#anyway my apologies for the un-positive post

[princessclefairyberry]

Closing asks for a while because the scams are getting EXTRA nasty and by nasty I mean anxiety-spiral-inducing

[actual-bill-potts]

For the Director's Cut game! I'd love to hear your commentary about the latest chapter of And All His Towers Cast Down, especially the questioning scene in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. That was brilliantly terrifying and this part in particular just lives rent-free in my head: “Finrod can feel the moment when Sauron realizes what he has done [...] he feels his face re-form, his bones knitting together - no - no, please - ‘I will un-make and re-make you, as many times as it takes’ “

thank you so much! and many apologies for my late response to these, afjdklsafd ive been sick and am now catching up on work and yes, Finrod and co ARE sitting in a corner staring at me as I determinedly ignore all my WIPs lmao but anyway. ok. going to talk about the entire chapter. under a cut as it's going to be a bit long lol.

So, chapter 13 was not initially planned at all. In fact (and you may be horrified to hear this), pretty much the entire first half of this fic has been mostly unplanned, because when I started working on towers I did not intend to include Finrod as more than a side character! You can kind of see it in this post which was what towers came out of - I wanted to write a story about Lúthien and Maglor, partly because they are a fascinating character combo and partly because I was really interested in the political implications of such a team-up for both the Noldor and the Sindar.

Like, with Finrod alive, Lúthien (presumably) feeling very positively towards at least one son of Fëanor, and Morgoth having been dealt a crushing blow by the combined might of the Noldor and the Sindar, does Thingol back down? Do Celegorm and Curufin? Would Lúthien and Beren feel the need to retire from the world if they had met more people who wholeheartedly supported their love, rather than being attacked at every turn? And (because this is a theme I remain fascinated by in the Silm) does any of it make any difference at all? After all, the Noldor are at war not just with Morgoth but also with the rest of the Valar, so how would being under the Doom play out during a Nirn that included the support of all the Elven kingdoms? These were the questions that I was really excited about answering when I started this fic.

When I began to write it, I was going to have the rescue play out in a chapter or two, max, and then have Finrod and maybe even Maedhros join the Silmaril squad. It was going to be so epic - but as I was writing, characters started to push back on what I was saying, lol. For instance, it took some convincing for the pragmatic Maedhros to want to even try to find out what happened to Finrod (never mind rescuing him!). No way, no how was he going to go to Angband. And after watching ten of Finrod's closest friends die for him, Beren would knock Finrod over the head with a chair and run away before he'd let Finrod follow him on any more of the quest. So that was right out.

And then the more I thought about the rescue, the more fascinated I became by Tol-in-Gaurhoth in general; it really represents a turning point in Leithian for a lot of characters. Lúthien and Huan come into their power and start taking control of the narrative; Finrod dies; Beren loses most of his agency (I find it fascinating that pre-Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Beren drives most of the plot - he becomes an outlaw, he makes it into Doriath, he decides to go on the Silmaril Quest, he goes to Nargothrond, etc - and afterwards he turns into something of a McGuffin for Lúthien, which is to say that most of what he does is either run away from Lúthien or follow her around); and Sauron and Morgoth go from having the upper hand to being caught by surprise over and over again. The difficulty in writing an AU about a key moment in the story - Finrod's death - being interrupted by new characters and events is that you still have to deal with the ramifications of that key moment, and now there are more people around, lol.

So anyway, after spending a lot of time thinking about this, I ended up wanting to tell two main stories with towers. The first is the story I originally meant to tell, that of Maglor and Lúthien wrecking Morgoth: but with the added twist that Maglor, particularly after watching how haunted Maedhros was in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, is motivated at least as much by guilt as he is by a desire to stick it to Morgoth and fulfill the Oath. He feels guilty that he didn't rescue Maedhros, and he feels guilty that he is going to Angband now and not then, and the sight of Finrod immediately post-Sauron's-hospitality is bringing a lot of painful memories back for him, so he is...not thinking very clearly. He is going to have to face a lot of that in Angband, both facing the stark reality of where Maedhros was for (REDACTED amount of time), and eventually accepting how fucking insane it was that Fingon's rescue actually worked.

The second story I want to tell is that of Finrod's reckoning with his own trauma and his own failure. Somebody else sent an ask about Finrod's character in this, so I won't go too much into all that here, but to summarize: Tol-in-Gaurhoth in many ways represents the failure and destruction of nearly everything Finrod worked on and valued in Middle-earth. Characters in the Silm tend to deal with failure by. well. murdering people. but our boi is pretty unique. How would he deal with being so thoroughly hurt in a universe in which he survives?

Both of these stories are about to actually kick off in the next few chapters (ahhh, chapter 14...where the original iteration of this story started...), but as I was working on chapter 14 onwards, I felt that towers as a whole needed a little space to breathe between the conclusion of what is essentially the World's Longest Prologue and the start of the "meat" of the story. Hence Maglor's conversation with Maedhros, which sets out the main (internal) conflicts their characters will be facing. For Maglor, it is:

Maglor drew a deep breath. "I only - the truth is that I should have done this - this quest - when you were captured. Thou art as precious as a Silmaril to me," he added, slipping into Quenya in the privacy of their chambers, "and I wish that I had had the courage to do as Lúthien did. That I am going now, and not then: it damns me. Did I care so little for our father's jewels - did I care so little for thy life - that I was content to sit behind walls until the daughter of Thingol reached out her hand and did what we could not?"

Maglor is intensely driven by guilt and a sense of competition with Lúthien, which will drive him to do. some Things.

For Maedhros, it is this:

Maglor laid his head on Maedhros' shoulder carefully. Maedhros felt his tears wetting his tunic; but he did not mind. "It is all right, Makalaurë," he said. "It is all well. Do thy great deed; and in fulfilling the Oath perhaps we will find a way to unmesh ourselves from Doom. I would like that," he added, very quietly, "for our younger brothers."

Maedhros, hearing about C&C's actions in Nargothrond, and watching Maglor be so torn apart by the Oath, is fully realizing here the impact the Oath is having on his brothers. A large part of his arc will revolve around dealing with the political and personal disaster that is Nargothrond; and he is counting on Maglor and Lúthien, maybe more than he himself realizes, to repeat Fingon's great deed.

And then we get to the Tol-in-Gaurhoth flashback! Finrod's arc in the coming chapters will be all about recovery and coming to terms with what happened to him - so it ought to be clear in the reader's mind what actually did happen to him. I tried to use my understanding of the characters of Sauron and Morgoth, as well as the canonical events of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, to work out what the experience most likely entailed (apart from the obvious, uh. getting eaten by wolves thing). We know that post-Silmaril-burning, Morgoth is incapable of assuming a fair form. From this we can extrapolate that likely those who serve him have something of a grudge against beautiful things - and Finrod is canonically very beautiful. So I think he would be a very tempting target for Sauron to smash into a pulp, alas.

Also, as several authors here on tumblr have pointed out, it's somewhat ludicrous that Sauron looked at the incredibly powerful golden-haired Elvenking in the company of a mortal and didn't recognize Finrod - unless Finrod managed to keep up some sort of enchantment that prevented Sauron from recognizing him. There's a lot of different ways this could go, but I essentially interpreted it as Finrod keeping up a spell of misdirection - Sauron knows there's something about him, it's on the tip of his tongue, but Finrod is preventing him from fully realizing their importance. So Sauron is essentially playing with his food here - I'm of the opinion that if Sauron knew what to look for with regards to Nargothrond, Finrod would stand no chance. Finrod certainly thinks so, anyway, and so he's using everything he can to keep Sauron from looking at him as anything more than a plaything. Unfortunately Finrod is a) very pretty and b) very much beloved, which gives Sauron lots of room for entertainment.

Unfortunately, and I do hate to admit this, the "unmaking and remaking" thing was almost a complete accident - I was almost done with the scene, and then I thought, "wait! I never mentioned facial injuries! fuck!" so. sauron got to be extra creepy to cover up for my lack of planning. xD

[accessible-tumbling]

ID 1: Entitled “Why is it only women who see sexism everywhere?”, with the pictures of a man with a cat, and another picture of a woman in front of a wall with cartoons on it. This is a series of Tweets by Martin R. Schneider. His Tweets say, “Nicole and I worked for a small employment service firm and one complaint always came from our boss: She took too long to work with clients. As her supervisor, I considered this a minor nuisance at best. I figured the reason I got things done faster was from having more experience. So one day I’m emailing a client back-and-forth about his resume and he is just being IMPOSSIBLE. Rude, dismissive, ignoring my questions. Telling me his methods were the industry standards (they weren’t) and I couldn’t understand the terms he used (I could). Anyway I was getting sick of his shit when I noticed something. Thanks to our shared inbox, I’d been signing all communications as ‘Nicole’. It was Nicole he was being rude to, not me. So out of curiosity I said ‘Hey this is Martin, I’m taking over this project for Nicole.’ IMMEDIATE IMPROVEMENT. Positive reception, thanking me for suggestions, responds promptly, saying ‘great questions!’ Became a model client. Note: My technique and advice never changed. The only difference was that I had a man’s name now. We did an experiment: for two weeks we switched names. I signed all client emails as Nicole. She signed as me. Folks. It fucking sucked. I was in hell. Everything I asked or suggested was questioned. Clients I could do in my sleep were condescending. One asked if I was single. Nicole had the most productive week of her career. I realized the reason she took longer is bc she had to convince clients to respect her. By the time she could get clients to accept that she knew what she was doing, I could get halfway through another client. I wasn’t any better at the job than she was, I just had this invisible advantage.”

ID 2:

Nicole Hallberg’s whole post is present in screenshots. The link is here: https://nickyknacks.medium.com/working-while-female-59a5de3ad266 The post text is as follows:

A Twitter thread has gotten some attention recently, where my former-coworker / current-best friend, Marty, recounted the day he realized just how bad, and insidious, workplace sexism could be.

After noticing that a client was treating him like crap while his email signature was accidentally set to my name, we came up with an experiment. We switched signatures for a week. Nothing changed, except that our clients read me as male and Marty as female. I had one of the easiest weeks of my professional life. He… didn’t.

But I knew long before this experiment that my life at this company was always going to be harder. I knew this on my second day.

Our boss was my age. A wealthy and privileged entrepreneur, he lived his life by the Holy Bible of Tim Ferriss’ 4 Hour Workweek. Our job was to professionally edit and rewrite customers’ resumes. Marty was still living across the country on my first day of work, with plans to move locally and work from our “office” (my bosses’ apartment) in a few weeks. I asked my boss what Marty was like. He told me, “Oh, he’s a good writer, but he tends to get over emotional about things and let that get in the way of his writing. He’s kind of a girl like that.”

I stared at him, not quite believing what he had said. To me. The only girl he had ever hired. He knew immediately that he had fucked up. He stuttered, tried to backtrack, un-backtracked, ultimately apologized and acknowledged that it was a wrong thing to say. But that didn’t matter. Message received. I put up my walls, and buckled in to try to survive at this job. This wasn’t my first time at this rodeo.

When I did meet Marty, we clicked. We bonded over being awestruck at the casual and not-so-casual moments of sexism my boss would treat me to over the few years that I worked there. Even his compliments were… fun. After a few weeks, I survived the rigorous training process and another male coworker, hired at the same time, did not. My boss complimented me and himself, saying that “I wasn’t going to consider hiring any females, but I’m glad I did. You should be proud, I had thousands of applications but yours stuck out to me, and made me decide to give hiring a girl a try.” Interesting. “Why weren’t you considering hiring any women?”

“Oh, you know. We’ve always had fun here, and I didn’t want the atmosphere to change.”

I would like the record to show that I have the filthiest mouth in the tri-state area, and one of my pasttimes has always been trying to come up with jokes off-color enough that I can actually embarrass Marty. I would also like the record to show that I developed a trucker’s mouth and bawdy sense of humor precisely because I’ve always had to act “like a man” to be found funny and be accepted in male spaces.

I kept working there and taking his money, despite the bullshit I lived with on the daily. When Marty and my boss would talk over me, I’d just get louder. When they drifted off and stopped paying attention while I was talking, I’d rewrite it in an email and force my words in front of their eyes. When my boss Pinkwashed my writing to make it sound more “feminine”, I snuck in and changed it back. And one day, I lit into Marty, telling him that he had a bad habit of talking over me and ignoring me. To his credit, and probably the reason that we are still friends, is that he listened. He took it to heart. He started using his voice to bring attention to me in meetings. I’ve seen him do the same for other women in mixed settings since. I’m grateful for that.

But I never really felt anything like despair, until our experiment ended after a week, and we decided to go to our boss so that we could tell him exactly what it was like writing while female.

He didn’t believe us. He actually said “There are a thousand reasons why the clients could have reacted differently that way. It could be the work, the performance… you have no way of knowing.” For the first time in two years, I *almost* lost my cool. I wanted to grab him by the arms and shake him, scream in his face until he heard me, stress cry and scream at the sky until the world made sense. But I did not cry. That would be breaking The Rules that had kept me alive in this company for this long.

But I will always wonder. What did my boss have to gain by refusing to believe that sexism exists? Even when the evidence is screaming at him, even when his employee who makes him an awful lot of money is telling him, even when THE BOY on staff is telling him??

I never did figure it out. Instead, I quit and started my own business writing blog posts and web copy as a freelancer. In an office of one, I can finally put my walls down.

End image description.

[smuggsy]

Remember this post about how Riddler dug up Elijah's body and we just... collectively chose to ignore it along with Oswald? 😂

Well. I un-ignored it. With a sad angsty fic.

(You can read it down here as well.) Word count: 2040. Tags: #emotional comfort #established relationship #hence: canon divergence #nightmares

Oswald's used to having nightmares. He's no stranger to sleepless nights, 5-am coffees have become a bit of a recurrent habit to make up for the drowsiness clouding his mind after a particularly difficult dream chimes in without permission and throws his sleeping schedule off — so much that he often finds himself power-napping through the day when Ed isn't around to tell him off for it.

Yes, he's almost grown too accustomed to Hugo Strange's voice narrating all sorts of gruesome scenarios that he ends up carrying out of his own volition, propelled forward by an unknown and invisible force deep inside. He never really sees the Doctor, but he hears him all the time, he's just there all the time. He tells Oswald what to do and Oswald does it without a pinch of remorse. Shoot him. Stab her. Blow them all to pieces, they deserve it.

It's the kind of hell he's used to. He's almost learnt to accept it's never going away. That it's a part of his psyche now, a part of him that will never really go away — because how do you fix a tattered mind? He wouldn't let anyone try, anyway. Not after Arkham.

This night is different. This night he's assaulted by a new kind of terror, almost perfectly calibrated and specially curated for him. Blossoming from the deepest part of his mind where he'd stocked it, never to be revisited.

And it's most cruel for one reason: when he wakes up with a startle he can't bear the thought of those arms wrapping around him and providing comfort like they've done so many times before. In fact, the first thing he does when he opens his eyes is untangle himself from Ed's sleeping embrace like it burns him.

Which means he's got no-one but himself to count on, again. No-one to hush him through the aftermath and speak softly in his ear and hum a long-dead melody until he calms down or, if he's lucky, falls back asleep.

"Oswald?"

He sits on the edge of the bed, hunched over to catch his breath, and feels Ed shifting position behind him. His partner's voice is clouded with sleep and Oswald can't bring himself to even turn around and reassure him — lie to him. He fears if he turns around he won't see Ed but Riddler. Not Ed's gentle eyes but Riddler's mocking glare. Not a warm comforting smile but a disdainful sneer.

His father, standing on the other side of the bed with a disappointed frown. My boy, how could you steep so low? Do you know where I am? Do you know where he left me?

When Ed's warm fingers brush over his right shoulder Oswald bolts upright with a whine.

"Osw—?"

And he runs to the bathroom and slams the door close behind him, feeling his one-piece nightgown sticking to his chest with sweat.

"Oswald, what's wrong?" Edward's voice is immediately on the other side, he tries turning the doorknob but Oswald is pinning it closed with his own weight, still unable to brush away the gut-wrenching feeling of betrayal that's so suddenly taken hold of him, "Oswald, get off the door."

It's a gentle request.

Oswald might have done it, perhaps, might have considered it, if he hadn't looked right into the mirror hanging on the opposite wall and seen Elijah's pale and sickness-stricken face. A dead man's face that makes him shiver.

He shall never have peace, so long as you're with him, Oswald thinks. Some other Oswald. Some other voice that sounds like his but isn't. Can't be.

"Oswald," Ed tries again, and this time he pushes against the door with more conviction, Oswald leans off and turns around to face him when he comes in, to keep him away, Riddler, he's still in there, he's— "oh dear," Ed coos, having one look at him and taking pity instantly. He takes a step forward and Oswald takes a step back.

"No!" he blurts out with a raspy voice. Edward stops dead in his tracks, lost expression for a moment before his shoulders relax again.

"It's okay, Oswald. It was just a nightmare," he adds, softly like so many times before.

"No, it isn't! It wasn't!" Oswald lashes out, hating that he looks at Ed's dishevelled face and concerned caramel eyes and wants him to just get away, his voice comes out just barely, "you did that to him! You— How could you?!"

Ed opens his mouth and doesn't move, clearly taken aback by the accusation even if he fails to comprehend, thrown off by the way Oswald looks at him, stands like that, like a wounded animal, like he might flee if Edward takes another step forward.

He still takes a step forward, though, because he never was really good with physical cues.

"Os, I don't understand wha—"

"Don't touch me!"

Oswald jerks away and hits the wall behind, still shivering despite his burning skin. Edward shows him his palms, a gesture of surrender.

"Okay. Okay, I'm not," he takes a steadying breath in, "I'm staying right here."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's not him, I swear! I didn't—"

"Oswald?"

"He's different now! He's not like that anymore!"

Oswald gestures towards Ed, clever, supportive, thoughtful, with his checked blue pyjamas and plaid shirt and lack of glasses and puffy eyes from sleep. Then he looks back at his father now standing by the door and projects the thought: Ed. Not Riddler!

But Elijah shakes his head and purses his lips, looking him up and down like he doesn't approve and Oswald just needs him to understand.

"It's not hiiiiim!"

"Oswald, this is starting to become very unsettling."

Edward looks around, to his right, there. To where Oswald's looking, to nothing. He knows that deranged gaze, he's seen it countless times before, he's stood in front of the mirror a lot of times and seen it on himself.

"Os, it's just those new painkillers making you groggy, okay? It's a much heavier dose than the one you're used to. Whatever you're seeing," Edward chances a slow step forward and Oswald finally turns his head back to him, with glassy eyes and tears on his eyelashes and still looking like he'll run away, "it's not there, Oswald. I am here."

Oswald stares at him for a few more silent moments with a lost expression, mouth open and still bracing himself with one hand on the cold tiles behind and the other on the sink.

"You're not... you're not him, I try to— I tell him you're not," he babbles, looking feverish and lost.

That's when the penny drops for Edward. It feels like a stab to the heart, that broken voice, the trembling hands, the quivering lips, the whole sight of an Oswald so distressed he won't even let him get close enough to soothe him.

"No," Ed says softly, his own voice failing him for a moment, shaking his head and taking yet another step closer, "no," he repeats breathless, "I'm not. Please. Come here."

He reaches an offering hand and Oswald slowly looks down as if weighing his options. As if making sure this isn't a trick — which, well. If he's thinking of Riddler, he can hardly be blamed for exercising caution, Ed admits. It hurts him to admit it. To know he's caused this, one way or another. Painkillers or not. This raw incoherent fear is coming from somewhere, however small the flame that ignited it might be, and he can't fix it because Oswald won't stop trembling like a leaf and recoiling.

"Oswald, please," he begs, voice finally breaking and eloquence escaping him, retrieving his outstretched hand and rubbing fingers over his burning eyelids because if he breaks down too... "please, it's me, Ed, just Ed."

He doesn't know what to do. He's on the verge of blurting out apologies when he opens his eyes to Oswald latching onto him with one of those desperate hugs. Ed wraps his arms around him instantly, a reflex, feeling like he's just come back to life.

"Go away," Oswald says, sobs with his face buried in the crook of his neck and starts crying. Edward tightens his hold and hides his own tears in the other man's raven locks, understands he's not the one being spoken to, "go, please. I won't leave him!"

Edward can barely understand the string of pleas when Oswald's clutching onto him so firmly his words come out muffled and nearly intelligible. Either way, he's not about to ask who's there — better not add salt to the wound. Not feed the horror, lest it become a recurrent thing. He needs him to understand this is a figment of his imagination if he's not aware already.

"Shhhh, it's all good," he keeps Oswald in place with an arm around his waist and brings the other one to gently pet his hair, "it's o-kay, Oswald. I'm here, it's just you and me."

Oswald nods against his chest but he can't seem to bring himself to stop crying. Edward rubs circles on his back.

"Just you and me," he repeats, striving for a soothing voice and feeling it waver ever so slightly.

They stay like that for a whole five minutes until Oswald finally leans back, sniffs and looks up with red eyes and a self-deprecating comment on his lips that Ed doesn't let him voice out.

"Come on, it's freezing out here."

Ed guides him back under the covers and tucks him in, Oswald watches his every move like an overcurious child. That cloudy expression is gone, though, and Ed can't help but let out a sigh of relief at having him back. He looks drained but sober.

Mostly sober.

His eyes still dart around with a nervous air but he doesn't seem to find his demon anywhere. When Ed climbs back up on the bed Oswald immediately shifts closer and hides his face in his shirt again.

"I'm sorry, that—"

"No-uh-uh," Ed cuts in, brushing a strand of hair off his green doe eyes and feeling an almost compulsive need to plant a kiss on the now-red tip of his nose, "say no more."

Oswald purses his lips and shuffles even closer, pressing his flush body so firmly against Ed's that they can't exactly see each other's faces anymore.

"Can you...?"

"Yes I can."

And that's that. He settles his chin on top of Oswald's head and starts humming; content to sidestep the issue just for now but unable to brush aside the sour taste of guilt filling almost every corner of his mind.

He starts rubbing circles on Oswald's back and doesn't stop the melody until he feels the other man's hold loosen up and his breath change into a normal and peaceful pace. Only then does Edward slowly extract himself from the embrace, far enough that he can look at Oswald's face.

Red and wet and troubled, still. He reaches over and soothes the lines on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Os," he breathes out.

He's used to Oswald having nightmares. He wakes up all heaving breaths and uncertain hands latching onto anything that's near for comfort, for safety or reassurance. Ed is always there to provide either one, wrap his arms around his shaking form and listen to him if he wants to talk. Make him a cup of tea or play soft tunes on the piano if sleep doesn't return.

Oswald's always been needy like that.

Having him wake up and frantically keep himself away, recoil from his touch and excuse himself to a third party only he can see... that's a first.

And it's terrifying.

Because He made that happen. Because Oswald's grown to be too dependant and Ed's grown to be his anchor in moments like these and if he can't even be that... then what can he be? What's left for him to be, besides the clear instigator?

Ed closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, focusing on the sound of Oswald's breathing and on the touch of his cold feet and the smell of cherry-scented hair conditioner. He relishes in the familiarity of the hold and shakes the darker thoughts away.

Perhaps he's become a bit dependant himself.

[wing-ed-thing]

Click (Part III: Neji)

Synopsis: You invited everyone out to dinner. You also audibly clicked. People had opinions about this

Word Count: 1,743

Warnings: Mild Bullying, Fem!Reader

Part I: Shikamaru, Part II: Shino, Part III: Neji, Part IV: Rock Lee , Part V: Naruto, Part VI: Kiba, FINALE, The Message in Click

Notes: While these can be read as oneshots, all three parts do interweave. To get all the jokes and references, do read the Shikamaru and Shino parts that have already been posted. Otherwise, enjoy!

You were always more of Hinata’s friend than Neji’s and Neji preferred it that way. You were a stark contrast compared to the infamously a severe man of few words. But even so, Neji truly never minded your presence; it was just simply one that he never particularly preferred. So when you let yourself into the Hyūga compound’s courtyard to ask him and Hinata for dinner, Neji became uncharacteristically taken aback.

“Well, I know it’s short notice, but I’m inviting everyone out for dinner tonight. My treat!” You chirped. “I was hoping you’d join me.”

Neji’s lips formed a tight line as he shifted his gaze to Hinata. Social engagements were never Neji’s forte, but he was in enough of an agreeable mood to leave the decision up to Hinata. You rocked on your heels expectantly in front of her.

“Maybe?” Hinata squeaked out and you beamed brightly, clicking as you did so. Neji shook his head at your reaction to the noncommittal response. How you could ever find enough positivity to smile about in such a weak answer made him wonder.

“Well if you can make it, it’ll be at Shushu-ya. Seven o’clock, okay?”

You left as quickly as you came and Neji continued training with Hinata. But not too long after you left, they were interrupted once more.

Kiba hurried into the courtyard with Shino not too far behind. Hinata interlocked her fingers behind her head as she tried to catch her breath again. Neji gave her modest praise for her work and decided to end training for the day given their many interruptions. Hinata’s frosted-over eyes widened with joy as she smiled at her teammates.

“Hey, Hyūga twins!” Kiba pointed finger guns at the two nobles. Hinata let out a courteous laugh. Neji crossed his arms over his chest, unamused. “Are you coming with us to Yakiniku tonight?”

Hinata looked down.

“Yes, of course.” She spoke quietly. Neji took a quick glance between the members of Team Eight. He cocked a brow.

“Don’t you mean Shus-”

“Nope!” Kiba interjected. He locked eyes with the eldest Hyūga. “Yakiniku.”

Neji let out a sharp exhale, a hand coming up to his temple. He weighed the consequences of challenging Kiba, but ultimately decided to keep quiet. If there was a problem, you would handle it, You were your own adult. You were a competent ninja. And most of all you were more Hinata’s friend so it wasn’t like he cared.

***

Neji came through the doors to Yakiniku Q first. The whole team had arrived a half hour early, because when Rock Lee is early, his whole team is early. Lee bolted through the entrance to a table he deemed long enough for everyone. Tenten sighed to herself and sat down at the opposite end. Neji ordered a round of tea and took his place near the weapons user.

He sat, legs crossed, in his quiet corner as he sipped his tea. The bell on the door rang signaling three new arrivals. Neji silently observed the room as it began to fill. Hinata and Shino greeted him quietly and took their seats at his end of the table. Another ring and Sakura and Sai joined. Sakura took it upon herself to order a few plates to grill. With each jingle of the bell above the door, he expected you. Neji shook his head. He inwardly scolded himself for mixing your clicking up with the chime. Surely, that was the reason.

He found himself studying Shino in order to take his mind off of you. Shino looked lost as he helplessly scanned the room. The bowl of rice in front of him remained untouched. His eyes settled on the meat grilling of the table. Shino lifted a hand to his chin before he abruptly stood. Neji took a sip of his tea.

His sharp eyes followed Shino as he left the table. Kiba came in front, stopping his teammate with a hand to the chest.

“I know what you did.” Neji read on Shino’s lips.

Neji exhaled sharply to himself, the pieces coming together in his head. He diverted his attention from the rest of the exchange and turned to his own bowl of rice. The bell rang out and Team Ten arrived. Shikamaru assumed Shino’s old seat.

“So,” Hinata grasped her tea with both hands. “Shikamaru how was your day?”

Shikamaru didn’t answer. Instead, he appeared as lost in his rice as Shino had been. Hinata let out a nervous laugh as the group at the end of the table began to stare at Shikamaru.

“His head’s been up in the clouds all day, don’t mind him.” Ino’s voice briefly snapped Shikamaru out of his thoughts. He grunted and a laugh went around the table. Neji studied him out of the corner of his eye.

“Hinata asked how your day was.” Sai leaned to tell him. His face remained stoic, but a sparkle of amusement shone in his eyes.

“Ah, sorry,” Shikamaru drawled, “I’ve been alright.”

With that, the conversation quickly moved on. Neji plucked a few pieces of meat from the grill. He brought his chapsticks to his lips, but paused. A sinking feeling gnawed at his core. The image of your chiper face asking him and Hinata to dinner flashed across his memory. The barbecue lowered onto the pillow of rice in his bowl.

“Wait.” Shikamaru’s head snapped up. Neji looked away, bringing a slice of meat to his mouth. He had every intention of ignoring whatever it was the Shikamaru was going to say, but what he said next made Neji stop mid-chew. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

As soon as the words left his lips, Shikamaru was out the door. The table fell silent.

Neji brought a hand up to his temple. All talk of you ceased after that, but Neji couldn’t help the pang of guilt that reverberated in his chest. The feeling ate at him and continued to eat away at him until the group decided that they were full and began to discuss the next thing they wanted to do that night. The incomplete Konoha Twelve poured out of Yakiniku, gabbering about some odd activity that Neji didn’t bother catching.

“You are not coming with us?” Lee questioned.

“No, thank you. I’ll be turning in.” The members of the group who had not already gone ahead cooed in disappointment, but didn’t push the Hyūga further.

Neji went his separate way, fully intending to head straight back to the compound. But he once again felt that pang. He stopped in the middle of the street. Neji frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. With a huff, he turned on his heel. He was off to find you.

***

Neji found you standing with Shikamaru outside. Shikamaru had offered to walk you home, but you politely declined. He had already done so much for you and you didn’t want to put him out. Shikamaru opened his mouth just to argue with you when Neji appeared. You looked over your shoulder.

“Oh Neji! I’m sorry, you just missed dinner.” Your features drooped in genuine apology. Shikamaru gave the Jounin a pointed look. Neji returned with a look of subtle understanding.

“I apologize that I could not make it earlier.” He opted. He gulped before clearing his throat. “Do you mind if I steal you?”

“I mean, we were just about done so I don’t see why not.” You smiled up at Shikamaru who allowed the corners of his lips to upturn.

“I should be going anyway.”

“Thank you for everything, Shika!” You smiled. Looking down at your face, Shikamaru couldn’t help but return your expression. His eyes traveled from yours to Neji and the pleasantness retreated from his features. He gave the other Jounin a look of warning.

“Of course. Happy Birthday.” He told you, gaze locked with Neji.

You didn’t notice the emphasis as you waved your friend off. Instead, you turned back to Neji. You beamed at him as he inspected you and once again, Neji wondered to himself. He scowled at your batted eyelashes. You were ditched by your friends on your birthday but you still stood in front of him with a smile.

Neji took a step closer. You flinched as his hands reached up around your head. He grasped your hitai-ate and pulled it down over your eyes.

“Um… Neji?” You peaked out from under the thin sheet of metal.

“I have a surprise for you, do you want it or not?” He glanced down. Neji sighed. “I have something that I wish to show you if you would let me.”

You nodded and let him tighten the hitai-ate around your eyes.

Neji led you down the street. Your vision was pitch black beneath the blindfold. You stumbled, only to be caught by a sturdy set of hands. Neji laced his fingers around yours. You felt him gingerly wrap his arm around your shoulder as he guided you. The two of you continued on.

You faltered when you stepped off the pavement. The steps you took were careful but Neji gave you all the patience you needed. Neji stopped you and went around behind you to untie your forehead protector. As it gradually slipped off, Neji’s surprise was revealed to you.

“The Hyūga clan’s secret garden,” He told you. Your hitai-ate came to hang around your neck. “These are sacred grounds upheld by Hyūgas for generations.”

The azaleas were in full bloom. Hues of red, pink and white littered landscape in between stone fixtures. Petals flurried in the wind, wrapping around the flaps of your qipao. You wandered deeper into the garden in awe. The garden looked like a dream. You ran up to the bridge that arched over the small pond. A wisteria vine wrapped itself around the handrails. You looked out over the lotuses that bloomed in the water. Neji stood next to you as you gazed out at the view.

“Do you enjoy the garden?” You turned to him, eyes sparkling. You clicked.

“Yes! I love it.” You turned back to the dancing petals in the wind.

“Well, good.” Neji straightened his posture. “You’re always so excitable. Clicking at everything you might as well have something worth the excitement.” He scoffed. “I don’t quite understand it.” You giggled as the Hyūga rolled his eyes. He glanced down at you, frowning. “See? This is exactly-”

“Neji?” He stared into your wide, joyful eyes.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, and followed. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Are there cultural expressions of homophobia in Gondor?

Yes! I have a few posts related to this in various ways here, here, here and here but to be brief;

Gondorian homophobia manifests in the concept of ‘ill-fate’ or ‘doom’. Fates and dooms are very prominent and serious parts of Gondorian social fabric and there are a lot of sayings and wisdoms that include their mention or caution. It’s also important to understand that Gondorian society (in general, as a rule, differing in intensity for both time, class and place but remaining a running thread in the gondorian consciousness) is very sex-suppressed. In polite public society one really shouldn’t admit that sex exists at all, let alone comment on their own relationship with it. 

Romantic love however is VERY important. It is the reached for ideal without reservation or self-consciousness. Men and women are expected to be excited and desirous of falling in love and marrying their soulmate. Romantic poetry is thoroughly encouraged. There is nothing ‘effeminate’ about it. Love songs are victorious and rousing in general! And ‘soulmates’ are considered a part of your FATE, love is an aspect of doom for you, you are either destined to meet the love of your life or you aren’t. And that is regretful but unavoidable. 

And that would not be considered an ‘ill-fate’, it would just be unfortunate. Nothing wrong about it. However, people can have actually HARMFUL ‘fates’, which can be called doomed, ill-fated, cursed etc. To steal a quote, ‘fate awaits you with fell purpose’. And if that is the case, the common wisdom is that you can negatively effect people around you, you can ‘taint’ them with association. You are to be pitied! It is understood to be not your fault, but it is tragic and you would do best to manage it as you can. The concept can apply to many different aspects of life, ill-fated in misery, ill-fated in life-length, ill-fated in purpose etc etc, all usually metaphysical and ominous concepts. You aren’t, say, ill-fated if you’re clumsy. 

BUT to get to the point, to be in love with someone of your same-sex would be considered ‘ill-fated’. Love is considered to be included amongst the forces of the world and for it to be ‘altered from it’s natural state’ (i.e the state that LaCE sets out and that is pushed as the Valar’s and, by association, Eru’s ideal) something must have gone terribly wrong. You are ill-fated!

So gay people are pitied! Medicalisation has been one of the very concrete actions that have come out of this view. And pity and concern has naturally become a thoroughly unbearable response for much of the queer gondorian community, often triggering trauma responses in many. They are also viewed as, (unfortunately, against their will, what a tragic thing it is), dangerous to those around them. The ill-fated could bring all kinds of dooms down upon their associates, projects and families after all! And the ‘acceptable’ behaviour and occupation for those known to be gay is to find a quiet, scholarly passion and to essentially become a monk, tucked away from the world but still contributing to it and keeping yourself occupied. And, of course, you must not marry, nor indulge in your ‘ill-fate’. Be strong! Etc etc. And indeed there are queer scholars who have taken this message to heart and are accepted as experts in various fields. 

I... can’t believe I said ‘to be brief’ ajsdjsd BUT SO, obviously this is not the majority of queer gondorians, there are communities and differing opinions and intra-community debates. Some go fully anti-establishment, not only rejecting the ill-fated mantra but also the sex repression too, also calling it a classist attitude anyway (which it is to a certain extent) and they encourage a wildly sex-positive atmosphere. Some are on the other end of the spectrum and want to be ‘normal but gay’, most are somewhere in the middle with varying opinions that shift here and there. 

And time obviously changes things too! There have been various points in Gondor’s history where the dialogue on queer politics has reached current say british levels of prominent debate and acceptance, with actual queer activists being heard and agreed with in the public eye. A lot of the rest of the time queerness is used as a tool in kind of... fun academic thought exercises that only the high-minded can responsibly engage in. In general the academic community and the queer community have a great deal of bad blood, which is something that Boromir very much internalises (hence his general un-academic reputation and preference for other types of literature). 

OK I’ll stop here but I’ve got quite the historical map in my mind of the up and down nature of Gondor’s very specific brand of homophobia, including a more specific look at current gondorian politics so feel free to ask more questions if you’d like! :D As ever I read this through once and is definitely a stream of consciousness so apologies if it’s incomprehensible.

[ziggyzagreus]

I Have Returned!!!

Hey Guys!!!

This is going to be a long post, but a long-awaited one as well, so please bear with me to read it (especially if you are following me).

I sincerely want to apologize for being gone for so long, and it’s been bugging me that I haven’t said why. 

So, as many of you know or remember, I posted VERY frequently back from about January - February/March of 2021. I have gained in that time 1000 wonderful followers, and I love you all so so so so so very, very much. 

But, sadly, in early February of this year, I suddenly vanished. I am here to explain why that is, in as much detail as I WANT to give (don’t worry, I don’t feel a need to be overly apologetic. None of what I’m sharing makes ME uncomfortable to share).

That being said, though, if talk of things such as hospital visits, mental health, or anxiety surrounding gender/sexuality bother you, then please proceed with caution through this post. Nothing will be graphic, and I’m okay, I just don’t want to catch anyone offguard since I know these can be triggering subjects.

Anyways, so around February 8th (or the night after the Super Bowl), I got quite sick to the point where I could not sleep through the night. None of my symptoms were COVID symptoms, and I was doing completely virtual school, but my life was still disrupted by 3 consecutively sleepless nights. Eventually, I went to the emergency room, since I have a history of GERD as well as other gastro-intestinal issues, and I was worried something was seriously wrong. Turns out, I was having anxiety-induced symptoms, which made sense because I have a history of serious (albeit undiagnosed) anxiety, and at the time was having a prolonged panic attack because of everything going on; college decisions, my parents being down my throat, my parents making ME schedule and arrange all of my doctor’s appointments for this very sick-period, and other life things. 

In the end, I got officially diagnosed with chronic anxiety, but not medicated. I got short-term stuff to help with my symptoms, and the best relief was that I was physically fine (no cancer or ulcers, as I and some of the doctors had feared). 

But then, whoop-dee-doo, right after I got un-sick (kindof), my anxiety got racketed up again. 

I don’t want to get TOO into this part of the story, since it is an ongoing process and I am (unfortunately) still closeted to my IRLs for the most part. But I came out as non-binary around mid-March, and now use they/them pronouns. (My name is Frankie, by the way. I am just now realizing that I never even put pronouns or a name in my bio LOL). But that was a very long-suffering journey that I finally stopped gatekeeping myself from; but since coming out, the stress has not eased very much. 

The sick part of my time has faded, but by the time it did, it was exam season and I was unable to rack up any lost hours here on Tumblr or on Hades. And when THAT ended, I GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL and went on a 2 week road trip with my mom (after being fully vaccinated for a month!). 

Now, I am back - to unfortunately, another remarkably anxiety-inducing situation, but one I am able to manage more thoroughly since I am not juggling school, too. I am working a very minimal job and simply packing (stressful) and looking forward (positive) to college. 

That being said though, upon my return I have realize that the Hades fandom has been... quiet. I want to return to this account, I want to bring you all more content, but... is anyone out there?

You all, my followers and anyone seeing this post mean so much to me. You brought me more joy than you could know in a really, really difficult time for me and I’m really sad that I had to ghost for so long. I want to come back but I fear coming back to an empty room. I miss you guys and I don’t want something I put so much effort and thought into to die out. I miss it here.

So, chime off if you’re still here. If you’re new, chime off so I can follow you. I want to hang out with y’all again. Just let me know you’re out there.

I love you all so very very much, and I want to rebuild the community we once had here. 

[blueberryjam1201]

King’s Affection ep 19

Their paths have finally come together. It was a long road full of ups and downs.

However, the story has more to tell and it’s more than we expected.

In just one hour, we have been witnesses of many stories culminating together to reach one end.

Please be aware, the content below contains tons of SPOILERS!

 It was a long road, yes. Ji-Un and Dam-I are finally together and their feelings are even more powerful now after so many struggles and fights. The heart is smiling when they shared another kiss on the stairs of their favorite place with memories from childhood.

So Eun broke the marriage agreement just in time. She knew from the start it was pointless.

Father Jung's colors are finally shown. After speaking with Ji, despite the straight face, as always without emotions – the tears appeared. He is in a such difficult position. Who could do better in his shoes? He was making a bad choices, following bad orders which he regret badly. Everything in silence just to protect his family.

I will write about my favorite parts now. There were too many going on so to avoid a very long post, I’ll mention only chosen ones.

“Family meeting” with Grandad and Grandmother

Dam-I started to move first. She invited both to discuss the rumor about twins in the palace. When Dam-I begins to reveal to Grandmother about the rumor and that it’s in fact real - Grandads reaction was priceless.  And Mom as well, she didn’t even try to hide anything, she confronted Sangheon straight away: How could you told him?

I enjoyed how Dam-I was a badass in here. In the end, she flipped all the words in a way it sounds like she is “caring” about them if the truth will come out. Acted perfectly. Good job Dam-I. Can I call her only by real name from now on? At this point, only Sangheon understood she is plotting something.

Wonsan x Hyun

Thank you, director. Thank you writer of this novel for not taking Hyun's life! I was so upset after preview for this episode….

And the moment when covered in blood is appearing in the king's room and falling on the ground…. Hit my heart badly, I couldn’t stop thinking for the next few minutes if  he survived.

“Looking for poison” action

It was a splendid way how the plot twist ended. Ji looking for the poison, without knowing his father came to cover him. Then they we caught. Wonsan brought Lady Kim and Eunuch. Then The King is arriving…

That was the moment I was waiting for! Confrontation with Grandad. Proud Dam-I pointing a sword under his neck…priceless. Shivers everywhere!

Return of Prince Jehyeon

Can we please appreciate this scene? The King announcement and the sudden entrance of Bodyguard and prince! Like an explosion followed by silence made by shocked royal team 😅

Revealing identity to Grandmother

Yes, this was very emotional. At least for me. For the first time, I saw on this lady's face a “human feeling”. She looked very disturbed after hearing the truth and I have faith that she will have a good heart at the end.

Revealing identity to Queen

Another one which I was waiting for! The motive about her father being a traitor and Dam-I’s decision to help him and Queen was pure. Showing Ha-Kyung her real gender and apologizing was very emotional. Dam-I said to point at her all regrets which Queen have, another arrow in my heart. Dam-I’s words are more powerful than most of the characters in here. I am very happy it ended like that.

Last scene!

Be prepared for tomorrow’s last episode. The war is on!

We all knew it will happen sooner or later.

Can’t be more later than the last episode tho!  🔥

Anyway! It was long but anyone who reached the end of this post - I hope you like it! And please leave a heart if you did ❤

Also, everyone is welcome for discussion, what are your thoughts about the last episode? ❤

 BONUS! I love how he said her name here! ❤ --->

[alice-dont-break]

don’t mind me i.. forgot to post this on tumblr and need it for the masterlist lol

home | janthony one shot

cw: anxiety

"Are you still up?"

Jasmine sent the text with little hope of getting a response before morning. It was nearly 3am and she was sure her boyfriend would be fast asleep by now. She didn't even know why she sent it, really, but for the tiny sliver of hope it provided. The thought of his voice, so gentle and easy to listen to, soothed the burn behind her eyes, but she still needed more. She hated to admit it, but she needed him.

"Yeah, course I'm sure," she'd said bravely, when Anthony had asked if she was good to stay on her own tonight. It was really just a matter of time before the couple moved in together, as they spent nearly every single night in Jasmine's apartment, but it was a matter of convenience that day. Anthony was working late at a studio right by his own place, and had to be back first thing in the morning, so they thought it would be easier this way. At least for Jasmine, that was proving not to be the case.

About half way through the afternoon was when she started to notice the constriction in her chest. It wasn't taking over, but rather subtly lingering as she went about her day. If she dwelled on it for too long, her mind would start to scramble, so she just did her best to ignore it. When she'd finally gotten home from set around midnight, she thought maybe her adrenaline had gotten her through the brunt of it, but when she first saw her tired eyes in the mirror it all came rushing back.

Frozen in place, she couldn't help but watch herself unravel. First was the gloss of tears coating her eyes. She was simply overwhelmed, as her eyes leaked all the pent up stress that could no longer fit inside her jumbled mind. Then came the flush to her cheeks, a hot crimson from the embarrassment that such a stupid comment could set her off like this. Her director hadn't meant to upset her, it's just those words... no matter where she is when she hears them, she's transported back to a memory she can't bare to relive. And then finally came the hardening edge of her jawline, drawn rigid by the tension from her teeth grinding together.

"Fuck," she whimpered, realizing not only that she could no longer evade the situation storming her mind, but also that she'd now have to weather it alone.

She tried to splash some cool water on her face, hoping it would have the same effect as a cool cloth Anthony would always soothe her with, but that just made her feel like she she was crying more as the water mixed with her tears. The frustration made her lose her battle against the sob she'd been holding back, and she finally gasped for air through quivering lips. She couldn't bare to look at her pained face anymore, so she trudged back into the bedroom towards the drawer that Anthony had taken over as his own. After pealing off the leggings and t-shirt that clung to her sweat-glazed skin, she stepped into a pair of his boxers and un-balled one of his t-shirts. When she pulled it over her head, she paused half way so her nose was still enveloped by the familiarly-scented fabric. She let that ounce of comfort wash over her senses for just a moment before allowing the shirt to fall into place. She wrapped herself in a tight hug, using the same gentle but snug pressure he would use, so the worn out cotton would rub her skin and bring her closer to the embrace she now yearned for.

Arms still clutching their opposite sides, Jasmine shuffled over to the bed. She climbed over to Anthony's side, and leaned back against the headboard with her knees to her chest, breaking her hug with herself only to pull her legs in tighter. Her shoulder muscles were pulled taut as she tried to take up less and less space on the bed, hoping eventually she'd shrink to be so tiny that she just disappeared, along with the whirring in her mind that just wouldn't shut up. At this point she was grounded, she knew she was safe, but the feeling that her body was still in the midst of its fight or flight response was coursing through her relentlessly.

It was in that tightly bound position that she spent the next few hours picking at her nails, whimpering at the sound of every car that dove by, and wishing she could just fall the hell asleep. She found she'd reached her last straw when the ice maker started up and left her white-knuckling the sheets and gasping shallow breaths; she was too tired to fight through this alone.

Texting felt easier than calling because maybe she'd find that she wasn't waking him up. Maybe she wasn't being a nuisance, and he would just see the notification pop up so she wouldn't have to call and disturb his rest. Or maybe, it would simply buy her some time to talk herself out of doing something so annoying. The option she hadn't considered, was that just seconds later her phone would ring.

"Ant?" Her voice crackled through her tired throat, coming out barely above a whisper.

"Jas, are you okay? What's going on?"

The familiar voice that she'd been craving to hear all day put a lump in Jasmine's throat. She tried to hold it in to conceal the pathetic state she'd found herself in, but all her walls were in pieces on the floor. Her resolve was gone, and a sob fell forward to muffle the apologies she tried to string together.

"Hey, hey, Jas, you've got nothing to be sorry for, okay? D'you want me to come over?" Anthony's voice was so steady that the sounds alone began to quiet the whirring around Jasmine's mind, but she still felt ridden with guilt.

"I'm sorry for waking you," she mumbled with a little more clarity this time.

"No, uh, you didn't babe, it's totally fine," he wobbled, "I was, I just rolled over and saw your name pop up. But anyway, can I come, Jas? You don't sound too good."

"I, I'm okay, I think I just wanna..." her watery voice trailed off as she looking up to the ceiling for strength, but found her vision still obscured by tears. Finally, she relented to the pull on her chest and whimpered "please come, but please don't hang up on me."

Anthony felt his own eyes starting to sting from the fragility in the voice he heard, but regardless he had already pulled on a pair of shoes and descended the stairs to his car by the time he had to respond. "Of course, sweetheart, I'm on my way but I'll be here the whole time."

Jasmine's sigh of relief was nearly involuntary, as her chest suddenly opened just a touch at the promise of comfort. Her lungs still ached and her eyes still burned, but the cries of frustration ceased as there was an end in sight. Her qualms about whether she should have called, or whether Anthony would resent her for being an annoyance were all washed away by the reassurances he cooed through the phone. He was proud of her for calling, hates that she was suffering on her own, and would always be happy to show up for her, or so he said. Maybe Jasmine couldn't fully convince herself these were complete truths, but for now it didn't matter. For now, she'd just focus on soaking up the loving energy his tender voice conveyed. She'd consume the last of her strength by just listening, letting herself drift through the moments in a trance until her rescue would arrive.

"Hey Jas? The car you're about to hear is mine, okay? I'm just pulling up," Anthony said a little firmer than his prior musings. He knew the way she flinched at every noise, and wanted to ensure she knew she didn't have to fear this one.

"Y-you're here?"

"Yeah, babe," he smiled weakly as he turned off his ignition, "coming up the stairs right now. Got my key, so I'll come right up. I've got you now, my love."

Jasmine still clutched the sheets for a second when she heard the front door's lock click, but sighed in shame and caught her breath by the time she heard the thumping of Anthony's jog up the stairs. "It's me babe," he assured one last time through the phone, before stepping up to the threshold of her bedroom door and hanging up the phone.

His eyes found Jasmine in the same position she'd been in all night, with her knees tight to her chest on his side of the bed. She was swimming in his boxers and t-shirt as the fabric draped off her shoulder, making her look even tinier and more defenseless alone in the bed meant for two. He knew from the wavering in her voice on the phone that she'd be in bad shape, but the tear streaks down here face and splotches on her shirt told him it was worse than he'd imagined. With a quiet exhale of sympathy, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered, resting his hand on her ankle. His thumb started drawing soothing circles around her skin, so he could give her a small physical assurance without overcrowding her. He was wary to give her more physical touch before he knew what they were up against, though all he wanted to do was scoop her into his arms.

Jasmine had held his worried gaze for a moment, but then dropped to hide some of the pain that her angry blood vessels would reveal. She watched her fingers mindlessly twist at the frayed hem of the t-shirt she wore while wearing the close watch of her concerned boyfriend.

"Jas, I'm here now, okay? Grabbed you a water bottle from my car.. think you could try to take a sip?"

He held out the bottle, and Jasmine reluctantly reached forward to accept it while keeping her gaze downcast. Her sweaty fingers fumbled with the plastic cap for a moment, before squeezing her eyes shut and huffing in a quiet frustration. Anthony tightened his grip on her ankle and rubbed with a little more pressure in his thumb to try to bring her back to level.

"Can I come a bit closer and give you a hand baby?" He offered softly.

"Please," she whimpered.

Anthony shuffled carefully up the bed, taking the water bottle in one hand and placing the other over her badly trembling one. After flicking off the cap, he squeezed her hand and held the bottle up to her lips, tilting it just slightly so she could take a small sip. He put the bottle aside, then cradled her jaw with his fingers so his thumb could brush away the water that had spilled down her chin. She hadn't even noticed the water on her face, as she was so deep inside her own mind, but what she did notice was Anthony taking care of every little thing. She could focus on coming back to him, because he would handle the rest.

As he held her face, their eyes met and he greeted her with an unimposing smile. Too defeated to reciprocate, her eyes fell shut as she squeezed out the tears making her eyes swell. The first drop to escape landed in her eyelashes, lodging themselves in and making them feel thick and heavy. But with Anthony's close eye, he just knew even before she did that it would drive her crazy. Before her breath could even catch, and before she could nearly poke her eye out by trying to clear it herself with her lack of stability, Anthony used the edge of his finger to wick away the droplet. He pressed the softest of kisses to that same eyelid as the crease between her brows smoothed out, and a soft trill slipped from her lips.

The sound of contentment eased a little of the tension that had built from the worry in Anthony's own chest, as he moved his lips higher on her forehead. The sheen of sweat that covered the skin there left a salty taste in his mouth, though it slowly dissipated as he just rested there, letting his lengthened kiss melt against her. His fingers weaved up through her curls to hold her secure, and began to gently comb through her tangles as he pulled back with a gentle smile.

"Jazzy, do you think I could help you to the bathroom and get you a little more comfy?" He spoke with a mellow timbre, aligned with the gentle way that the back of his hand danced over her cheek. She raised her eyes to look at him, and though she kept her lips tightly pressed together, she gave him a small nod of agreement. "Thank you, love," he said before pressing a kiss to her cheek where his hand had just been, "let's go."

He kept a hand over hers while he stood up beside the bed so she could stay grounded to his presence, then reached for her other one as well. He squeezed her hands tightly, and gave her an encouraging smile, as she shuffled towards the edge of the bed to meet him. When she pushed up on her trembling legs, he saw her eyes lose their focus as she started to buckle, but a swift hand around her back caught her and brought her into his chest.

"Hey, there you go," he cooed with his chin tucking her safely into place, "I've got you, just lean on me." With one hand holding her upright by the waist, and one tightly grasping hers, he guided them towards the bathroom before hoisting her up onto the counter. He stood between her legs, and raised both hands to brush her hair back, clearing space on her forehead to pepper a series of slow kisses.

When Anthony stepped back, he placed a hand on her thigh and kept it there while he pulled a scrunchie from a drawer to tend to her hair. He knew how she hated the way her curls would stick to the sweat on her neck, so he used his fingers to comb her hair up and back, before securing it in a bun at the top of her head. He knew exactly three loops of this scrunchie would keep her hair tightly in place without pulling so hard as to give her a headache. Now that the back of her neck was freed, he put a hand back on her thigh, and stepped aside to run a facecloth under cool water. With his most gentle touch, he swiped the cloth across the back of her neck, slipping it just under the neckline of the t-shirt she wore, to erase the last of the discomfort she felt there, and he felt her shoulders slump a little further forward.

"How's that babe? A little more comfy?" He set aside the cloth as his thumb rubbed half circles over her kneecap, and she nodded. He tried another little smile, hoping to find a little bit of life in her eyes, but all she could muster was to drop her head forward so it rested against his shoulder. His hand found its way to the nape of her neck, as he started to work on pulling her back out of her haze. "Sweetheart, can you tell me if there's anything else you need right now?"

Jasmine chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment as she scanned his eyes, searching for the homely sparkle she'd need to hold onto as she climbed out of the hole she'd buried herself in. "Can we lay down and just hold me?"

Her words were breathy and shaky, but he met them with a more assured smile as his fingers cupped her jaw and his thumb brushed over the cracks in her lips. "There's that sweet voice I've been missing," he murmured, before nodding and taking both her hands. Before he could pull her off the counter though, her hands slipped from his and she wrapped them around his neck with her legs following around his waist. He grinned against her shoulder, as his endearingly needy girlfriend seemed to be on her way back. Lifting her up without another word, he padded back to the bed and set her down in the middle, knowing there was no way she'd be staying on her own side that night.

As soon as he tried to stand up straight and step around the bed, Jasmine started to whine and reach out for his hand. "Alright alright," he chuckled softly, opting to climb over her instead and keep contact with her the whole time. She was coming back to him, but they both knew that he was her tether; if she let go, she'd fall.

As soon as he extended his legs, Jasmine was rolling over to fold herself around his middle. Her head rested on his chest, her leg was thrown over his, and her hand was tugging at his arm so he would wrap it around her back. "Babe, can you give me a sec to get us under the covers maybe?"

"Don't like the sheets right now," she whispered, "and just want you."

He smiled weakly into her curls between kisses to the top of her head, and focused on getting her settled as close as possible to his warmth. Of course he was worried about all this anxiety wreaking havoc in her mind, but for now he was just happy that she could communicate what she needed, and that he could give her all that and more. "Okay love, maybe just a blanket?"

She grumbled a little bit, but he felt her cheek nuzzling his chest with a nod, so he used his feet to kick the blanket folded at the end of the bed up to his hands. Nothing could make him unwrap Jasmine from his tight embrace, so he used just one hand to clumsily place the blanket over them, smiling as she grabbed the edge and pulled it up to her ears. She was fully enveloped in a safe space they'd created for her, and she felt certain that no one or nothing could break through the walls.

"Jas, sweetheart, we don't have to sleep yet if you're not ready, okay? Can stay up, or talk about it, or anything like that," he said softly, matching the gentle brushes of his fingers through her curls.

"I'm sorry for waking you up," she blurted out, "I don't want you to think I can't spend a single night without you when you want that because -"

"You didn't," he interjected, "couldn't sleep either. Didn't like having an empty pillow beside me."

Jasmine tilted her chin up to read for honesty across Anthony's face, and he responded with a little lopsided smile. "Really?"

"Yep, only answered so quick because I was already on my phone. Was looking at pictures of us and stuff to try to feel closer to you. Just missed you and could kinda sense something was up from your texts, I think... I dunno," he muttered, voice trailing off as the embarrassment of his words caught up with him. "Anyway, how about sleep, sweetheart?"

She tilted her chin a little further, and strained her neck up so her lips could reach his. She pressed them together in a careful, slow kiss to acknowledge everything he said, then tucked herself back into the space between his chin and shoulder as a tiny smile appeared in response to the comfort she felt sneaking back in. "M'tired, just don't know if my mind will let me sleep."

He pressed another kiss to the crown of her head, then nuzzled her closer. "Okay babe, do you wanna try one of the counting exercises your therapist gave ya? You said those help some, right?"

"No, don't wanna focus on anything that isn't you." She felt the warmth of embarrassment in her cheeks that matched his own, but she didn't care. He'd seen her at her lowest now, and all he gave her was the most gentle and careful and attentive love she could hope for. She could give him her whole heart and mind on a platter now, because she trusted him to protect them even better than she could herself.

"Well I've got an idea then," he said, muffled by her curls pressing into his lips as his kisses were continuing lazily. He shifted her up slightly, with an arm still tightly around her waist while the other secured her head close to his lips. He leaned in to press the most tender kiss to the crown of her head, not letting his lips linger for too long but making sure she felt the conviction. "Close your eyes sweetheart, and count."

Her lips parted a little bit as her eyes met his, filled with so much love she could have burst. He was just so wonderfully attentive and loving, that all she could do was smile when he leaned in for a second kiss. "Two," she murmured as her eyes fluttered shut.

Between each kiss, Anthony took a deep breath, hoping she could feel the rhythm from his chest and use it to guide her own breathing. "S-six," she breathed out, with a yawn that crinkled up her nose. By "thirteen", the kisses were long enough to melt away any lingering tension in her forehead, and by "twenty", her words were just breaths. Finally, her thoughts and worries had dissolved into the calmness that washed over her with each kiss. Her only focus was the soft caress of Anthony's lips until she had no focus at all. Just peaceful rest and a chance for her mind to heal from the raid of the past few hours.

Anthony knew that she was out cold by his thirtieth kiss or so, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He too found solace and tranquility in the steady and repeating kisses, so much so that he lulled himself into his own rest. When they both lay with eyes closed, breath leaden, and minds quiet, his lips were still resting against her. This was where they belonged; returning to an apartment would never compare to the real homecoming of his lips finding her forehead.

[jojomugi]

A Shred of Altruism for a ‘friend’

Context

This piece was something I had written for myself as part of a fanfiction series with my OC. Since I don't particularly feel too sure about posting it given my OC isn't crazy popular or anything, I figured I could just edit pronouns, names, ect so that maybe someone other than just me and three of my closest friends can enjoy it This takes place way before the events of part three, and before Dio's encounter with Enya AND Pucci. Basically, Reader is the first one Dio has encountered and is learning vauge amount of info on stands from. Spoilers/Content warnings ♡ Minor Stardust Crusaders/Stone Ocean spoilers ♡ Over Heaven book spoilers (would recommend reading before hand) ♡ CW:Dio not being an asshole lmao

♡ Technically not a warning, but their may be misplacements with POV's and pronoun usage. Translating this into an xReader wa difficult. «

Reader is 18+, a stand user (S/N=Stand Name), very SFW, gender neautrual pronouns used

»

The battle between you and the other user finally came to an end when you used all of your remaining energy to defeat him. S/N ability managed to bring them into retirement. All the while this happened, Dio could see just what was happening, how the two stands fought one another. He could only really feel the energy. However he was all around useless in that particular situation, seeing was one thing, but Dio did not yet have the stand—At least not yet. Dio had two options now that his companion was left unconscious. Leave you and be done with having to keep extra weight, or bring you back to the small hotel you had the both of you staying at. Dio obviously chose the latter. It was not out of altruism, or at least not in his mind, it was all simply done out of respect for all your efforts, sacrificing your chance of a ‘normal’ future to run off with him. Besides, in his weaker state you were his best bet to survive and learn about this new world quickly. Dio reached for your exhausted form, there was still a pulse, good. However, you were still out cold from the overexertion. When he finally was able to sneak into the hotel, he gently placed your body onto the bed. Technically speaking, his work here was done but his subconscious—The few times what shred of humanity he had—decided to take over. You were more than just a mere fling, or some kind of phase, your soul was what drew him to you like a moth to the flames. You had become his over your guy’s short time together, whether Dio was self aware of that or not was a different question. Dio manipulated your form around until he was able to get you under the covers. Thankfully he didn’t manage to disturb your rest. The blonde hastily scanned around the room. Water! You would probably need water whenever you’d awaken. He yanked a small rinse cup from the bathroom and set in onto the night stand beside you. Food. What did you have for food? Apparently not much given all he could find was an apple and banana. Not even an assortment of fruit in a bedroom for an upscale hotel? What a mockery. The vampire bit the side of his lip back and let out an exasperated huff. It had been years since the last time he worried about human nourishment like this. For him nourishment was far more simpler. This mere mortal of a human. How dare y/n make an omnipotent being like him do such humbling things for you. Who were you? However, none of that truly mattered when it came to his inconspicuous admiration for you. Even if he didn’t quite understand what it was, your power drew him to you. Y/n was angelic, beautifully devine in his eyes. The grace that radiated from you when you used that strange, raw power. It was something beyond what he even imagined being in the realm of possibility. It was very close to what he dreamt about during his time in his century long torpor state. But even with all y/n’s physical features, you were still knowledgeable and fascinating nonetheless—y/n was not one to boast about their knowledge demeaningly—but like a friend. However, even if this ‘feeling’, this ‘attraction’ was something of love or romance, Dio surely never felt such a thing in his life, at least not in a long time. The audacity of this human—A being below him—Having such an impact to make him so emotionally vulnerable just made his stomach turn. What nerve you had. And yet...He strangely didn’t mind this, this exotic feeling and emotion for him was somewhat of an indulgence. It was more or less as if y/n was the worthiest of his affections in the few times he did allow himself these moments. Y/n was holy, and he was obligated to give you that kind of credit. Dio took in a deep breath and sighed, glancing back down at your tired form. He scanned around, thinking of what else may help. He spotted your messy hair draped over your face and leaned forward, trying his best to wipe them from your eyes without awakening your. Just because he occasionally enjoyed being sweetly intimate, doesn’t mean he was good at it. Typically he lured in his prey sensuality, but tenderness and endearment were not things he often brushed up his skills on. ༺༻ Even if it was only a couple of hours, the silence was tedious. He really was missing having another person to speak to. He’d just spent far too long in silence, the thought of it drove him mad. He didn’t even notice himself tapping his foot in the air as he flipped through the glossy magazine pages. He knew that this power of theirs often resulted in a physical consequence, and the severity of that physical result was dependent on how much power you exerted. Dio could feel this power, but alas he could not see it. Not yet. Even though this was a setback in their plans, it was minor really. The battle brought them one step closer towards Dio finding the one who held the ability to grant these powers to the ones who weren’t naturally gifted like y/n was. Fortunately, Dio was able to force information out of the opposing user before he met his demise. Y/n’s e/c eyes softly fluttered open with a tired groan to follow. You tiredly threw a hand over your eyes with a deep breath. Dio perked up before you even had a chance to collect where you were and set down the cup of wine. “Y/n.” He said, an ounce of enthusiasm lacing his tone. It was almost as if he had completely just set aside his inner turmoil about his feelings in favor of your company again. You paused and turned your head. All Dio was met with was a disgruntled expression, as if they had been woken up out of nowhere during a deep sleeping session. “Dio…? Are we back at the hotel?” The wild blonde nodded. “Despite your unfavorable condition, you were victorious. It was quite a thrill to watch really.” Quickly you sat up and rubbed one of your eyes, almost a bit surprised. Y/n never really went up against another user per-say. You were fortunate enough to have grown up sheltered enough to not have many encounters with another due to an altercation, even with how un-glamours your youth with your parents was. It was also a fascinating discovery for someone like you who was curious about the functionality of stands. They really were an enigma; a shame however that other users were more or less aggressive. Y/n’s smile lasted for a moment until the realization hit them that they may have missed out important information for Dio. A long groan escaped you. Y/n pinched the bridge of their nose. “My apologies Dio...I got ahead of myself...we could’ve tried getting a lead and instead I-“ The corner of his lip lifted, the vampire dismissively waved an arm. “Do not worry about that. I was able to pry details from him before the final blow.” Y/n blinked and let out a sigh of relief, throwing their legs to the edge of the bed. “I must’ve blacked out because I don’t even remember that. Hm, but that doesn’t matter really.” They shrugged. Dio assumed a spot beside them, crossing his arms and throwing a leg over the other. “You got what we needed to know, that's what’s important.” You knowingly smiled up at him. Dio nodded in agreement. “You’re correct.” Dio lifted a finger up. “Anyways, you’re going to need to make preparations for us to embark to egypt as soon as you’re back to complete health.” “Egypt?” You tilted your head. “Yes. That is apparently where I will find the one who can grant others these ‘stands’. He said that she is an old witch of some sorts named Enya.” Y/n raised their brows in surprise. How in the world was he able to get so much precise information without fighting. Then again, this man was supernatural, perhaps he had his own ways of making one talk. Then again, if he did what point was there in making you do all the dirty work. Unless perhaps he wanted to just seize the opportunity to see what he could do and use your opponent as fodder. “Huh...Well. I suppose I was starting to get tired of this country anyways.” Y/n yawned, stretching their shoulder up to their cheek. “Luckily you have me around. Stand users tend to attract other stand users from my knowledge, so finding this woman shouldn’t take too long once we arrive.” “Perhaps. In any case, it may be best to be negotiable once we find this woman.” “Certainly, of course. And if she is an old woman, surely her power may be weaker. Despite today, I don’t particularly care for using my strength against someone weaker. Unless of course they instigate it.” They nodded. “Hm.” Dio glanced down at you for a moment, thinking about what you just said. “Part of me hopes we run into other users. As you know I cannot exactly see what is happening, I am still fascinated by what you can do.” Subconsciously your smile grew a little. You were a sucker for any kind of praise, but they had to keep their contentment dampered. “Thank you...I’m glad I can share my gift with you. When you have a stand as well, I can’t wait for you to fully experience what S/N can do. To be able to see it like I can see it.” Dio re-adjusted himself to a more comfortable position, sitting sideways to put more attention towards their conversation, leg still crossed over the other. “Oh yes, of course. I would be honored to further understand this power of yours more. If it wasn’t for you, I certainly would not be used to this body enough to even function without continued rest.” You shuddered a little internally, it was still a little strange that body was someone else's, even though you were used to this fact, you certainly did not need to be reminded. Y/n forced a smile and chuckled. “Thank you. I’m glad we’re friends as well.” ༺༻ ‘Friends’ that phrase echoed in Dio’s mind. Maybe he was their friend, but Dio did not have friends. Dio always had subjects. Pawns. Harems. Followers. Not that he couldn’t make friends but such relationships were beyond him. And with a human? He could just scoff at the thought. Most humans really weren’t nothing more than pawns, food, or a source of pleasure. Your relationship was not sexual, nor would he use someone who was doing such a big favor for him as food. But if you weren’t either of those, then what were you exactly? A guard dog? No. That was just insulting. Your relationship felt deeper than simply a subject or a pawn. Whatever. ‘Friends’ would suffice for now. The vampire cleared his throat between the silence. “Ahem. Yes. Friends.” Dio glanced at the food he left for them on the nightstand. “You should eat, dear, as I said, I wish to start our journey to Egypt as soon as you are feeling better.” Y/n peered back and took the banana. they opened their mouth to offer him the apple but remember he did not need that. “Right.” They nodded, peeling the banana. “By the way, I’d like to thank you. You could’ve just left me, but instead you tended to me when I was vulnerable.” They paused and continued to quickly eat their banana. “This may be a bit strange, being you’re a vampire, and above me on the food chain but…” Y/n paused and collected their thoughts, thinking how to word this without completely disinteresting him with their sentimentality. “I feel safe when I’m around you. I’m the one who is helping you but honestly? I suppose emotionally I feel secure around you. You’re the only person who seems to understand me and appreciate me.” Dio thought for a moment and scoffed. Not at you, but the fact that someone as smart, clever, and beautiful as you could go unappreciated. His legs uncrossed quickly. “Those who don’t appreciate you are simply putz.” He huffed and shook his head. “Fools. Utter fools.” Y/n froze, watching him place his hand over her head and pat it. “You are possibly the most useful person I’ve come across since my time out. I am uh…” Dio admittedly had faltered. “Grateful...For you as well.” “Really?” They smiled a bit, their gaze drifting up to his hand. “Here I was worried I’d gross you with all this sentimentality.” “No. I suppose even the most superior of beings need to express a bit of tenderness.” He nodded, continuing to gently pat your hair;It was quite soft really. “And if I am to express these sorts of emotions, it should be to one who is worthy of it. Someone I can trust not to use this as a weapon against me.” “Certainly. I know I would expect the same from you as well, Dio.” Your smile became a bit softer. The pair of you fell silent for a moment. The male hadn’t realized it but his hand had drifted down to feel your smooth locks. Y/n blinked and their eyes averted to the side. “Dio? What are you doing?” He quickly caught just what he was doing and pulled away, trying to play it off. Dio cleared his throat and got up from bed,, completely ignoring the subject. “In any case. Go rest. I’ll find some way of entertaining myself, don’t worry.”

[unsaidmar]

WC: 2.5k (long winded girl, I know)

Plot: They share stuff and it changes how they see things. Connection ensues. 

CW: Mentions of death, illness, hospitals I guess, violence.

a/n: Hello y’all. This is part two of whatever the fuck is going on inside my pea brain. Hope you enjoy.

Part one, the meeting. 

Two; It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.

She laughed at the awkwardness of the text and the perfect grammar Dr. Spencer Reid maintained while texting. Ollie made a mental note to care a little more about the phrasing of her own texts, especially considering the circumstances. To say she wanted to impress him was an understatement.

“Good, germs are yucky.” Sent at 7:45 am.

“Also, hi. Good morning” Sent at 7:45 am.

Good morning? Too much too soon? She fell victim to her overthinking for at least twenty minutes after sending her last text, realizing she had to slowly build up the courage to ask about the next time they would be seeing each other, which apparently would have to wait, since Spencer had an inconvenient schedule and could be out of the state in a matter of 20 minutes.  Ollie exhaled and stood up from her awful office chair to go and make herself some coffee, hoping to stop her mind from reeling and sending her into her usual never-ending pit of despair and anxiety that came with stepping out of her comfort zone.

A ping echoed in the room and her screen lit up, displaying a text from the one person she had been thinking about. Ollies mother would be crying laughing if she saw the state she was in, positively losing hair over the fact that a cute, smart, witty man was texting her back. A man she had spoken to for the first time not even 24 hours prior.

“I’m a nice person, I’m funny sometimes, I offered him coffee.” She whispered to herself, rationalizing every aspect of their interaction. “That’s how friendships start” She laughed bitterly. “I’m here… freaking… wishful thinking, and maybe he has a significant other… maybe he doesn’t even like women… maybe he just thought I was nice and he thought ‘yay, a new friend’… fuck” she plopped herself back on the chair and threw her head back.

Lia would have known what the right thing to do is, she would come up with a cool thing to text back on the spot, and she resented her absence like she had a million times before. Ollie had gotten used to writing her letters like her best friend was living somewhere else in the world and she would eventually read her friend’s attempt at keeping her updated, which she knew was not healthy and definitely not helping her move on.

The thing is, Lia’s death was not a surprise at all. It was a possibility to the point of actually being expected. She had been diagnosed as a terminal patient for a little over a year before she passed and almost everyone around her had made peace with the fact that she could go any day and that life would have to go on without her, but no amount of grief counseling and encouraging talks with Lia’s family could have prepared her for the unimaginable pain Ollie felt when it happened. She had heard about experiences that made the world turn upside down and how some life events made you go numb and make your legs give weight, but had never come face to face with a happenstance that painful.

She figured she was going to have to carry the burden of her loss till the day she died, and even then, the words “I missed you, till the very end.” would be carved in her grave.

Coming back from her spiral, she remembered how she fell down the rabbit hole in the first place. She took her phone with the intention of texting Spencer back and smiled at how stupid she had been to worry about seeing him again.

“Hey, arrest made successfully. Are you busy right now?” Sent at 7:57 am.

Sighing with relief, Ollie smiled and tried to sound casual with her reply as to not sound like seeing him again was the only thing she had been thinking about.

“I’m the boss, I can un-busy myself. Why? Were you charmed by my Keurig?” Sent at 8:00 am.

Spencer was not the kind to send sassy texts, or any text for that matter. This was completely new to him and he was determined to get it right, so he channeled the Derek Morgan that lived within him and prayed to whatever deity was looking out for him to make him sound cooler than he was feeling.

“I’m a sucker for coffee so, yes.” Sent at 8:05

 “I’m a sucker for you, apparently” Ollie nearly screamed at how quickly that came out of her mouth. “Fucking loser, dear God” She shook her head, scolding herself and whatever hamster was in charge of her brain and thought process.

“Mi oficina es tu oficina, then. I’ll be waiting.” Sent at 8:07

Twenty minutes later, he was there, coffee cup in his hands. After what felt like no time at all, they were four coffee cups deep into their conversation and had learned a lot more about each other. Turns out Spencer had a day off after they landed from an away case, he had a thing with germs, his favorite color was purple and his co-workers were more his family than just the people he happened to work with. He liked a bunch of sugar with his coffee and had an eidetic memory that was as much of a blessing as it was a curse.

He was impressed at how this girl was not what you would expect her to be, every aspect of her seemed to make no sense and at the same time, it made perfect sense. This purple haired girl had ADHD and a PhD in history, she was the oldest daughter of two of the most stubborn Mexican immigrants and had a sister that made even the most patient of humans go mad. She loved music, and was not ashamed to admit that her taste in music was far from sophisticated. “I am Taylor Swift’s bitch; I know the words to every single one of her songs! Same goes for One Direction too” She argued when Spencer said that it couldn’t be that bad.

A blaring ring halted their conversation to an unexpected stop. Ollie picked up the office phone with an annoyed grimace and exchanged a few words with whoever was calling.

“Hold that thought, I have to go sign a thingy at the front desk” She dashed out of her office and left Spencer there.

For the first time, he felt compelled to look around and fixate on the details. There were a few old looking pictures and some newer ones with people who looked a lot like her. There was one picture that caught his attention, isolated from the rest like it deserved a spot of its own. In it, there was a red-haired girl that looked around Ollie’s age, one of her arms around her waist and the other one cradling her head that was laying on her shoulder. Ollie’s eyes were closed and the red head looked like she was caught mid-sentence. Stuck to the frame was a little post it note that read “I love you, head ass. -Lia” It looked intimate, they were clearly comfortable with that kind of physical affection, and if Lia hadn’t called Ollie a head ass in the post it, he would have assumed they were together romantically.

Ollie came back in a hurry, apologizing for having to run out like that and sitting back down to resume their conversation.

“It’s okay, don’t worry” Spencer assured her. “I was looking at your pictures, I hope you don’t mind” He said, suddenly very aware of how invasive that could be.

“Not at all, those are there to be looked at” She shrugged, bracing herself for the question she knew was coming. Somehow, talking about Lia with him did not feel as dreadful as it had all those times she was asked about it before, perhaps it’s just him and his calming presence.

Sure enough, he pointed at the picture Lia had framed for valentine’s day and asked, “Who’s that?”.

“That’s Lia, she was my best friend. She is my best friend.” She smiled fondly, something that had never happened before when talking about this specific topic. Maybe sharing Lia’s memory with someone who didn’t know her was different. “She passed away almost a year and a half ago. 468 days ago, to be exact. She was really sick, it was inevitable” Ollie let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, reaching for the post it and tracing the words over with her finger.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine how hard that must have been”

“It was… heartbreaking. Even with all that time we had to process the news, it still took me off guard.” She shook her head trying to ground herself. “Anyways, that’s a sad topic. I don’t want to bum you out with it.”

He knew the feeling all too well, he had apologized to several people when he rambled about Maeve, feeling like he had said too much and gotten too personal. He was not about to let this beautiful, vibrant soul feel the way he had for so long. Like he still did, truly.

“Don’t apologize, I get it. You’re not making me sad” He felt like he needed to elaborate to actually convey the message. “I went through the same thing with someone I loved too” he said, looking down at his hands, the very familiar feeling of oversharing creeping in. As he looked up, he noticed the sad look Ollie was giving him, but if the profiler in him was right, she was inviting him to share, not to stop.

“Her name was Maeve. She… she was a geneticist. She helped me through a rough time and she became my friend. It’s a long story…” he looked away.

“I want to hear it, long or not. But only if you want me to.” She gave him the warmest smile she could muster, which convinced him to keep going.

“Um, I started getting some headaches a while ago. I went to a few doctors but none of them gave me an answer. I reached out to Maeve for help and… We bonded, I guess.” He took a shaky breath.

“You don’t have to continue if you feel uncomfortable” she whispered in the most delicate tone.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve never told this story before. Everyone in my life that I care about was there to see it.” He said, meeting her eyes so she could see how honest he was being. The man got a hold of himself for a minute, and continued.

“Maeve had to go into hiding. She was being stalked by some woman she met at work. Beyond talking on the phone, we hadn’t even met. I had no idea what she looked like and vice versa. This girl, the stalker… She wrote a paper, and Maeve dismissed it because it didn’t have a good enough foundation. When she started stalking her, she scared her into hiding and eventually started dating her ex-fiancé to try and get closer to Maeve, assuming he knew where she was. They ended up finding her and confronting her. She shot herself and the first person I ever loved. Right in front of me and my friends. The first five minutes I got with Maeve face to face, were the last.”

Baring his soul to a person he had known for a whooping 18 hours was the weirdest thing Spencer had ever done, so unlike himself it was almost funny. But at the same time, he felt like it had to happen. By no means did he believe in fate or destiny, but this one moment made him feel like maybe whoever does believe in that stuff, is not completely wrong.

She was not a therapist. She listened because she was going through a similar thing herself and her interest in Spencer’s loss was not rooted in psychoanalyzing him and helping him cope. She was just a mundane human that did not look at him with condescension and pity, she looked at him like she, too, had found a person who wouldn’t ask her “And, how does that make you feel?” in a monotonous voice. They both knew better than to assume they had all the answers.

“Spencer, that’s horrible. I am so sorry you had to see that. Jesus, fuck. I- “She thought about her next words very carefully. “That’s enough to crush anyone’s spirit” She looked at him like he was turning green. The reason being, he did not look like he was crushed. He had a beautiful smile that shook Ollie to her core, he was easygoing and conversation with him was carefree and it flowed easily. If he had not told her about Maeve, she would not have guessed the man sitting right in front of her was as affected as her.

“How did you manage to get through that?” Ollie questioned, fully intending to take notes.

“I don’t really think I have yet…” Well, time to come clean. Spencer thought. “The whole reason I was here yesterday, and a lot more times before that one, is because she and I talked about this museum. She told me about some conferences she had attended here and we made plans to visit together. Doesn’t quite sound like someone who’s over the whole thing.” He fiddled with his fingers, suddenly too aware of how cold it was. “How did you get through Lia’s death?”

“Yeah, well. I don’t really think I’m quite there either. Not like I’m trying, anyways. I can’t seem to get away from the Grey Roots either” Mental images of two little kids running around with dusty books in their hands came to her and she couldn’t help the small smile she broke into.

“I’m a hopeless romantic at heart, I have always thought that the way Lia and I found each other was pure magic. We met when we were in the second grade, right in this museum, we were on a field trip and we clicked. It was crazy to me that I actually met my best friend at such a young age, and the kind that lasts forever too. It sounds like when people meet the love of their lives on their first try. It sounds dorky, I know”

“It doesn’t. If anything, it sounds like you consider yourself lucky to have loved her like you did. We need more people like that, people that believe in magic.” Spencer reassured her with a shrug. He wished he could believe in cute stuff like that, but he was happy Ollie led a life that made her believe.

“Yeah, but us crazy people, we get our hopes up too easily. Sometimes it hurts.”

“Tell me about it.”

And just like that, in the not so well-lit office of the head Conservator of the Grey Roots Museum and Archive, something in the world had shifted.

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter four - Bloody hell!

Sander’s side fanfiction

Wordcount: 1304

Ships: still just prinxiety 

TW: mentions of blood, cursing, injury, post-operations stuff talk kinda, imprisonment, a lot of panicking and distress - which kind off resembles an anxiety-attack but not really. I think I’ve got all. As always, if I missed anything, let me know, please. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. :3

Summary of the whole story: They say, the one that wears the crown rules all - the living, the dead, the walking, the crawling, the rooted, the sane and the mad. They say, once you own the crown, you become the  most powerful being on Earth and beyond. Roman’s stolen bigger things - a measly little crown won’t present a problem, even if he has to steel it straight off of the devils head!

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

Chapter four - Bloody hell!

Not only does time not work in Hell, but apparently physics doesn’t either. Because no matter how Virgil looked at it, there was just no way this weird figure could’ve fallen straight onto him from the place he was situated at.

He was climbing the throne from the back. Reaching from the side. So please explain to him, how the hell was he able of falling fall over and landing directly on top of the king?

Either Hell was truly that massed up, or this person was just unconventionally clumsy.

Virgil didn’t have much time to ponder on it, though. He yelped and pushed the stranger off. Which resulted in poor Roman landing on his back on the hard ground. Broken stalagmites and new once that were just growing out pushed into his back, his head hitting a particularly sharp one.

Dull ache spread through his whole body. “Aw…” he groaned weakly, reaching for his head. Carefully trying to lift himself into a sitting position, the voices around him started to come back to him.

Someone on his right was barely breathing, short fast breaths not enough to satisfy their lungs. And someone on his left was laughing their ass off.

Roman frowned at the general direction of the laugh. This was not funny.

And why was everything so hazy? His vision was fogged and blurry and his hearing muffled and muted down. And oh god, his head!

He pulled his hand away. Even this out of focus, he could make out the big red splotch that covered his palm. Well, this is just great!

He had to get out of there before these things could lock him up, but the room was starting to spin and his eyes got kind off heavy… He just wanted to lay down… just for a little bit….

“Startup immediate! Let’s fucking eat him!”

Well at least that’s what Roman made out of what the creature on his right said. And that didn’t sound like the most pleasant thing. He didn’t feel like sleeping anymore. He had to get up! He had to run!

In reality, what Virgil said was: “Shut up, you idiot! They’re fucking bleeding!”

Panic seeping all the way to his bones he rushed over to the distressed stranger. This wasn’t good! He couldn’t leave them to just bleed out!  

Remi paid his master’s stressed-out state no mind. He was too preoccupied leaning over, just barely standing - laughing so hard. “And?”

Virgil couldn’t believe this! “Remington! Go get the fucking healers!”

When Virgil got distressed and needed people to listen, his voice pitched down a few octaves and doubled over. Demons called it his Monster voice.

In this particular instance, the Monster voice was nothing compared to the way he roared at the servant.

He immediately shut up and ran off to find help.

The king was left alone with a very woozy, barely conscious and scared to death Roman. “Oh shit! Don’t die on me...! Please...!”

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Could he touch the creature? Should he touch them? What if they have a broken rib or something? 

They ended up just awkwardly hovering over the wounded figure.  

Meanwhile, Roman didn’t even know what was going on. His mind was too foggy to comprehend anything. He just sat there, willing himself to think the one thought he needed to think.

But what was that thought again?

Some-Something about… running?

Yeah, yeah that…

He… he wanted to run. From what...?

Nobody seemed to be nearby… So why did he want to…

Wait, what did he want again…?

Oh, right. Sleep…

Virgil’s hand-hovering came to an end the moment the med-team stepped into the hall. “Your Majesty.” the demons all bowed.

“Stop bowing and get this Human to the med-bay! Immediately!”

“Yes sir.” the main healer nodded shortly and rushed over to the thief. The rest followed.

The devil let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and fall back against the throne. It was going to be okay now. His healers are the best in the under-world. They’ll take care of them.

He watched as they took the now unconscious figure away. Remi walked up to him, not-bothered as always. “I don’t see why we couldn’t just left it to bleed out.”

Virgil was too tired for this. His mind was going three miles per second and he just needed to calm down… He turned his cold gaze at the demon. “You’re a mind reader. Figure it out.”

That shut Remi up. No matter how much fun it would’ve been to see the Human suffer, hearing what ran through his king’s head wasn’t fun at all. He wasn’t about that. “I’ll be throwing down damned souls into the pit. If you need me, just call my name, babe. Byeeeee!!” And with a finger-wiggle wave, he left the room.

Virgil didn’t feel like getting up. The ground seemed comfortable enough for now. (There wasn’t much of a difference between it and the throne anyway.)

A Human being. A living, breathing, Human flashbang. He hasn’t seen a living specimen in… He doesn’t even know when was the last time one stood before him.

And now there was one in his med-bay. Antichrist, this was bad!

What is he even supposed to do with a creature like that? Besides torture, obviously. Sweet mother of evil!

The devil sat there, contemplating un-life until one of the healers walked into the hall.

“Your highness, the Human has been dealt with. We stopped the bleeding, and stitched up the wound best we could. It is still unconscious, though, so we locked it in one of the cells, temporarily.”

“Thank you, Lucius. Let me know when they wake up.”

“Yes, sir.” with that, the servant left. And Virgil finally climbed back on that uncomfortable throne. He pulled his phone out, and started scrolling through Tumblr once again. Things didn’t seem so boring anymore.

-

Roman came to a few hours later - not that he knew how much time had passed. What he knew though, was that he was in a dark cell guarded by two demons. Even through his hazy brain he could understand the situation he was in - he was a prisoner. ”Oh, holly mother Teresa!” he freaked, standing up and rushing over to the bars. Well, more like he stumbled...

“You have to let me out! Come on! You don’t understand! Let me out!” he gripped the cold stone bars.

One of the guards looked at him, then exchanged looks with the other. The second nodded and left, leaving Roman with a very angry looking demon.

He gulped. “Mr. Ehr, Miss- am… I… ah, please let me go…?”

The guard didn’t even glance at him.

Well, this was going well.

The second guard entered the throne hall and bowed down deep. Virgil rolled his eyes. “I’ve been telling you for thousands of years to stop bowing! It’s betting annoying.”

The demon straightened up immediately, nodding ashamed. “I apologize, your evilness.” Another eyeroll. These titles were getting better by the decade.

“What’s up, Derius?” he leaned on the arm-rests, razing his eyebrow.

“The prisoner woke up.”

Oh. Oh shit. Okay. Okay... “Are they okay?”

“It seems fine. IA bit out of it and scared, but that is to be expected. We did just imprison it in an environment completely different from his natural habitat…”

Virgil nodded, feeling his heartrate spike and slow again. They were all right.

Then an idea popped up in his head. Slowly, a grin pulled at his lips. Remi wanted fun, didn’t he?

Virgil could be fun. (Now that he knew nothing serious was happening with the Human.) Virgil could be very, very fun. He bit his lip and looked up at the guard.

“Bring me that thief.”

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Iiiiiiii can’t even believe it!

Another part, right the next day? I’m kicking this block’s ass, y’all! :D And look where we are! Remember that first anonymous comment that started all this?

But hey, I really hoped you enjoyed it. :3

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. If I have an answer I’ll gladly share it. And if I don’t, you just helped me come up with another addition to the story ;D

I’ll be back with a new chapter as soon as possible :) 

(I wasn’t kidding when I said this was becoming my new hyper-fixation XD)

Bye, for now <3

Tag list:

@alice-only-me 

[apples-r-rubbish]

John (11 x reader) Part 2

Word count: 3.1k Warnings: Violence (!!!), death mention, alcohol mention, knives mention AN: I couldn’t wait to post this! So I ended up rewriting and editing some of this at a ridiculous time in the morning. Hope you like it! Thank you for the support on the first part, I know it’s not a lot but it means a lot to me. So thank you! Part 3 should be up in a few days maybe. 

PART 1

You woke, after a dreamless night, memories rolling about your head, smells of burning throughout the house. Jumping to your feet, you began to panic, assuming the worst had happened you bolted down the stairs, dressed in nothing but the nightshirt john had leant you so you weren’t sleeping in a heavy dress.

“I smell burning, John, is everything alright? John?” You shouted as you entered the kitchen. John, noticed you and turned quickly to face a wall to hide his flushed face

“Dear, everything’s ok, I just burnt an attempt at breakfast, I’ve lifted out a spare toothbrush for you in the bathroom at the top of the stairs,” His breathing faltering slightly, realisation hitting him as he firmly faced the wall, hand covering his eyes “Maybe we could go out for breakfast considering I burnt this one?”

“Thank you, I’m so sorry I just was worried something was wrong. Especially after last night,” blush now radiating from your own cheeks. 

You went upstairs brushed your teeth and changed quickly, and came back down the stairs, 

“Do you mind if I use your phone again? I have another call to make, sorry,” You apologised quickly

“I’m going to start charging you for using it, but yes sure,” He teased before giving you some privacy. You dialled the Williams’ number again, Rory this time was the one to answer “statue, 45 minutes. We’re safe, currently playing music,” you said as you heard the radio turn on in the other room and lifted the phone in hopes he could hear it

“Statue? With him?” Rory asked, it was a meeting point to discuss things

“Nope just us, I’ll distract him before he gets to us,” You smiled into the phone and hung up before he could question you any further. 

“Are your phone calls always that peculiar or is it just something you do when you're with me?” He asked with a small laugh as you entered his front room the radio loud

“Oh, only when you’re around. I have secrets to keep and friends to meet in three quarters on an hour,” 

“Dance with me please,” He cut you off and then extended a hand to you, “no ifs, no secrets, no friends, no knives, just dancing.”

“Fine, you should know I am atrocious though,” You accepted his hand, with a small, sly smile

“At this point, nothing could surprise me, you could be a dancing champion and you’d still be humble about it,” You swayed awkwardly together, his hand on your waist, the other holding yours. He was surprisingly good, despite the doctors natural inability to dance. At one point he attempted to spin you and failed miserably, causing laughter to erupt between you both, your faces inching closer gradually. You blinked and his mouth was on yours, it felt foriegn and wrong, very un-doctor-like and confident. You realised and slapped him. 

“No, you’re not doing that, we aren’t doing that. Not now,” You spluttered stepping back suddenly, teeth bared, wiping your lips with the back of your hand aggressively “You aren’t him, stop it, back off ”

“I’m not your old friend, (Y/N), I know, I just- I thought we had-”

“Save it. I’m leaving to meet my friends, thank you for the talk, and the bed, and the dance, but I’m leaving,” You picked up your coat, bag and slammed the door behind you, leaving John in awkward strong silence, rubbing his sore cheek.

By the time you’d met Amy and Rory you’d started weeping. You explained the whole situation to them, “I mean at least he’s still oblivious to the actual danger, that’s got to be small positive in all of this, they haven’t actually begun anything” Rory stated adjusting the cuffs on his shirt

“Not so great about the kissing though is it?” You finished sending a sharp glare back at him

“Definitely less of a positive, more of a neutral point, really, just a thing, that happened,” He stumbled "We'll go out tonight and you can forget about it.". They had found the watches one real, one fake, one in the TARDIS the other in his classroom. Plans could be set in motion. It was a Friday, the school day only began at 12 as the majority of students and staff attended a church service in the morning. You arrived with a handful of minutes to spare, ignoring the judgemental glares of your colleagues. The school was quiet, which wasn't a bad thing typically, but silent Fridays felt wrong and uncomfortable. 

At some point during your day, an unfamiliar man walked into the office. 

"Hello sir? Can I help you?" you questioned

"Ah yes, girl. I'm here to speak to my son. An issue has occurred at home and I need to make him aware of it. I'm Henry Baker, my son is William," he sounded stiff when he spoke as if his lines had been rehearsed

"Ah, he's in Mr Smith's class currently, I'll have to escort you there I'm afraid, school rules," you spoke, fake confidence filling your voice. You reached Mr Smith's classroom, cautiously you knocked not wishing to disturb his ramblings about ancient Greece or tudors. 

"You may enter. Ah Miss (L/N)? What are you doing here? I- I mean how can I help you?" sadness crept into the edges of John's voice. You avoided his eyes, not wishing to think about dancing with him this morning and the feeling of his mouth against yours.

"William Baker, where is he?" you asked shortly 

"Uh, no I believe he isn't attending today," he said leaning over his plinth and running a hand through his slicked down hair. It wasn't him. 

"Thank you anyways, sir," you turned and left the room as the ramblings started again

"I'm afraid your son isn't here today. Allow me to escort you to the exit, Mr Baker," you apologised a  fake smile plastered to your face, not allowing the man to argue or get into the classroom. He huffed, insisted it was fine and left silently. You wished you could sit in on one of John's lessons, listen to his monologues. They were too similar to the rants the doctor would go on when you caught him discussing an alien planet or a story from centuries ago. 

After a mind numbingly boring few hours, the day ended, rushed home, got changed quickly and rushed back out again. The dance hall was busier than usual, when you arrived. You took a seat with Amy and Rory and were handed drinks. You had long calmed down after the events of the morning and simply wanted to drink, dance and smile with your friends and forget about the double life. John had entered the room and sent you a glance, you ignored it and Rory put his arm around you, like a protective big brother. Amy was rambling about a customer from work that day and their miniscule complaints about something, when a man approached your table, you had noticed him around a few times. He was gorgeous, dark brown eyes with freckles covering his face. His eyes seemed slightly dimmer than usual. “Excuse me, miss, sorry, my name’s Tom, I’ve seen you around here for a little while and I’ve always wanted to dance with you, I just never had the courage to ask, until now,”  You accepted the invitation. His hand was colder than usual, and from the corner of your eye you watched the man that resembled the doctor shrink slightly in his seat. It’s true, Tom had been observing you and you had wanted to dance with him, if it weren’t for John and the aliens you would’ve asked him yourself.

You laughed and danced together for a few songs, until you had decided to sit back down at the table and Amy handed you another glass of wine, “Well you certainly had a good time, and he was cute, what a positive,” Amy spoke. You all laughed, John approached the table nervously. The laughter died in your throats. He’d dressed differently, rather than the standard longer tie, he’d swapped it for a bowtie and you all went pale upon realising it. “I don’t want to hear whatever you’re about to say unless it’s an apology,” You remarked before you could stop yourself, the wine taking initiative.

“I am deeply sorry, I crossed a line, I’m sorry the adrenaline from last night hadn’t worn off and I just think you’re really beautiful and I thought we’d connected,” he rambled, his hand rubbing the back of his neck “anyway, what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry and I’d like to ask you to dance again, to make up for last time.” Rory shot you a concerned look and you stood up, ready to accept. 

The doors swung open. A gang of men entered various voices shouting about an alien, and one of them waving their arms about. 

"Everyone get out of here!" you screamed as they ran, "Get him to the school now. It's time for the plan. We need him. I'll follow. School! Now! Go!" 

Amy and Rory nodded, pulling John away despite his many protests and attempts to fight back.  If you were about to die, you were going to put on a show. 

"What are you doing here madam?" One of them spoke

"Oh. Hello. Well you see the thing is I was about to dance with a man i did rather like but unfortunately, he's left now, shame really," you scoffed sarcasm dripping from your words, heart beating out of your chest. A cracking noise erupted from the men. You finally looked at them. Dotted amongst them was Mr Roscoe, Tom, Mr Baker and Edward Gray. Their heads tilted back in unison, as their mouths hung open, eyes now white and pale. The voice spoke. It was low,threatening and heavy. 

"Where is the timelord? We can sense the artron energy on you. We are aware of your connections," the voice boomed. It wasn't coming from any of the people, it was simply existing appearing from nowhere as their faces twisted as they appeared to be choking. 

"Let them go and we won't have any trouble-" You were cut short by a hard fist colliding with your face, and another in your stomach, and another, and another. Thinking fast you pulled out the sonic screwdriver and pressed a button on it. The men collapsed with a high pitch screech falling from then. Get out, was your only thought. So you did.

You ran, faster than you had ever possibly ran before. You’d reached the school quickly pushing the old oak doors open and slamming them behind you, then you were bombarded by two sets of arms around you

“God, I thought you weren’t going to make it,” Amy cried a few tears on her face.

“With no offence meant, (Y/N), you look terrible,” Rory laughed tensely “I’ll have to look you over in a second, and before you ask, he’s fine and safe, just shaken and concerned about you,”

After Rory had checked you over, you pushed open the door to John’s classroom, he ran to you and tried to hug you

“Beware, I have quite a number of bruises, so I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you said still rubbing at you split lip

“Oh God, did they do this to you? Are you alright? How could you have been so stupid?” John scalded through tears. He still acted like the doctor despite everything.

“John, I’m fine, it gave you and the others time so it’s ok. We need to barricade the main entrance,” You turned to the others “Pin, glass, soon. Do you have the needle too?” Amy nodded, she handed you a fake watch. More code.

“Great,” You smiled more at the item than her

“What? Why do you keep speaking in code? What is that? What does it mean? (Y/N), I’m tired and I need to know,” John stressed angry tears slipping from his eyes, this was too much for him.

“Hey, shush, it’s ok you’ll find out soon, we just have to get out of this situation and you’ll know all about it.” It technically wasn’t a lie.

“(Y/N), they’re coming,” Rory shouted from the other room. You grabbed John’s shirt in your hands, pulled him towards you, and kissed him, not giving him to process it. It’d seemed more like the doctor rather than the quiet confidence of John. “We’re even now. Don’t tell my friend” A small smile escaped your mouth.

“I promise, I won’t,” He whispered in response, shock still clearly in his system, an awkward laugh breaking the tension. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember. You walked into the hallway, a barricade in full effect “Amy get into the other room, keep him safe, try to convince him to open the watch,” She nodded and headed to the other room. 

Rory was handed the fake watch, the needle, and an old antique sword from one of the many walls “Still got it, centurion? I’m going to need you to run as far as you can get that thing away from here, and get them to fight over it and get back here as fast as you can,” He nodded and ran out the back door after saying a brief I love you to Amy. Another antique sword was pulled off the wall by yourself and scabbard disregarded on the floor. There was a brief struggle against the old wooden doors and the barricade before they were smashed open. 

“Hello, again, boys,” You smiled, waving the sword in one hand and sonic screwdriver in the other. If you wanted him to live, you had to act like the doctor “So unfortunately, I hate to break it you but if you are looking for the item that we refer to as the needle, it’s travelling as fast as possible in that direction with a 2000 year old roman centurion armed with a sword so unfortunately this detour has been a little bit pointless, I’m afraid dears.”

“You will die soon,” the voice rumbled, 

“Will I now? I mean we all will at some point. I will say, however, it’d sound more convincing if I wasn’t a time traveller from the 21st century holding a sword and a powerful scientific device somewhere far beyond this planet, with enough knowledge of this town for you to lose in me for months.”

Their numbers had lowered, there were roughly seven left from the original back of twelve. Edward Gray stood in the centre, his head following your movements. Mr Roscoe was no longer with the group. 

“Split up. We’re wasting resources. We’ve already lost some due to the device” The voice rumbled. Four of them including Edward and Henry rushed past you. Their feet dragging slightly along the floor as they ran, their footsteps uneven and heavy. One of the men that you’d seen around town took a step forward, his arm reaching for you, swiping your sword at him, you caught his neck. The body coughed up a blue liquid, mouth still hanging open, as he crumpled. Another ran at you, he thrusted something at you, a sharp pain in your neck. You pressed the sonic and waved it at him, he fell backwards, with a groan. The final man stepped forward, Tom. “Tom stop, fight it, think of your family and your friends, fight-” you were silenced by him slamming you against the wall by your throat. You were caught off guard breathing faltering. Tom grabbed the sword and twisted it towards you, the cool metal catching your skin.“You will die, you will die, you will die,” The voice repeated “insufferable time traveller, you will pay for this,” You screamed, the agony and blood hot. “Amy,” you wheezed, as your vision began to blur from the pressure on your throat. The door swung open, Amy slipped out quietly

“Hey, weirdo! Leave my friend alone,” She shouted her fist colliding with the face knocking him out. Slipping down the wall you gasped, relief and oxygen flooding your system. 

“(Y/N), are you ok?” she asked observing the fresh wound

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Go after Rory, a few of them went after him, he needs you,” You explained kicking the sword towards her. Taking the sword in her hands, she nodded and ran. Feebly, you pulled yourself up, putting pressure on your wound as you wobbled into John’s classroom. He was crying slumped against a corner, “Are- Are you alright? Good God! You’re bleeding, did they hurt you? What happened to them?”

“John, dear, I’m fine just little scrapes,” you whisper kneeling down to his level your voice still weak “You’ll understand in a bit, we just need to do something first,”

“Amelia, already tried to convince me. I- I- I don’t want to open it. (Y/N), I don’t want whatever that was to be the normal for me, I’m scared, and I know that watch has something to do with it” He cried 

“I know, it’s terrifying, but it’s the perception filter, making you think that,”

“And- And there you go again, nonsense words, unfathomable concepts. I heard what you said, the 21st century, the future, the amount of pain you must have seen. Do you think I hadn’t noticed the pain and loss in your eyes? I’m not your old friend, I’m John Smith, I’m a teacher here. Whoever you think I am, I can assure you I’m not,” You patted his arm, “I’m sorry you need to open it. I’m so sorry. I want to help but this is the only way I can” He looked between you and the watch, he cupped your face nervously and paused for a second, you nodded. Your lips gently collided. 

“John, dear, I’m sorry,” You mumbled into his lips after a few calming kisses. He turned to the watch, you pushed yourself up and walked to the other side of the room. He turned the watch in his hands examining it gently

“I’ve loved you since I met you. You are beautiful, intelligent, and amazing. Maybe in another life,it might’ve worked out for us,” He looked up at you, tears still falling. 

You opened your mouth to speak as the watch flicked open, you heard the man scream first, then windows shattering, squinting in an attempt to see him despite the golden light filling the room. Glass flew everywhere, wind bursting into the room.  Eventually screaming stopped and so did the light. He fell to his knees with a thud. 

“I’m back,” he mumbled his head slamming forward, the final wisps of gold light dissipating. Panic struck his face as he saw you.

PART 3

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

Heya Can I please uh Get a sett x vastaya reader Scenario where she comes to his pit to fight because she needs money to help her tribe get rebuilt?

Ok so first of all thanks for the request and sorry for a very very late post and second if you're like referring to rebuilding houses in a tribe you actually can't cuz vastayan people live harmony with nature so that means no cutting trees and you get your needs from nature....... but I'll think of something like a money crisis or something.

Yeah sorry.........again.

•=•=•=•=•=•

SETT X VASTAYAN READER

For many years, your people live in peace. away from the dangers of the outside world but that doesn't mean you were selfish and un-kind, instead they used magic not for fighting but to offer help to other vastayan, they would take refugees, heal them, and take care of other Vastayans that were scarred by the war.

Decades past many happened in Ionia but being seculded in the hidden forest in the land, generations of your tribe have forgotten what's the outside world like and believe that it's only a myth.

Then an unexpecting day came. Since your tribe offers help more and more Vastayans seek their hand for help and that cause a problem.

A big problem.

There was too much population and your home became overcrowded after a new tribe came, said they were attack overnight and barely survived, it was no problem in sharing and rationing your supplies but nature had given too much.

Being the Chief's eldest daughter you volunteered to search outside your hidden home to find a way to help them.

So with a heavy heart your family and people bid you good luck and safe travel.

Days past you discovered many things and places, you found different kinds of Vastayans, good and also bad people.

One day you came to a Forest market you ask many people but some spoke in a strange language while some walked away from you until you meet this cute Vastayan couple named Rakan and Xayah, you were surprised that they can speak (mainly Xayah) using the old Vastayan Language.

From Xayah's stories she is looking for her lost tribe and planned on making a rebellion or something? While Rakan only follow and support his lover.

You told them about your problem and they suggested that you go far towards the main city, you took the suggestion and thank them for their help, bidding them good bye you turned into leave but not before Xayah called you back.

"Hey not being a bother or anything but you said there was a new tribe that came to yours right?, Is there perhaps a man-." She then continued to explain a man who she claim her father and ask if he was in the same tribe, shaking your head you said that you haven't see anyone that look like her father.

"Don't worry Xayah I'm positive they're out there somewhere and you'll find them I believe in you, just don't lose hope ok?". You re-assured her as she thanked you.

"Here Y/N don't forget to hide does ears and tail of yours, they're a dead give away." She held out a dark cloak made from a smooth Ionian silk, after that you waved them goodbye.

"Good luck and don't get yourself killed kid!! See ya, Hey Xayah wait for meeeeee!!!." Rakan shouted before chasing after his beloved.

"You do know I'm quite older than you right?." You asked him well more to yourself before shrugging it off and beginning your journey towards the city in Ionia.

It took a whole day getting there making you arrived at night. you then wore the cloak Xayah gave you and blend in with the crowd, it was similar as back in the Forest market but instead of Vastayan or shape-shifters that was walking around it was full on strange creatures that you believe were humans like the elders told in their stories and unlike back home with of trees and nature instead it was this weird tall structures and no Vastayan in sight.

then your ears hear this wired clinking of metal that you decided to investigate, looking around you found the source and saw a human passing three of those round gold things in exchange for a fruit then you saw another and another.

It was some kind of currency just like yours but a little different.

You then followed a big human man that was carrying a huge sack of those while being vigilant, you then came across a much more big architecture with a lot of suspicious people entering inside.

Moving forward, you see the man you followed giving it towards a round hat wearing man and seeing that some were doing it too.

You perk up along with other people when you hear a feminine voice at the passageway then people run towards the voice being unlucky you got shove in, you tried squeezing your body in the crowd, few tries you finally reach the end but loss you footing, you catch yourself by slamming your hand in a flat wooden furniture.

startled the man and the woman who you believe was yelling looked at you with widen eyes they talked to you in a much more different language, you look at them dumbfounded before shrugging you shoulders.

The woman rolled her eyes before grabbing a hold of your right arm and pulled you, being curious you let her.

Walking deep inside you tried talking to her but she didn't payed you attention, a short walk you were then push towards an opening.

You stumbled before getting blinded by a golden light you raised an arm to cover your face, turning back you looked and see the woman on the tunnel motioning you to walk, looking behind you see a stone platform.

"Huh?." you pipe up looking back at her, you point yourself and then towards the platform.

She nod her head yes then showing you her thumbs pointing upwards before turning around and walked back, you look down at you hands and trying to copy what she did while walking towards the platform.

( ՞ਊ ՞）→ Sett's POV :

Another night with a line people that aren't strong enough to beat me.

"Welp who can say no to money anyway?." I chuckled cracking my knuckles and do small stretching.

I look below on the balcony to see a cloaked figure walking in the middle of the pit, I see their attention in their hands.

You're fighting me and you're already scared?, pathetic.

I scoff before walking back and down towards the pit.

A few seconds later I walked out and face them.

"Hey! you're the first contender?, Guess this will be an easy win." I stare at my clenched fist after wearing my golden brass knuckles.

Smirking I turned my head but to my surprise they we're still busy with the hands.

"Oi!, Are ya' listening to me or you're deaf?." I shouted by now the people were listening to me watching in interest.

I growled, losing my patience I stomp towards them right arm pulled back.

"I said are ya' deaf or stupid?." Reaching them I throw my right straight to there face. before my knuckles can touch there face they simply blocked it with their palm.

They looked up making me see their- I mean her face, she looked at me with her E/C colored eyes before glaring at me, She jumped back looking at her palm then back to me.

"Heh, good to have your attention. Now can you fight?." I punch my hand to my palm smirking, she tilted her head then she move to take off her cloak.

Once the clothing was off my widen when I see a pair of ears on top of her head like mine with a long thick fur tail swishing behind her.

"Vastayan?." I growled "then I guess I'll be lying when I say this won't hurt." I then charge at her.

We both begin to fight I keep punching her but she dodges fast while we were does this she keep talking in a weird ass language I can't understand.

She then growled in annoyance before tackling me with a surprising strength, strandling me she clunch the neckline of my clothes and smash her lips on mine.

I stared with wide eyes at her. the kiss didn't last long she quickly stood up and talk finally in a language I can understand.

"Sorry I had to do that it was the fastest way I can learn you language." She apologize before holding out her hand at me.

"Here let me help you." She said I grab it and she pulled me up without breaking a sweat.

•=•=•=•=•=•

"So your telling me? You came from your invisible home-."

"Hidden actually-."

"To find what exactly?." I asked feeling a tick mark growing in my forehead still feeling a little embarrassed from the kiss earlier.

"Something to help them like finding extra supplies using that." She pointed behind me and I turned my hand and see the money we collected from different bets.

"Ya want Noxian money?." I questioned

"If that's what you call it yes." She said without hesitation.

"Ha! Look girly I ain't a charity work I own that money and I'm not just about to give that to some Vastayan tribe, they can starve for all I care." I puff out my chest laughing at her.

"Fine then I'll do anything you want but in exchange I need a few sack of those what about that?." She growled not liking what I just said about her tribe.

"Hmm, guess I can't let a good deal like that fly away then exchange for maybe 5 of those you have to fight in my pit for a whole month, deal?." I hold out my hand.

"I do not know how long this month you are talking about but sounds delightful to me, sure!." She grab my hand tightly and shook it with great force.

"Ok! Ok! Stop it." I snatch my hand away shaking off some off the pain from her grip.

How is she so strong?!

"Be here tomorrow early in the morning then we'll talk business." I turned around walking away from her, but few steps away I can hear someone following me.

I look over my shoulder and see her behind me.

"Why are you following me?." I asked gritting my teeth.

"Well since we made a deal it's a tradition to follow the dealer for a better end of-". I cut her off.

"You don't have a place to sleep do you?."

"Yes! Can I sleep with you?". She didn't even feel ashamed of herself.

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF-!".

•∆•∆•∆•∆•∆•

Sett's a bit OP but...........

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Yeah I don't have a good reason

[thejustmaiden]

Just bcos u PERCEIVE SessRin as something that promotes pedophilia and grooming doesn't mean that's how the author portrayed it. It's disappointing to see that antis force such idea, as if they know what's inside Rumiko's mind. It is fine if u find sessrin cringey. Just don't force your idea of pedophilia and grooming as THE CORRECT PORTRAYAL OF SESSRIN.

Hello there, nonnie! You had quite the party in my ask box, I see. Breaking it up in parts may actually help me get to the point and address your concerns swiftly and accordingly. Here goes nothing. 😉

This answer is for your first two asks by the way. Firstly, you're putting words in my mouth because I do not view Rumiko as an author who promotes pedophilia and child grooming and never have. She never once placed an ounce of romance into their scenes. Rin was essentially introduced to serve as a catalyst for Sesshomaru's character growth. That's major in and of itself, which is why I'm not sure why she needs to be the mom on top of all that she's already done for him. It was you, Sessrin shippers, who had to go and make it romantic, not us. It was you who took every innocent scene and turned it into a romantic one. You'll even use some of their scenes as proof they will end up together, then back-pedal later and say those very same scenes weren't romantic in order to protect the sanctity of your ship. I mean, which is it? It can't be both, it's either one or the other.

I repeat, NO we don’t actually think Rumiko wanted to portray this relationship with pedophillic or grooming tendencies. It's you shippers who insist there is no other way for their relationship to evolve, as if you speak on behalf of Rumiko. Your interpretation of Rumiko's work is what implies child grooming; she may not be condoning it but your perspective sure is. You talk down to antis who disagree, because in your opinion, your interpretation is not only superior but already canon in your eyes. You're doing a disservice to this fandom by spreading false information like that when you try to pass it off as official. So if it's anyone that assumes they know what goes on inside Rumiko's head, it's YOU. Somewhere down the road in the (un)foreseeable future, it's you who changes course since remember we were all in agreement at the beginning that their relationship wasn't romantic. So what did I miss? Please break it down for me and explain what exactly influenced you to change your mind, then describe in detail how again this transition in their relationship magically came to be. It's you who came to that decision on your own- nobody helped you get there, and certainly not Rumiko (as you said yourself). The user boycottyashahime put it better than I did, so here is the link to their post. I highly recommend you read it if you haven't already. I urge you to keep an open mind about it while reading, too. You may not like what they have to say, but there's no denying they make excellent points all the same.

I'm pretty sure I catch your drift, but can you clarify if you're referring to historical context or cultural context? I suppose both can be applied here. haha Anyway, from what I gather, you believe that fans should be on board with the idea of Sessrin and at the very least tolerate the pairing. Whether they ship it or not, you believe this simply for the fact that the story takes place in the feudal era and couples with a similar relationship back then were more than acceptable. The thing is, we may be transported to Feudal Japan in this story but we're still taking our modern day morals with us for the trip. I have a whole ass blog dedicated to the significance of fiction in real life (convienently pinned on my page) if you wanna check it out. I also discuss what age-appropriate content is and isn't for Inuyasha viewers in this recent ask here that I find is also pretty relevant to the convo.

Alrighty, moving onto your next point. I can't stress enough to you guys that this isn't a mere Caucasian vs. Non-Caucasian dilemma. I'm a POC, so I ask that you please not presume to know things about me you couldn't possibly know unless we met or I shared it with you. In fact, many of the other antis I frequently chat with are POCs like myself. So for all that's good and holy, please stop ignoring us when we say: THERE ARE FANS IN JAPAN WHO HATE THIS SHIP TOO. THIS ISN'T A DIFFERENCE OF CULTURE, THIS IS A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION (& FACT). It may have not been called child grooming during that time, but that doesn't mean that it wasn't; it just went under a different name, that's literally it.

Let me give you another example. So if I'm watching a movie about WWII in Nazi Germany, am I supposed to sympathize with an SS officer if the story is being narrated from his point of view? Because in his mind and during that time period, his ideology is right. Like a lot of Germany during that war, I rally to support his leader for what is in my opinion a just cause. Tell me, how does context matter in this instance? Does it matter so much so that you would adopt the same ideals just because it was "historically accurate" and you don't see anything wrong with it when you put yourself in their shoes? Does the "it's just fiction" defense come into play here, too?

The illustration I believe you are referring to is the calendar with that one official illustrator for Inuyasha, right? The thing is, an official illustrator doesn’t equal the creator of Inuyasha. They may support the Sessrin ship, but their work has no connection to the Inuyasha series in any way besides the name affiliation. I've heard that the illustrator also included Kagome x Koga art, so should we take that seriously then too? Rumiko never once alluded to a future romance between Sesshomaru and Rin, to which you even (kinda) agreed. She described their relationship as neither parental or romantic, and she added that she even contemplated making Rin a boy at first. Fun facts, y'all!

I've heard about those magazines but they sound fishy to me. Would you mind sending me a link to a reliable source that comes with an English translation? I'd like to emphasize again that illustrators or VAs can do and say as they please, but their opinions are still only opinions at the end of the day. Nothing is set in stone until Rumiko says it is.

For one, I never said my interpretation was the only correct portrayal. That's you putting words in my mouth again. What I did say, however, was that my interpretation was more logical and reasonable than yours based on popular and widely-accepted story patterns found in real life and in fiction. Look this isn't about who's more "correct" or not. You can perceive Sesshomaru and Rin's relationship any damn way you want, BUT what you cannot do is dictate how we react to your depiction of this ship. You can't demand us to view your ship a certain way to fit your preferences. I'm sure all the hate on your ship can be unbearable at times, but that's just the cross you'll have to bear for supporting such a problematic couple. If a large part of any fandom is strongly against a pairing and what it represents, then there's usually a very legitimate reason for that. You may not want to hear this, but certainly you must realize there's some truth to it all. A couple of your fellow shippers have even admitted to me that Sessrin would be wrong IRL. You see what I mean? Even if we find the ship gross, antis don't care if you choose to ship Sessrin. All we care about is you acknowledging that, like IRL, Sessrin potentially poses a lot of problems for young viewers and how they come to make sense of and view similar situations that are borderline grooming or the very thing itself. Teens watching this show are more vulnerable and impressionable, which is why it's crucial to not show relationships like Sessrin in a favorable light. If they're ever put in a situation IRL that resembles Sessrin, they need to be aware and understand that it's not at all normal or healthy for that adult to make a move on them. Let's say Sessrin does go canon, then that would mean Rin had to get pregnant around 14 or 15. Sending that kind of message to an audience made up of mostly teenagers isn't exactly wise if you ask me. Please really think about that and sit with it if you need to.

I'm positive I'm following the same story, thank you very much. Also, how can you be so confident making a statement like that when I have actual Sessrin shippers praising me for making valid points? Sorry to break it to you, but I don't think I'm as lost as you claim me to be or wish that I was.

That's a wrap, peeps!

Read over what I had to say again later and then get back to me if want, but only write me back if you plan to be respectful. Otherwise I will decline to answer. Just keep that in mind. And may I suggest only sending 1 or 2 asks at a time? Please and thank you!

I think I may know exactly who are, nonnie, but I can't say for sure. Besides, it doesn't really matter, as you have a right to stay anonymous if you so wish to. Listen, don't forget you are also more than welcome to interact (but appropriately) on my blogs/asks/etc. If you are who I think you are, then you recently did make a comment on one of them but didn't stick around when I replied back (and for good reason). Finally, if you hope to ever have a real discussion about this topic someday, first put your ego aside and refrain from throwing insults and then I'll hear you out. I have never once put you down in all of our interactions, so there's no need to show up here all riled up and aggravated in the first place. There's also no need to laugh at or mock other's opinions. Don't take jabs and assume I must not know something about Inuyasha just because I don't support your point of view. I may not agree with your opinion, but you don't see me having a condescending air about it.

Apologies if you're not the member I believe you to be, but no offense, you probably still needed to hear all of that too. It's not included here since I answered it immediately, but that final ask you sent me where you got angry and assumed I wasn't going to answer you was totally uncalled for. If you ever hope someday to participate in real discourse with me or any other antis, you should take my advice and seriously chill and learn how to be patient.

Hope this finds you well, nonnie!

[dishearteningmediocrity]

I haven't seen anyone post this interview with Colin Clive before, and it's quite a good one. So anyway, here's an article from the Birmingham News-Age-Herald on March 4, 1934, written by Gladys Baker. The text might be kind of hard to read, so here's a transcript. (I didn't transcribe the other article about May Robson, so apologies to all you May Robson fanatics out there; let me know and I will do it):

“Gotham’s Matinee Idol: Colin Clive” By Gladys Baker, Special Correspondent to The Birmingham News-Age-Herald

New York--Today when no man is a hero either in fiction or the theater unless he has robbed a bank or murdered his grandmother it is a welcome relief to find a man who is a “gentleman” in all that the word implies.

I am speaking of Colin Clive. His personality and very fine work as the leading man in “The Lake,” the Katharine Hepburn play, made me insinuate my way back stage to his dressing room to find out if he (like the very careful Camille) were two different persons “off stage and on.”

I found a charming, ingenuous young man who looks as if there were so much more he could say--if he would.

My job was to make him say it!

Clive is tall. His eyes are very deep blue and very alive. Hard eyes to fathom. His manner rather shy, but delightful. After offering cigarets and a highball (Englishmen I’ve noticed have a sense of Southern hospitality!) we started talking about the theater.

The inevitable question: “Why did you go on the stage?”

“Why does anybody do anything? My family were all army people--members of the Bengal Lancers--and I was in the army until a smashed knee wrote finis to that.” (and now I knew the reason of that limp which has been described by some as a romantic pose).

“Then I landed in London job hunting. That is the obvious reason, but of course, knee or no knee, I would eventually have come to it. That inner urge that makes a man paint, write, or go in for sculpturing, was unconsciously driving me in that direction.”

He smiled--no, laughed. “Lord, but I was pretty awful in the beginning. Only, 10 years of repertory cured me of that--I mean my worse faults.”

“You believe in repertory, then?”

“It is the only thing. It is necessary, it is absolutely essential if a person wants to become a first-rate actor. Without repertory background I would never have dared attempt ‘Journey’s End’!”

It was Mr. Clive’s interpretation of the leading character in “Journey’s End” which established him in London’s inner circle known as “Artists of the Theater.”

He belongs to the thinkers of the stage. He can stay perfectly quiet during a scene and makes his audience think with him. He plays always with a fine restraint and a sympathy which communicates itself definitely. He is one of those rare persons who can play an entire scene with his back to the footlights and still dominate the stage.

Actresses have told me of his great generosity--speaking in the vernacular of stage folks--he does not try to steal the show.

*****

He is modest, almost to a fault, and is embarrassed at praise. I spoke of his excellent work in the movies. He said: “Sheer luck. I really don’t know anything about movie technique--the theater, perhaps--but I’ve been doing that for 16 years.”

Nevertheless he has made such a name for himself in the cinema that in the last six weeks three of the major companies have been bidding for his services. Warner Brothers won. He leaves Sunday morning for Hollywood and the Warner lot.

“Monday, I start the ‘Key,’ with Edna Best and beyond the first scene I’m entirely ignorant of the play. What a marvelous country you are!” He laughed and then grew serious again. “That is all right for me, for I’m a hardened sinner, but for beginners who suddenly find themselves facing big parts with no experience to help them, it is not an easy task. Those who have the real stuff win but they are the exception. The screen like the stage is beginning to demand experience from its actors.”

“Acting is a whole time job. There is more to it than the casual observer would think. The layman doesn’t realize for instance that the well modulated voice that he hears from the stage or the screen is the result of many tedious hours spent in coaching under voice culturists. The rhythm, grace of movement is not just a gift from the gods but is gained from well trained muscles--the outcome of daily sports or calisthenics.”

“Don’t you ever feel the need of relaxation?” I asked.

“Yes,” he smiled, “actors are only human after all. I find mine mostly in reading.”

This hobby was not surprising for I had been told that whenever a friend of his becomes ill that instead of the usual boxes from confectioners and florists he sends books by his favorite authors: Victor Hugo, Anatole France and Voltaire.

Noting a bottle of brandy on his dressing table, I asked him if he found liquor necessary as a stimulant for his work.

“No, the actor who must get his inspiration from a bottle of liquor finds himself in the same place that a business man of the same habits would find himself in. For acting is a business and dependability one of the chief assets. However, that doesn’ t mean that I’m a teetotler--drink has a good place in life.”

***

Among his best friends are Edna Best, Herbert Marshall, and Noel Coward--all of whom are his near neighbors in Kent, where he has a country place. He’s really a gregarious person. He refuses even to have breakfast alone. Found in that position he postpones the breaking of his fast until a congenial companion is annexed.

Another sport he enjoys is prizefighting. In fact, his first choice for the film-of-the-year would be “The Prizefighter and the Lady” (which showed in Birmingham as “The Conquering Sex”). It is testimony to his acting adaptability that he came straight from parts in musical comedy (“Rose Marie” and “Show Boat”) and created the dramatic role of Capt. Stanhope in “Journey’s End.” After which he played in “Overture,” a play written by one of his closest friends--the late William Bolitho.

This adaptability extends likewise to his geographical adjustment. “For the last six years I’ve practically commuted between London, New York and Hollywood. If it’s possible, I always go by plane.” He is one of the few movie celebrities on the coast who refuses to sign a long-term contract. One picture is all any company can be sure of his services. Tactfully he admitted that he disliked playing in the cinema. “One never gets the same reaction from the screen as you do from having an audience right close up.”

I ventured to ask about the “leading lady”--not of the stage or cinema--but of his own life.

“She’s not easy to describe,” he said earnestly. “I suppose you would call her a brunette, for her hair is dark, very dark and slightly bobbed except about the ears; she has deep, understanding eyes…”

“Oh” excitedly, “an Italian beauty?”

He threw back his head and laughed, really in a most un-British gesture. “No, to tell the truth this lady who rules my life is from Scotland--”

“Oh!”

Another merry laugh: “You see I’m speaking of my little Scotch terrier, ‘Brenda,’ who really makes a slave of me.”

Having had his joke he told me about his wife. She is a charming French woman who prefers life in Europe to “commuting” about the world with her celebrated husband. It is not as unusual as it sounds that Clive should have chosen a wife with Gallic ancestry since his own early life was passed entirely among French people. In fact, until he was 6 years old his vocabulary included not a single word of English.