#and it also puts the CHARACTERS in that position which is a whole other kettle of fish

[grandwretch]

redemptive death is the laziest trope in western literature i think. redemption should take work. to have it undone with one act where they don’t even have to confront their own ills is a disservice. both the character and the other characters they’ve harmed deserve better. more zukos, less kylos. please. 

[hopeymchope]

Arisa Narumi, Puella Magi's bully-busting badass

Arisa Narumi is a character from the Puella Magi Suzune Magica spinoff. And although Mami Tomoe will always be my favorite Puella Magi character, Arisa is definitely up in my top five.

But why? What's so great about Arisa?

Arisa starts out as a shrinking violet who is brutally bullied, tormented, and beaten at school on a daily basis. So when Kyubey comes into her life? Her wish is obvious.

The day after her wish is granted, a group of girls comes around to mock her and demand tons of money from her or else they'll beat her down. And nervously, she finally speaks up for herself, letting them know that she'd like them to please leave her alone from now on.

They don't respond well. One immediately launches into attacking her. And Arisa? She catches the attacker's fist in midair...

...and slowly CRUSHES it.

The next day, we learn she sent the entire gang of bullies to the hospital. Even Arisa is shocked at her strength. Talk of it spreads throughout the school. The result is that now, she's no longer the pathetic target of everyone's unjustified hatred; now she's feared. And it gives her a confidence she's never experienced before.

It's such a satisfying, powerful turnaround, and it fills me with absolute delight every time I read it.

Now the other students whisper about her in hushed tones. They scurry away when she approaches. She's finally free to live her life, although it's not like any of this earns her any friends. Curious, she thinks, how her an increase in her strength has completely changed the way people interact with her.

But Arisa's newfound confidence soon turns to cockiness. She starts to skip school whenever she feels like, flouts school rules by eating during class, and during a montage we also see her using her newfound strength to rough up some guy—there's no context in the there, so we're left to wonder what he did to provoke this, but we can probably all fucking imagine. (The manga's artist later creates shareda short strip on his Twitter showing Arisa standing up to and beating two men who are sexually harrassing her, so... yeah.)

All of this earns her negative attention from another magical girl in her school—Chisato Shion. Chisato is a pretty strict rule-follower and decides to provoke a fight over it, but when she beats Arisa in combat? Arisa becomes positively suicidal. Poor Arisa felt like the ONLY thing she had going for her was her strength and ability to fight for herself now, and if she can't win a fight? She might as well die; after all, she claims it's not like she has anyone who'd care.

Luckily, Chisato cares. She dextends her hand in friendship, offering to bring Arisa into her own squad of magical girls and help her grow stronger in the process. So concludes the origin of Arisa Narumi.

What else can I say? Arisa's depression, loneliness, vengeful justice— I both relate to and adore it SO HARD. She is an inspiration, frankly.

If I have one complaint about her? It's that, well, her magical girl outfit is a bit tacky for my taste. Of course she can wear whatever she wants, but ultimately, this outfit was designed by a male artist; it wasn't truly chosen by the fictional teenage girl in question, ofc. :P Although it's not as revealing as most of the outfits the girls in Suzune Magica wear—which is a whole other kettle—she's still rocking some sort of weird boob targets, which comes up in damn near EVERY conversation you see about this character. Suffice to say that there's a reason why multiple users such as @thefairywithdrawings and @dullanyan took the time to make costume edits for the Magia Record art of damn near every Suzune Magica character or at least Arisa in particular, respectively.

I suppose that, given that we live in a world where I see girls of all ages walking around daily with similar clothing that puts focal patterns on their breasts and/or butt cheeks (spiral-boob shirts and "JUICY" shorts, anyone?), I can't say it's not realistic... but it feels like carrying that sort of self-sexualization into our fictional teenage girls feels unnecessary and a bit distasteful. You could argue it's representative of Arisa's newfound self-confidence, though?

Ultimately, I'm not going to let one pattern on her outfit define her character. Make no mistake: Arisa Narumi is a badass among magical girls and still an absolute legend in my book.

Keep on crushing bullies' fists, Arisa.

[where-theres-smoak-2]

S+B Season 2 Alina and Nikolai Clip Thoughts (Spoilers)

I just watched the clip released showing the meeting between Nikolai, Alina and M*l. I think its revealed some interesting possibilities and I have a few questions now too. I am going to be discussing some things that happened in the books in this post so you’ve been warned if you haven’t read the books and don’t want to be spoiled, scroll on past. 

I said in another post that I thought maybe the grisha in the cages was actually where the first army had turned on the grisha after Novokribirsk and judging from the opening line from Nikolai in this clip I am even more sure that is exactly what is going on. What is interesting is it looks like everyone believes that Alina and Aleks were working together which makes me think that this shot:

With what appeared to be a propaganda poster in the background might actually be like a news piece or even a wanted poster. If people do believe that Alina and Aleks were working together then maybe they are now actually both being hunted. Maybe the first army are searching for them and Aleks has now found himself in the same position he was in during that flashback in ep 7 of season 1, but Alina is also now in that position even after Aleks promised her he wouldn’t let her become the new heretic. I do wonder how this is going to effect darklina’s relationship. Like now that she herself is being hunted is it going to make her  a little sympathetic towards Aleks or is there only going to be anger between them. She seems pretty angry at him here but I am curious to see what their dynamic is in these mind palace scenes and whether Alina will have moments where she is conflicted and can relate to Aleks and understands where he is coming from even if she doesn’t agree with him. I do feel like at the moment they both feel like the other betrayed them and I suspect at first they’ll both just be too angry but I do wonder if over time that anger will soften and Alina will start trying to listen more to Aleks’ side and vice versa. 

Another thing this clip makes pretty clear is that it looks like that whole plotline of the Darkling working with Nikolai to find the sea whip and Alina and M*l being held captive on the boat has been cut. This opens a whole kettle of worms because that means no Ivan death scene, so are they just going to say in the show that he never made it out of the fold? It means Genya never lets Alina go which means the Darkling has no reason to scar her and we’ve seen pictures where it doesn’t look like she is scarred so does that mean they are just cutting that whole plot out too? It also changes how Alina and Nikolai meet and how Alina and Aleks reunite. From this clip my theory is that Nikolai has seen the poster and has captured them because of this and is maybe threatening to hand them over to the First Army and Alina is now bargaining with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is some kind of reward for their capture. I do think at this point Alina won’t know that it is Nikolai the prince and will likely think this is Sturmhond which is why she says he will be rewarded if he works with them, she thinks he’s just a pirate looking for his next pay out. Another possibility is that Alina sought Nikolai/Sturmhond out, maybe they did some investigating and asking around about whether there was someone who could be hired to help search and were pointed in his direction. Personally I think the first theory is more likely but you never know.

Another difference is it looks like Alina is the one hunting the other two Morozova amplifiers, again this is different in the books as she was very upset when she finds out that the darkling was looking for the sea whip to put on her and didn’t want it. I am glad for this change though as it does give Alina alot more of her own agency as opposed to the books where it felt more like she was being dragged form plot point to plot point by other characters. What did catch my attention though was when Alina brings up the sea whip to Nikolai, M*l goes to interrupt and stop Alina from saying anything further. It is obvious that he isn’t happy about something here. So my question is are they going the same route as the books and M*l has a problem with Alina hunting the other amplifiers because he thinks she is getting too power hungry, I mean he had some major issues with her having the sea whip amplifier in the books. Or is it just that he doesn’t trust  Nikolai and doesn’t want Alina sharing their plans with him or what he considers sensitive information? Is it possible we could see some tension between M*l and Nikolai? I also wonder whether or not they are going to go with the whole Nikolai as a potential love interest thing or not and whether they’ll have the political engagement part. Honestly, personally I think Alina already has a more interesting dynamic with Nikolai in this 1 min clip than she does with M*l but I still don’t think they’ve got time with everything else they’ve got to cover to introduce a romance as well but who knows, we’ll just have to see I guess. 

With them changing the whole search for the sea whip and cutting out Aleks capturing Alina and M*l though I can’t help but wonder/worry about what they are going to be doing with Aleks’ character instead. If he’s not on the boat with others searching for the Sea whip then where is he? What is he doing? It does look like from the trailer that he at least will be saving some of the grisha that were turned on by the first army but other than that we really don’t seem to have much of an idea on what Aleks is going to be up to this season. Honestly I am a little worried that we might not see much of his character and they are going to have cut his role right back which seeing as he’s the most interesting character to me would be a bit of a bummer for me personally. It also makes me wonder how and when he and Alina will reunite outside of the mind palace, but also when Genya and Alina will and what that dynamic is going to look like. Anyway I’m done rambling now, I’m still not sure how to feel about the new season, the closer we get and the more promo content they put out the more nervous I get but I am still holding out hope that I’ll enjoy the season, only two weeks left to go.  

[gigisimsonmars]

This is the Hannix mega chapter I prayed for but did not expect.

The way you developed their relationship! Where she's falling in love but doesn't realize it for ages, while he's known almost the whole time.

"It was no secret among the household slaves that Carnifex was notorious for bedding the prettiest slave girls." okay i love this trope where the guy is kind of a slut but then he falls in loooooove

“Sure, take his side, like you always do,” Carnifex spat one day, nursing what was sure to be a black eye. She was startled by the heat in his voice. As much as he seemed to love tormenting her, his tone was always teasing and borderline playful. But today, it sounded like there was something akin to anger in it. Hands still resting on Gallus’ shoulders, she turned to look at him and didn’t fail to notice the way his jaw tightened when he looked back at her, his eyes flickering down to her hands and then flitting back up to her face. Something burned in those green eyes of his that she couldn’t quite name." oof. excellent section

"she burned with an ache that settled deep in the pit of her stomach" ooooo

"She blushed. And he smiled." I can just see his eyes crinkling in his tan face.

During the fight scene I could really imagine the position the three were in - Carnifex on the ground, Gallus on top and Phoenix curling over C.

“That damn savage,” "French pot to British kettle" said the Italian gravy boat.

"She’d been in his cell countless times before, to serve him meals or tend to his wounds, but never by herself." so a really interesting thing about this AU to me is that Phoenix is cast into a subservient position. How does it affect her character and her role in the group? In most TGM fics as in the source material, she's an equal to the others and even a leader.

"the air between them grew heavy" hoo

"he kissed her with a hunger and an urgency that she could feel radiating through her body." oooo

"feral" yes

"Another moan of pleasure slipped from Phoenix’s lips as she felt the rough stone against her back, Carnifex’s thick fingers buried in her hair as his kisses began trailing from her lips, across her jaw, and down her neck." OOOO

THANK YOU FOR PUTTING THE UNWRAPPING IN!!! ILY!!!

"Goddess" yes yes

“Already so wet for me.” all the teasing!!!

"don’t let it go to your head, gladiator.” oh we are well past that my friend

"mounted her" why is this hot

"Moaning softly into his mouth, she hooked one leg around his waist and buried her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as his fingers danced across her skin, tracing the contours of her body with a grip that was shockingly gentle, but which hinted at the power and strength that lay beneath the surface. She shivered at the thought of those rough hands, those hands that had ended the lives of so many nameless, faceless opponents, digging into her skin and marking her flesh—marking her as his." terrific paragraph

his voice in the "savage" language... wonder how he'd react to making Phoenix babble in Greek.

“The gods themselves could not keep me from you right now.” no they could not

"little beg"

“Open your eyes. I want you to look at me. I want to see you when you fall apart for me.” hnnnngh

great orgasm description

he doesn't want her to leave!!!

the whole section from C's perspective is great, but especially:

"She was also the most beautiful, with those big brown eyes and that dark hair that reminded him of the wings of the ravens that used to nest in his village back in Gaul." poetic

"He ached with need for her, particularly in the moments when she tended his broken body with those skilled, agile hands of hers. Of course the old medicus had chosen her to be his assistant in the ludus. There was no one more capable or intelligent." simp

"And so he chased his pleasure elsewhere, sought to satiate that ache that rested deep within his bones by bedding every simpering slave girl who batted her eyelashes in his direction" "Even he had enough shame left within him to feel disgusted with himself on the nights when he closed his eyes and pretended that the girl twisting and moaning beneath him was her" problematic but still hot

"He knew the longing was evident in his voice, but he didn’t care." awww

“I know I gave you pleasure.” oh

“For pleasure and nothing more.” dum dums

"She made sure to keep her voice down that night, much to his amusement." Haha

"Tonight, she seemed more exhausted than usual, curling up against his chest and closing her eyes as he traced his fingers up and down her spine, enjoying the feel of her heart beating in tandem with his" awww

Sabina + Phoenix = bffs! love it

"tryst" great word, underutilized in fanfic

"He pretended that those words didn’t cut him to the core." ouch

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so concerned for another person before,” Carnifex agreed, though he frowned slightly as he looked at her. “Except maybe you.” His voice was edged with jealousy as he spoke the words aloud." grumpy pants

"She took a piece of his heart with her, every time she left." ohhhh

"Much to her surprise, Phoenix felt a surge of protectiveness course through her at her friend’s words. “He’s not as terrible as some people think he is, you know. He wouldn’t intentionally try to—” oh HO

anyway, love you, loved this!!!!

Si Vis Amari Ama

IV. Kissed by Fire

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairings: Rooster (Roman Name: Gallus) x Female Reader (Roman Name: Sabina), featuring Hangman (Roman Name: Carnifex) x Phoenix

Summary: A girl whose freedom was stolen to pay her father’s debts. A gladiator enslaved for the entertainment of Rome. A love they never thought possible.

Author’s Note: This chapter ended up being a beast to write! It’s very Hannix-centered, so that you can have a little bit more context and background regarding Carnifex and Phoenix’s relationship. But fear not, for there are hints of Gallus and Sabina as well, and we’ll be back to our main protagonists in the next chapter!

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit sexual content, slavery in the ancient world, gladiatorial training/combat, discussion of minor injuries, brief language, slight angst, idiots in love, alternating point of view.

Keep reading

[ijustwant2write]

Always Mine-John Shelby x Reader

(GIF credit to @tommyshhelby​)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Can you please do a imagine where y/n and John were childhood sweethearts (no Martha) and she has known the peaky blinders her whole life and they love her too but then John has to marry esme and even though tommy does feel bad he does it anyway.Y/n works in the betting house so they see eachother every day she acts like it doesn’t bother her but is obviously a bit distant with John who is still inlove with her but she is respectful of the marriage so when Michael comes in he has a crush on y/n and kinda flirts with her and John gets jealous not sure if it’s a John or Micheal imagine your choice’

Characters: John Shelby x Reader, Thomas Shelby x Reader (platonic), Michael Gray x Reader (platonic), Polly Gray x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name  (Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Heartbreak, swearing, mentions/intentions of sex, arguing, violence, slight fluff

                                          *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Heartbreak, many people went through it, many people wanted to avoid it. Although your heart wasn’t physically damaged, it felt like it was. Humans often forget how strong their emotions are. Emotions are part of our survival, they determine how we live, it controls our day, what decisions we make. Unfortunately to live, we had to experience sadness. You could turn it around and say that the bad times made the good times stronger, more enjoyable. But it’s hard to think positively when you’re stuck in a terrible situation. 

“He....He’s getting married?” I whispered out, clutching onto my dressing gown as the cold air blew into the house.

Tommy was stood outside, I had invited him inside, but I was glad I hadn’t now.“Today/ I’m sorry (Y/N), it has to be done.”

“Why? Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“John doesn’t know. And you can’t tell him.”

“Why are you telling me this? I could easily run to him now and tell him.”

“If you do that, you’ll put us all in danger.”

I was growing more angry by the second.“Aren’t you always in danger?”

“This is different. It will benefit the whole family, the Peaky Blinders. He has to do this (Y/N).”

I shook my head at him, crossing my arms over my chest. What with it being so early in the morning, no one else was out in the street, it was slightly dark, with a low fog roaming the streets.“You know I love him. You know how we feel about each other. I’m just confused. Why would you tell me this before they get married? I could go tell him, we could run away together like we said we would since we were fifteen.”

“Because I love you (Y/N). You’re basically family. It felt wrong not to. But I can’t lose you at work either. You need to stay.”

I scoffed.“I can’t believe this! You really think I’m going to stay and see the man I love everyday with a wedding ring on his finger? I can write up my resignation now if you want-”

“(Y/N)-”

“Honestly Tommy, this is taking the piss. You get away with a lot of shit, but this is just fantastic-”

“(Y/N)!”

“Wait here, I’ll get a pen and some paper-”

“(Y/N) would you just listen for a second!?” he yelled, silencing me.“You would be as equally angry with me if I told you after. Just be happy that I mentioned it at all.”

That had been the longest day of my life. Knowing that my worst fear had come true, the man I loved was marrying someone else, made time move at an incredibly slow pace. Part of me pondered crashing the wedding, if I knew where it was or who he was marrying, but I knew that Tommy was partly right. He had a huge responsibility to keep control of his power, but the way he manipulated his family infuriated me. 

“John, are you sure you want to marry me?” I said to him as we laid down in a field.

“You’re really asking that after what we just did?” he asked, doing up his trousers.

“Well, Susanne and Jack do the same as us, and he hasn’t asked her.” my (not so) innocent seventeen year old self pointed out.

“Believe me, I would not be suggesting that sort of thing if I didn’t mean it.”

“So you don’t ask every girl you fuck to marry you?” I teased.

He leaned over me.“I haven’t slept with that many.”

I rolled my eyes.“I don’t care how many girls you fucked before me. As long as I’m the one who gets this sort of treatment for the rest of your life, I’m happy.”

He smirked, kissing me.“You’ve been the best out of all of them.”

“Because I do anything you want.”

He leaned down to my ear, whispering,“Because you feel fucking amazing.”

I blushed, wishing I was able to tease him more.“I’m serious John, that’s a serious commitment.”

Although we were being flirty, I knew when he was being truthful.“(Y/N), I don’t want anything else. I want you beside me. My family loves you, you’re already a Shelby in their eyes, and mine. I know they say we’re young, but these feelings I have for you re strong. I wake up thinking about you, I see other women and think, my (Y/N) is so much prettier than you. And yes, thinking about you writhing and moaning beneath me is pleasurable,” I playfully punched his shoulder, which he laughed at,“but imagining you at home with the kids, waiting for me to come back and embracing me as soon as I step foot in our house, that’s all I could ever ask for in life.”

I sobbed as I thought about that memory. We were so happy back then. We were carefree, easily daydreaming about what could have been. Then harsh reality hit us in the face. He was being forced into an arrangement with some wild gypsy girl. We were supposed to be married, I was the one whose last name should have been Shelby. 

I didn’t want to hear about the wedding day. I knew that Pol, Ada or any other woman in that betting shop wouldn’t mention it in front of me.Though how was I ever to stop thinking about how the man I loved was married to someone else when I worked with him? And his new wife? Esme also had no say in this, she had been unruly and apparently the only way to sort that was to marry her off. But why did she have to work here too? She hated it here, she could never sit still. It was in her nature to be outside all the time, to run free and wildly along with the horses. Not cramped up in a betting shop counting money, surrounded by the lowest of men. Having to sit across from her as I worked was torture, seeing the wedding band made my stomach turn.

"(Y/N)?" John called me, standing in the doorway of his office.

I caught Esme glancing towards me, though I didn't care. It wasn't as if anything was about to happen, John hadn't even spoken to me since they married, not properly anyway. I had been civil towards his wife, but only speaking to her when I absolutely had to. Quietly sighing, I closed the book I had been writing in, picking up a smaller notebook and pen before entering his office. Some workers were peeking at us, they knew the drama, and it didn't help that his office was basically made of windows, meaning everyone could see us.

"You can sit down, you know you can." John gestured to the chair across from his desk, though he didn't sit.

I said nothing back.He groaned.

"Come on (Y/N), you know I hated when you gave me the silent treatment."

"Is there something you needed from me Mr Shelby?"

"You know, that only sounded nice coming from you when we were in a different environment." he smirked, thinking I would break. He was absolutely wrong.

"I have a lot of work to be getting on with-"

"I don't love her."

My eyes widened, and I kept my voice low."For fucks sake John, we shouldn't be talking about this here."

"You know I don't!" he stood in front of me, but I quickly backed away, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves."She's some random gypsy Tommy picked up on the side of the road. Esme isn't you."

"And yet you're stuck with her. So let bygones be bygones. Did you actually need me?"

"I always need you, and I will always want you."

"Right, thank you for wasting my time sir."

I promptly left, feeling my throat get tight as I pushed back my tears. If I spoke another word, my voice would crack, giving away how I truly felt. Instead of returning to where I was originally sat, I headed to the kitchen, not wanting to see Esme. It was obvious her gaze was on me as I brushed past, though I took no notice. Once there, I made myself busy filling the kettle with water and beginning to make tea, just to distract myself. As it boiled, I gripped onto the edge of the counter, painfully holding back my sobs. I couldn’t do this for the rest of my life, it was emotionally exhausting, it was torturous.

“You can’t keep up this act forever.” Polly appeared.

I didn’t bother facing her.“I know. I already told Tom I would hand him my resignation letter, he refused.”

“No, we can’t lose you, even if we had enough staff. I want you to know that I had nothing to do with that. You know what Tommy is like with his ‘big ideas’.”

I finally looked at her.“My worst fear came true. He’s with someone else. He’s married, but not to me. It’s been in our heads for so long, it was all too good to be true.”

Before Polly could speak, I saw her glance behind me. Turning around, I saw Esme standing in the doorway, her usual scowl on her face as she grabbed a mug from a cupboard.

“I’m assuming you brewed a full pot?” she asked.

“Yes.” I replied. 

She put her mug beside mine, making sure it thudded against the counter. When she left, I ran my hands down my face, seriously considering walking out. Polly decided to not add anything. We would just go in circles, trying to cheer me up, reassure me, convince me to stay etc.

Managing to get through the rest of the day, I sighed in relief and tiredness as everyone started to pack their things. Putting on my coat, I smiled at one my colleagues who was approaching me.

“John has asked for you.” they warily said.

I rolled my eyes.“Did he say what he wants?”

He shook his head.“Sorry, wants you in there soon as.”

I thanked him as he left, along with everyone else. Esme held back, obviously glaring at me. She disappeared into John’s office for less than a minute before walking out again, leaving without her husband. I watched the door shut, leaving just John and I. My stomach twisted, heart beating incredibly loudly in my ears as I took my first few steps to his office. I stood in the doorway, hating that he was already looking at me, I was incredibly nervous. 

He stood from his chair.“(Y/N)-” 

“Please tell me this is about work.”

“I need to speak to you.”

“John, I can’t do this. We’re finished now-”

I started to walk away, not surprised when he followed, but shocked when he grabbed me, turning me around to face him.

“I know you feel the same as me. I can’t fucking stand it! I don’t want to be married to her. I don’t want to fuck her in our bed. I’ve only ever imagined coming home to see you there, not her!”

“Well that won’t happen now, will it?!” I snapped back, trying to make him let go of my arms.

As I struggled, John was able to keep a grasp on me.“It can! We’ll figure out a way! But I need to kiss you. I need to be able to hold you in my arms, to really feel you. I want to keep planning our future together.”

“Tommy has made his decision, and with this family, anything he says goes! You really think we could change any of this? Even if we did, imagine the trouble you would all be in.”

“I don’t care. I would take ten bullets to the chest if it meant being with you.”

“You can’t be saying things like that.”

His eyes were crazy, staring into my soul, fingers pressing into my skin. I felt him pull me closer, it was ever so slow, and I could have stopped it. But I didn’t. We cautiously leaned in for a kiss, making memories and feelings flood back. His hands relaxed, moving up to cup my face. The passion didn’t last long, because before I knew it, I was being pushed back against a desk, clumsily lying on my back. John wasted no time to touch my breasts, continuing to kiss me as it slid down my body, disappearing up my skirt. Although it was extremely tempting to carry on, the weighing guilt made me stop him.

“John.” I breathed out, giving him the wrong idea as he kept going, sucking on my neck. I pushed against him.“John, stop.”

He pulled away.“What? What’s wrong?” he went straight back down to my neck, trying to unbutton my blouse.

“Stop!” I said a little louder, managing to sit up and push him away.

“(Y/N), I know it’s been a while but-”

“It’s not that, you idiot! You’re married!”

“To a woman I don’t love!” 

I let out a frustrated scream, buttoning up my blouse again as I stood.“I’m not going to be that woman sleeping with married men, I’m not a whore!”

“Why are you denying your feelings? We were supposed to get married.”

“We were kids back then.”

He pointed an accusing finger at me.“I said that to you every year, we were always waiting for the right time!”

“Life doesn’t always work out John!” I yelled.“This is just as agonising to me as it is to you! But if we ruin this, the Lee’s are going to come for you all, and there’s already enough on your plates to deal with them.”

“I don’t give a fuck about them-”

“But I give a fuck about you living!” I snatched up my coat and handbag, pushing past him towards the door. With my hand on the handle, I calmed down before speaking again.“Obviously we weren’t meant to be. Though at least we didn’t take our time together for granted. Don’t try any of that again John, I mean it.”

For the next week, I didn’t utter a word to John, I didn’t even glance in his direction. I considered sending in my resignation. But after thinking about it, I knew I couldn’t bring myself to do it. These people were my family, I grew up  in this business. If I left, I had a slim chance of finding a normal job, because everyone knew who I was associated with. Why would anyone risk taking on someone who was involved with the Peaky Blinders? I was paid more than I should have been for my position, and they trusted me with anything; it would be stupid of me to throw that away and lose everything I worked so hard for. 

Surprisingly, Esme hadn’t piped up towards me in that time. I thought she might say something, even if she wasn’t triggered, due to her fiery personality. However, John had been relentless with his attempts to make me speak to him, even trying to trap me in the vault with him. I couldn’t break, I couldn’t let him get to me again. As much as my heart ached for him, as much as I wanted him to grab my face and kiss me again, I would never break a marriage. The guilt that would live with me fr the rest of my life was too much to bear. 

At the beginning of another day, I had just breezed into the shop when Lizzie approached me.“(Y/N), Tommy wants to see you.”

I sighed.“Did he say why?”

She shook her head.“You know what he’s like. But he’s asking for you now.”

I didn’t bother taking off my coat or setting my bag down, following Lizzie to his office. She knocked before opening the door, letting me walk in before closing it behind me, and I was left with Tommy, who was hunched over his desk as he looked through papers; however, there was also another man, a younger man.

“Come in (Y/N), let me introduce you to someone.” Tommy stood, setting the papers aside.

My steps were slower than they usually would be as I analysed the stranger. He looked younger than me, but not by that many years. His hat was in his hands, and although he wore a suit, it wasn’t like the ones the Shelby boys wore. His hair was slightly curly, not slicked back or short like most men around Small Heath, and he seemed shy, maybe more reclusive.

“I’m Michael.” he offered his hand out which I shook.

“I’m (Y/N).” I politely smiled.

“(Y/N) is basically family and has worked with us from the beginning.” Tommy explained.“This boy here, (Y/N), is Polly’s son.”

My eyes widened at Tommy as I let go of Michael’s hand.“Wait, you mean...the children she was always talking about...?”

“I’ve come back to find out about my real family. And to start working here too.” Michael added.

“So I need you to keep a close eye on him, help him with whatever he needs. (Y/N) knows the ins and outs of this place, she’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

For the rest of the day, Michael shadowed one of the workers that dealt with the winnings, counting money and figuring out how to run the shop floor. I would occasionally pop up when I thought he needed someone kinder and quiet to help, or just to check on him. He was sweet, but that wouldn’t help him in this environment. Luckily, Michael made it hard for John to bother me, he didn’t have the usual opportunities to bombard me with questions about why I didn’t want to fight for what we had. My shift finished quickly, it seemed like I had only been there an hour and we were already leaving.

“Come on Michael, let me take you for a drink. You deserve it after today.” I offered as we walked out of the shop.

He was hesitant before smiling.“Alright then. Where should we go?”

“We’ll go to the Garrison, your cousins are basically royalty there, meaning we are too. And don’t worry about your mum, she would rather you be with me than with the boys.”

Happily greeting Harry as we walked into the pub, he nudged the other bartender to get my usual drink. After asking Michael what he wanted, I called it out to Harry before disappearing into the private room.

“We’re allowed in here?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Like Tommy said, I’m family.” the window opened, a bartender passing us our drinks.“So, how did you end up in a place like this?”

We indulged in a conversation about Michael’s life growing up. It wasn’t a good upbringing, he had been through a lot of hardships as a child, and now being thrown into a completely different life was only adding to the confusion he had growing up, but he wanted to be independent. Get away from the boring country and work in an interesting job. 

Michael glanced down at his drink, seeming hesitant to speak.“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is there something between you and John? I thought he was married to Esme.” 

I scoffed.“He is. Seems to keep forgetting that.”

“Sorry, I shouldn't have asked-”

“It’s fine. You’re family, you should know what’s going on. We...wow, I’ve never actually spoken about this. John and I developed feelings for each other as we grew up, we became a couple. We always said we would get married, anyone could see we were deeply in love. However, Tommy arranged a marriage between John and Esme, it was to form a truce between the Shelby’s and the Lee family, Esme’s family.”

“That’s horrible. Tommy still did that even though he knew you two were together?”

“Yep.” I downed the rest of my drink.“Welcome to the family business.”

“I understand the need for a truce but...”

“I know what you’re thinking. Although it was heartbreaking, I know nothing can be done about it. And I am not a home wrecker!”

He was shocked by my snappy tone.“I-I didn’t say you were.”

“I know, force of habit.”

The door opened, the Shelby brothers walking in, and only three of them smiled at us, it was obvious who didn’t. They greeted us as they sat, the window opening instantly with their drinks on the tray. Michael and I were still tense from our talk, though tried not to show it as Arthur began rambling on about something stupid Finn had done that day. I tried my hardest to listen, though it was hard to when I could feel John’s eyes on me, and he was angry. Everyone else could tell as well, but they didn’t want to deal with John’s attitude right now. After Arthur finished his story, I excused myself to the ladies room, needing to relax. Unfortunately, I couldn’t even go to the loo without any disruption.

“Why the fuck are you here with him?” John demanded to know as he followed me in. 

“John! You can’t be in here!” I snapped.

“There’s no other women here yet! Answer me.”

“He’s a new colleague, someone Tommy told me to look after today. Not to mention he’s your cousin. I was being nice to him.”

“You say you still love me yet here you are with another man.” the rage in his eyes was growing more intense by the second.

“Oh for fucks sake John.” I rolled my eyes.“Why on Earth why I be so stupid to move on with another Shelby?”

“The fuck are you saying?”

“I’ve been battling with myself whether to leave this job because of you! It was terrible enough to be in the same room as you and your wife, but trying to avoid you all day is exhausting. You have to stop trying to make us work.”

His breathing was getting faster, and he hastily grabbed my hands.“But why can’t we just hide it? Maybe after a while I’ll be able to divorce her.”

“I can’t sit around and wait for you! I’ll always love you John, but you can’t expect me to not go on living my life whilst I wait for something that may never happen. And you’re telling me that in that time, you won’t have sex with her, you won’t give her the children she wants? Because I’m not fucking you behind her back.”

He groaned, pulling away from me and turning around, suddenly hitting a stall door, causing me to flinch at the movement and sound. Instinctively, I started backing away, scared that he might flip and accidentally hurt me in his rage.

“It’s not fucking fair!” he yelled.

“John, calm down!” I said, trying not to shout back, needing him to be calm.

“Why was I the one that had to get married?! Why wasn’t it Arthur or even Finn? They know we’re in love! I wanted you to be my fucking wife! And now you’re not even fighting for us!”

I scowled at him, screaming just as loud at him now.“How dare you?! John, there is nothing to fight for anymore! Yes, we still love each other, and I would give anything to be with you again! I would kill for you, you know that. But we need to move on from this. I’m staying at work for now, just until I’ve got enough to move somewhere else, and then I’m gone. I’m not staying where I got my heart broken.”

“You can’t leave.”

“I will. This feels like someone is punishing me for something terrible that I’ve done, but for the life of me I can not think what that could be. I’m done with this John. I don’t want to wake up every morning dreading to go to the shop, being distracted from my work because I’m dreading that you’ll corner me and we’ll get caught doing something we shouldn’t be. I feel like I’ve aged since the day you married, just from the stress.”

“(Y/N), please, just give it more time, we can work something out-”

“No! John just shut the fuck up and listen to what I’m saying! Leave me alone, leave what we had in the past. You’re married now, and I don’t want to have an affair, not just because of the Lee’s but because of the moral of it all. I...I just need to go home.”

“You’re not leaving-”

He grabbed my arm forcefully, and in defence I slapped him around the face. He recoiled his hand as he went into shock, giving me a chance to escape. However, he kept calling my name as I rushed off, seeing the boys standing at the bar, obviously having heard everything. I pushed past them, bursting into the private room to grab my things before leaving the pub. The others were also telling me to come back, wondering what was wrong.

“Don’t follow me! Leave me alone!” I screeched before turning away from them. 

I felt light headed as I stormed home. There was so much to take in, too much had been said in such a short amount of time. Though I knew I had spoken my truth, even if it was the hardest thing I had ever admitted. John and I couldn’t be. Perhaps it was never meant to happen, and we needed to grow up, move on from our childhood dreams of us being together. I couldn’t dwell on it, I was right when I said I couldn’t put my life on pause to wait for him, which I knew would never happen. Until I knew what I could do to move on and away from everyone, I hoped that our argument had sent a message to John, and I wouldn’t have to suffer as much as I had been. Not for much longer, I am going to be happy.

[regrettablewritings]

I'm feeling a Nevada Ramirez mood (love that damn asshole) but if you aren't feeling writing for him then I give this up to authors choice. But from the current ships numbers perhaps: 3 (because I wanna get fucked up), 9 (because I have to), 10 (because I would like to know your thoughts) and 11 (because I am wildly curious)

("I'm feeling a Nevada Ramirez mood" Translation: "I want a daddy to spit in my fuckgng mouth" Sorry, I don't make the rules about language translation.🤷🏽‍♀️)

3. Which one outlives the other, and how they cope:

You'd always kind of sort of lived in a fairytale. In hindsight, though, you probably had to: It's what probably made being with his stupid ass a bit easier. Kind of like you were living in one of those stories where a monster that terrorized some bucolic tiny town could be brought down to size by a soul of pure heart. Maybe even regain his human form.

If only your story had had a happy ending.

In a way, Nevada felt he was to blame for that; clearly, sticking with you had really only encouraged that type of behavior, or so he thought.

And now look where that ended you: All that gross-ass makeup to make you look like your last moments hadn't been agonizing (the coroner insisted it had been quick, but Nevada called bullshit); those stiff clothes that you never would've worn unless you had to (Nevada never would've put you in them if he had more of a choice); eyes closed, never to see the telltale signs of the one you left behind coming undone (actually, in a sick way, Nevada didn't necessarily mind this; it spared him the humiliation).

There wasn't even necessarily any sign that you had been targeted; the general theory really was that you'd been taken out by a stray bullet. But in some part of him, Nevada couldn't believe that. He didn't want to. It just made so much perfect sense in his mind: You were just minding your own damn business, walking home after a shift ended a little later than expected. You were the very picture of innocent and unsuspecting, all vulnerable and without him. In short: That was the perfect time for some rival gang or some shit to take a shot at you.

And the thought made Nevada's blood boil to the point that it evaporated into the air, further polluting these fucking New York skies with his inner toxicity being exposed. He'd make whoever did this to you choke. But not before roughing them up a lil bit. Maybe cut off some fingers. Some toes . . . Maybe a pound of flesh as payment if there was any time left, who knows.

But first, his men had to find them.

To say that Nevada does not take your passing well would be an understatement. He's somehow more violent. Somehow a lot less tolerant of bullshit (and he already wasn't before). If anyone so much as blinks wrong, they run the risk of having a nearly feral fuck jump at them and attempt to rip their face off.

His men, who already feared and respected him, dare not occupy the same room as him any longer than they have to. They miss you as a person, of course, but they never knew just how much of a hold you had on their boss until that hand was gone.

Sure, he goes through the usual motions seen in others, like sitting in his chair, downing copious amounts of whatever was left in his liquor cabinet. And, of course, there's the stages of grieving: He's eternally stuck oscillating between guilt and anger.

He was supposed to be the one that got killed out here, him! Not you: Sweet, kind, patient, hard-headed, stupid-assed you! He got that, why couldn't God get with the program on that!? He was the dealer, the gang leader putting himself into all kinds of problems with others; you were just some innocent bystander who happened to get caught in his web, decide they liked it there, and inexplicably stuck around.

And now you're dead. He was being selfish, you were being stupid, and now you were dead.

He stares blankly at nothing before humming with a sip of whatever the hell is in his glass now, he doesn't fucking remember. Can't taste it anyway; his sense of taste disappeared, floated away with your spirit the moment he learned of your passing.

The pure-hearted soul that kept the village safe was gone; all that remained was the carnivorous beast, ready to rampage and raze the town to the ground.

9. Which one swears more?:

Just in time for the 20210 Summer Olympics, we have a new category to observe: Fucking Goddamn Cussing Up a Shitstorm! Representing Washington Heights, we have a cussing prodigy, Nevada Ramirez! Also representing Washington Heights by way of duel citizenship between the apartments, we have . . . You!

Okay but in all seriousness, Nevada is definitely the gold medal-winner here. Science indicates that cussing helps to relieve stress and for as collected as Nevada likes to appear in front of others, 5'9" is not a lot of space for stress to go. He's constantly bottling up that shit! What's worse, though, is that the fucker makes it sound elegant.

How does he make "fuck" sound so gentle when it leaves his lips with a cold-eyed glower!? Who the hell knows!

Erstwhile, you're a pretty good runner-up. Even if you were a big cusser before getting with Nevada, you could never catch up with him -- he's just had way too many experiences where he felt the need to pepper the ambience with some cursing. And if you weren't as into it before . . . I'm sorry, boo, but you'll be picking up that nasty habit of his like you were picking up the torch for the Cussing Olympics. Bon chance!

10. What TV shows they watch together, and which ones they hide from the other:

Noah . . . How did you know I was planning to do a preference on what characters watch with their S/Os? Not that I can confirm or deny that Nevada was in that one but --

Nevada didn't really watch TV a whole lot before you two got together. It was a mix of him not having a lot of time and him not having a lot of care to keep up with anything. Everything is so goddamn serialized, what's even the point?

Really, the only reason he bought subscriptions to streaming services was to keep you entertained for when he had to be out the house or some junk. But there were a few too many times where he'd come home late and find you curled up on the couch.

". . . The hell're you still doing up --"

"Ssh!"

". . . Did you just --"

"Yes, now sshhh! I'm about to see who this chick picks to go to bed with."

Of course, 'Vada is pissed; people don't shush him, he shushes them! What the fuck could be so interesting that you'd do that!? He takes his glare from you to the screen . . . and about thirty minutes in, he gets it. He'd never say it out loud, but deep down, he knows why you like Love Island. It's stupid, it's trashy, he hates these dumbass twenty-somethings making drama out of nothing, and for fuck's sake will somebody talk to the girl with the dark skin and short hair she's the hottest one there --

Of course, he tries hard not to show his interest, taking seats next to you when you're watching "because he's tired", adding his own commentary "because these pendejos need to know better", etc. And, of course, it doesn't fool you in the slightest. As amused as you are, though, you don't tease him about it; you're afraid that if you do, your stubborn boyfriend would put up a fight in the form of leaving you to watch your silly little show by yourself. And you really don't mind sharing the show with him . . . No, solitary watching is reserved for your cartoons.

Nevada may let things with you slip to a point but the moment he learns you like to watch anything animated, he's on your ass with the ruthless taunting. Which is like the pot calling the kettle black because 'Vada's secret pleasure is even worse: daytime soap operas. Admittedly, there's some sentimentality connected to them (he remembers being at his Abuela's house and seeing her get really into some telenovelas), but the fact of the matter is really more that he's invested in the drama and bullshit going on between all this lunatics who we're supposed to buy as being doctors or CEOs or whatever over-glamorized positions they're supposed to have.

He doesn't actually get to watch them often but . . . hey, that's what he pays certain grunts to do for him.

Okay I had way too much fun writing these so lemme just cut myself off now. Thanks for asking!!!

[amispnrewatch]

SPN 1x06 “Skin”

Okay, I’m gonna try to type while I watch this time instead of forgetting this blog exists until the episode is almost over.

You can tell the footage for the previously on segment was saved on a VHS copy instead of the original film that the show was shot with because even in the HD iTunes version I have it looks low quality as fuck. And jumpy in the way that brings me back to my teens watching the WB all the damn time.

I love this song. WTF is this song. Shazam says “Good Deal” by Mommy and Daddy. I… have no comment, except that it sounds like everything I was listening to in college at the time this shit was airing.

Aaaaand not!Dean turns around to face the SWAT team after obviously torturing some woman. THAT is a cold open.

I wanna know what that car is in the background. It’s pretty. Maybe a convertible Impala? They have similar grills. This is not at all important.

Also, I love that with these higher definition versions of the episodes you can see that Sam’s email is lawboy and whatever dot com and that people in the fandom have started calling him Law Boy. It’s hilarious.

DEAN: Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?

SAM: I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.

DEAN: Oh, so you lie to ‘em.

SAM: No. I just don’t tell ‘em….everything.

DEAN: Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

Aaaaand now I have Dean and Cassie feelings again and we haven’t even gotten to her episode yet.

SAM: No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.

DEAN: Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.

Aaaaaand now I have Dean and Lee feelings and we’re nowhere near Lee’s episode in season 15.

YOU JUST BLEW THROUGH A STOP SIGN DEAN WTF.

Little Becky. Oi with the reusing of names.

Of course Sam made friends with a bunch of rich kids while he was at college in a desperate attempt to try to be normal.

SAM: You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.

DEAN: We could.

REBECCA: Why? I mean, what could you do?

SAM: Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop. (DEAN laughs.)

DEAN: Detective, actually.

I love that Dean was like “how dare you call me that.”

Okay, after a bit of research, I totally want to take a day trip to Bisbee, Arizona, but it’s already in the 90s here in the desert and it’s not even May so that trip is going to have to wait until… winter or something. There is no way in hell I’m going deeper into the desert when the weather gets hotter.

It’s a historic mining town tourist trap looking place now which is exactly the kind of shit I love.

SAM: Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.

I mean, not technically, technically you would 1) NOT FUCK WITH A MURDER INVESTIGATION YOU’RE NOT LEGALLY INVOLVED IN BECAUSE ANYTHING YOU FIND WOULD BE INADMISSABLE IN COURT 2) find evidence to provide a reasonable doubt for the jury that he did commit the crime. You know, like a lawyer would need to do, Law Boy.

DEAN: I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.

When I made my husband watch this show with me (he’s seen it all at least once now over the years) this is the recurring thing that drove him crazy.

You guys can’t even go in through the back door? Or shut the front door behind you? Really?

REBECCA: (tearfully) Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in.

Yeah, that doesn’t even really mean that she knew her attacker. Just that it was someone she let her guard down around or got in some other way. See: The Son of Sam and Nightstalker, etc.

Love the pinup magnet on the fridge. I’d throw shade at that, but I have a pinup magnet on my fridge too so… pot kettle and all that.

Okay, both people in the next couple are gorgeous.

And oh wow those special effects changing eyes… wow.

This poor couple. I feel so bad for them in this episode.

How… how are the police gonna explain the way he was able to beat himself over the head with a bat??? I…

I love that 5:30 in the morning on TV is clearly like… 10 AM.

Okay, this is a really unrelated point, but the graffiti on the dumpster here reminds me of the Teen Wolf fandoms use of the name Void!Stiles when Stiles Stilinski was possessed by a Nogitsune… I just spent way too long digging through YouTube and my Tumblr tags from back when those episodes were airing looking for a few specific videos and couldn’t find them. The TL;DR reason I bring it up here is goofball, bi-coded main character guy getting possessed by an entity set on destroying the people he loves. SOUNDS LIKE THIS EPISODE AND A WHOLE LOT OF SPN RIGHT. I love that all these monster hunting shows call out to each other.

This scene haunts me years later and I don’t even WATCH Teen Wolf. I just watched the fandom on Tumblr collectively lose it’s shit then tripped down a Hale Pack fanfiction rabbit hole.

ANYWAY

Back to Supernatural, a show that also treated its fan base, cast, and characters like garbage! Huzzah!

DEAN: Well, there’s another way to go—down. (They look down and notice a manhole.)

I’m gonna be mature and ignore the double entendre there…

But I love that Dean thinks of the world in 3D. Which sounds like a dumb statement to make, but this is honestly a good example of that in action.

SAM: I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too.

Really Sam, sewers run by houses? SO WEIRD. I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED.

DEAN: You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.

SAM: That is sick. (DEAN puts the bloody pile back on the ground.)

Guys, there is a WHOLE ASS EAR in that pile of yuck you’re looking at. I think it’s pretty safe to assume the shapeshifter indeed sheds its skin like a snake. A much… gooier snake.

Sam’s friend is rightfully pissed at him for fucking with the crime scene.

This is before the pearl gripped guns?! Wow. I never noticed that before.

Also, this whole episode gives me feelings.

++++

Cool. Tumblr mobile ate a whole section of my notes on this when it crashed for NO APPARENT REASON. Love that.

It always boggles my mind that actors can trust the people they’re working with enough to let people “tie” ropes around their neck or put them in actually dangerous positions in a scene.

SHAPESHIFTER: He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?

SAM: Where is my brother? (The shapeshifter leans in close to SAM.)

SHAPESHIFTER: I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me. (He backs away.)

SAM: What are you talkin’ about?

SHAPESHIFTER: You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks. (He laughs.) I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens. (He smiles and covers SAM with a sheet.)

This exchange is just… so much. So many feelings. And I will forever (unless we magically get a fix-it fic mini season someday…) be SO MAD that none of this got resolved in that pointless, trash heap of a finale.

REBECCA: Okay, so, this thing—it can make itself look like anybody?

SHAPESHIFTER: That’s right. (She chuckles.)

REBECCA: Well, what is it, like a genetic freak? (The shapeshifter laughs.)

SHAPESHIFTER: Maybe. Evolution is about mutation, right? So, maybe this thing was born human but was different. Hideous and hated. Until he learned to become someone else. (REBECCA looks around, uncomfortable. The shapeshifter’s eyes glint silver, and he smiles.)

It always amazes me how much of this show is a pile of accidental queer allegories parading around in an ill-fitting toxic masculinity suit.

Vulcan mind meld! I love nerd!Dean. Also, I’m rewatching Star Trek: TOS with my husband, because that is what my life amounts to these days, rewatching comfort TV and flailing over the bits I love.

This post does a better job than I can do of pairing up screen caps with the dialogue of this next scene. SIX EPISODES IN. They’re dumping all of this character depth SIX EPISODES IN. FUCK THIS SHOW FOR NOT EMBRACING ITSELF.

Okay, I love that he screams back in her face after he threw the phone. It’s not something to laugh at because the situation is horrifying, but I can’t help laughing at it every time.

AND THE WAY THEY CUT THESE SCENES. Going from him winding his hand back to backslap her directly to him dropping the chains on the table to show how hard he must have hit her without actually making the actors hit each other. Good job editing department!

I… don’t understand the shifter’s motivation for killing people. If he can take over people’s identities without killing them, why kill them? Is it just because he’s a homicidal, rapist piece of shit? Cause that’s all it seems like.

How did the SWAT team even know she was being attacked? Why can the snipers aim no better than Storm Troopers?

Ugh, these kind of transformation body horror scenes are exactly why werewolf stories have never really appealed to me much. Like, I could do without watching your ribs move and teeth fall out, dude.

BUT.

THIS FUCKING SCENE.

I looked up the song that’s playing over shapeshifter!Dean being caught by the SWAT team and then going through the grotesque transformation. (And as far as I know, the iTunes version has the original music from the episodes.)

It’s a song called “Mary” by The Death Riders

Who's your mother, who's your mother here boy // Who's your mother, whos your mommy dear // Who's your father, who's your father here boy // Who's your father, who's your daddy dear

Silently screaming // Where everyone knows // Daddy's always watchin' // Where everywhere - everywhere I go

I don't wanna be a freak show pretty boy anymore // I don't wanna be a full time slave // I don't wanna be your midnight cowboy anymore // I just want to be Mary

This is… a fascinating choice. Here are the rest of the lyrics. The song as a whole has a weird incesty kinda vibe to it? Kinda like when SPN tries to straight-wash itself and misses the mark wildly. (Like Dean’s male siren episode.)

The midnight cowboy line reminded me of 12x11 and the bull riding scene with “Broomstick Cowboy” by Bobby Goldsboro playing over it

Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy, // Dream while you can; // Of big green frogs, // And puppy dogs, // And castles in the sand.

For, all too soon you'll awaken; // Your toys will all be gone. // Your broomstick horse will ride away, // To find another home. // And you'll have grown into a man, // With cowboys of your own. // And then you'll have to go to war, // To try and save your home.

And then you'll have to learn to hate; // You'll have to learn to kill. // It's always been that way, my son; // I guess it always will.

Because, you know, why not add tons of feelings into the lyrics, right?

Props to the people who can embrace their rewatches and reclamations of the show with ease. Because every episode seems to remind me of how hollow and tragic Dean’s ending was and I just… struggle all over again.

Anyway, back to the episode so I can move on with my day.

REPORTER: An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home. (A sketch of DEAN appears on the screen.)

DEAN: Man! That’s not even a good picture. (SAM looks around cautiously.)

SAM: It’s good enough. (He walks away.)

DEAN: Man! (He follows SAM.)

(CUT TO: Alley. DEAN and SAM are walking. DEAN steps into a puddle.)

DEAN: Ugh, come on.

I love that we get two tiny little back-to-back vanity moments for Dean here. One commenting on the sketch artist rendition of him being broadcasted on the news and the other tripping in the puddle. There is literally someone running around the city trying to kill people while wearing Dean’s face, but Dean is still concerned with how he looks appears to others. He’s still concerned with keeping up his own performance. The shifter left him with just a t-shirt, so he doesn’t even have his usual comfort layers on and at any moment someone could spot him and call the police or try to kill him for assaulting Sam’s friend. His life is wildly out of control in that moment and the only thing he can try to focus on is his appearance (something semi-controllable) and finding the shifter before any of that other shit can happen.

One day I want to put together a like top 10 episodes focusing on / explaining each TFW character from the series. Like the kind of list you could show someone who’s never seen the show, but has OPINIONS about the characters (or who hasn’t seen the whole show and seen the growth they went through… you know, like the people responsible for the travesty of 15x20). This episode would be on that list. I’m not sure how I could manage to make a list of only 10 episodes to understand Dean Winchester by, but eh.

SAM: What are you gonna do to me?

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though.

SAM: They’ll never catch him.

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, doesn’t matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life. (He picks up a sharp knife and examines it.)

Speaking of season 15 in general, this right here. This was Chuck’s villain story arc thesis statement. AND THEY DROPPED THE GODDAMN BALL WITH IT. I think that’s the thing that honestly pisses me off the most these days (about 5 1/2 months from when the finale aired) is that they tried making the whole thing a tragedy but did such an awful job with it that it just ended up like a deflating condom balloon at a dive bar concert. Disappointing and gross. The finale for season 14 set them up SO FUCKING WELL and it just… didn’t get there.

Becky’s parents are gonna be pissed at how torn up their house is after all this shit…

And you’re not shooting him when you first see him strangling Sam because…?????

I like that he took the necklace back. Also, is this kinda Dean death number .5 of the show? Like it wasn’t him but it was also kinda him. Eh.

At least they left the windshield on Baby this time. Reflections are better than tearing her apart.

[lycanthrop-ee]

Ghosting - Empty House

A/N: !!!!! It’s here! I’m so, so pumped for this- welcome to the Empty House AU! This is the first piece of content I’m publishing and it’s a one-shot from a bigger universe, but it’s also absolutely a stand-alone fic. It’s a self-indulgent, analogical-centric human AU that’s has been floating around my hollow skull for months now, so there’s a lot of doodles backed up if any of yall would like to see that ;) There will be an AU taglist, but I also have an individual writing taglist!

Synopsis: Logan has finally moved out of his childhood home into a family-sized house where he plans to finish college online. His simple plans are complicated when a strange, sad-looking boy starts showing up outside...

Word count: 4,306

Ships: Endgame romantic Analogical

CW: (spoilers) Pre-plot major character death, swearing, anxiety attack, very mildly implied previous parental abuse, be safe kiddos and ask to tag!

The first time Logan saw the boy was the day he moved in. 

The empty house had stood hollowly beside its driveway, Logan feeling small without his siblings or parents or any of his rarely acquired friends by his side. He wasn’t a sociable person, but he’d always been surrounded by noise at home, and lots of it… he’d never been in a house as still as the one he stepped into that day. The dark wooden floors were cleanly swept, except for the corners and trimmings which had little fields of grey dust dotting the deep brown. The refrigerator made a hungry humming noise, protesting its suddenly empty shelves- Logan knew a family of four had lived there before, and that they’d given him a pretty hefty discount on the house. That’s all he knew.

The floor in the entrance hall creaked underfoot, and the walls seemed to turn away as they saw him- not who they’d been expecting, not worth their attention. That was fair. 

The house had three bedrooms and two floors- altogether a strange layout. Two of the bedrooms were downstairs, situated in a small hallway off the kitchen, and one was tucked into a little corner upstairs, where the only other rooms consisted of a bathroom and a large, carpeted playroom that was mostly empty now. Logan figured it would have been a favorite of the kids when they were smaller, but now the only furniture was a faux leather couch and a television, as well as a couple of out-of-place armchairs that had never gotten much human use from the look of their fur-covered seats.

With just him taking up the whole house, he hardly saw the point in using the upstairs bedroom. The house felt big already- rationally, it would be better to localize downstairs. All he really needed was his room, the kitchen, and the little living room next to the entrance. That was enough for him- in fact, even that was too silent. He missed the screams of his brothers as affectionately as anyone could- which honestly varied day to day. 

Today, he was disproportionately affectionate. 

It paired well with the fear.

Logan was just about ready to start tearing himself apart over the family members he’d left behind- the only ones that mattered- when the boy caught his eye.

The day had been gray and dreary, the trees heavy with the prospect of rain and the air cool enough to promise it, but it had only started drizzling in the few minutes since Logan had been inside. The sky had seemed to darken remarkably quickly, especially strange without the presence of thunder or even heavy rain, and in the middle of it all was a lanky figure who looked for all the world like a member of the fae.

He stood at the side of the road, looking in the house’s general direction- in Logan’s general direction, although he was sure the other wouldn’t be able to see through his windows. His face would’ve been hidden by the dark hair poking out from under his hood were he not so painfully pale, and his brown irises were visible to Logan only because of the piercing contrast of his skin. 

His jacket was oversized, but his beanpole frame managed to show through regardless. The rainwater gradually weighed it down until the boy looked almost a skeleton, Logan frozen watching him for what could have been minutes- and then the frame heaved in a breath and ambled stiffly away. 

Obviously Logan’s first worries had to do with an unhinged white male teenager breaking into his new house- the one he had full responsibility for and few precious savings to repair. It was irrational, he knew, but his second thought was that the boy hadn’t looked capable of any harm- or really of much at all. He looked weighed down, depressed, and Logan was sure that it wasn’t just the water soaking his sweatshirt. The boy had looked sad. 

And he continued to. Frighteningly often, the teenager appeared outside Logan’s house. Each time he looked quite the same: above average height but considerably shorter than Logan himself, skinny, and almost other-worldly in his strange mish-mash of dark eyes and pearly flesh. While Logan knew that his first sight of the boy had been strange in the sudden change of weather, he could- and completely intended to- count it as a coincidence of Florida’s strange climate.  

He settled into a sort of pattern, although the boy didn’t seem to follow one. Each time he saw the figure outside his house, he would take a break from his endless work. He’d make himself some tea, sit in the window, and wait for the boy to leave. This way, he told himself, if he tried anything, Logan would be there to intercept him. He chose not to think about the possibility of it happening at night or while he was away, and he kept far away from the crime shows he’d occasionally enjoyed in the past. This way, too, he could get a good look at his visitor each time. It was almost as though he was keeping tabs on him, and at the tail end of his fear came a strange protectiveness. 

It was after about a month of this- Logan looking for job applications and living off of his savings, edgewise- that Logan pulled into his driveway at one of the key moments of his life. The boy stood unsteadily at the side of the road, sweatshirt ever-present even in the heat. Logan got out of his car carefully, his heart in his throat- though, really, did any part of him think the boy capable of much at this point? 

He’d have expected the kid to run as soon as he’d pulled in, but when Logan looked him over he saw the boy studying him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It struck Logan anew in their close proximity how thin he was.

Almost thoughtlessly, he started across the lawn towards the boy. He had to remind himself to uphold formalities- no matter how many times they’d stared at each other across the way, they’d never once spoken. He didn’t know this kid, not really- and now it occurred to him that the boy was more than a kid. He couldn’t be much younger than himself. Logan halted a few respectful steps from the boy, who eyed him strangely.

Close up… he looked, somehow, the same as he did from across the lawn. His features were simple, small mouth and nose easy to overlook for his huge, shadowed eyes. He really did remind one of a fairytale, or even- perhaps more accurately- a Tim Burton. 

Logan opened his mouth to speak, but paused for a moment. They watched each other.

“Would you like to come in for tea?” He finally inquired, the words escaping him overly familiar. The boy raised his eyebrows almost undetectably, seeming confused, and Logan caught himself almost leaning forward in anticipation of the other’s first words to him.

“You’re not Patton,” the boy said, voice just above a murmur and hoarse. Logan hesitated, confused, and studied the expression that would’ve been bored were it not for the slight tremble in his lips and a hint of surprise- Logan supposed neither of them had planned what had escaped their mouths. He reached up with a thin arm and brushed the back of his hand gently across his eyes. A spark of something strange flickered in Logan’s chest- this man was possibly not all there. He wracked his brain for labels- depression? Mild psychosis? Dissociation?

Either way, this was not someone he should invite into his house without more information- but as that regretfully occurred to him, the first drops of afternoon rain hit the tip of his noise. He wondered if the boy would stand out here after Logan went outside, and if so, for how long. 

“No, I’m not,” he found himself saying. “My name is Logan. It is raining- would you like to come in?”

He was exceedingly aware of the boy’s breathing as they stepped out of the rain, something that would normally drive him insane- somehow he didn’t mind this time. His presence was almost calming after weeks of bringing a break from Logan’s ceaseless work. It assured him that the ghostly pale man was real, which was never a problem he thought he’d be debating... but here was this skeleton-thin, strange-mannered man entering his house as though he’d been there a million times before.

He carefully slid his shoes off, paying close attention to the floor- and no attention to Logan. 

“I’ll make tea,” the latter found himself mumbling. “Do you want to come into the kitchen?”

“I’m gonna go upstairs,” the boy said. Logan blinked.

“I- you… this is my house?” He stuttered, trying to be assertive- surely that crossed a line? He’d never seen this kid before a month ago- but there he went, lugging himself up the stairs like he belonged there. O-kay. 

Logan backed into the drafty kitchen to put the kettle on.

Time to listen to his voice of reason, he decided. Clearly this boy had been in the house before- hopefully before Logan had moved in- and knew his way around. And clearly his mental state had some connection to the house- whether positive or negative, Logan couldn’t yet tell. So, he concluded, it’s possible that he had lived here before. The married couple that had sold him the house had mentioned a son, but they’d been moving out of town- how would the boy have made his way back almost daily? There was a bus line in the area... but who was Patton, and why had his absence been unexpected?

There was clearly missing information here, and thus the situation was theoretically dangerous. The logical thing to do would be to contact the authorities for more information- maybe the boy was a local that they were familiar with. If that were the case, they would know how to handle him. 

On the other hand… it was, put simply, a puzzle. Wasn’t it? Logan was smart; he was in online college and he was passing quite well. He had an A in psych so far. He just needed a few more minutes with the boy and he’d figure it out. He could help him... why else would he show up outside his house? 

He needed Logan.

There goes rational thought, Logan sighed as the kettle started to whistle, turning off the stovetop and moving the pot to the side. Something made him turn around- the boy was watching him from the doorway, looking almost more upset than usual. His wide eyes were watery, and as Logan hesitated he wiped an arm across his face again, expression turning to frustration. He avoided Logan’s gaze. “You said you were making tea?” He said, carefully controlled voice just above a whisper. Logan was startled out of his stupor by the boy’s coherence.

“I, um- yes! Yes, would you- what kind?”

“Earl grey? No sugar, just a bit of milk...” he carefully pulled a chair from the small table, slumping into it and reaching to fidget with the salt shaker. “Please.”

The boy’s words stirred Logan into movement and he grabbed two mugs out of the mostly barren cabinet before pulling a pre-packaged tea bag from the tea box on the counter. He unwrapped the tea and dropped one bag in each mug, pouring steaming water from the kettle into them with a satisfying noise. The warm humidity and pleasant smell caressed Logan’s face, and he took a moment to bask in it before returning to the present moment- if begrudgingly. As he set the empty kettle aside, the room quieted, the only sound the rain drizzling over the side of the roof. Logan crossed the space self-consciously to close the window. The boy’s eyes were pointedly focused on the table in front of him- Logan thought he felt more awkward this way than if the boy had been staring at him flat-out. Either way, he could feel his awareness of Logan like a thick fog. He snuck another look at the boy as he hovered beside a chair, unsure whether to sit opposite him. 

“My name is Logan,” he prompted, thoughts stumbling over each other to curse him for the repetition. 

“Thank you for the tea, Logan.”

...Well, at least that was something. His name sounded strange in the other boy’s hoarse, delicate voice- less mundane, somehow. He stood at the head of a table for one more moment that seemed to stretch out an eternity- the boy carefully spun the salt shaker around in his nimble fingers, swearing softly as some of the seasoning fell onto the table. Logan’s startled eyes studied the other’s flushed face.

And then his head caught up to him, and he shuttered into motion, rushing to the mostly empty fridge for milk and fetching the small bag of sugar he’d mercifully bought a few days before. 

“I... I’ve seen you around,” Logan’s mouth betrayed him again. That was creepy- although, looking at it objectively, it was much less creepy than being ‘around’ the way the boy had. The table behind was quiet for too long as he poured the milk. 

“...When’d you move in?” The voice was quiet and held a fragility that Logan hadn’t yet heard from the other. He was relieved to finally have an easy answer to one of the many questions he faced. And, indeed, his mouth finally obeyed him, even and direct.

“About a month ago.” He turned to face the table, the boy’s tea held stiffly between his hands. 

“Sorry,” he whispered as Logan set down the tea. “I knew someone’d moved in, but I guess… it was you.” The boy let out a hollow laugh, and Logan was swept with protectiveness once more.

“Don’t worry, I won’t alert the authorities.” Because that was the most comforting thing he could think of- he’d never been very tactful with delicate emotional situations. Predictably, the boy tensed. Logan decided it’d be advisable for him to move on. “What is your name, pray tell?”

Pray tell. Pray fucking tell? What was wrong with him? The boy cut him off before he could overthink the foot he’d just shoved in his mouth with the eloquence of an 1800s era schoolboy. 

“Patton.” A moment passed before a look of horror came over his face. “Or- no, I- it’s- Virgil! Virgil.”

Now- once again, logically- forgetting one's name was not a good sign. Of general coherence nor moral innocence. Logan knew this. 

Still, the boy looked uniquely upset by the mistake. 

Logan fetched his tea and sat down opposite him.

The other boy fidgeted incessantly, and Logan felt it fell on him to make Virgil more comfortable. He threw tact to the wind- it was tiresome anyway- in favor of distracting the other and himself from the strange fumble.

“Are you a local?”

He got a nod in response, Virgil holding the tea tightly between his hands. Logan couldn’t help but feel he’d made yet another mistake- obviously the boy wasn’t comfortable talking about himself, but was it worth Logan filling the silence with unprompted facts about himself? Would that bore Virgil? Was that rude? He let the gap in conversation rest for a moment before deciding he didn’t much care what was rude.

“This is my second year enrolled in online college- I skipped my senior year.”

The stupid non-sequitor sat in the middle of the table, sinking like a rock. Virgil managed to give him an incredulous look, even in the depths of... whatever it was that was affecting him. Logan panicked. 

Here are a few things about Logan Croft that were usually a given:

                  1. He often said things without regard to the effect they would have on others. 

                  2. He did not say things he didn’t believe to be true.

                  3. He did not readily employ personal information.

All of these rules had apparently been thrown out the window the second Virgil walked in his door. As soon as he realized this, he worked to reclaim them. “Virgil.”

The wind immediately blew out of his sails, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Speaking abrasively had never been difficult for him, and this was not the time to adopt a new weakness. “I need to know who you are. You have shown up outside of my house for the past month, and while the reasoning behind this is presumably personal and not necessarily critical for me to know, I will at least need you to tell me your full name. Against my better judgement, I will not contact the authorities about your incessant invasion of my privacy, because I don’t altogether mind it- but if you are to have regular access to my house, we can’t continue this one-sided conversation.” Regular access to his house? When had Logan considered that option? As soon as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer- the feeling of someone appearing in the doorway, seeking Logan’s company… it was something that he’d missed sorely. It was something he needed.

The boy looked startled and altogether terrified by the long stream of words. Logan, still working hard to recover his sense and new to the inclination of softening his words on the behalf of strangers, disregarded this as best he could as he waited for an answer. 

It didn’t look like he was going to get one.

Virgil opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, putting the salt shaker down on it’s side like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Logan felt a tug in his stomach to right it, afraid he’d get more salt on his table, but now didn’t seem like the time. 

As the moment stretched forward, his attention was grabbed away anyways, trying to decipher Virgil’s expression. It didn’t look good. 

In fact, it made his heart drop.

The boy looked withdrawn, fearful- like a bird with an injured wing or a snared fox. Damn it, damn it, damn it- Logan’s split-second adopted mantra was less than helpful, but it showed no signs of tapering off to make room for useful thoughts. Virgil’s eyes squeezed shut, and the instincts left over from Logan’s career as an older brother took over. 

He rushed to Virgil’s side on blind autopilot, laying a warm hand over his bony back. The boy jumped at the unexpected touch- and then leaned into it, a choked sob tearing itself from his throat. Oh no. Oh god. Damn it. 

Logan didn’t consider himself good with emotions. He did his best to comfort his younger brothers- god knows they needed it- but strangers were a whole new situation and honestly he didn’t feel much better about this than he expected the boy did.

Nevertheless. 

“Hey, I-” he took a knee to lower himself to Virgil’s level, steadying himself against the table awkwardly. “Um-”

He choked on what to say, but his mind latched to the one thing he knew. Virgil had responded positively to touch- and with little further thought, Logan bundled the shivering boy into his arms.

Logan would’ve immediately taken back the show of affection by any means necessary if Virgil hadn’t melted into the touch so readily- Logan was reminded of an oversized cat. 

That being said, Logan was holding a sobbing stranger in his arms in his new house, alone. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Logan had always been the kid at family gatherings who did everything in his power to ward off physical contact from his overbearing relatives. Although this situation was completely different and altogether impossible to plan for and avoid, he found himself reacting in somewhat of the same way- each place that Virgil’s thin, trembling body touched his screamed at him to recoil.

He did not.

He brought to mind his brothers- not that they’d ever been particularly physically affectionate with him. They’d always turned to each other, and he’d been left to himself. Understandably. But he imagined if they had seeked his reassurance, if they’d ever been as upset as this stranger was now. If they’d let him in. 

But now someone was leaning on him for comfort, and he was determined to provide for them. Imagine if Remus had come to him for help, he kept thinking. Imagine if it were Roman. 

And all of a sudden he had to hold back tears himself. He tensed, carefully leaning Virgill back onto his chair- Logan’s chair. Sensing the other’s discomfort, the boy came back to himself like a fire blazing across dry wood. 

“Fuck- fuck, I-I’m-” the boy was off at a rushed stutter, scrambling to right himself and wiping his eyes angrily. Logan shook his head, patting Virgil’s shoulder awkwardly. 

“Drink your tea,” Logan said stiffly. “It’s okay. I don’t- do you need something?” Good job, he thought sarcastically. Just pretend it never happened. Show him that, apologies, you seem to have made him think you’re an emotional resource. He was wrong, you’re actually a sociopath. Once again, sorry for any inconvenience. 

Logan’s thoughts stuttered and shouted as he tried to fix whatever he’d done. Virgil was quite obviously shaking, almost unable to hold his tea to his lips although he did make an effort, and Logan resorted back to psych class- maybe not a panic attack, but certainly an emotional breakdown and possibly an anxiety attack. “Do you have a history of generalized anxiety disorder?” Logan asked automatically, the place where he should have held a capacity for compassion currently void for whatever stupid reason. “Or even a suspected case?” The thunderstorm in his mind froze entirely as Virgil’s watery brown eyes focused on him. 

“...I guess,” he rasped quietly, eyes flickering back to his hands as they picked at each other violently. “I dunno.”

Logan let out a long breath, sliding furtively into the chair opposite Virgil. 

“If you’re having an anxiety attack, it could be caused by a persistent disorder or a recent traumatic event- although recent is a problematically inspecific measurement-” 

“Uh, then I- I dunno. Still. I guess…” He shrugged, looking away. “How recent is recently?”

Logan tried to hold back a sigh of relief at the comparatively simple question.

“Generally, anxiety attacks are caused by a buildup of unfinished tasks or other irritants, although there’s often an overarching problem or incident. A traumatic event can cause emotional turmoil for years after it occurs- or for the remainder of one’s life, depending on it’s nature- but in most to all cases, the effects lessen as time goes on.” Virgil nodded slowly. 

“And- and what are the symptoms? Of an anxiety attack?” He pulled his legs up to his chest, presumably placating the urge to make himself smaller. Logan rattled off the characteristics quickly.

“Shaking, a feeling of unease, impulsive thoughts, nausea, panic, the sensation of being trapped or cornered, restlessness, hyperventilation, trouble concentrating, dyspnea- shortness of breath, that is- am I making sense?” He wrapped his hands around the cooling cup of tea in front of him, feeling the need to steady himself. Virgil nodded again- it was apparent he was a man of few words. That worked out wonderfully, Logan thought, as he himself seemed so bent on talking as much as humanly possible. 

“Yeah,” Virgil muttered- then stood up abruptly. “Um- I should probably go. Sorry for… yeah.” Logan, decidedly more alarmed at the idea than he should’ve been, got to his feet as well.

“No- I mean, you don’t… have to. If you’d rather- but if you feel the need to go- I mean, I don’t want you to…” Logan paused, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to get his damn mouth under the control of his brain. Had he said something wrong? Well, obviously he’d said many things wrong in the past minutes, but… he thought over the conversation. He’d only been saying the facts- just what he knew. Was there something he should have kept to himself? Was any of it too personal? It was just facts, statistics, symptoms- he cursed himself mentally, although he couldn’t tell precisely what for.

While he’d been deliberating- not panicking, never panicking- Virgil had frozen in place. Right. The whole blazing trainwreck of words he’d let out for no apparent reason. Where the hell had that even come from? He’d known this kid for a month- five minutes face-to-face- and he was already being weird and nonsensical. It took considerable effort to bring the circumstances of their meeting to mind and even the playing field in his subconscious. If they were both creepy, did it even out? “I-I meant... you’re welcome here.” 

Logan could see the gears turning in Virgil’s head as he fell back into his chair. A weight slid off of his shoulders as the air between them settled- they were even. Or something. 

As much as he expected to regret his words, he was surprised at the lack of protest from his thoughts. It was, for once, blessedly quiet both inside his head and out. Logan sat back down warily. “You obviously have some- some connection to this house.” Like some sort of undead apparition, he thought- but he had the sense to keep that, at least, inside. “I can’t tell if it has a positive or negative effect on your mental state as I seem to be an uncalled for variable in your visit. I’m no psychological authority... I know you’ll come back either way, and I don’t like imagining you back out in the rain.” A shiver went through the boy like a roll of thunder, and he nodded. 

“When can I come here again?”

[abbydramarambles]

The REAL Ending CLOY

This is my headcanon and you can’t tell me otherwise. The epilogue in Switzerland is set a few years after the events of that piano concert. They have already found a way to be together more permanently. To me the house doesn’t seem like a vacation house, it seems like a home home. 

There is that photo of Se-ri on the bridge, not something one would frame for themselves. RJH definitely lives there. Check out the north Korean coffee kettle and other souvenirs as well. This is the sort of stuff one would have in their home.

The only thing holding RJH to North Korean is his parents, the fact that they could be killed if he were to defect. After they die, he has no reason to stay. We’ve already been shown that he is resourceful and would know exactly how to get out. Not to mention that everything in north Korean runs on money, if you have connections like Se-ri and RJH do....anything is possible. And to me these two people with all their power, well they would find a way.

Dan’s mother travels out of the country a lot as well for business. I think the 2 weeks is the longest trip Se-ri takes while RJH’s parents are alive. It’s not the only trip of the year. I doubt her employees would be saying “you’re going to Switzerland again??” if it was a once a year sort of deal they wouldn’t think she had a man. They even say “it’s lasting a while this time”. Come on who in the world would think it’s a relationship if their boss goes to switzerland for 2 weeks a year. It’s her favorite 2 weeks of the year because of it being uninterrupted time. 

Well with her wealth and his determination, and connections via his family, I'm sure they'll find a way eventually, either it is his parents passing away (since it has been about 6 years between him going back to NK and the epilogue meetup), or him somehow getting a long term mentoring position at Switzerland. You’re telling me Dan’s mom a department store owner can swing to Europe anytime, and Se-ri who created a whole scholarship for her man can’t swing something in collaboration with Papa Ri?

I got the impression the student performing his song on stage was a full-time student in Switzerland. RJH is not studying abroad but is teaching NK scholarship winners. Seri has been traveling back and forth a lot but these two weeks are the longest continual time they have together. 

When Seri first sees him in Switzerland she asks how dangerous his journey was, and he didn’t answer, just said he got on the wrong train but reached his destination. “Destination” implies a final location to me, not just a two-week stay. For two people who find it torturous to be apart for even a moment, destination would not have been thrown around like that. It could’ve taken his Dad some time to manage the politics to make a permanent teaching position with the National Symphony. He did see his son cry in the car after leaving her. That man is powerful, the 3rd most powerful man in North Korean. A political manipulation genius, a man always one step ahead of the others. He got his son and 5 people in and out of South Korea. You best believe he can make it happen. He’s not going to sit back and leave his only son living without his only dream. Plus RJH was never a flag waving patriotic North Korean anyway. He already expressed that he wanted to stay with SeRi in South Korea, have a child that looks just like her. It’s kdrama script writing 101 to not have your lead character mention a deep desire such as this one unless its foreshadowing or serves a larger purpose. And Park Ji Eun is no noob writer. 

Let’s look at the way the show itself references fate and destiny. Regardless of how impossible it may seem, these two always managed to find each other again. Fate is pushing them together and is on their side. I don’t think fate wants them to meet 2 weeks a year. Fate didn’t make them meet in Switzerland, in North Korea, in South Korea, and in Switzerland again for 2 weeks a year for the rest of their lives. I can’t entertain that.  A lot of people think that the epilogue on the hill and when she meets him for the first time again in Switzerland with the parachute are the same time frame. I don’t think so. I really do think the piano concert is the ending and the picnic is the epilogue. It’s years from then, when everything has been sorted about how to be together permanently and it’s a window in to happy every after. Just look at their body language and expressions in the last scene, they are totally at peace and seem to have gotten everything they wanted. Even the music radiates peace. Listen to the lyrics of Sigriswil that play as the camera pans out “wandering this strange night, won’t you be here by me? now I hold your hands, with you I’ll be alright...how does it feel, my friend? It’s been a long day and night” THEY ARE NO LONGER WANDERING ALONE THAT IS THE POINT. period. It was a “long day and night, but now I hold your hand” ... how does it finally feel to have your happy ever after....my friend. IT REEKS OF OPTIMISM and closure. In film making the atmosphere says everything about what is unsaid in the script. 

You best believe he won’t leave a stone unturned to be with her, see her grow old and live in the house of dreams with their twins. Just the fact that he vocalized this thought in the show leads me to believe that it did indeed happen. 

Believe in what the show is telling us to believe. What it’s showing us, not telling us even. That love will always find a way. 

Cloy’s ending also reminds me of  very heavily of (spoiler) that of “my love from the stars”. It was written by Park Ji-eun, the same writer as CLOY. So yes they are forced to be apart in that show too, but he finds his way back and each time they meet its for longer and longer and its implied that one day it will be forever. If an alien could find a wormhole to make it back to his love interest, north korea isn’t looking too bad. Same thing with her other star crossed lovers show “legend of the blue sea”. The mermaid finds him again against all odds and they live happily ever (plus a baby). Hey I’m just saying that the precedent has been set on how this seperation works through our writers own works. Having seen all of Park Ji Eun I know exactly how she structures her endings. It’s almost always the same. The mermaid made it back, the alien made it back...north korea is where we draw the line? They’re only apart for awhile till they figure it out, and they work hard to do so.

Whatever this image is from TVN left it unaired. They shot something they had to pull back. My crack theory brain says she looks a bit pregnant. Actually, that ain’t even a crack theory, I stand behind it. Son yejin is so slim, and judging by the material of the dress it just wouldn’t fall like that unless they were trying to make her look pregnant. Like LISTEN, just LISTEN to me. They put in the effort to get the actors in these outfits we have never seen before, they even gave seri flowers...whY?? There are no other purely promo shots that didn’t have footage attached. The only ones I can think of are the ones they took in front of a greenscreen for the photoframes inside their house. THIS WAS A REAL SCENE THAT WAS DELETED.  South Korean dramas pre-film certain scenes (like the swiss ones) and live film the others to make slight changes to the storyline based on audience reaction. During airing there was quite a lot of political backlash a la north korea. 

There are some stills TVN released that weren’t screencaps. But ALL of them were in outfits relating to scenes we have seen, such as this one.  It just would make no sense for them to go out of there way to get this image on the jam packed expensive swiss schedule and not just do greenscreen in korea like they did for all the other promo material UNLESS it was a real scene. 

So you want more evidence for plot points that indicated the original, unaired, together forever in Switzerland ending?

Let’s look at some details, at one point in Episode 14 when Jeong Hyeok's father is meeting with the bad guy Senior Colonel who tries to use photos of Jeong Hyeok in Korea as a bargaining chip, he says "You should retire quietly. Using your health as an excuse won't raise any suspicions." now whilst this may be a casual reference to him being old and that health issues are plausible, it's also possible Jeong Hyeok's father has had some long term illness they've not mentioned which would add to why it wouldn't raise suspicions.

The main reason I thought of this is it would sort of line up with some other details, in the finale when they're deciding whether to send them back or not, at the NIS briefing they mention how the North has requested keeping it quiet and confidential, they mention "They want the confidentiality term to be five years. They're being sensitive about it because one of them is a high-ranking officers son". Then if we fast forward toward the end when Se-ri is receiving the timed messages, a year passes after her birthday message from Jeong Hyeok, after that scene we see Jeong Hyeok having his farewell meal with the townspeople and preparing to leave after being accepted as a pianist for the National Symphony Orchestra, presumably around the same time as Se-ris birthday given that scene was right before. Se-ri then comes up with her Switzerland Music academy idea probably a few weeks or month or so after she read RJH's text about meeting and then it tells as it's one year later, Se-ri waits but doesn't meet him and returns home, her mum says "It breaks my heart to see you return in disappointment every time" which if that's a correct translation it means it's been more than once by this point. Add up this entire timeline....guess what it comes out to. FIVE YEARS. That’s how long it takes them to sort out a permanent solution for their problem.

When he chooses to defect it will be much easier for him considering he’s making trips to Switzerland already. All he would have to do is walk into a South Korean embassy in Zurich. They have an open door policy for North Koreans, he doesn’t even need to cross the DMZ again. 

You want even MORE proof? Okay my friend, I’ll bite. Why are there photos of a couple with children?? Honestly come on I really don’t have to say more.

They had to leave the ending open. Due to the political situation, they couldn’t exactly show RJH, a North Korean, defecting. Pretty sure our buddy Kim Jong-un would not be chill with that.  However ridiculous it is, the show had multiple attacks on it while it was running by political parties saying it violated the “national security act”.

The ending was clearly cleverly re-edited to be less explicit so the viewer can read between the lines but the show-runners can protect themselves from lawsuits and public sentiment regarding a sort of maybe illegal situation. If you believe they met for two weeks a year for the rest of their lives, you don’t know RiRi Ri-eally well ;) 

[sinkix]

Haikyuu!! │Cuddle HC’s│ Ft. Nishinoya, Kageyama & Hinata

Because who wouldn’t want to have a snuggle session with one of these lovable crows? I’ll take em’ all.

<< SFW - Contains wholesome content ♡ >>

Hinata: 

((Okay I’m sorry but can we talk about how damn FINE he looks here?!))

Actual cuddle monster holy fuck.

This baby crow is clingy as HELL. He will wrap his arms around you like a vice and refuse to let go until he physically has to, you have been warned.

100% shy about it when y’all first started dating but over time gained confidence and will now hug you anytime, anywhere.

Like this boy will just come up behind you while you’re talking to Kiyoko and just SQUEEZE you to death, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and slowly breathing in your scent as if savouring every second of it.

 You would often question why he would do this, especially before a game, and Hinata was embarrassed to admit that he finds it incredibly calming - like that shit is as if you just tranquillised him with a blend of chamomile and lavender, it works wonders on his performance, which his team is very grateful for lol.

Before a match, whether it be a practice or the real deal, will every time without fail jog to the sidelines and wrap his arms around you, grinning like the lil goof he is as he listens to the rhythm of your heartbeat in an attempt to quell his prickling anxiety. He insists it’s a good luck charm, and has seemed to more than work it’s magic thus far. 

When y’all are alone at home he will follow you around the place like a lost puppy who’s craving for some attention. Cooking? He’ll rest his head on your shoulder and sway you gently with his hands placed against your hips. Studying? He will approach you from behind your desk chair and loosely drape his arms over your neck, welcoming the indescribable warmth it floods you two with. Watching TV? He’ll enjoy spooning while sprawled along the sofa. Hinata loves being little spoon at times too, cheeks flushing if you start threading your fingers through his hair, it’s so luxuriously soft and he goes all fuzzy inside whenever he can feel you running your hands through it.

Whenever you stay over at each other’s Hinata will refuse to fall asleep unless you’re tightly knitted in his arms like a teddy bear, it’s really charming in all honesty. His favourite cuddling position is when either of you are curled on top of the other, both laying on your sides in a tilted fashion and intertwining your bodies with one another until you form an furled ball of warmth- kinda like a yin and yang symbol.

Kageyama:

At first it was literally impossible to get Kageyama to reciprocate a hug without feeling like you’re embracing a plank of wood -  stiff, immobile and rigid as a board. He wanted to, he really did, but lost all sense of functionality the second you were in close proximity, let alone skin to skin contact. He may as well have had steam coming from his ears, because he looked like an overheated kettle about to erupt, bless his soul.

Eventually, he became familiarised with the sensation of hugging you, and was able to return it. Albeit hesitantly. The first time he did you looked up at him in awe, as if watching a toddler walk for the first time. He of course didn’t take this too well and ended up blushing like a mad man and waving his hands in a frenzy from the way you were staring dumbfounded at him, mumbling a string of words that sounded like different variations of “Dumbass.”  

Before a game you always surprise attack him with a bear hug from behind, catching him off guard no matter how many times you do it. Gritting his teeth with heated cheeks as the sound of Tanaka, Noya and Tsukki jeering and wolf whistling can be heard in the background - Hinata pointing wide eyed and gasping “Uwaahh Kageyama looks like he’s about to faint!”. Afterwards though, he always walks on the court to find himself smiling,so he supposes it’s worth it in the end.

When you two are alone he’s surprisingly relaxed, sauntering up to you and casually resting his chin atop your head, closing his eyes and muttering to himself so quietly it’s barely above whisper. “I love you, Idiot.” To which you place your hands over his and smile softly to yourself. “I love you too, dumbass.” Sometimes you kinda just stand there like that in silence, appreciating one another’s company. Letting the sound of white noise and each other’s presence put you both at ease.

My boi Kags has one hell of a firm grip, so it can feel as though he’s squeezing you with his life’s dependency at times, especially if he’s flustered or embarrassed. Which lets be real, doesn’t take a lot.

When you two are in bed together, even if you don’t fall asleep cuddling, he’ll always end up subconsciously wrapping his arms around you during his slumber. Which he looks so peaceful in mind you, it’s adorable.

Kags can still sometimes get nervous initiating a cuddle in bed since to him it’s a whole other level of intimacy, but you’ve noticed that his favourite position tends to be when you’re facing each other, with your head buried against his chest as one of his arms drapes loosely over your shoulder. He enjoys the feeling of your hand resting against his back, clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

You’re definitely going to feel like a baby when y’all cuddle.

Nishinoya:

Nishi is a hurricane of chaos most of the time, however he’s always eerily quiet in your arms, like he just wants to embrace the moment as much as possible.

The first time y’all hugged was because he initiated it.

Boy just straight up requested a hug as bold as brazen to your face, though he was internally shitting himself like Hinata before a match -  he refused to show his nerves though being the stubborn and courageous person he is.

You giggled in response, pulling him in for a hug and he could have sworn he’d died and gone to heaven then and there, his face redder than Tendou’s hair.

Nishinoya’s hugs are intense, but in a soothing way. He has such a big presence despite his size yet it’s incredibly comforting. 

Also, walking heater. So fuckin warm.

Noya is shy about it at first, but he’s definitely into PDA. He wants the entire earth and it’s neighbour Mars to know you belong to him, and after a while shows zero shame in doing so.

Can and will show you off to the team by rubbing your affection in their faces, coming up to you from behind and slinging his arms around your waist, pressing your body against his own and earning a “UWAAHHH SO MANLY!” from Tanaka and Hinata, with Tsukki scrunching his nose in disgust lol.

Will always hug you before a match, sometimes earning whistles from the stands to which he grins and flashes the onlookers a large thumbs up. Like I said, zero shame.

When he wins a match you bet your ass he’s gonna come charging toward you like a bull on crack and literally launch himself into your arms (yes he does this, he is very light and Noya is like fuck gender rolez pu$$y)

When they lose, he walks up to you solemnly and just wraps his arms around you in silence, burying his head against the crook of your collarbone while you rub circles against his back, he picks himself up soon enough though :)

First time you shared a bed for the night it was like Noya.exe has stopped working, he got so worked up and excited. This is when he discovered he is a SUCKER for being held in bed.

He will refuse to let go of you the entire night, you have to physically pry him off you if you need a drink or to use the restroom, so be prepared for that stealthy act - he’s one hell of a deep sleeper though.

His favourite position is laying lower than you, with your head rested atop his and your arms wrapped around the back of it, running your fingers gently through the locks of his hair. He will borderline purr with all the soft noises of contentment that escapes his lips while you do so, it’s so cute. Meanwhile, Noya will bury his head into your chest and curl his arm around your lifted thigh that’s sprawled against the upper half of it. You guys literally could not get anymore intimate with a cuddle lol, you’re practically smushed together and he loves every second of it. His slow breath fanning against your chest always seems to calm you down.

The position itself is quite contradictory to his usual character in front of others. The normally fearless and manly Nishinoya just thoroughly enjoys being held in a protective grasp, practically babied with affection by you. The contrast is nothing short of endearing, symbolic of the trust he has towards you.

I want to cuddle them now, fuuuuu  ( ╥ω╥ )

[6knotty6thotty6]

So a couple of months ago, I saw a YouTube video that was an audio recording of season 5, episode 6 of Bojack Horseman, “Free Churro.” In the episode, the main character, Bojack Horseman, spends 20 minutes giving a eulogy at his mother’s funeral. There’s one big problem though, his mother was an abusive bitch. His eulogy is him trying to contemplate what she meant by her drying words, “I see you,” and whether or not she loved him. As someone who has a dead parent who was abusive, this is probably my favorite episode of any show ever for how much it helped me understand my feelings. The comments section is filled with people sharing their pain with their abusive families, but one comment stood out to me above all the others by how raw and relatable it was. This comment was by a YouTuber named Moonstruck. At the bottom of this post is a link to her channel. Please support her. After reading this, she deserves a million subscribers. Also please watch Bojack Horseman. (I corrected some of the grammatical errors to make it easier to read)

Disclaimer: Child abuse, bullying, trauma, and mental health:

Moonstruck: 

This is a great monologue, but one part of it, in particular, really caught my attention was the 'grand gesture' bit.

When I was a kid, I read this book called "Chicken Soup for the Soul." There's a shitload of them. I don't remember which particular one it was. I hated the whole series because it's just someone profiting off a bunch of other people's stories rather than trying to write their own, in my opinion. 

Anyway.

This one story that I remember, the ONLY one I remembered,  was sent in by a little girl. She wrote about how her father never told her that he loved her. He never once, in her whole life, said the words "I love you." I don't remember her mom being mentioned, maybe she was dead; it doesn't matter. The point is her dad was basically an emotionless asshole. Well, one day, this girl gets sick. Really sick. Possibly on her deathbed sick. She wrote that one day she woke up to find a necklace sitting on her nightstand that had a pendant that looked like her dog. She said she held it to her heart and cried because that necklace said all the things her father never had.

I thought, "What a load of bullshit."

A cheap trinket doesn't make up for years and years of emotional neglect. Anyone can buy a thing and toss it your way. Hell, he didn't even hand it to her himself, just left it there for her to find if/when she woke up, then left her alone again to possibly die.

A lot of people say that actions speak louder than words, in cases like political protests and shit. While that's true, scenarios that this that girl are different. Gifts can never replace the words, "I love you."

When I was a kid, my father never told me he loved me. My mother didn't either, but she's a whole other kettle of fish. I would say 'my biological mother or father,' but I never got adopted ones, so who gives a shit. Anyway. My father was rarely around, and when he was, he just spent the entire time fighting with my mother and leaving again. He would do and say anything that could get him to spend less time in the house with her. With us. I can't blame him. If I could've left during those times, I would have. I tried more than once. I even earned the nickname 'runaway' from a family friend because of it. 

I was told that I was worthless as early as I could understand words. I don't know what it is about me that set my mother off, but she HATED me. I was always told how expensive I was to keep alive and how I wasn't worth it. If I dared ask for anything, she would remind me how much she spent just to keep me from starving to death and that it was too much already. On the rare occasion I was given something, it was so she could use it as a threat. She was like, "Sure, you can have that toy horse since we got your sister a real one, but you better behave or we'll give it to her and let her break it." Or "Oh, fine, we can keep this dog as a FAMILY pet (NOT YOURS), but if you do something we don't like, we'll take it away and kill it." 

Oh, yeah. I have a sister. She’s cut from the same cloth as our mother. I don't consider any of them family anymore. She was two years older than me. She was the "we should have stopped while we were ahead" kid. Anything she wanted, she got. 

"Mom, can I have an award-winning horse and expensive dressage lessons?"

"Sure!"

"Mom, can I have a car?"

"No problem!"

"Mom, can you pay for my ballet lessons?"

"Absolutely!"

She was the golden child. The one that could do no wrong and wasn't a mistake. Even after she totaled her car, got arrested for an underage DUI, and got pregnant three times in high school, she was still the good one. I never even asked to go to school dances, parties, or go out with the one friend I had. My sister liked to see me in pain. She'd tell our mom that I did things just to get me in trouble. Whether it involved blaming me for things she did or fabricating stuff, she'd say whatever it took to get my mother to beat me while she watched and laughed. Oh, yeah, our mom was BIG on physical punishment. I've been whipped with everything from a riding crop, a wooden paddle, spoons, and especially belts. Anything that was close at hand when my mother got irritated, I've been hit with it. 

At one point, my sister had three tall, beautiful show-worthy horses. I was allowed to keep a sickly old pony for all of a week before she was taken away, then I'd get called ungrateful for asking why we had to get rid of HER instead of one of the horses. Even though my mother said it cost too much to keep them all. With horses being obviously too rich for my blood, I asked for something cheaper, and for once, I got it. I was given a baby goat that one of our neighbors' goats had abandoned for being too weak, and they didn't have time to raise. I loved that goat. I bottle raised him, and named him Ben. He was my best friend for a while. When he grew up, he got so big that I was able to stand on his back to grab tree branches and pull them down so he could eat the leaves. I walked him on a leash like a dog every day. I loved him so much. My mother had me enter him in a show, and we won ninth place! I was thrilled to have something to show against my sister's collection of dressage show ribbons. I finally had proof that I could do something right! Sure, the prize money was taken away from me, but I still had Ben.

But Ben didn't come home with me after the show. It turns out he was sold to a slaughterhouse because that show was for meat goats. I didn't know until he was already gone. Of course, my mother punished me for being upset and even forced me to write a thank-you card to the people who bought his meat. 

My mother was always like that. Anything I loved was used as a threat. I eventually accepted that loving anything was a waste of time. I learned to detach myself from my feelings, and I got really good at it. I can completely turn off my emotional reaction to anything. One time I had to put down one of the egg-laying hens at work that got too sick to save, and I felt nothing while bringing down the ax. When I lost out on a job that could have changed my life, I told myself how stupid it was to hope for anything good. Any positive emotion I felt got me punished, so I learned to feel nothing at all. To this day, I still have trouble feeling things, even when I want to. I'm taking pills now, and they help, sometimes. 

I've had several suicide attempts. I keep a box of razor blades in my desk just to have them close. I got a tattoo of a heart with rainbows on my wrist. Partially for LGBT solidarity, but mostly to remind myself that there is still beauty in the world. I still struggle with wonder if I actually believe it or not. 

I've tried so hard to be a good kid. I never partied, never drank, never smoked even when the chances were there, and I would have greatly loved anything to make the pain stop or even just dull it a little bit. I was in the gifted and talented program at school and was able to graduate at fifteen. For a while, I was sent to a children's home where I was passed around to many people I didn't know, including a clown who I may or may not have actually been related to, until I eventually wound up out here where I am now. It's all pretty hazy, and the details get scrambled. 

It's been 10 years since I've had contact with my mother and sister. I can't even keep in touch with the one friend I had, even after I lived with her. She's tried to reach out to me, but I just… can't. I try, but I can't. Sometimes, I can almost pretend that my past wasn't real. It's just a hazy fog that isn't really there. I want to believe that if I don't allow something, or someone, who was part of that past, someone tangible and real, into my life again, then the fog will go away. This is why I can't do it. I know I'm a terrible friend. Ariel, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. You're better off without me in your life anyway. 

I typed all of this out because sometimes, about fifty dollars or so shows up in my PayPal from my father's email address. I don't know if it's from him or from her using his email, but it doesn't matter either way. The point is I know my mother is the one sending the money.

I know my mother likes to think she's a good person. She went to church every Sunday, and probably still does. She organized a lot of church events and participated in every church function. I had to be an altar server for several years until I aged out of it and was in the choir. She kept going to that church even after the priest got drunk, called me many horrible names in front of everyone, and was revealed to be a pedophile that raped a little boy at gunpoint. She probably still goes to that same church and organizes things. She likes being in charge. She likes having people look at her and say, "That there is a good person."

But are you, though, Mom? Are you really a good person? Were you a good person when you hit me? When you lied to me? When you laughed with my sister about how much I got hurt for things I didn't do? Were you a good person every time you told me you'd kill my cat or leave my dog at the pound? Were you a good person when you sold Ben to be eaten, knowing that I loved him? Were you a good person when you made me read "A child called It" and told me that you'd start doing the things in that book to me if I didn't behave? Were you a good person every time you told my father I was a liar whenever I tried to tell him what you were doing to me? Were you a good person when you told me I wasn't worth the cost of being alive? Were you? 

Fuck you, Mom! Keep your fucking money! A necklace on the nightstand isn't enough. A trinket can't heal years and years and years of abuse and hurt. You can't hide these scars under dollar bills. I hope you die alone. I know I probably will, but I don't even care anymore. I lost the ability to care thanks to you. You can't make up for the things you did and the things you didn't say now. Too little, too late! 

[trans-tyrell-wellick]

eps3.2legacy.so from the eyes of an autistic person

Overall this episode was interesting, but I'm not going to be talking about the episode as a whole. It's been a while since I first watched the episode at this point or even rewatched it for that matter but I've been wanting to make this post for a little while now. And bear with me, I've never done a post like this and I tend to ramble a lot. I'm also not that great at times with articulating my thoughts so I apologise ahead of time if this feels disorganized or jumbled and doesn't make sense.

The scene in particular I wanna talk about is the interrogation scene with Tyrell and Mr. Williams. And holy shit was it stressful. I know it was supposed to be considering the circumstances but to someone with sensory issues and anxiety... That was literal pain for me. Especially the constant noises from the kettle getting constantly louder and louder to add intensity to the scene. That was pure hell. Another thing that got me was Mr. Williams' constant "don't look away, look at me" comments.

And he does it a total of three times but it was enough for even me to be absolutely done with this guy. I know it was his job and he did it incredibly well because he got what he wanted but still. Coming from a household where I am often times scolded for not making eye contact with people when they're talking to me was so uncomfortable to the point where I couldn't even look at this guy's face anymore. Now like I said earlier, did a good job and he accomplished what he was there for. But from an autistic viewpoint, it was horrible. Which brings me to my next point in this post.

Autistic Tyrell Wellick.

At this point it's probably no secret that I headcanon Tyrell as autistic whether it's projecting purposes or not. In this scene he repetitively shows signs of distress and several times repeats "this is enough".

I know it was meant more along the lines of Tyrell not wanting to admit the truth but that scene always seems to resonate with me on how I feel when I'm getting overstimulated. I don't wanna talk and no matter how many times the statement or question is repeated it will only make how I feel worse.

I probably would've let this scene slide if it weren't for the fact that he also shows signs of pain without physically being hurt. He constantly gives pained expressions, looks away, even slams his hands on the table at one point, and keeps telling Mr. Williams that it's enough. This is usually how my sensory issues show through when they're bugging me a bit too much in certain moments.

To see a character have issues like this other than Elliot surprised me. Way before I got into the fandom I had heard about how Elliot acted and I would be a liar if I said I didn't originally start watching it because I was desperate for autistic coded characters, even if they weren't canonically autistic. Elliot was gonna be that rep for me and he still is.

But then I saw Tyrell doing a lot of the same things I do whether it was in 3x03 or in other episodes. I related to Tyrell in certain aspects just as much as I did Elliot. Autism is a spectrum and in the case of these two they are definitely different and fit into this. Often times I'm a lot like Elliot when I can't or don't want to mask but more often than not I'm overlooked because of how much I mask. I see that aspect of myself in Tyrell.

I'm starting to get a little off topic but I want to address that I had that headcanon before I got to season 3 but that episode solidified my headcanon. But to attempt and circle back to my main point I'd like to say that I feel Tyrell exhibits a lot of autistic traits but he often gets overlooked because he seemingly can "function well" in most social situations. And to have 3x03 to include such an intense scene like that was definitely painful but it means a lot. I know it sounds stupid, but it does in its own odd way.

In no way am I saying Tyrell is canonically autistic nor am I saying you should headcanon this, I just wanted to share my take on him. In a world where society seems to think you're a burden for being any kind of different, I think it's good that people like me find solace in characters they can relate to.

This has been stuck in my head ever since I first thought of it and the only way to positively help was to slap it into a Tumblr post and hope it made sense. And if you made it this far, thank you so much for putting up with my bullshit 😂

[merlinbingo]

Good timezone to you, my dear sweet tumblr denizens, and I am so sorry this has taken so long. Those of you on the bingo discord server will know I am in the process of packing up and cleaning my entire house as well as (somewhat perplexingly, it has to be said) occasionally taking on a position of authority at work, and it’s sadly eating into my fandom time.

Aaanyway, I have finally sent out all the badges from June, so if you think you should have one but don’t, please let me know!

Also important this month is the introduction of free fill tokens, which will be awarded for reasons ranging from providing invaluable service to making me giggle to catching me on a bad day when you ask a question. So far, these have been awarded to @fightingforcreativity for helping me figure out what to do for the June bonus badge, and to @warpedalignment​ for naming the July theme.

Now, on to what you’re actually here for: the round-up! Take a look at all the beautiful fills made last month, sorted by ship and then by rating. Remember to mind the warnings (including where creators are choosing not to warn at all), practice self-care when clicking on that link, and to send all the fabulous participants love in the form of kudos and kind comments!

Gen

Merlin Empathy Gifset by Simoneleona & blueclaw7 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin gifset.

Gossiping with the enemy by Ice-mint Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Did you eat the almonds again? by evaelisaa Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: “Merlin, did you eat all the almonds again?” “What? No!” Merlin walks out of the pantry, a bag of flour in his arms, to see Gwen frantically searching everywhere for the almonds she needs for her recipe.

Merlin is What? by O_Drakon Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin is immortal. He's not gotten around to actually telling anyone this. When Merlin becomes grievously ill, Arthur seeks Kilgharrah's aid, only to end up learning the truth his friend had hidden from him.

Chaos by warpedalignment Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In which Merlin takes things that don’t belong to him.

Merlin's purple tunic by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Secrets by archaeologist_d Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin really wanted to know the secret of Gwaine’s necklace. Would Gwaine ever open up and tell him?

Morgana with a rainbow cloak by evaelisaa Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Merlin Characters + Seasons by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Hoarding Pride by J_Gun_i Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In a land where magic and tolerance florished- Kilgharrah was young and hoarded the pride pillows.

Who was Morgause? by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Major character death Summary: Morgause from various points of view.

I Feel At Ease [Having You With Me] by OnceFutureEmrys Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: He knew they would accept him, he knew it. He fucking knew it. And yet… And yet he still couldn't help but tap his foot on the floor, couldn't help but dig his nails into the palms of his hands, couldn't help his heart thudding loudly, too loudly, and oh god he couldn't breathe-- “Arthur?” came a familiar voice, drawing him away from his thoughts. He took a deep breath before looking up at the concerned blue eyes belonging to his best friend, Merlin. “Are you alright?” Or: Arthur comes out to his friends.

No Man is Worth Your Tears by onceandfuturekid Rating: Not rated Ao3 warnings: Major character death Summary: a short excerpt of post canon Leon dealing with Arthur's death

Morgana/Gwen

Morgana In A Collar [FANART] by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: -

Your Hand in Mine (Our Hearts Beating as One) by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: "Why did you write that letter?" Gwen swiftly draws her knife from the folds of her velvet dress and holds it out, a silent warning for Morgana to stay where she is. For a tense moment, silence reigns and Gwen holds her breath, unable to predict what Morgana will do next. And even though she's the one with the knife, she isn't under any illusions about just how powerful Morgana is. "To call you here, of course," Morgana answers simply, as if she's talking about the weather. "Why?" Morgana’s icy flames contort over themselves, as if sensing their sorceress’ disapproval. Morgana scoffs. "For god's sake, Gwen, can't we just be civil? Do we need that toy in every discussion?" "You're an enemy of—," "Camelot and your throne, yes, yes, I know. I called you here because I want to have intercourse with you." Or: Where Gwen and Morgana have sex in the woods despite being enemies.

Uther/reader

You put the money I put the sugar! by Sandysins Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Second chapter, Y/N meets Morgana for the first time.

Merlin/Gwen/Arthur

Alternate season 4 by camelotsheart Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

"He's seeing a girl." by onceandfuturekid Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Episode AU of The Hollow Queen with established mergwenthur

Merlin/Freya/Lancelot

Drifting by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Major character death Summary: His whole life, Lancelot had drifted from kingdom to kingdom.

Elyan/Gwaine/Percival

fell off the rack' by donttouchtheneednoggle Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: “The axe must have fallen off the rack,” he said gloomily ten minutes later, after he had had an axe embedded in his shoulder. The little bastards were never going to let him live this down. “I’m surprised that a falling axe would cause such a deep wound,” Gaius remarked. “Not as surprised as I was,” Percival said glumly. They were really never going to let this go. It had been a bandit, he decided. Wielding an axe. He had fought valiantly and sustained a wound before slaying his opponent. A bandit. In the armoury. Right.

Merlin/Elyan

That We May Live Free by gwen-cheers-me-up Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: After Gwen is banished from Camelot, both Merlin and Elyan struggle to remember what’s keeping them there. The longer they strain under split loyalties--Merlin between his people and his destiny, Elyan between his duty and his debts, and both between Guinevere and their king--the more tempting it becomes to join her in exile. A warning from Kilgharrah, a gag order from Arthur, and the discovery of an enchantment on Gwen’s bracelet lead to their departure from Camelot, a re-interpretation of Merlin’s destiny, and what could be the beginning of a brighter future for all of Albion. After all, there’s more than one way to make someone queen.

Merlin/Will

Kettle's On by ravengirl42 Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Their conversation had dwindled as the heat built. Will lagged behind, stinging nettles brushing his ankles and burrs catching on his frayed trousers. Merlin was in front, trying not to think about how his feet were rubbing in his new boots - a leaving gift from his mother. The forest around them was still somewhat familiar, but tomorrow Merlin would be further away from Ealdor than he’d ever gone before. He shivered at the thought. Or pre-canon, Merlin and Will say goodbye

Merlin/Lancelot

A Single Step by gwen-cheers-me-up Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: When Merlin's clumsiness gets out of hand, Merlin reaches out to Lancelot for help. He's a bit skeptical, however, when Lancelot's solution turns out to be teaching him and his two left feet how to dance.

Come Back To Me, My Love by LiGi Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin will do anything to free Shade Lancelot from Morgana's evil magic and get his beloved knight back. Even if it means poisoning him, tying him to a horse and riding deep into the mountains to seek a higher power in a lake.

The Body Sleeping Next To Me by gwen-cheers-me-up Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: There was a stranger sleeping in Merlin’s bed. Gaius didn’t want to admit it yet, and the others either didn’t notice or were too entrenched in their denial to appear otherwise, but Merlin was certain: this wasn’t Lancelot. ...but how certain was he really?

In The Absence of Butterflies by gwen-cheers-me-up Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: Lancelot decides Merlin deserves a nice long break from all things Camelot. It's just a bonus that their time on the road provides the perfect chance to sort out his complicated feelings toward the warlock.

Merlin/Gwaine/Arthur

All My Adoration by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin looks skeptical. "You also look too happy. What have you done?" "I didn't do anything! Can't I just be happy for once?" "Of course, you can," Gwaine interrupts from the doorway. He strides in casually, locking the door on his way in. He drops a chaste kiss to Merlin's lips and walks up to Arthur, crowding into his personal space. Or: Arthur buys presents for the loves of his life. And they assume different things about what Arthur might be hiding.

Merlin/Arthur

Curse of the Gods by camelotsheart Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

fill my little world by RavenGirl42 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin has a deadline to meet and Arthur can't say no to anything Merlin asks of him, so he agrees to look after his nieces for the afternoon, single-handed. He's led a troop of elite marines into combat - surely keeping two small girls in line can't be that hard.

Hugs by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin is overworked and tired. He just needs a hug.

"You're the only friend I have and I couldn't bear to lose you" by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Keep Discovering Yourself by MerthurAllure Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin decides it’s time to share his gender identity with the ones he loves.

Why Gwaine Should Stick To Being At The Tavern by Holmesway Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin gets hurt while on a walk with Gwaine. After taking Merlin to Gaius, Gwaine feeds him a little too much of a sleeping potion.

A Sea of Colours by queerofthedagger Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Morgana’s eyes stray to the pair in front of her once more. Beyond making her brother happy, Merlin also brought Gwen into her life, and while she still knows where she would hide his body if he ever hurt Arthur, she no longer thinks she’ll need it.

Just for Practice by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In which Arthur decides that the best way to deal with being in love with Merlin is to pretend to date him for two months.

When Your Legs Support You No More by Holmesway Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: Merlin is overworked and exhausted. Of course, Arthur and Gaius are blind, which leads to a series of unfortunate mishaps that they come to regret.

Tsunamis Flood In Waves by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: “And you look beautiful,” Arthur replies, deadpan, as if he’s simply telling Merlin that he’s an idiot, like usual. “I suppose we all have our flaws.” In Arthur’s mind, Merlin is already aware that Arthur would bed him at the first opportunity, so it is not an oddity that Arthur would say this. Or: Where Arthur loses a horse race but gains a lot more than he could have asked for.

In a heartbeat by YouKeepMeRight Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Suddenly, something was tickling Merlin’s neck, urging him to get up. Merlin rubbed his eyes and blinked at a tiny heart-shaped stone that glowed red like a little fire. The stone smiled. A Merthur "In a heartbeat" AU

Fly Like a Firework by sam4587 Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Arthur picks up his nephew Mordred from ice skating practice one day and meets Merlin, Mordred’s trainer. Poor Arthur doesn’t know what hit him.

It’s a love story (baby just say yes) by heartsocold Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: We didn’t fall in love all at once but rather through a series of moments, scattered throughout space and time.

Own The Night by Clea2011 Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin truly believes that he’s had so many past lives with Arthur. In his dreams he remembers them all. But Merlin also says that he remembers being burned alive. Arthur's glad he can't remember.

The dandy highwayman who you're too scared to mention by camelittle Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In which Arthur's otherwise tedious journey is enlivened by an argument with his sister and a not entirely unexpected encounter.

Something Borrowed by archaeologist_d Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: If Merlin left his neckerchief behind, well, who was Arthur to give it back?

Broken Promises by archaeologist_d Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Gwen has been seeing Lancelot behind Arthur’s back.

Morgana to the Rescue by archaeologist_d Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Planning a wedding can be the worst, especially for those two idiots.

Forgetting all your standards by camelittle Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In which Arthur is held up by Dragoon the Great again... or is he?

Do I still bleed (or have they taken that too?) by WarpedAlignment Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: Major character death, Graphic depictions of violence Summary: Arthur died, in camlann, and with him, a piece of Merlin died too.

Don’t Stand on Ceremony by archaeologist_d Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Planning a wedding is one thing. Trying to placate an irate Morgana while Merlin using his mouth for more pleasant things is something else again.

[hecticcheer]

Abyss of Possibilities (T/M/A fic)

Finished the platonic Jon&Daisy sickfic thing!! This was based on an emeto prompt,* but I’m posting it here instead of on shiftytracts because. Frankly it comes out a lot better when considered as h/c or whump than as emeto/kink fic. As usual w/ me, I set out to write the latter and instead got? 4.6k of Daisy character study whose external plot happens to be that Jon throws up? Ft. also a little Melanie&Helen friendship. It’s not bad as a story though so I’m posting it anyway.

--

Basira was out on another mysterious errand, which Daisy figured put her and Jon in about the same wretched position. Scratching and baying at the doors of their owners’ empty houses. Commiserating with him seemed a better use of her time. What was more, Jon had spent all day wobbly and coughing—fingertips leaving trails of slime on everything he touched like a snail—and she still couldn’t stand to see that in a person she’d made one of her own. (Monster she’d made one of her own. Whichever.) So after one of his more pathetic fits of coughing she’d decided to make them both tea. It started out as an excuse to leave the room; in fact she’d told him she’d had to pee. But when she’d come to the fork in the hallway her legs had taken her several steps past the turning for the bathroom before she’d noticed her mistake, and, yeah, well. Steps were a limited resource these days. So she’d talked herself into going to the break room for tea instead, and figured if she made Jon some too then.

Well—it was just?—she felt like a hypocrite, alright. She’d told Jon in the coffin that she didn’t want to hobble around like wounded prey any more than she wanted to become a hunter again, but, since he’d pulled her out she’d pretty clearly picked the prey side? Complete with literal hobbling, especially those first few weeks. And he was good to her about it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to despise weak people anymore. It troubled her to know that was her—that she’d still felt it in the coffin where her thoughts were all her own.

Daisy managed to stay upright unsupported while the kettle boiled—hadn’t even had to take a break to sit before turning it on. But while waiting for their teas to steep she leant her palms on the low, cool countertop, even though shifting her weight to them at once made her upper arms ache a little. The muscles of her calves dully throbbed, and her ankles itched. She swore she could feel them swelling. Could picture the mottled pattern of orange and purple her legs must be turning, like the wallpaper at one of those cafés that haven’t been redone since before she was born. They’d told her at PT that the muscle atrophy would take a long time to repair, but that these other issues should go away on their own after a few weeks. It had seemed to improve, at first. Getting worse again now though.

When she got back to his office she found Jon frozen halfway through peeling himself back off his desk, elbows wobbling, like an old dog on a slippery floor. Must’ve Seen her coming back, she figured. He did a little smile, but that didn’t last long. “Here,” she informed him, setting the worse of two novelty mugs in front of him. “Tea.”

“Oh!” Jon’s eyes went wide; he didn’t smile again, but looked almost frightened. Like she’d opened an abyss of possibilities. The mug said #1 Pervert, with the 1 wearing an evil smile and a trench coat held wide open. This seemed to faze Jon not at all.

“It’s just tea. No need to look like that.”

“R-right. Thanks?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Now drink up, it’ll help with your.”

“Oh,” Jon said again. “Yes.”

He picked up the mug, looked inside, then set it back down without drinking any. Daisy got halfway through a sigh before worrying this counted as despising him, then made herself laugh instead and pat the back of his hand: “That’s the spirit.” Jon flinched, but seemed to want to own that no more than she wanted to own her sigh. He closed his eyes, and his hand relaxed under hers. Breath seemed to whistle and crunch on its way out his nose.

“You ill?”

“Wha—?”

“I said are you ill.”

Another half second of smile. “Maybe.”

“Hm. Good sign, right?” Jon blinked at her. “A point in the still-human column.”

“R…ight,” he said. The way his eyes changed made her suspect he had more to say on that, but for once in his life Jon seemed not to feel like talking.

“Take a break. Archers’ll be on soon.”

Usually when she mentioned The Archers Jon would do a whole big dramatic show of disgust, a long sigh or a snarl or a choking noise or at least an eye-roll. He exhaled, now, but shortly; it flared his nostrils a little, but that seemed all the drama he could muster. “Thought you heard it last night.”

“You didn’t, though,” Daisy grinned. “Get confused if you don’t keep up.”

They’d had this conversation before; he knew his next line. But his voice caught on something about three words in: “You seemed to”—swallow; another deep, crunchy exhale—“you seemed to do alright after eight months under a rock.”

“You’ll have unanswered questions. Can’t compel the radio.”

Another swallow, then a throat clearing. “Fine.”

Daisy stood and waded toward the couch in the opposite corner of his office, where he’d slept since he woke up after the Unknowing. By the time she took her seat and looked back, Jon had stood from his desk chair but not yet moved. Just stood there with his hands on the chair’s back, staring off into nothing. Typical. But she knew he did no better than her with standing still for long periods, lately. She thumped on the arm of the couch to snap him out of his trance. “Come here, Jon.” It worked; he blinked to life, gave her a disorganized smile, and slunk over to join her. When he sat his legs shook the whole couch. He sat down at the far end, as often, but, no more unusually, when she scooted closer so their legs and shoulders touched he leant his head toward hers til his hair crunched against the outside of her ear. Daisy patted his leg with one hand, and reached for his clock radio with the other. (This was one of few non-clothing items he’d bothered to replace when he lost his flat. Apparently its alarm made the only noise he trusted himself to take seriously as a wake-up call; every other one he had tried he would sleep through, either accidentally or out of spite.) She set it on her knee so she could monitor the time, but kept the radio muted for now. Only 1:43.

By 1:49 she noticed Jon starting to nod off; by 1:54 his chin seemed stuck to his chest for good. At 2:02 she turned up the volume dial on his radio, and, sure enough, heard the Archers theme song. Considered just turning it up loud enough to wake Jon, but figured he’d be certain to sleep through that out of spite. So she shook him by the shoulder instead. “Oi! Ceaseless watcher!”

“Mmmnnnwha? Oh,” Jon said, straightening. Then he bent forward to cough again. Daisy channeled her urge to snarl into a laugh, telling herself she felt sorry rather than annoyed.

His cough seemed stuck, just like it had all day but more so. It was almost all voice—none of that other, less personal noise a satisfying cough makes. She wondered if he was trying to keep quiet for her benefit. “Come on, let it out,” she told him, thumping the back of his shoulder—and he did.

Almost as soon as she touched him, he made another noise more like—well, more like the sounds they’d both made underground. Or like when she’d cut him, back before.

Anyway, and then a splash. And then a stench. Daisy yelped and flung her legs out of the way; the radio went silent as the clock’s plug flew out of the wall.

“Oh shit!”

Between dry heaves and gasps for breath Jon croaked, “Not technically.”

She barked a laugh—through her mouth, not her nose—but held back the impulse to elbow him. Learnt that lesson, thanks. Just kept her hand on his shoulder instead, fanning her fingers back and forth in a semi-circle like windshield wipers. Meanwhile she surveyed the damage he’d made. The clock itself seemed miraculously unharmed, dangling by its cord between her knees. Only a little of the cord had fallen into the puddle—unfortunately including the plug. That’d be a bitch to clean up. Should she try to get the smell out or just buy him a new one, she wondered.

Her shoes had fared pretty well, too. Only one fat droplet on the right one’s toe, where it’d come off easy. His might be ruined though—and the socks. Poor bastard picked a hell of a day for white socks. The trousers might survive; vomit washed out easier than blood.

Beside her, Jon seemed to have quit dry heaving. Now he just panted, and said, “Ugh.”

“Done?”

“Think so,” he said in his hoarsest voice; “sorry.”

He set his palm down on the arm of the couch, apparently plotting how to stand without slipping in puke. Daisy moved her hand from his shoulder inward, to the place where his neckbones turned into backbones, and pressed him gently downward. “Never mind; I’ll clean it up. You stay here.”

Jon said nothing, but didn’t move either. Not even a flinch. Daisy slid to the end of the couch farthest from him and his puddle, stood, and crept past it on the balls of her feet, careful to avoid all the puddle’s little splattery fingers.

This was the first Archives mess Daisy’d ever volunteered to clean; only after she’d closed the door of Jon’s office behind her did she realize she should’ve asked him where they kept the mops and buckets. Probably outside the Archives proper, near the boiler and all that crap. Her stomach dropped—settling halfway down her legs, like all her innards did these days when she stood up. Melanie’s desk was empty, but Daisy shouted for her just in case.

The first door Daisy encountered whose destination she didn’t already know led to… a long corridor full of more doors. “Hi, Helen. Melanie in here with you?”

Melanie emerged, not from any of the doors Daisy could see, but from what looked to Daisy like the blank wall in between them. Just the perspective, part of Daisy’s mind rushed in to inform her. She closed her eyes so she could roll them at this part unseen.

“Daisy, hi,” said Melanie. “What’re you doing here, I didn’t think….”

“I invited her in.” Daisy heard the words a full second before she saw Helen emerge from a picture frame in the corridor’s opposite wall. “She was looking for an unfamiliar door. It seemed only polite to offer one of mine.” Helen said this with her head cocked to one side, coiled hands facing the other. Her left elbow disappeared into the wall.

Daisy made herself look into a framed mirror on the opposite wall instead of at Helen herself. Except the mirror didn’t show Daisy or Melanie or Helen—just the floor and other wall of this same corridor. Except also that in what passed here for real life the wall was a dark, 70s yellow, while, in the mirror or picture or whatever, it was more like highlighter yellow. What she saw in the frame still moved like a reflection though, not like a painting.

It was hard for Daisy, still, to be around… beings like the Distortion. Monsters used to be so simple. See someone glitching through the wall? Great; that means they need to die. Not like she’d never cooperated with an enemy before, just. Helen maybe wasn’t an enemy? And Jon was the only non-enemy monster she knew how to interact with. Jon was one of hers, now; he was a friend, the opposite of an enemy. But Helen, God, who knew. Stranded in the middle somewhere. Around Helen Daisy felt like the last person standing in musical chairs.

She shifted on her feet; her ankles still itched, but her toes had gone numb and cold. “I was looking for a mop,” she corrected.

When she looked back over at Melanie and Helen she found them sat on an invisible bench. She glanced back at the mirror. A wooden bench with green velour cushions. Made sense enough. Melanie still had her cane, after Jon and Basira’s whole surgery debacle; she wouldn’t come in here so often if it had nowhere to sit. If Daisy squatted down would another bench appear beneath her?

“Oh,” said Melanie; “yeah, there should be one in the broom cupboard. You remember how to get to Artefact Storage, right?” Daisy nodded. “Well it’s the last door on the left before you get there.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“No problem. What do you need the mop for?—is it—do you need some help?”

Daisy said, too quickly, “No I’ve got it.” Then worried Melanie might think she was hiding something of hers or Jon’s more sinister than dignity. She let out a long breath through her nose, lifted her foot and pointed at the circle of puke on her shoe. “Nothing big. Jon just threw up all over his office.”

“Statements gone moldy?” asked Helen, in that voice of hers like a doorbell.

“Oh, god, yeah—did he finally find that Corruption statement covered in actual mold?”

“Thought Martin burned that one?”

Melanie sighed. “No. Said he didn’t want to stink up Jon’s office.”

“Yeah, well,” Daisy scoffed.

“Probably just didn’t want to burn any that weren’t already on tape,” muttered Melanie. “Got him to burn the first one I ever recorded, though. That one about the stupid blanket.” She scuffed the carpet with her foot, crossed her arms, and leant the back of her head against the wall. “So. What’s wrong with Jon this time.”

“Don’t know,” said Daisy, shrugging; “think he’s just ill.”

“Huh. Wait—human ill or monster ill?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”

“It can be hard to tell,” allowed Helen. “They look remarkably similar. The first time Michael lost his lunch after he became me he thought his sick would have comic-book stink lines curling up off it. Terrible disappointment.”

Don’t ask what “lunch” means, Daisy told herself, scratching lightly at the pad of her thumb with her middle fingernail. Not your business, not anymore.

Meanwhile Melanie cackled and stamped her foot. “What about Helen?”

“She hoped she could click our fingers and make it disappear.”

Now Daisy smiled too. “Have to try that with Jon’s.”

(“Or turn to gold,” mused Helen, chin resting in the palm of a hand so long she could still click its fingers without their nails poking her face.)

“So you’re cleaning it up for him?”

“Apparently.”

“Typical,” growled Melanie; Daisy could see another I-hate-the-Archives rant on the horizon.

“I chose to do it; it’s not like he made me.”

“That’s what people always say about him!” Melanie squawked, her fingers curled like claws. Her voice had begun to climb not only in volume, but pitch too, the way it did when she hoped to pass off real anger as jokey anger. “He’s a grown man—why can’t he keep his messes to himself?”

“Yeah, well, he’s cleaned up enough of mine,” shrugged Daisy. “You all have,” she added, remembering her first week out of the coffin, when Melanie and Basira had had to follow her and Jon around the Archives with brooms. Every morning Basira had shaken her cot and pillow cases and sleeping bags over a bin to tease out clods of dirt. And Daisy herself had never even learnt where the broom cupboard was. “I don’t mind returning the favor.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Melanie pleaded. “You’re talking about the coffin, right? But it’s his fault you got trapped in there in the first place!”

Daisy had no reply to this; she remembered asking herself whose fault it was she had died (as she’d thought of it then), while trapped in the Buried, but couldn’t remember what conclusion she had come to. Since she’d got out she’d rather enjoyed not having to think about it. Maybe she could put questions of blame off to one side, in the Hunt pile, and focus her energy on the Daisy pile.

“Last door on the left before you hit Artefact Storage, right?”

“Yup!” she heard Helen chime on her way out.

Of course, the second she stepped out of the corridors she thought of a good comeback: Guess he did clean that one up then.

To revenge herself for that detour she let herself sit on Melanie’s desk a minute before continuing. Good thing, too: carrying even a dry mop and bucket back to Jon’s office took more out of her than she’d remembered to anticipate. When already dizzy and aching she found the smell of his puke overwhelming. If he notices, blame it on the Hunt, she told herself. It took constant effort to remember to breathe through her mouth rather than just holding it.

Jon looked up when she came in, and smiled a glum thank you, but then returned to the position he must have taken up while she was out: head on his knees, arms crossed between torso and legs. So when she’d mopped up everywhere else, she had to tell him, “Shoes.”

He lifted his head and looked up at her through the gap between curtains of hair. “Wh…what do you want me to do with them.”

She pointed upward; his brows crumpled.

“Lift them up so I can clean around them, Jon.”

“Oh.”

Jon looked slowly down at his feet, bared his teeth in disgust. Then he sat up enough to free one arm, whose hand he planted beside him on the couch. Gingerly lifted the opposite foot. Daisy nodded; he was doing his best, she told herself. “Thanks,” she said aloud. He nodded back, but did not smile or speak. His mouth remained a washed-out line of effort.

Daisy’s mop slurped up the part of the mess Jon’s foot had blocked off; then she used it to dab at the sole of his shoe itself. “Put it back down now and I’ll get the top.” He yelped when the mop wet his sock. Daisy tried not to smile. “That feel weird? Sorry. Just figured those socks were done for anyway.”

“No, you’re right. It’s just. Unpleasant,” he concluded, beginning his final sentence at the same time Daisy started her own.

She said, “I’ll help you off with them when I’m done here.”

“I can get it,” Jon said, but did not move.

This time Daisy did smile, before she could think better of it. “Other foot?”

“Right.”

After finishing with that shoe, Daisy told Jon to hang his feet off the arm of the couch while she corralled as much as she could of this vaguely puke-flavored water off the floor and back into the bucket. She expected him to stretch the rest of himself out on the couch, but instead he bent double—as before, but with one side leant against the couch’s back cushion. Chin on bent forearms on bent knees on arm of couch.

“Do you think it’s safe to clean the plug off with the mop?”

His head snapped around to face her. “What?”

Daisy sighed, trying to rearrange her shapeless panting mouth into a smile. “The plug at the end of the cord—not the one in the wall.”

“Oh. Maybe? It’s not plugged in, right.”

“‘Course not.”

“Then I don’t think you’ll be electrocuted.”

“But do you think it’ll ruin the clock?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Can’t you ask the Eye or something?”

Jon shook his head, which he then set in his hand as though to keep it out of danger. “Maybe it’s like a phone.”

“Come again?”

“Like when you drop your phone in the toilet.”

“Yeah? What happens then.”

“You leave it in rice for 48 hours.”

“In rice?”

“Dry rice. Uncooked rice.”

Again she sighed. “Right.”

“Wait, no”—his eyes went wide—“the rice thing is a myth.”

“What?”

“Silica packets might work though.”

“What are those.”

“Like you get with a new pair of shoes.”

“Huh.”

“They say ‘Do Not Eat’ on them. Usually in inverted commas, for some reason.”

“Oh. Yeah. What happens if you do eat those?”

“No idea. They’re a drying agent, so, they dehydrate you I guess?”

“To death?”

“Possibly.”

“Weird.”

“Nope—scratch that. Turns out they’re just a choking hazard.”

“Oh.”

“A-and we can’t digest them, so if you eat a lot of them they could cause intestinal blockage.”

“Bleugh,” pronounced Daisy.

“Oh, and. Sorry we missed The Archers, by the way.”

“It’s fine, Jon. I heard it last night. I’ll catch you up on it later.”

There was his usual snarl. When Daisy looked smilingly up at him, though, meaning to add, Feeling better, are we? she saw him flinch like he’d been nodding off to sleep again. “So should I mop off the plug or not?”

“Oh. Yeah, seems worth a try.”

By the time Daisy got the floor as un-wet and -soapy as she knew how, she figured neither one of them had the energy to deal with Jon’s shoes. Nor had she the strength to drag the bucket away just yet. Instead she nudged it toward Jon, in case he had to puke again. Then she sat down next to him, so the side of her bum touched the back of his—though from this angle that was a lot less cushy. Mostly tailbone, in fact.

To free her feet from the suffocating heat that made them itch and buzz Daisy yanked off her own shoes (the right one now sick-free but soggy), without untying them, and plopped them down on the couch’s unused other arm. Rested the back of her head on the back of the couch, and closed her eyes. Her whole body throbbed and itched instead of sweating. It was new; maybe a coffin thing, maybe a Hunt-withdrawal thing. Probably the latter. (Oh—I have that too, Jon had said once, when she’d had to explain why her face and hands were red.) Never thought she’d miss feeling slimy.

When she found the strength to speak again she asked, “You comfortable like that?”

“Er,” said Jon. Then, after a pause, in a hoarser voice, “My legs are asleep.”

Daisy smiled, and then, when she remembered he wouldn’t see that, huffed a single syllable of laughter. “No wonder, smooshed up like that. Stretch out, if you like; you won’t be in my way.”

He complied at once, but said, “But then your legs will fall asleep.”

“Probably. I’ll let you know.”

He laid down across her now, or at least his torso did. His head spilled off one side of her lap, legs off the other. Daisy helped him shove the couch’s one throw pillow (now the one he slept with, when he slept) under his head.

“You don’t find this—claustrophobic?” Jon asked, after going to all the trouble to get himself comfortable.

“No.” Daisy blinked, trying not to show how much questions like this irritated her. She wouldn’t break like a china doll if you touched her, Basira. Human weight wasn’t like the Buried. Humans were warm and squishy, and they smelled like life; even vomit smelled better than grave dirt. But at least Basira had a good excuse not to understand that? Coming from Jon it didn’t make any sense. When he’d reached her down there, the first thing he did was take her hand and squeeze. She didn’t know if he’d done that to reassure her or himself or both, but—it shouldn’t matter, right? If he’d known to do that then, why didn’t he know now?

At last she went on, “You said it’s called Too Close I Cannot Breathe. Don’t breathe through my legs, do I?”

“N—?—no. No, I guess not.”

He closed his eyes. Daisy could feel his flesh deflate and ooze outward as the muscles relaxed. This felt like a lot, coming from someone she’d first known as a paranoid little freak. How could he trust her so much, when—? It made her smile, even though she knew only Elias would see. Could muscle atrophy make it hurt to smile?

“Hey Jon?” she waited for his answering Hm. “What’s with the #1 Pervert mug?”

“Oh. Er—Tim.”

“Uh huh…?”

“There was, uh—a statement? Wh-when we first came to the Archives, we looked into a statement given by a man who found a Leitner in a charity shop.”

“Aaand you sent Tim to check out the shop’s records.”

Jon nodded, to the extent that was possible in his position, but his Yeah came out inaudible. “Martin had recently broke one of the mugs that came with—that Gertrude and her assistants left. So, Tim, in a, uh, perhaps a slight overreaction, bought every novelty mug in the establishment.”

“Every mug? I only saw six in there.”

“Or so he told me.”

“Doubt it. That collection looks curated. I didn’t see a single teddy bear, or. Souvenir from a breast-cancer walk.”

“I didn’t press him on it.”

“Right,” Daisy scoffed.

“Sasha used”—a trumpetty nose-laugh interrupted Jon’s sentence—“Sasha used to joke they should be in Artefact Storage.”

“Well she’d know best. Didn’t you say she used to work there?”

“Yes!” Jon squeaked, in a delighted whisper-shout. One hand covered his face; the other fist shook in the air. “She had literal horror stories about that place. The way she talked about those mugs was like—hearing a nun say there should be a circle in hell for people who order the wrong kind of donuts.”

When they’d both quit laughing Daisy said, “You sound like you’re starting to feel better.” She poked him in the stomach, though so lightly for fear he’d throw up on her that she doubted he could even feel it through his cardigan and shirt. “Gonna puke again, you think?”

Jon breathed out through his nose and looked at the ceiling. Apparently she had poked him hard enough to tickle: he batted her hand away like a fly, then left his own where hers had been. “Probably not. Don’t think so. Not sure how much I have left to.”

“Yeah.” After a pause to put the words in a convincing order, Daisy said, “Surprised you had that much—I’ve barely seen you eat today. How long were you feeling sick?”

Guilty smile. “Sorry, Daisy, I uh. Thought I had it under control.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Oh. Uh… few hours, maybe?”

“Why’ve you been coughing and sniffing all day then. Thought you had a cold at first.”

“Yeah—so did I, til.”

“Huh.”

Jon propped the back of his head on his folded elbows. “Maybe it’s a monster thing,” he said, with the cynical sigh of someone pretending to be okay with this.

“Could be,” Daisy agreed. She could feel his eyes on her, but looked at the opposite wall instead of answering his gaze. Meanwhile she patted his knee. When he’d been quiet long enough she was sure he didn’t mean to say more about the monster thing, Daisy said, “Let’s get you out of those wet shoes.”

--

*Whose OP I can’t find, though I know I’ve seen it before, but. It’s the prompt referenced here:

person has been involuntarily letting out nauseously [sic] coughs intermittently all day, and their friend thinks they just have a cold or something, but surprise! they are about to puke everywhere

ETA 6/16 fixed a few Americanisms, whoops! If I’ve missed any more of those please point them out to me

[twilitty]

Moonlit ch.3

This is the third chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every two weeks. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3.4k words

previous chapter

This chapter was not read over by a beta reader, so if you notice any mistakes please let me know in a private message. If you are interested in reading my chapters early and having a hand in the editing process, please let me know via direct message :)

Charlie arrives home from the new doctors household in odd condition. Bella becomes acquainted with a new friend and gets her first driving lesson.

Chapter Three

There’s something oddly comforting about the loud, thunderous engine of my new truck. It successfully blocks out all the thoughts I hope to escape from, and it does so in a way that does not involve the incessant pattering of rain. In fact, it completely eliminates the sound of rain, a miracle I hadn’t thought possible. I can’t imagine I’ll ever manage to repay Jacob for this gift, it means so much more to me than a couple thousand dollars and a way to get around. It’s my escape. 

Charlie had gotten back from the new doctor's household late last night, his eyes bleary with sleep and arms hanging limp by his sides in what can only be described as a dead mans walk. I was used to the posture he held, all slumped over and distracted, as if he had gone on a three day long bender and returned empty of adrenaline and a will to stay awake. Renee had come home from too many “spa-retreats'' with that same form. Dead mans walk, that’s what her friend had called it when I brought it up. “Dead on the outside but more alive than you’ve ever felt on the inside,” she had explained with a distant smile, “awful to watch but beautiful to live out.” 

It was strange to see my father, the stoic police chief, in that position. Perhaps he enjoyed his time at the new doctors house more than he thought he would, perhaps he enjoyed it enough to come in looking prematurely hungover and drained of energy. I wonder if he was drinking, or dancing, or maybe the new family- I blink my eyes hard, squeezing out all the muted light coming from the kitchen window. Stars dance in front of my vision once I open them again. Don’t think of what Charlie was doing there, I tell myself viciously. Please, I add on as an afterthought, as though my subconscious was privy to social niceties. 

The clock on the microwave reads noon hour and my heart stutters. Charlie is still upstairs, dead asleep. He’s the one that wakes me up in the morning, always dressed and with a cup of coffee. But, no, he’s probably just tired from his long shift yesterday and maybe a little hungover. Only a little. In fact, maybe less than a little, maybe he isn’t hungover at all.

Soon, by which I mean no less than two hours after my initial worry over my fathers condition, he emerges from his bedroom and I can hear his footsteps lead into the bathroom. Good, I think, he’s awake before three in the afternoon. That must count for something. Perhaps- My thoughts, aimlessly trying to convince my subconscious that there is no reason for me to worry about the state of my middle-aged father, are interrupted. 

“Bella?” Charlie calls quietly from the top of the stairs. He sounds like he just woke up from a long night out. Hangover voice is something I am very familiar with, although not from first hand experience. Any solace I had reached seconds ago comes crashing down into a pile at my feet.  

I clear my throat, “Down here!” He comes down, feet stepping lightly on each step so as to barely make a noise. He enters the kitchen with a weary look on his face, as if I’m the one acting out of character. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing up so early?” He asks incredulously. I look at the time in the bottom corner of my computer, nearly two in the afternoon. I look back up at him with my eyebrows pinched. 

“Char- Dad, it’s after noon.” My fathers eyes go wide, the whites showing prominently before squeezing down into a harsh blink. He turns to the microwave and his eyes blink violently again. ���Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hands come together at the top of his head, interlacing over the brown hair he passed onto me. “I- I’m getting to work. I’ll see you for dinner.” He mumbles his words, the syllables pouring out into the air without any order. He retreats back upstairs with little more than a squeak on the floorboards, his eyebrows thick over his eyes with worry. The shower turns on quickly and I look back to my computer screen. I have to do some school work, Charlie is a grown man who can take care of himself. 

I brew him a fresh pot of coffee, putting the creamer out on the counter even though I know he takes it black. 

One of my favourite things about Forks, besides my new truck, is the ever present gloom that seems to permeate any mood you had prior to stepping outdoors. It’s like living in a depressive gothic novel written in nineteenth century England. Obsessively torturing the protagonist with dramatic metaphors and the blatant use of personification with inanimate objects like lampshades and tea kettles. I walk outside and my brain fills with run-on sentences about the state of my personal emotional evolution or the true crime of humanity being the amount of introspection that we would require to understand it. Almost compulsively, I assess my morals and the ethical value of my actions as if the rain draws out my inner philosopher. It’s dramatic and moody and unpleasant to experience. 

Yet, I find myself drawn into this trance of deep inner thought and revel in it.

This is what I am doing when I park outfront of The Diner and walk through the front doors. My mind is occupied with drawn out thoughts that sound closer to Shakespeare than a girl who is barely passing her summer courses. My footfalls seem to almost perfectly fall in tune with my thoughts. I wonder if I’m walking funny, I think suddenly with a pointed look at my awkward steps. This is an issue with spending so much time alone in such a gloomy town; you forget other people exist. I pick up the pace of my footfalls and try to let my legs work naturally, but now that I’m aware of my walking I am incapable of walking naturally and feel like an oaf. 

It is while I am walking like an oaf that someone calls out, “Isabella Swan?” My shoulders tense up to my earlobes and suddenly my feet are capable of walking without direction and almost steer me back through the front doors. Instead, I look up from my rough boots and meet the smile of the girl standing behind the counter cutting the large room in half. I try to ignore the stares of the other patrons. 

The girl standing behind the counter looks to be about twenty and has brown hair just past her shoulders, similar to mine except for the fact that hers is shiny with the indication of product and care. A wave of self consciousness rolls over my shoulders, my dull, limp hair is suddenly as bright as a neon sign in the dead of night. “Bella,” I correct her, forcing myself to step up to the counter. “Everybody calls me Bella.” 

She nods knowingly, as if she’s heard this before but just wanted it confirmed. Another wave of self consciousness crashes over me as the possibility of small town gossip arises. Does everybody already know who I am? I don’t like the thought of Charlie telling the town his eccentric ex-wife's daughter is coming to live with him, even if he said it politely. 

“Yeah, that makes sense. Isabella is kinda a mouthful and takes like three whole syllables just to say it.” She shoots a hand across the laminate countertop and exposes a line of white, straight teeth. “I’m Jessica, not Jess,” She clarifies with a sarcastic eye roll. I take her hand, warm and soft, in my own and give it a polite shake before letting go. “Nobody calls me Jess, it sounds like it’s short for Jessie and when I think Jessie I think either golden retriever or blonde surfer dude and I am so not either of those things.” 

“Jessica’s pretty,” I say with possibly a little too much enthusiasm. I haven’t spoken to someone as bubbly as this girl since Phoenix and I am poorly out of practice. 

“She is, isn’t she?” A male voice calls from my right. It’s as if Jessica had spoken it into existence, because suddenly a blond surfer dude- minus the surfer- is sitting only three stools over. 

“No, no,” my face flames and I quickly raise my hands in surrender. “I meant her name.” Then, looking at Jessica I see she’s chewing on her bottom lip and her dark eyebrows are scrunched down. I wonder if she practiced this expression in the mirror, it looks too perfect to be impromptu. “I mean, not that you aren’t pretty,” I clarify and her eyebrows shoot up as the blonde boy snorts. “I mean-” But Jessica raises a hand to stop me from torturing myself any further and drops the lip from between her teeth. “Listen, Bella, I know what you mean you don’t have to run in circles.” She says it in a way that insinuates I’m not the first person to fall into this situation with her. “You aren’t the first girl I’ve wooed with my tragically good looks.” This is not what I expected. The blonde boy snorts again but it sounds more like incredulity than a laugh. I open my mouth to interject, though I’m not sure what I will say, and Jessica widens her eyes at me. “Bella, girl, I’m joking.” 

My mouth widens into an uncomfortable smile that likely looks closer to a grimace. She shakes her head at me with an expression that reads oh Bella even though we’ve only just met. I get the impression that Jessica is an easy person to be friends with and also decide that I will be coming to The Diner more often. “Now,” She says, “What did you order?” 

I recite my order and she pushes open the swinging doors adorned with old license plates and bumper stickers to retrieve it. 

“I’m Mike.” This is from the blonde boy, and he says it with a small wave that very much so indicates that he has lived in this town his whole life. People in big cities, people in Phoenix, don’t wave like that. It’s too small and kind and friendly, there isn’t enough neutrality for him to be from a big city. He’s inviting me into a conversation with the impression that I want to be invited. Small towns and sickly rom coms are the only places where this happens. 

“Bella,” I respond, although he must already have heard me introduce myself to Jessica earlier. “It’s nice to meet you.” I tack on the last part in a likely failed attempt to come across as if I belong. It’s not that I want to be nice or friendly like Mike, it’s just that this will be far less awkward if I at least try to fit in. 

“Likewise.” We lapse into a comfortable silence, or at least he appears to be comfortable in the silence. I am not. My blood seems to have congealed in my veins and is refusing to pump itself into my heart. Am I getting enough oxygen? Yes, yes, I am getting enough oxygen. I know this, but my body does not know this and so instead of trying to formulate some clever comment I try to level out my breathing and suck in as much as possible without seeming weird. 

Three uneven breaths later and Jessica pushes out of the kitchen doors holding a large brown bag with a receipt stapled to the folded lip. She places it in front of me and I take a deep breath, suddenly grateful that my lungs are working and for the delicious smelling food. “I’ll pay with debit?” I don’t mean for it to sound like a question but it does. I can almost hear my mother scolding me, you need to be more assertive. You get stepped on if you’re too polite. I know she’s right but I ignore her anyway. 

“No need, already paid for,” she says with a wide smile. “The cook says hi.” I take it, then, that the cook is the one who paid for my dinner.

“Oh, really that wasn’t necessary.” I produce my debit card from my pocket, holding it out as if it’s perfect evidence of my ability to pay. “I have money.” 

“If you really wanna make it up to me I can take your number.” Renee would like Jessica, she’s assertive. I shake my head a little but still take out my phone and hand it to her. She punches in her number quickly, perfect nails tapping lightly on the screen before handing it back. Her own phone beeps. “Have a nice night, Bella! Text me whenever.” 

I say goodbye to Mike and he waves kindly, almost immediately afterwards turning to talk to Jessica. They wave as I leave and I can feel the eyes of The Diner on my back as I leave the building and enter my truck. 

It’s almost two days until I get a chance to talk with my mother, and within those days I accomplish more than one would expect of a girl who is so well acquainted with procrastination. Namely, I received a text message from Jessica. We conversed lightly, her with heavy use of emojis and me with improper use of punctuation and perhaps not enough enthusiasm. I know this because almost immediately after I send her my reaction to a movie she watched she calls me. 

“Bella,” she says in a tone that insinuates both exasperation and light humour. “I swear, girl, you are so hard to read.” 

“I know, my grammar-”

“No, no,” she cuts me off. “I mean I have no idea if you even wanna talk to me or not.” I’m shocked into silence, of course I want to talk to her. I enjoy talking to her. It seems I’ve been severely lacking in the friends department and it’s no recent issue. Ever since Phoenix I’ve remained forcibly independent, it’s nice to have people my age to talk to. 

“I- I can use more emojis?” It comes out a question and my mother is back in my head, assertive assertive assertive. Jessica gives a triumphant laugh and I get the impression that this was her goal all along. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll try to communicate better.” 

She just laughs and we hang up and continue texting, but not before she informs me that we will have to set up a schedule to meet in person. Apparently even with emojis in my armoury I am “more fun” in person. Who would have thought?

Within the two days before I call my mother I also get my first driving lesson with Jacob Black. He drives over in his fathers old truck, which he can no longer use due to the wheelchair. Jacob informs me of this with a smile that tells me he’s inherited the truck.

He bounces out of the vehicle with a giant grin on his face and his hands clasped excitedly behind his back. I could all but feel the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He had come prepared too, as I later found out, when he inserted a CD into my cars radio system. Soft rock echoed sweetly throughout the cab and Jacob drummed his fingers over his knees. “You gotta love ‘em, right?” He asked redundantly. I nodded, not knowing who I had to love or why, but just enjoying sitting next to him and listening to him talk. 

He walked me through the gear shift. It sticks when you move directly from park to reverse, so I should always pause on drive for a moment first. We practice this in the driveway a few times before taking to the residential streets. We mostly talk during the drive, him giving me all the Rez gossip and me providing him with the meek details of my online school experience and my conversations with Jessica. 

“She’s really nice,” I tell him as the trucks engine growls loudly at the stop light. “Loud, but loud in a nice way.” He nods in the passenger seat as if he completely understands, which I do not find difficult to believe. I wouldn’t be surprised if everybody in town was his friend. 

“Yeah, I know a few people like that.” I’m proven correct. “Like there are just so many things going on inside them they can’t contain it.” I nod absently but my mind shifts to the first part of Jacobs comment. I wonder how many friends he has? I can’t imagine he’s unpopular, or even shy, he’s just too exciting and fun. His smile makes me want to smile. 

“What?” He enunciates slowly with a slow head turn. I look away quickly, my eyes steadily focused on the bumper in front of us. I didn’t mean to stare at him. 

“Nothing.” 

“No, what?” I pull into the next lane, making sure to check over my shoulder twice. Maybe if I don’t pay attention to him, maybe if I just ignore- “Is there something on my face?” 

I look over, baited into meeting his eyes. A big palm runs over his mouth and he pulls it back as if to inspect it for markings. “No,” I assure him. “There’s nothing on your face.” Then, my lips widen as if with a mind of their own, and suddenly I’m grinning. “I mean other than-”

He guffaws out a laugh before I can finish my comment and looks over at me with a smile mirroring my own. “Bella Swan, were you about to make a joke?” I shoot him a half-hearted glare and realize that this is all too easy with him. Jacob is like an overactive puppy, so easy to excite and quick to make you smile. I also realize that I seem to really enjoy the company of this particular overactive puppy. 

“I make jokes plenty of times,” I retort with a quick glance in my rearview mirror. The houses have transitioned into a tree line and the previously residential road boasts a higher speed limit. “You most definitely do not. I remember being kids, you were always the sensible one.” My heart skips and my field of vision narrows to the space above the steering wheel. The road is slick with rain, I doubt I’ll ever see it dry. “You used to ask Charlie to put bandaids in your little backpack, just in case…” his words continue, detailing how mature I was for a first grader. I made decisions way past my age and was the first one to disinfect surface cuts and scrapes. I was the only one to disinfect bloody knees and palms, even though the sight made me sick. “It was like you just had to take care of everybody else.” 

He looks over to me, I can see him in my peripheral vision, but instead of looking back I force my lips into an open smile. I hope it comes across as genuine. “I had a thing for first aid.” It’s a poor response. Anybody could see through my shallow sentence and many people would call me out on it. Tell me that for a girl with such a large vocabulary it’s odd for me to suddenly have nothing to say. For a girl who claims to enjoy this boys company I seem to be going out of my way to deter him from ever calling me again. 

“Take a left up here,” Jacob says and his hand juts out to point at a beaten gravel road. It cuts into the forest at a haggard angle which makes it nearly impossible to maneuver, but I do so with more than minimal effort and release a heavy breath once we are on it. “Okay, now try to merge back onto the road.”

“What?” The odd, and clearly impossible, request pulls me out of my self-pitying thoughts. “Jake-” 

“If you can’t do it that’s fine, just switch seats and I’ll drive.” The devilish glint in his eyes provokes some deep, hidden piece of me that craves competition. 

“You just miss Betty,” I say with perhaps a little too much vindication. He doesn’t seem bothered either way and simply shrugs his large shoulders, the russet skin reflecting the light of another car's headlights as it passes on the main road. 

“Yeah, I do.”

taglist:

@musingsofvenus​ @maybesandohnos​

[equalseleventhirds]

Hey. Re: the Jon having agency argument, I think I might be the person who kickstarted that one, and I want to say my argument was nothing like that other anon framed it. I never brought up him being neurodivergent coded, or disabled, or anything of the sort, because my argument wasn't about whether he was more marginalised than the rest of the cast - it was about whether it makes sense to frame his decisions as the primary driving force of the narrative. And my point about the ending wasn't that he was talked over, it was that what happened still aligned with what everyone else chose, not what he did, so it still doesn't make sense to frame his actions as a driving force of narrative rather than a failed struggle against the conclusion.

there are absolutely moments throughout the series when jon has his agency taken from him, by the narrative at large, the fears, and other people in positions of power (cough cough elias). that isn't negated by the fact that he's not written as a poc, and in fact given that s5 could be read as an exploration and criticism of white privilege, there's room for a reading wrt 'white people who believe the universe itself is giving them control are wrong and no not even you, white person, will be safe', which imo is one of the stronger messages a white person can give to other white ppl, and which some of jonny's writing does touch on

wrt the finale in particular, i think you and the other anon may be having two different conversations? bcos like, listen, i definitely did see some ppl saying that in 199 it was unfair to jon that he was outvoted (altho i did not see anything in the context of his identity, which was absolutely buck wild to me when the other anon brought that up) and that the martin, georgie, melanie, and basira, jon's allies, people who had less power than him and with whom he voluntarily discussed & debated the plan, were somehow stripping him of his agency by not agreeing with him. i avoided most of that, but i do vaguely recall someone actually doing an analysis of 199 and finding that jon spoke more than any other character and thus had his fair say, altho i would not be able to find the post bcos i did avoid... all of that. so if it is about other characters talking over him/taking his agency in the finale, i think that is kinda... not a thing, even putting aside questions of race and other identity stuff.

now, if it is about the narrative and whether or not jon's wishes and decisions controlled the narrative/were a driving force, that is a whole different kettle of meta! how much agency do characters have in narrative, when a writer is controlling them? how much agency do any of our characters in tma have, when the fears and the web in particular were controlling their fates?

realistically, i don't think any character at any point really had their desires as a driving force of the narrative, at least not as like... conscious control/creating the ending they desired? one of the BIG themes of tma in generals is that while we can make the best decision with the information we have, our intentions and wishes for the outcome of our decisions has absolutely no bearing on the actual outcome. in this way, every decision anyone makes is a 'driving force' in that it does in fact push the narrative towards one conclusion or another; but it is not a 'driving force' in that it pushes the narrative towards the conclusion they wanted.

everything jon and the other characters do is a struggle against the narrative, not against an inevitable end that will come for them no matter what, but against an end they cannot foresee and thus cannot reliably influence. jon's choice in mag 200 is a 'driving force' in that it drives the others to speed up their timeline, it drives martin to come find him, it eventually leads to jon getting stabbed and both of them dying in the panopticon. this wouldn't have happened without his choices! but what the others chose in mag 199 was also a driving force, that made jon feel like he could not change their minds and like they did not understand the true horror of what they were unleashing, and so he chose to go up to the panopticon alone.

neither of them really got what they wanted (bcos the others! didn't really want a world where jon and martin died/disappeared!) because neither of them really had full control over the results. but they did, in spite of not having control, influence those results.

...........and that got weirdly philosophical and really does have v little to do with race in tma, but i think i can be forgiven for going on a very long tangent abt narrative and choices and what precisely a 'driving force' is when we talk abt a story, bcos! narrative theory is very much an interest of mine!!