisses you. He pulls away to look into your eyes, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I’m gonna make that bitch pay for what she did to you,” he growls as you laugh. “I’m serious. No one messes with my girl.”

“Godric, I love you, Freddie.”

[lumaejin]

Your Highness | JJK

➳ Ship: Jungkook x Reader

➳ Genre: Fantasy AU. Prince!Jungkook x Warrior!Reader

➳ Word Count: 3.3k

➳ Rating: General Audiences (nothing mature/explicit)

➳ Summary: Your childhood best friend. The prince of your realm. One minute you were causing trouble together, the next he was... gone. But almost 100 years later, you finally see him again.

(banner made by me)

I lunged out with my wooden sword, the tip cutting through the dummy’s throat, sending its head flying. I smiled at my work, thinking about the possible praise I would get from my trainer. Someone started clapping from behind me.

“What are you doing here Jungkook?” I said, walking towards the decapitated head of the dummy and picking it up. With all my strength, I threw it across to the nearest bin.

“Well you know, escaping classes and what not,” he said. I rolled my eyes. Typical.

“You do know these will be important once you’re the emperor, right?”

“I still have ages until I have to worry about that. Besides, don’t you want to… you know, get out of here for a bit?” he asked, looking around at the old training arena, “It smells in here.”

“True that,” I said, contemplating his idea, “You know what… why not? BUT, I get shouted at for ‘being a bad influence to you’, you will not get off easily.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning mischievously.

“Now help me with tidying up.”

“That’s not fair! You made this mess!” he pouted. You stopped for a moment to admire his expression, before looking away.

“But you,” I said, dragging out the u, “want to get out of here quickly.”

He sighed, walking over towards the rest of the equipment, grabbing it, “I could always go without you, or with my hyungs, you know.”

“We both know you would never.”

[…]

As soon as the dummies had been thrown out and the area cleaned, we made our way towards the stables. Technically, Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be here, so we couldn’t just ask Hoseok for the horses like we normally would. Instead, Jungkook was going to saddle them secretly, while I went to distract Hobi.

“HEY! HOBI OPPA!” I yelled out, waving furiously at him. Jungkook had already snuck to the other side, entering the stable from the back door.

“Hey Y/N! What are you doing here?” he asked, smiling at me.

“Well, I was bored so I decided to come here.”

Walking towards a bench, I sat down, patting the spot next to me. Maybe I did feel a bit bad for lying to him, but that could be worried about later.

“Jungkook’s in class, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, his classes are getting longer and longer every day. So, what have you been doing?”

“Oh, not much, just this and that. Oh, we got a new horse, did I tell you?”

“You did? Is it a he or a she?” I asked, genuinely interested. Horses were beautiful creatures, especially the royal steeds.

“A she. Her name is Snowy and she’s beautiful! If you want, I can show you right now?”

Shit, no Hobi. I appreciate it but please don’t.

“Ugh, maybe another day? I’m sure she still has to get used to everything. Wouldn’t want to disturb her now, would we?” I said, mentally slapping myself. Couldn’t I have come up with something better? I glanced around, focusing on my peripheral vision. I couldn’t see Jungkook anywhere, so he was still inside. I sighed internally, couldn’t that boy hurry up?

“Ah no, she’s the sweetest. She gets along really well with the others, even with Flare and you know how she is.”

“Yeah. But just to be safe, you know.”

“Sure…” Hoseok narrowed his eyes at you, but you smiled.

“How did your training go?”

“The usual, Taehyung managed to land himself detention once again, and I stayed back a bit to practice after that.”

“What did he do this time?” Hoseok said, shaking his head, a smile on his lips.

I laughed, replaying the scene in my head, “Well, the usual prank. This time, it was on the assistant trainer. It was hilarious, but no one was dumb enough to laugh.”

The image of the assistant, covered from head to toe in paint, flashed in front of my mind and I bit back another laugh.

At that moment, I saw a figure waving out of the corner of my eyes. Jungkook. Mission accomplished.

“Anyway, it was nice chatting and all, but I have to get back to my grandmother now. Thank you! I’ll see whether I can stop by later?”

“Sure,” he said, as I ran off to the back of the stable, waving at him until I wasn’t in sight anymore.

“…TELL JUNGKOOK THAT HE CAN’T SKIP CLASS FOREVER!” I heard Hoseok shout after me. He must have seen me glancing at the stable doors every now and then. I grinned at his words and shook my head, yelling back “I WILL!”

A second later, I reached the edge of the forest, where Jungkook was waiting for me.

“I’m supposed to tell you, from Hobi oppa, that you can’t continue to skip class,” I said, taking the reins, which he held out towards me.

“You have to be more subtle next time. I mean, if Hobi hyung can pick up on it, then anyone could.”

“Stop complaining,” I said, playfully hitting him on the shoulder, “I’ve been doing the same thing for years, and Hobi oppa and the rest of your hyungs are the only ones who ever pick up on it. By the way, why did you take so long? What the hell were you doing in there?”

“It’s not my fault that Fire over here was trying to bite off my finger!”

“You should have let her, you know how much she likes eating human parts. It would have made her happy,” I said, giving him a smile.

“Don’t you worry about my happiness, woman?”

“Nope.”

[...]

A long ride and a few close encounters with castle guards later, the rushing sound of the waterfall could be heard. The forest was teeming with life, like it always was. Birds were chirping happily, the leaves were rustling and every now and then, I could hear the sound of animals rushing around between the bushes.

As we got closer, the water splashing was more and more obvious and the air started to feel more humid.

“Y/N, look!” Jungkook said.

I turned around to look in the direction he was pointing to find the trees clearing up, revealing the waterfall we had been looking for.

“Woah! It’s not changed at all since the last time we were here,” I said, gaping at the beautiful sight. The fog started to get thicker, but still, it was beautiful.

“What did you expect to happen, for it to suddenly turn red?”

“You never know. Maybe someday one of you magicians decide red fits the landscape more?”

We dismounted the horses, tying them to nearby trees. The closer we walked, the louder the sound of the rushing water became. At some point, it started to be close to deafening, but neither of us cared. We walked to the side of the curtain of water and over a bridge.

The water was splattering me everywhere, but I didn’t notice too much. We kept on walking and soon we had reached the opening to a few dark caves. I took a torch from the wall and held it up for Jungkook to light. Immediately, the rush of cold air greeted me, as we walked further in, but I ignored it. A few moments later, we had reached our destination.

With a flick of Jungkook’s wrist, the lights in the small cave turned on. They were glittering in every different colour, creating a rainbow effect on the walls. A heap of blankets and books were piled in the corner, just like we had last left them.

I went over to them, while Jungkook unpacked the food which we had bought in village. The delicious scent of baked goods immediately filled the cave and I sighed in content. Quickly arranging the blankets, I grabbed a croissant from the basket and sat down in the fluffy haven. Jungkook plopped down next to me and I leant my head on his shoulder as we munched the food.

“I read that earthlings do similar things. They sit on a checked blanket and eat food like we are now, but I heard they do it on meadows or in a forest instead,” he said, staring into the distance.

“That’s boring! Why don’t they find more exciting places?”

“Dunno, but I think it’s interesting that they don’t,” he said.

I laughed. This was typical Jungkook. There was a comfortable silence, as we were both lost in our own thoughts.

“Kookie, what do you think will happen in the future?”

He didn’t reply for a while, thinking it through. “I’ll become emperor… probably marry some stupid whore my father wants me to marry, and die at some point I guess and you...”

My heart stung a bit, but I already knew what he said was true. There was no way he would ever fall for me.

“…you’ll become the best Valkyrie in the realm I bet!”

“As if!”

“Well, even if you don’t, as soon as I have the power to, I’ll appoint you head of the royal guard. This way we’ll never be apart.”

My cheeks felt warm and I turned my head to look at him, to find his eyes already on me.

---

TIME SKIP

I watched the scene unfold from afar, standing in the shadows opposite the small café. There he was, wearing normal clothes and working at a normal job, smiling at and interacting with normal people. With earthlings. Yet, as much as it was weird to me, I couldn't help but be happy for him. This was what he had longed for so many years.

Before he was banished, Jungkook had always been curious about the earth. He would read about it, the way things worked or the way people behaved, and then go rant about it to me. He had told me about how he found it fascinating and that one day, he would see it with his own eyes, regardless of whether he had permission or not.

Therefore it hadn't surprised me at all when his hyungs had informed me of his banishment. That couldn't be said about the people of Yinshratha however. It was the only topic talked about for days. No one had believed it at first, because Jungkook's father, the emperor, had always made sure that he was known to be 'an exceptionally well-behaved boy'. Any time we had gotten ourselves in trouble, his involvement was always kept quiet.

As a result, it had been a great shock for most people to find that Jungkook, their prince and the successor to the throne, had been caught returning from the earth. Going there without permission was a major crime, which was punishable by death. Normally, the emperor would have just kept it quiet, resorting to giving his son house arrest instead, but unfortunately, many people had witnessed Jungkook being dragged towards the palace. There wasn't much of a choice for the emperor after that, but to banish him. I hadn't seen my best friend since.

100 years had passed now, and every day, I had missed him. I had thought multiple times of just going to earth to find him, but the last words I had said to him before his banishment prevented me from doing so, along with my responsibilities as a Valkyrie.

A year ago, the emperor had declared war to a neighbouring realm, underestimating their power completely. Half of his troops, including most of my comrades, had been killed in the last battle, leaving the emperor no choice but to look for reinforcements where ever he could find them, which meant looking for banished folk. I had already found nearly all of them, the only one left now was Jungkook.

I had always doubted whether he would return when he was called, but instead of dwelling on it too much, I had pushed it to the back of my mind instead, focusing on tracking and finding the others.

Yet, as I watched him go about his business, serving customers in a small café, these doubts resurfaced. He seemed so happy, making me wonder whether I should really bother him with the news of his old home. As soon as I had registered what I was contemplating though, I shook the thoughts out of my head and moved out of my hiding spot. It was 16:50 now and the shop would be closing soon. I had already wasted enough time.

Silently, I entered the small shop, joining the shrinking line. There were people chatting happily everywhere, most of them were holding a weird rectangular thing in their hands and moving their thumbs over it quickly. In fact, there were multiple tables where all the people who sat there didn't talk to each other at all and just stared at their rectangles instead. How weird.

I looked to the front, where Jungkook was currently serving another customer. He was as handsome as ever, with his forehead showing underneath his hair, and his charming smile. There was that feeling in my stomach again, almost as if it had never disappeared and always been there. I was getting distracted again.

The line moved again and a while later, I was at the front.

"Good afternoon miss. Welcome to our café, what would...?" he trailed off, staring at me with wide eyes, "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

I knelt down in front of the counter, "Your highness."

There was a lot I would have given not to do it, but Vakyries who didn't kneel were often punished and even though I knew that Jungkook would never do anything of the kind, there was no telling who was watching.

The people in the café looked at me weirdly, while Jungkook's eyes widened, quickly telling me that there was no need to bow. I stood up slowly, "I have been sent by his majesty, the emperor-"

"Let's not talk about this here. Come with me," he cut in quickly, before more people could overhear and question my sanity, "Sejin, can you cover for me?"

I walked behind the counter and followed him into a back room. He pressed something rectangular, causing the room to suddenly be lit. A small table, surrounded by a few sofas was placed in the middle of it and there was a fireplace on the wall before the small setup. Additional tables lined the wall. He turned towards me, leaning against one of them, and smiled cheekily, "Since when have you called me 'your highness'?"

"It is required of all Valkyries to call all members of the royal family -"

"I've told you before that even after you finish your training, that you won't have to do that. It already gets annoying enough when everyone else does it, there is no need for you to do it too."

"Yes, your highness, but it's been a while since we've last talked," I replied. My thoughts strayed once again to the day we had last seen each other and I cringed internally. Clearing my throat, I said, "His majesty, the emperor -"

"I hereby command you to drop the 'your highness' bullshit and all that formality," he said, making me sigh with relief, "Now before you go on again about-" he imitated my voice in a ridiculous manner, for which I almost hit him with my bag and stopping myself at the very last second, " 'his majesty, the emperor-' I wanted to catch up. What have you been doing? How are you doing?"

"Jungkook, I- oh shut up," I said at his smirk. Only then realising what had slipped out, I quickly covered my mouth. 'Shut up' was not something I was allowed to say to the prince.

He laughed at my gesture, shaking his head, "Seriously, you've changed. When have you ever cared about this stuff? You used to hit me with a ruler and tell me to shut up for no apparent reason all the time."

"I was a kid back then! And you definitely deserved it. Your status was really getting to you," I said, smiling feebly at the old memories of us running through the beautiful meadows and laughing. Immediately, an image of the battle flashed before me, making me drop it instantly.

"Jungkook, listen. I was sent here to inform you that your banishment has been lifted," I said, " His majesty declared war to Hanashem and unfortunately, their forces are stronger than was anticipated. He sent all of the elites in, but- but most of us didn't make it. He's afraid of losing this war, with the majority of us gone." The images of the battle scene were there again, haunting me as they had done in the past few weeks.

"He...what?" Jungkook said, his voice laced with hatred, "How could he have been so careless to send you in? And what the hell happened to the 'realm of peace'."

"Please Jungkook, I know you hate him, but the realm needs you. Your hyungs need you. I need you," I pleaded, images of my dead comrades were now flashing before my eyes, "Please. Please come back."

The next thing I knew, arms were wrapping themselves around me, enclosing me in a comforting hug. Butterflies were gathering themselves in my stomach again, but I ignored them, subconsciously leaning into the embrace, forgetting the principles which had been drilled into me completely and any will that I had had in the last few years to get over Jungkook.

"Of course I'll come," I heard him whisper as he stroked my hair softly, "It's going to be okay."

We stayed like that for a while until he spoke again, "There's something that I've been meaning to talk to you about."

He pulled away, looking me in the eye. I had an inkling of what he wanted to say. This was something I had been dreading for a while. I had kept the thought at the very back of my mind, but it was always there.

"Did you mean what you said to me in the last few moments before I was banished?"

There it was. The words I had dreaded. If I told him the truth, would it affect his behaviour around me? I knew it would because there was no way he felt the same. I was just his best friend, nothing more.

But I couldn't lie to him: he always knew when I wasn't telling the truth, not to mention, however close we had once been, I would be lying to the prince, a member of the royal family, which was something not to be done.

I hesitated, avoiding his gaze, before bringing the words out, "I did."

"Do you still feel that way?"

"It doesn't matter, I-"

"Do you?" he persisted.

I sighed heavily, "I do, but I can get over it. I -"

But I never got to finish my sentence. I felt his lips moving against mine, carefully but passionately at the same time. My heart pounded loudly in my chest and I felt my knees going weaker and weaker. Heat rose from my stomach upwards and I felt the butterflies fluttering around. Was this a dream? If it was, it was one I didn't want to wake up from.

As we pulled apart, both gasping for breath, I could only stare at him, wide-eyed.

"Did you expect me not to fall for you when you were, and still are, so perfect all the time?" he whispered.    

A/N: This was written a long time ago on wattpad. I like to think that my writing’s evolved since then, which is why I will make time to edit in sometime in the near future.

[coffeeman777]

"if you don't love me by worshipping me and having total faith in me then ill hurt you/you're worthless without me/you're so lucky I'm willing to forgive you/you don't deserve anything/it's painful but it's for your own good/you can't rely on your own understanding so you'll have to listen to everything I tell you" is literally the type of shit all my abusers have told me and yet Christians present a God with that exact same attitude and act like I have any reason to trust Him. You guys claim that it's "different" because "humans are sinful but God is ACTUALLY good", but for all my searching and Bible study I've never found anything to convince me that He's any different than my father, grandfather, or any other abusive man in my life. In the Old Testament I read stories of Him lashing out in rage when people didn't fan his giant ego and it's not an image I can ever forget. If God wants people to trust Him and love Him maybe He should stop acting exactly like every single abuser and cult leader on the planet.

Heya.

First, I want to say that I'm sorry you were abused. The things humans do to other humans are sometimes unspeakably evil, and no one should have to experience those kinds of things. My heart goes out to you.

Now, let's get into the stuff about God.

It seems to me like your emotions may be coloring your perception a little bit. The way you begin with God saying, "Worship and love me or I'm going to hurt you" isn't accurate. If any Christians in your experience have painted God that way, they're wrong. The Bible certainly doesn't deliver that message. The truth is that all of us are hellbound, not because we refuse to love and worship God, but because we have all freely done evil things knowing full-well that what we've done is wrong. No human alive today or throughout all history, except Jesus, can say that they've never done evil. God is perfect in all ways; His central defining character traits are justice and holiness. Evil cannot stand in His presence. God must punish all evil, or else He Himself would be guilty of evil. When Adam and Eve sinned and the Fall happened, all humankind became subject to sin. To satisfy His justice, God must destroy us. But things aren't that simple. God loves us, more than we could ever know. He doesn't want to destroy us, He wants to save us. And so, at His own great expense, God came to us in the form of Jesus and went to the very outermost edges of the possible to redeem us. We are called to repentance and faith in Jesus to be saved from the consequences of our own evil. The Gospel isn't "love God or burn," its "surrender and receive a full pardon for your crimes." Loving and worshipping God are natural products of a human heart saved by God's grace, not demanded tribute from an egotistical deity.

And speaking of what you call God's "giant ego," God isn't arrogant or egocentric; it's simply the truth that He is perfect and worthy of all praise. In our fallen condition, we think that anyone receiving worship must be arrogant, because we recognize that all humans are fallen and imperfect and no human deserves worship. But God doesn't fit into that category.

In the Old Testament, we read the history of Israel wherein we learn that they were chosen out of all humankind to have God's presence with them in a unique way. That has to be the filter through which we see the stories that we read about God's judgment of sin. Recall what I mentioned above about God not being able to permit evil in His presence; when God permits His tangible, visible presence to be among fallen humans, who then deliberately commit acts of evil against His explicit warning, He is entirely right to judge them. God has said that He has no desire to judge or punish us, but He won't fail to do it if we give Him no choice.

Much of the judgment in the OT took place after many years, many sins, and many warnings. And often, even after mass wickedness over many years, God relents from judgment with only a single act of repentance (consider Jonah and the city of Ninevah).

The Scripture is replete with attestations of God's forgiveness, mercy, and compassion. And I can offer my own testimony as well: I am the son of a pastor, the grandson of a pastor, and the great-grandson of a pastor. I was raised in the Church and knew all about God, who He is, and what He desires from us from a very young age. Knowing all that, I still rebelled. I became as evil as humans get. I spent years in this state. Many times and in may ways, the Lord gently called to me, and I continually ignored Him. I couldn't have done more to offend Him. And yet, He still called to me, and eventually He brought me home. God owed me nothing. The only reason He saved me was because He loved me.

So, I want to encourage you to continue studying the Scriptures and try to see past your pains and preconceived notions, and try to really understand the message. We are all sinners, all guilty, all deserve judgment. God deeply desires to save us, and will save us if only we surrender.

Be blessed!

[dragoneyes618]

Ben didn't have official days off, but every so often he (and his mother) made himself ignore any pileups of work that may have been looming and relax. King of Auradon he may be, but he was also a teenage boy, and everyone needed some down time once in a while.

So now he was sitting in an armchair in one of the small, private sitting rooms that Belle referred to as her "hideaways." It was a small room, with comfortable chairs, beautiful curtains, and hanging lamps. And, of course, piles of books.

His mother was in her own chair across from him, reading. As he was himself. As even his father was, sitting near the door.

His mother was right, Ben mused. There was nothing quite like a good book.

Someone coughed.

Ben looked up.

A woman was standing by the doorway.

That in itself wasn't so unusual. There were many people who lived and worked in Beast Castle, after all, although this room was off-limits. But it wouldn't be the first time someone had snuck in, usually to read one of the books. Belle never punished anyone who did that-in fact, she always gave the perpetrator as many books as he or she wanted.

Ben vaguely recognized the woman as one of the new servants. He didn't know her name, though. He felt bad about that. He always did his best to know the names of all the workers in the castle. Their literal job was looking after his family; the least he could do in return was call them by their names. This woman, however, tended to avoid people, and so he hadn't learned her name yet.

She was elderly, with a lined face and hair that was almost completely white, with just a single strand of black running through it, tied up in a bun. She looked as though she could use a cane, although she wasn't leaning on one at the moment. She wore an old-fashioned dress, all black but with white lace.

Also, she was holding a pistol in her right hand. That was definitely unusual.

It too looked old-fashioned-the kind of pistol that had exactly six bullets, that you needed to manually reload and put in gunpowder each time you used that, that wouldn't work if it got wet, and that had an even chance of exploding when you fired.

Still, a gun was a gun. And she would only need three bullets to kill all of them, if she was so inclined.

"You-" the Beast sputtered. "How-Guards!"

Nothing happened.

"I'm afraid your guards are somewhat indisposed," the woman said, training her gun on the Beast. "They won't be coming to help you anytime soon."

"You didn't..." Belle whispered. Ben swallowed nervously; but they would have heard gunshots, right?

"Oh, they're all right," the woman said. "They're just a bit...tied up at the moment." She laughed. "I didn't do it myself, of course; my family still does have allies, you know. Even now."

"What do you want?" Ben asked.

Both his parents moved toward him, as though to shield him; but he was king. Surely dealing with dangerous assassins was his job?

The woman focused on him. Her face was lined not just with age, Ben realized, but with grief and stress. Her black eyes seemed to scorch into him.

"The boy king," she said musingly. "The one who overturned a generation of wrongs-or tried to, at least. Too late for most. But, as some say, better late than never." She sounded sarcastic.

"No one pays attention to the servants, do they?" she mused. "No one wondered who I was, or where I had come from. It was ridiculously easy getting a job here. I suppose you've gotten complacent, with all the villains on the Isle?" she sneered.

She looked at Ben. "What do I want? I want to have my say."

"Then-speak," Belle said. The longer this strange woman kept talking, the more time there would be for someone to find them, or discover the guards.

The intruder nodded at the Queen Mother. "My name is Madeline. Madeline de Vil. But you probably know me as Malevola."

Malevola de Vil.

"So you have heard of me," Malevola said with a wicked smile. "What do they say about me? That I was one of the greatest fashion designers of the last century? That I was the best owner of the House of De Vil in three generations? That I was a respected member of society? That I would do anything for my family?"

Her face darkened. "Or do they say that I, like all those bearing the de Vil name, are cursed? That I care more for fur than my family? That I am frightening, mad, evil, just like my daughter?"

Ben found his voice. "Cruella de Vil."

Malevola glared at him. "Don't call her that."

"But-that's her name."

"No, it is not," Malevola said, quietly, menacingly. The hand holding the pistol remained steady. "Do you really think that I would give my own daughter a name like Cruella?" She shook her head in disgust. "No. What runs in the de Vil family, particularly with the females, is that people-and by people I mean the general public, people who don't even know us-they give us nicknames.

"Not friendly, endearing nicknames. Perhaps nicknames isn't the right word. I don't know. I was ten when people started calling me Malevola. Ella was twelve when they called her Cruella. My own mother, her name was Dinitia, but do you know what people called her?" Malevola sneered, but in that sneer was anger and hurt at lifetimes-not just her, but many members of her own family-of mockingly being called the wrong name. Perhaps parody was the word she was looking for. Or travesty. "They called her Dementia. You think my daughter is cruel? At least she calls others by their proper names."

"They fear us, you see," Malevola went on. "And they scorn us. So they either name us to fit their beliefs about us, or they mock us, so that they can pretend we don't frighten them."

"I'm sorry," Belle started.

Malevola whirled on her. "You think I have finished?! I have barely even started!"

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she continued. "You have done me, and many people, a great wrong." She sounded like she was trying to be formal, like she'd rehearsed this in her mind.

"What have we done?" the Beast asked.

And just like that, her composure was gone.

"What have you done?" she hissed, her knuckles white, her eyes wide. "What have you done? You take my children from me, and you ask what you have done?"

She laughed bitterly. "The enchantress who cursed you was right. You are a beast inside and out."

The Beast paled; that was his worst fear.

"First, you took my Ella," Malevola went on. "You took her, and you locked her up, and you said she was a danger and a menace to society and that we should be glad you were taking her away.                                                                          "For stealing dogs." Her voice shook. "Even young Anita said that the punishment didn't fit the crime. But no, you take her, you do not help her, and you send her away to an island full of murderers."

"She's a villain," the Beast tried to reason.

That was the wrong thing to say.

"She is my daughter!" Malevola screamed.

Ben suddenly understood why people feared the de Vil family. Malevola truly looked like her family's surname.

"And my son, Cecil, came to you," Malevola continued. Her voice was dangerously calm now. "And he begged you, lowering himself, a bearer of the de Vil name, for you. He asked you to help her, to be kind to her, to do something else-anything else-but you refused.                                                                    "Tell me, Beast, what is the line between villainy and insanity?"

The Beast did not answer.

"And with no other option left," Malevola continued, "my Cecil volunteered to go to your cursed Isle, to be with Ella, to help her, because he could not leave his sister alone. You agreed to that. And you sent both of my children to the Isle."

"Did you plan," Malevola wondered, "for there to be no communication from the Isle at all? Did you want us all to forget about them, to pretend the villains never existed?      

"I had no letters. My own were returned, marked Return to Sender. There were no phone calls. Nothing. The de Vil family has much influence, but I could do nothing.      

"Do you know what it is like, not to know if your own children are alive or dead? I would not wish that on my worst enemy."

She locked eyes with the Beast. "Twenty years I have waited for word of my children. For twenty years I have not known if they live, or if they were killed within days of arriving on the Isle. And now your son brings my grandson over..."

She sighed. "He looks like Ella. Cecil, too. He has the de Vil hair. All the de Vils, we look like each other. It is yet another reason people find us strange. But my grandson, he is frightened of me. We never knew each other. You took that from me, too. He fears I am too much like Ella, for he tells me that Ella has deteriorated..."

She could have been a hundred years old.

The Beast stepped forward. "If you are here to punish me, then-do so." Belle gasped, but he continued. "Do not make my wife and son pay for my crimes."

"You are brave," Malevola conceded. She looked almost surprised. "But no."

She looked at Ben. "I do thank you, you know. You brought my grandson off the Isle, and he brought me news of my family."

She looked back at the Beast, meeting his eyes directly. She did not speak for a long moment.

"You misunderstand me," Malevola–Madeline–said finally. "I am not here to kill you. I am here only to cause you the same pain you have caused me."

Moving swiftly, she turned, pointed the gun straight at Ben, and fired.