#because lewis truly broke containment

[adimouze]

honestly my biggest conspiracy theory is that daniel’s mainstream appeal and popularity with actual famous people is what annoys and angers the people stuck working in f1 journalism— a job that now seems to rely on clickbait and sensationalist agenda pushing. so they just want to shit on daniel because he escaped containment somewhat (maybe not to the general people but he’s made friends in high places.) and no longer needs to keep them on the payroll to push his agenda. he evidently does not care about his agenda. he’s done. he’s out.

and that just pisses them off more

[litcityblues]

'Elemental' --A Review

Here's a question to ponder: has Pixar ever made a truly bad movie? I think the answer to that question might be no. I had no idea what to expect when I sat down to watch this movie. Internet chatter seemed to think it wasn't that good and the box office hadn't been that great for it-- but we had heard from some people we know that they had enjoyed it quite a bit. As it turns out, the direct reviews we got from our friends were correct and a slow start at the box office apparently didn't mean much in the end, because as of November 1st, it's grossed nearly half a billion dollars worldwide. So... (shrug emoji)

Elemental opens with fire elements Bernie (Ronnie Del Carmen) and Cinder (Shila Ommi) immigrating to Element City where they join a diverse metropolis that contains all the classical elements, but Fire elements are treated with disdain and distrust. Eventually, they find where the Fire community lives and set up their Blue Flame which represents their traditions, and start a convenience store for the local community they call The Fireplace and they have a daughter, Ember. (Leah Lewis)

The movie then flips forward to the present day, where Ember, now grown, still struggles to control her fiery temper but wants nothing more than to make her parents happy and take over the store so her Dad, Bernie can finally retire. One day, he allows her to run the store by herself, but she loses her temper again and runs off to the basement where her fiery outburst causes a water pipe to break and the basement to flood and that's when Wade Ripple (Mamoudou Athie) shows up-- he's a city inspector and water element who notices the faulty plumbing and despite Ember's best efforts to stop him, submits a report to his air element boss, Gayle Cumulus (Wendi McLendon-Covey) who will have to shut the Fireplace down.

Unwilling to face her parents with the news, Ember and Wade convince Gayle to cut them a deal-- turns out, that Wade was investigating a leak in the city canals before he found himself in The Fireplace and proposes to Gayle that if they can find the leak and fix it, she will forgive the violations. She agrees and together they track down the leak and fix it first with sandbags and then Ember demonstrates her glassmaking ability to make a better seal.

Eventually, she visits Wade's family at a luxury apartment, where she uses her fire to fix a broken glass pitcher, which impresses Wade's mom, Brook (Catherine O'Hara) so much she recommends Ember for a glassmaking internship that freaks her out-- because it's the first time she's realized that she doesn't want to take over The Fireplace when her parents retire.

Bernie finally announces his retirement and that Ember will be taking over the Fireplace, but Wade takes her on one last trip to the flooded Garden Central Station to see the vivesteria flowers she wasn't allowed to see as a child because of prejudice against Fire Elements. They dance afterward and realize that they can touch without harming one another, but Ember's sense of duty to the Fireplace and her family's prejudice against Water Elements is too much, so she breaks up with Wade. He shows up at Bernie's retirement party and confesses his love to Ember and also accidentally reveals that it was she who broke the pipe. Ember still rejects Wade, but her Mom, Cinder, senses some genuine feelings for him but it's too late. Bernie renounces his retirement and refuses to give Ember the store.

Soon after, Ember's seal on the dam breaks, and Firetown floods. She saves her parents and the Blue Flame, but she and Wade are trapped inside the Fireplace and he evaporates from the enclosed heat after the flood recedes, Ember finally confesses to her Bernie that she doesn't want to run The Fireplace and has feelings for Wade. She then realizes that he's seeped into the stone ceiling and plays 'the crying game' to get him to drip back into his normal form. The movie ends with the two of them sailing off to travel the world so Ember can study glassmaking and they go with the blessing of Ember's parents.

Overall: I don't think Pixar has ever made a truly bad movie and I'd put this one squarely in the upper tier. The animation was gorgeous, Element City's imagination sprung to life, and using the classical elements to tell a story of the immigrant experience worked brilliantly. (Apparently, the director drew on movies like Guess Who's Coming To Dinner, Moonstruck, and Amelie-- all of which I can totally see in this movie.) The cast was great, the story engaging and, like all Pixar movies, it works on two levels-- entertains the kids, but a genuine, mature enough story to keep adults interested as well which always gets my seal of approval for animated movies.

I do not get the buzz that this movie was in any way one of Pixar's weaker offerings, because it's just not. I think very quietly, this one might place itself up there next to some of their best- especially if they don't fall prey to Disney's apparently inescapable urge to give everything these days a sequel.

My Grade: **** out of ****. Pixar don't miss. This one looks beautiful, tells a beautiful story, and is more than up to their usual standards.

[aperrywilliams]

The Right Moment (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist 

———————

Summary: Love confessions doesn't count in Spencer’s strengths. Don't you think?

Word Count: 5010.

Warnings: Curses… is so soft anyway. Fluff.

A/N: I’m so happy. This is my first fic with a beta, so y’all will not suffer with my all writing mistakes of before ones. All the love to the great @imagining-in-the-margins​

——————–

The first time I saw (Y/N), I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing for a few seconds. I could have counted the exact time, but I was so focused on looking at her that I only realized it when I was almost choking on my own breathlessness.

We were all in the conference room waiting for Prentiss to review a new case. She had already notified us a new member would be joining the team, which was a relief considering the amount of cases was getting quite heavy. Even just one more member could be of great help. When the two of them entered the room and Emily began to speak, I lifted my head from the file in front of me.

"Guys, this is the SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N). She is joining our team since today. (Y/N), meet the SSA Luke Alvez, SSA Tara Lewis, SSA Jennifer Jareau, SSA David Rossi and Dr. Spencer Reid".

Everyone gave their welcome words except me, of course, given my edginess. I just nodded my head in greeting without saying a word. She waved back and quickly sat down to begin reviewing the case.

I couldn't say exactly what was the first thing about (Y/N) that I fell in love with. Perhaps it was her appearance as a determined woman, confident, intelligent, friendly, and very nice. She looked like those kinds of people who are able to fill a room with their mere presence. It wasn't long before my hypotheses about her were confirmed. Indeed, the entire team loved her immediately. She was the first person to say hello to Penelope in the mornings. She teased Luke as she passed by his desk, and bonded quickly and closely with JJ, Tara, and Emily. Rossi loved her too, especially at dinners at his house, where (Y/N) was always the first to compliment the chef.

And me? Well, it wasn't long until we became best friends. She was one of the few people who didn't bother or interrupt my ramblings. There were many times we had to make geographical profiles and visit crime scenes together; clearly not very romantic things. But the time we spent together was growing both inside and outside work. In our rare free time, we would go for a walk or watch a series sitting on the couch at her place or mine.

Those were the moments where I felt I fell more and more in love with her. For a long time, I tried to push those thoughts away by telling myself that it was something platonic, that it was the attraction of someone with a very different personality than mine. I tried to convince myself that eventually, the infatuation would pass and our friendship would persist. But seeing how the months passed and the feeling didn’t subside, I began to sink into despair within myself. I tried not to feed myself any hope.

(Y/N) was leading her life very well and I fit perfectly as the best friend – just that. Someone to trust and a shoulder to cry on. I tried to convince myself having her around was more than enough for me, even if there was no romantic interest from her.

"Do you know what it’s called? The Friendzone." Emily said to me one day after I had to confess my feelings towards (Y/N) to someone. A somewhat forced confession, since the whole team knew it already without me saying a word. It sure was printed on all my face.

"Whatever your name it, I’ll never get out of there". I replied with a shrug.

"But why don't you tell her? You should be honest with her about this, Spencer. You’re friends. You trust each other, right?" Emily inquired, trying to awaken some courage in me to express my feelings to the woman herself.

"Tell her? No, of course not. Our relationship would become weird. I don't want that.” I replied with a shake my head.

"How do you know if isn’t mutual? You two spend a lot of time together, and I've seen how you seeing each other. Maybe she also likes you." Emily was a very good FBI agent, but not the best cupid. There was no point in what she was saying to me. Friends can also spend a lot of time together. That doesn't mean anything.

"Of course it is not reciprocal! Two days ago, she told me she had a date with Tim Robertson from Organized Crime and she was 'excited.'” I emphasized the word ‘excited’ by making the quotes marks with my fingers.

"Uh-oh" she replied with that 'oh poor boy' look. “Spencer, eventually you’ll have to do something. Love is not going to disappear spontaneously.”

I only took a deep breath and drop the subject, but I kept thinking about Prentiss’ words. Was I meant to be the eternal friend? Statistics were not on my side: Studies show that if a man over 30 invites his female friend to dinner on a weekend, only 40% of women will likely consider it a date. But if the invitation is made by a non-friend male, the odds increase to 85%. If a woman is the one inviting her male friend, she is more likely he considered it as romantic date, because men are more frequently to consider everything as a date. Conclusion: I have no chance.

I felt more defeated when (Y/N) told me one day that she was now regularly dating Robertson. The boldest thing I asked her was if she liked him. She confessed to me it was ‘very likely.’

As the weeks passed, the cases came and were resolved. (Y/N) didn't spend as much time with me outside of work anymore. She had a formal relationship with the... guy... from Organized Crime. At this point not even the 'friendzone' comforted me, because I also felt I was losing my friend. What did that lead me to? Frustration. Anger. Introversion. Everything very Spencer Reid style.

One day flying back from a case, (Y/N) sat at the front of me and looked at me with concern, as I plunged into a book.

"Spencer, is something wrong?" she asked, leaning down and resting her hands on the table between us.

"Uhm? No. I'm fine." I replied, barely looking at her.

"Spencer, I know you..."

Oh, how I hate people think I’m an open book and everyone feel free to say they know me!... Even if they are right! For God’s sake!

"Are you upset with me?... You have barely spoken to me these days and we haven't sat down to talk for a long time..." She said, taking the book I had in my hands and laying it on the table. Thus, I was forced to look at her.

"No. I'm fine. Totally fine. And if we haven't talked for a long time, it's because you're apparently very busy…” My last comment wasn't very nice, but I couldn't help it.

"Oh, I see." I took my book again and opened it to resume my reading. "You’re jealous of my relationship with Robertson." She stated seriously.

What? Did she know it too? Had the pilot been told, too?

"No. Of course not. Where do you get that from? You can do whatever you please with your life…” I said with the greatest calm that my boiling blood running in my body allowed me.

“You're jealous because I don't spend time with you outside of work anymore. Spencer, honey, you’ll always be a priority for me. It's just I have less time now, you know? We're just starting something,  Tim and I. But I promise not to be one of those women glued to my partner all the time and neglecting my friends". (Y/N) ended her statement by gently stroking my hand over the book I was still holding. I felt relief and defeat at the same time. Clearly, it didn't feel better.

But (Y/N) was genuine to her word. Indeed, she looked for a way to adjust her time with him so we could return to some movie nights on the couch and occasional walks in the park. It felt good to at least fit into her life again. Of course, this had a flip side: knowing how her relationship with Tim Robertson worked, or not. The guy showed clear narcissistic features and although (Y/N) seemed to be aware of that - as the good profiler she was - her infatuation clouded her judgment. I couldn't blame her, either. I just tried to be gentle in my criticisms, but I saw how easily she dismissed them by always excusing him.

One night I was lying on the couch reading. It was close to 2 am when I heard two knocks on the door and a loud sob. I quickly got up to open the door and saw (Y/N) standing in front of me, crying. When she saw me, she threw herself into my arms and cried harder.

"I knew you would be awake..." She murmured with her head buried in my chest. I helped her into the apartment and sat her on the couch.

"Hey, what happened?". I asked in a soft voice so as not to disturb her more than she already was.

"I broke up with Tim..."

And here I was, with my shoulder ready to contain her tears. (Y/N) clung to my neck sobbing and cursing at the same time. It wasn’t the first time I had to witness a love breakup from (Y/N). As I said before, I was her best friend, and that forced me to know things that I often didn't want to hear, but it was only fair. She also was there for me many times. I had also cried on her shoulder and cursed - a bit - at situations that overwhelmed me.

I tried to comfort her by hugging and stroking her back. The sobs subsided over time, and eventually she fell asleep. I tucked some pillows under her head and covered with a blanket. I sat for a moment to watch her while she slept. I would have done anything not to see her this sad. She didn't deserve to be hurt by an idiot like Robertson. She deserved someone who truly loved her, unconditionally. Someone she could trust, who could be always there for her, who made her laugh and comforted her when she was sad.

She needed someone... like me?

I know, it sounds not so humble. But I would be all that for her and more if necessary. Maybe Prentiss was right. Maybe I should be honest and tell her about my feelings. At least I could know if I'd ever have a chance. Well, I would have to try. Here the results.

First Attempt

The next morning I woke up smelling a pleasant scent from the kitchen: freshly brewed coffee. I got up, rubbing my eyes before I saw (Y/N) making breakfast.

"Good Morning. Breakfast is ready!” She gave me a warm smile.

"Hey... you didn't have to bother with breakfast." I replied in a raspy voice due to the disuse as I slept. "How do you feel?" I hastened to ask.

"Like I broke up with my boyfriend. But it's okay. It'll okay.” (Y/N) said, giving a deep sigh. I approached the counter where she was while she passed me two plates ready with pancakes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, placing the plates on the table and sitting in one of the chairs. She got two mugs with coffee and sat across from me.

"The usual; men who end up being assholes. The initial spark’s gone. The end.” She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. "You know my taste in men follows an evident pattern, right?" (Y/N) stated with a sad smile.

"Maybe you need to double check your parameters and change it..." I said, testing the waters before I dove in. I didn't know what kind of reaction to expect, but she burst out laughing.

"I've thought about it – don't think I don’t. But bad habits are persistent.” She answered me as she cut her pancakes before popping a piece in her mouth.

"You could try at least..." Bringing out a confidence I thought I didn't have, I dared to take her hand over the table. She looked at me curiously.

"Do you think so? I honestly think I’m meant to be a total failure in love, always.” She told me with a grimace.

“I think you need a guy who understands you. A guy that’s there for you when you need him. Someone you can trust…” I didn’t know whether to persist with the description so as not to sound... too self-referential?

“But that's what I have you for, Spence. You are all that to me. That's why you are my best friend.” She said, squeezing my hand and smiling at me. I held my breath for a second and tried to continue.

"Perhaps... I could be more than that, more than a just..." I couldn't finish my idea because our phones started ringing. We had a case. End of conversation.

Fate: 1, Reid: 0.

Second Attempt

After a hard case that had us seconds from emotional overflow, Penelope had the wonderful idea we should go to a bar to 'drown' our frustrations. Hanging out with the team is always a good thing, although the idea of a bar never seemed entirely appealing to me.

Of course, I usually ended up being the designated driver since my alcohol consumption was minimal or nil. That night was no exception. Sitting with Rossi and Luke, I heard them talk about their love experiences as I watched the dance floor where Emily, Penelope, Tara and (Y/N), with high levels of alcohol in their blood, danced as if the world were to end in that moment. Rossi and Luke’s voices sounded distant to me. I could only focus on how (Y/N) moved on the dance floor and how I wished I could touch her... and kiss her... and...

"Reid? Reid!" Luke's voice brought me out of my fantasy. Not even in my own mind could I have in peace! Not even a single damn fantasy with (Y/N).

"Uhm?" I replied by inertia.

"I was asking you if you agreed with what Rossi said..." He asked. I wasn't even listening.

"Eh. Yeah. Sure. He has more experience… in everything.” I guess that answer was enough for the moment. "I'm going to get something else to drink". I said, getting up and walking to the bar. On my way I looked again to (Y/N), who kept dancing sensually with the others.

My emotional and sexual frustration by now was killing me. I gestured to the bartender for another soda. Focused on my own misery I didn't realize when (Y/N) gave me a gentle knock in the ribs with an elbow.

“Hey Reid! Don't tell me you're going to drink alcohol…”. (Y/N) joked.

"No, just a soda. You know I'm the designated driver today…” I replied as I nervously tapped the surface of the bar with my fingers. (Y/N) in her obviously drunken state suddenly hung her arms around my neck.

“Sorry Reid, always… always… you end up being our watchman. You can't even have some funnnnn…” She sighed, resting her head on my chest.

"It's okay. Seeing you all drunk to the bone can also be some fun.”. I replied, daring to take her waist to prevent her from slipping to the floor. She sighed again.

"I think... I don't feel okay... oh my… I'm feeling drowned… Spencer, I feel sick… I’m very dizzy … I feel like… ”

"Come, let's go out for some air. That’ll make you feel better."

We left through one of the back doors of the bar. Once outside, the fresh air made (Y/N) feel somewhat more restored. "Better?" I asked her.

"Yeah… I guess. But despite how drunk I’m… because I know… I’m soooo drunk… It isn’t pleasant to see that couple fucking on that wall...".I looked in the direction of her finger pointing a wall and the couple there didn't even bother acknowledging our presence. I must say some envy awoke in me. I took (Y/N)'s hand and led her further away from the alley before I pointed to the sidewalk and we sat down.

"Now we don't have to look at them." I told her. (Y/N) nodded. Breathing more coolly, she looked at me with tears in her eyes and smiled.

"Thanks Spencer. I don't know why you have such patience with me…” Oh boy. The emotional moment of (Y/N). Despite that, my love didn’t give up even a single millimeter.

"You don’t have to thank me. That's why we’re… friends, right?” I replied, barely outlining a smile.

"Yes. But… I don't know… you are always beyond that… I feel like I don't deserve you Spencer…” Her sobs began to mix with hiccups.

“For you (Y/N), I’ll do everything I can. Always”. I said it in a sincere tone. I never expected after having said that, that she would throw herself towards me and start kissing me. After the initial stun, my head began to wonder if that was okay.

Her drunken state told me that it was wrong, but it felt so good to have her lips on mine - ignoring the smell of alcohol, of course. It only lasted a few seconds. She pulled away quickly, as if a wave of sobriety hit her abruptly.

"Sorry! ... Spencer, I’m sorry!... I didn't want..." She started to stutter and cry at the same time.

"Hey, no... don't apologize. It’s okay…” I tried to calm her down.

"I don’t know what happened... I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable..." She kept stammering, hiccupping and waving her hands in the air.

"It’s okay (Y/N), I don’t feel uncomfortable... Matter of fact, it’s the opposite." I was going to tell her; I couldn't take it anymore.

"No?..." Her confused face in another context would have made me laugh, but in that moment I was too busy being nervousing about confessing my love to a drunk woman.

"Well…". I took her hands and started stroking them gently. "For a long time I wanted to tell you... and I know we are friends, but I would like..." I had to clear my throat again. "What I mean (Y/N), is I love..."

Unable to finish the sentence, (Y/N) suddenly leaned into my lap, letting out an explosive puke on me. A second followed... and then a third.

The next day all she remembered was the dance floor, and the fact she emptied her stomach on me.

Third Attempt

I hate cases where unsubs try to escape. That always means a chase, and dramatically increases the probability of someone getting hurt. It was in Alabama, and the unsub had hidden himself in a barn. (Y/N) and I stepped in with our flashlights and weapons in search of him. J.J. and Luke were in the backup group.

What we didn’t expect was the bastard climbing onto an attic with his gun pointed at us. When I lit up his face with my flashlight and pointed at him with my gun, I only managed to shout "Stop! FBI!” before I heard a shot in my direction.

I felt a burning and intense pain near my face before falling to the floor. With another shot, (Y/N) struck him in the chest and the unsub fell to the floor.

Oh God, my body hurt a lot. I felt the blood run down my shoulder. The bastard had shot me in the neck! I was going to die in a filthy barn and without having ever declared my love to (Y/N). She quickly knelt down and tried to locate the source of the blood, pressing her hand to my wound.

"We need medics here!" She yelled frantically. I felt dizzy, and (Y/N)’s voice was further and further away.

Was I really going to die there? At least if that was going to happen, I had to tell her. "(Y/N) ..." I said to get her attention.

“No, no… no… don't speak Spencer, keep your eyes open, but don't speak. The paramedics are coming. Come on, squeeze my hand!"

"I have to tell...".I tried to speak but between the dizziness and the pain, I had trouble articulating words.

"Spencer, please. Listen to me. You're going to be fine… everything will be okay.” She tried to reassure me.

"I... love you..." I managed to say, trying to look her in the eye. She looked at me tenderly.

I said it! I said it! I could die in peace now, couldn’t I?

"Spencer, honey..." She said while stroking my hair. I closed my eyes and the paramedics came to check me. One of them asked (Y/N) what happened and how I was doing. She summed up the incident and finished off by saying between sobs, “Please do something. He is dying. He even started to rave."

Fuck!

Then I fell passed out and I don't remember anything else.

The Summary

I could keep on listing the times when I tried to tell her. None of them seemed to be the right moment. And when it did seem to be, something happened. Destiny definitely didn’t want my confession to come to light. So okay, I thought, maybe I should just keep it to myself forever.

One morning, I stepped in the conference room with my usual coffee in hand. There were Luke, Emily, Penelope, Tara, JJ and (Y/N). The conversation was about the latest BAU girls' night. I sat down, taking one of the files settled on the table and starting to leaf through it.

"No! In defense of (Y/N), I must say she was as calm as we were at the table when the guy approached to her.” Tara said.

"Ah, so there was no flirting?" Luke asked.

"Hey! Who do you think I am, Luke? We were there for girls' night, not to catch lovers." (Y/N) replied laughing.

"Of course, they didn't stop looking at each other all night..." Stated JJ with a giggle.

"No JJ! I don't know who you were looking at, but it wasn't me." (Y/N) defended herself. The conversation was inherently awkward for me at that point. I silently didn’t take my eyes off the file in my hands.

"Well, even if she did it, (Y/N) is a free woman and could have run away with whoever she wanted, right?" Luke had a point and that made my blood boil. I'm sure Prentiss noticed.

"Okay, but nothing happened in the end. The guy left and we kept drinking. And here we are, safe and sound.” Prentiss summarized, trying to end the conversation. My hands were sweating, and I looked sideways at (Y/N) who was giggling nervously. Prentiss was probably lying just because I was there.

“Oh yeah, but just before leaving he slipped you a piece of paper with his phone number. I'm sure you saved it in your contacts and called him later!” Penelope said directly to (Y/N), who didn't say anything back. Okay. I was fed up. This conversation had to end at that very moment. I closed the file and dropped it on the table with all the force of my frustration. I got up from the chair, clenching my fists and saying "Enough!" with my jaw clenched. Everyone in the room froze and stared at me in astonishment. Prentiss was the first to react.

"Okay, Luke, Tara, JJ Penelope... to my office. Now." Emily quickly left the room and the rest following her almost instantly. (Y/N) looked confused as the group left, then fixed her eyes on me.

"Spencer?... what's going on ?"

In silence, I closed the door of the room and leaned my back on it, crossing my arms over my chest looking at (Y/N). "You okay?"

"Not. I'm not okay. This is driving me insane.” I said, uncrossing my arms and scratching the back of my neck.

"Tell me, what's going on? Maybe I can help..." (Y/N) tried to get up from the chair to approach me.

"Just don't say anything, okay? I just need you to listen to me, and I need no one and nothing to interrupt me this time.” Just as a precaution I locked the door. (Y/N) opened her eyes with concern.

"Spencer, you're scaring me..." I just stared at her as she remembered I told her not to speak. "I’m sorry..."

“I'm going to start at the end, to make sure you hear it well. Okay?” I cleared my throat and continued speaking. “I love you (Y/N), I've loved you since practically the first day that you walked through this same door with Emily. And no, this goes beyond our friendship. Of course, I love being your friend. But that is no longer enough for me. Every time I see a man in your life, I feel something burning inside me. It hurts me deeply to see you suffer for some idiot who doesn't deserve you. I can’t take it anymore. I tried to tell you so many times, I think I’ve lost count. But if you never even considered the possibility, then I can't do anything else.

You don't even remember that you kissed me outside a bar! When I told you that I loved you while almost dying in a dirty barn, you thought I was delusional! Every time... every single time I thought I gave you signs, you either didn't see them or you didn't care. I don't know what hurts me the most, your blindness or your indifference. You’re a profiler like me! How is it possible that you never…? Damn it (Y/N)! The thing is, I can't live with this stuck inside me anymore. And I'm sorry if telling you all this ends up ruining our friendship, but not being honest with you seems so much worse now. And... and... since I told you this, I think you can go on with your day... Goodbye".

I pulled the lock and opened the door to leave the room. After my confession/outburst, I didn't even dare make eye contact with (Y/N). I was about to cross the threshold when one of (Y/N) 's hands slammed it shut again. I turned around and (Y/N)'s arms wrapped around my neck before she lifted on her feet and collapsed her lips against mine. My first reaction was to raise my hands and smash my back against the door. Stupid reaction, I don't even know why I did it.

That didn't stop (Y/N), who gripped my hair to keep our mouths together. Realizing what was happening, I took her by the waist and brought her as close as possible to me, emptying all my accumulated frustration into that kiss. I don't know how long we were like this.

Okay, yeah, I really do know. It was 2 minutes and 45 seconds. After that time, we both pulled away because we could hardly breathe.

"Wow... (Y/N)... what ...?" I tried to articulate some coherent phrase, but nothing else came out.

"Now you are going to listen to me." She said as she began to play with my tie between her fingers. “First of all: neither blindness nor indifference. Denial only. Spencer... I'm clear on all the times you tried to tell me. Really, even before I broke up with Robertson. Since the time we talked on the jet and I asked you if you were mad at me. I just wanted to deny it all this time. It’s stupid, I know, but I didn't want to hurt you. I was scared I would hurt you if I crossed that border of our friendship. And yes, I also remember the night at the bar. And when you got shot in the barn. I must insist, it was all to deny myself the possibility.

And here comes the second: I did it because I... I love you too. I have for a long time. Why didn't I do anything about it...? Well, it’s kind absurd now I think about it. I did nothing because I was afraid of ruining it. All my relationships end in disaster and I didn’t want that to happen to you. And if that meant locking myself out of the possibility of going further, I was willing to do that so I wouldn’t lose you…”

This time it was I who connected my lips with hers. It felt so good, so soft, and so warm. Not even my best dreams could compare to it. When we pulled back to catch our breath, we looked at each other and started talking at the same time.

"I’m so sorry Spencer... I never wanted you to feel like this..."

"I was waiting for the right moment..."

"If I knew how to compensate you for this..."

"(Y/N), if I had known..."

“What the hell Spencer, why we are so bad at our job…”

"We are the worst ... we should resign..." We both started laughing.

"Come here, Reid." She said, taking one of my hands and pulling me into a hug. "Could you forgive me for making you suffer all this time?"

She didn't need to ask me that. I would do anything for her.

"I let you puke on me... 3 times in one night. I think that exceeds all tolerance limits on my part, don't you think?"

She started to laugh, stifling the noise on my chest. It felt so good to have her this close, to be able to touch her.

"I love you (Y/N), so much." I said, stroking her cheeks and looking at her almost without blinking.

"I love you too Spencer. My friend, my partner… and now, my lover.” She replied, winking at me.

"Hey, that last one you still owe me... with interest due to all the time that’s already passed."

"Don’t worry, honey, you just have to hold on for a few more hours, and I assure you that we will catch up quickly".

———————

[punsandfuturekingsmen-archive]

Where all the other moments had been flashes, flipping between himself and not-him, this time was different.

When he was pulled under he was held there, drowning in a torrent of memories as they crashed against him, spinning him in their tumultuous tide and swirling around him in a foaming gush.

He was on the ground, outside purgatory. He floated as the ground fell so he didn’t fall, and could see a ancient castle beneath the earth where he had built his manor. He could hear the sound of beasts. He felt the way his heart panged as he hid the world beneath away, and built his manor again to reside in.

Suddenly he was holding his first Arthur. He felt the wrath burning at his skin and boiling him un-alive from the inside. He felt the way Arthur dangled by that prosthetic he had, where he held him aloft. And then he felt the metal tear and rip with a screech of protest, wires sundering beneath his strength, as he tore the arm from Arthur.

He felt something deep down. A hatred not for Arthur. But he ignored as Arthur ran away.

A flash*, colors swirling.

He was walking down one of the halls of his manor, deadbeats humming as the followed. His fingers brushed the locket he had hidden within his suit where it laid still, and he felt sadness seep over him as he brought it out, opened it to see himself with Vivi. Bone shifted to flesh and he could feel the shift as he changed, and he whispered words to her visage. She was his light of all lights that kept him lit. Kept him fighting. The words hung heavy on him, sapping away the green of him. But it returned as his memories turned from the content ones to those that made him what he is. He snarled, flames licking at him until he was skeletal again and stuffed the locket back in his jacket.

A flash*.

He was attacking one of the grey fae, the first time he had. His fist connected with a jaw. He heard a voice behind him, but his focus was zeroed in on the thing, a sneer and growl on his face and echoing out as he swung his hand out, and fire overtook the thing on the floor, until nothing remained but cinders. No Mercy.

Flash*.

Someone asked him about the moment in the cave. Why he had gone with him. He could feel an ache deep in his chest as he recounted. Arthur was scared, they wanted to go inside. Vivi was confident and Mystery could keep her safe. That he’d wanted to protect Arthur.

But something else tugged at his mind too. A thought of something that was almost warm, a question he’d had. But he pushed it away.

He looked away as he ended with Arthur’s betrayal, trying to keep the pain from leaving his chest.

Flash*

He was briefly alive by magic. And he was dying again. He was bleeding too heavy to save, the pain curling at his form and vision. Burns bubbled and lacerations sliced against his flesh. His hands were burned to numbness and his hair smelled awful, singed as it was. He could feel bones grind and the holes left in his body by jagged metal left him soaked in blood where they’d struck vitals. He collapsed as his knees stopped listening, and soaked the floor with a splattering, bloody cough. Old scars ripped with it, and he screamed until he couldn’t. He laid there then, left to die a slow death in the cold and dark.

*

Vivi was there now, standing in front of him. He could feel his rage frothing to white foam and a pain constrict his anchor as she screamed at him, looking up at him with intense and fiery eyes. They were her blue they were beautiful—

She wasn’t his and she screamed until the rage took him and he slammed his fist into the wall.

*

He was being asked a question again, something personal. He answered, soft. But he knew why. He wouldn’t be vulnerable. Not anymore.

*

Another death. His hand was seeping through ribs of another grey being, tearing them asunder with splayed fingers. He found their heart through the weeping injury. He laughed as he ripped it from the wound and squeezed it into nothing, even as a part of him recoiled.

*

The grey being had said He was cute. And that Arthur was. He protested before the rage seeped in, and he allowed the thing to know that Arthur was only a delight to see when he was sobbing underneath him, feeling as he rent Arthur’s flesh from bone and broke him apart with his own traitorous arm. Something twisted but he ignored it.

*

He saw himself this time. He recognized his earrings. Arthur-him was looking up at him, eyes wide and fearful but still trying to call  to him. But also afraid and backing away like the coward he was. His own arm snatched out to grab Arthur-him, but Arthur-him jolted away from it, crying out to him in a desperate voice, trying to appeal to him and continuing to back away. He continued to move forward after Arthur-him, aiming to grab that arm.

*

Vivi and him were clashing again. He touched her shoulders and she yanked away from him, anger across her face that reminded him she would never be his. The pain creased his face and softened his features as he offered an apology she didn’t believe.

*

He was before her again, and she was incanting at him, trying to banish him and send him away. He was too powerful, but Vivi doing that hurt more than anything, and he split at the seams, separating briefly under her magic until he managed to excruciatingly pull himself together. He could feel the mark on his forehead branding itself back into his skull over and over (he was screaming was he screaming it sounded far away--). The corruption had eased just long enough for him to be float there in shock.

And that pause had gotten Vivi hurt. Stabbed in the back.

He dealt with the thing he couldn’t even call Lewis with his fire. Then he collapsed to hold her, blood staining her blue too red he hated it so red it was his fault he should have protected her his fault she was hurt she might die—

He screamed her name, clutching her close, before using his powers to slow the blood flow. To warm her. Then he removed the knife, and felt a himself pierced as she had been, as his hand burned the wound closed and she screamed. He left the faint outline of his hand on her back.

She looked at him after, a smile on her face soft and grateful, and it made his chest jump, before she fell asleep in his arms. He clutched her close, holding her like the precious thing she was to him. But he couldn’t forgive himself for the mark he’d made, that would never truly leave her.

*

He was at Vivi’s bed, laying her down with meticulous care. His hand traced her face, brushing away stray blue strands of hair and his thumb running over her cheek. The thought she wasn’t his, would never be, came again. The thought she would hate him, and it cracked at him all over again. The words he whispered were both pained and loving, before he vanished again into the night.

*

(He knew. Someone had told him years before, and he knew about him. His feelings, though at the time more fleeting. There was something there, curdling under the surface, but mostly it was something vindictive and amused as he spoke. He felt sick in a distant way.)

*

Spectrum had snapped and it cut him to his anchor. But he ignored it to focus on the better Lewis. He was cupping spectrum’s face, as his love tried to hide the damage to his skull. Anger seethed at him, as he asked to know who had done this, and spectrum softly admitted while trying to brush it away. He didn’t allow him to. Him recounting what was hurting him, and how the cave had gone, when Arthur-him had been turned into a monster. (His heart constricted somewhere far away. He didn’t know this. Why didn’t he know this? The sick only clutched him harder.)

*

He had the woman who hurt Spectrum in his sites, The Shiromori yokai. His eyes were  ablaze until all he could see was green. His flames came out to consume her, the first letter of her name etched in the air.

*

Vivi apologizing, and his hands on her shoulders, not understanding it was for him, only feeling concern for her, pained at seeing her tears.

*

He was angry. He was upset that so many Lewis felt guilt over what they’d done to Arthur. The rage he felt at his death came back in full force, the loss of his family and the state of the bodies and coffins buried empty. He pushed for them to enjoy it, pushed loud, but even then his form twisted, chest constricting with a pang of guilt.

*

Vivi reaching out, but him pushing her away. He wasn’t good. He couldn’t hurt her. He was an unhappy ending, bound to happen.

*

Spectrum and Vivi both reaching out now, and his hatred of himself making him push them away, tell them he was alright and not to worry. Tell them they should leave, even when he didn’t want them to, because it was safer for them that way.

*

Again.

*

Again. So many he could make a montage of these moments.

*

He was in his manor now, hiding away and steeped in his pain and self-loathing. He refused to let his rage surface and now was alone, trying to contain it and keep all the others safe.

*

Him seated on the ground, ready for the other Lewis to strike him, almost wishing for it. He refused to fight even when they were angry, and he was ready to take the punishment he needed. At least it would make him feel alive.

*

Standing over Arthur-him, annoyed because he promised his friends not to touch him, and Arthur-him isn’t afraid. Arthur-him calling himself selfish, and him agreeing, before laying his threat at Arthur-him’s feet. That if something were to go wrong, he would do what he must for Spectrum and Vivi.

Arthur-him messing with his arm and admitting that maybe he didn’t know him too well. (It was a distant sound he didn’t react to, but a choked laugh, something pained, scratched at his memory). Arthur-him looked up at him and asked him to kill him if he needed to, to keep them safe.

He didn’t know how he felt on hearing that.

*

The wrath burning his skin he felt, finding that Vivi had been harmed, knowing his love was alive now and suffering, and that a demon had struck a deal with Arthur for a part of his soul. That Arthur had allowed it. It burned him and snapped the wavering control he’d managed thus far, leaving him aflame.

*

The rage in his chest boiled as he looked at Arthur-him where he was sitting on the bed. Weak. Just sitting there allowing this to happen. The green around them formed a cage, but Arthur-him didn’t try to run. He could feel the fear, but Arthur-him just sat there.

The thought of breaking every bone slid into his mind as he approached. The thought of leaving him on the floor crying and spending his last breaths. It felt so easy, and it tempted him over and over as he came closer. But something else was planned.

He called Arthur him what he was. A coward. A fool. Someone dooming everyone around him. He screamed the last of his words and his hand collected the front of Arthur-him’s shirt, dragging him to meet his gaze, Arthur-him now dangling. He made sure Arthur-him knew it was his fault.

Arthur-him only accepted it, pale face gaunt and exhausted. Arthur-him’s eyes turned wide as he held on to his fist, eyes seeming to glaze and he started to shake, tearing up but biting his lip. Arthur-him asked him to tell the others he loved them.

He told him to tell him himself, angry at how soft Arthur was but something else twisting too. He wanted to kill him, wished he could—he was sure he did. But he wouldn’t.

Instead his hang plunged in, into Arthur-him’s soul and burned it, burned every inch of it, inside and out. Leaving his mark on what was left of his weak little soul. He burned it through, both the outer edges and the inner core, leaving the Splatter Man’s mark behind.

It would protect Vivi and Spectrum, and that mattered to him most.

It upset him, when doing so and seeing the pain Arthur-him was in, didn’t satisfy. He didn’t enjoy it. It frustrated him in a way that was uncomfortable, but he waved it away, even if the feeling stayed simmering. It was because of the others.

He set him down gentle , and tore his collar, making a bottle of water and adding some to the cloth. He placed it on Arthur-him’s head before pushing the bottle in his hands too. Arthur-him looked up at him with glassed eyes. Arthur-him struggled to sit up and leaned against the wall. When he explained what he had done, Arthur was surprised to hear it would protect him.

He felt something pang watching him recover. He wasn’t pleased, wasn’t thrilled, and that feeling from earlier came back strong enough to pinpoint. Regret.

He answered. It had been his best option, to protect his friends….and it would keep Arthur safe. There wasn’t much, but a minor prick of warmth.

*

They were still talking. Arthur-him said something that made him appreciative, that Arthur-him understood why, and didn’t fault him. In a way that made him feel…not good. He was touching the damage to his suit and offering his thanks.

And then a bat collided with his skull.

It was one Spectrum had in hand. It hurt, and he struggled to get his skull back. Arthur-him fled quickly, leaving him with Spectrum, especially after hearing there was damage to his heart. The two of them started talking.

*

The moment he found out Lewis had been nearly killed by Vivi. The pain and guilt he felt, knowing the warpath she was on was because of him. The very idea he’d placed himself in the line of fire burned, and it only worsened knowing his own actions had been why.

*

Arriving at the place where he’d nearly been killed, and finding him. Placing his deadbeat in the other’s locket despite their soft initial protest, and feeling pain arc through his form. But he pressed on, watching with bated breath as remained still. Fear pricked at him that perhaps he’d been too late, until with a glassy grinding noise, the locket began to beat. Lewis Pepper took his second first breath, and he stayed between pain and relief. He stood on shaky legs, guilt that this was his doing beginning to itch at all of him. He’d made the choice he had with Arthur, he’d upset Vivi with it, and Lewis had been caught in the crossfire. He touched his skull and it ached where Spectrum had hit him. But he knew Vivi would do worse. But he almost accepted it, in a grim way.

The guilt continued to rise, the pain of his sacrifice still affecting him, but oh so worth the cost.

*

Someone asked what he planned to do. He answered true. That he would accept his punishment. He would allow her to hurt him, if it brought her back. He would never hurt Vivi. But if it made her feel better, he would take her anger, no matter what it did to him. He almost felt like he wanted it, to be punished That he deserved it after what he had done (the sensation was so familiar that his far-away body jammed with needles).

*

He was told Arthur-him was in trouble. Something tugged at him, but he tried to ignore it. He stayed with Spectrum, watching him rest. When Spectrum woke he moved closer, before jerking himself back. He felt small for once, nervous and fearful for Spectrum.

Spectrum insisted on going to Arthur-him and Vivi, but he tried to stay adamant, the thought of losing someone else who mattered curdling his insides in the worst way, and for now he listened. Spectrum tried to make him promise not to see Vivi, but he refused to give his word, knowing it might be inevitable. The thought of why, of his action that he’d taken, made the guilt drop his shoulders. The consequences were his doing alone (he wanted to protest, to tell Lewis it wasn’t true—but the words would do nothing here, and were locked away now as it was).

He paused in his conversation as it continued to insisting Spectrum eat and drink. He frowned at the feeling of something distant, but shook his head, focusing on his love. Spectrum didn’t seem happy without his word but accepted it, just like he had accepted if Spectrum must go, that he wouldn’t try to force him not to. They held each other.

The sensation grew worse, but he still tried to ignore it. He didn’t care. He didn’t. It was because of the others.

He pretended it sounded true when he thought it.

They were still speaking, him feeling the tired exhaustion of his sacrifice to his bones. The piece of his soul missing was painful, and the emotions he kept stowed and contained to focus on the others was hitting its threshold. He still kept it tamped down (and oh, the irony of that he felt to his own core, as the thought crossed their mind). He pretended it wasn’t hurting him, to make Spectrum feel at ease.

*

The feeling was getting stronger, and he pushed back against it. He didn’t care. He didn’t care—he didn’t-- Arthur didn’t—

He felt something make his core freeze, and he returned to his skeletal form. Fuck. Fuck he did—

He yelled for Spectrum to get running, and vanished in a haze of vibrant green flame.

*

Pain lanced up his arm, where the bat had struck him. He stood over Arthur-him, before herding Vivi back. Acting as a barrier between the two. He didn’t know why. He told himself and Arthur-him it was for Spectrum.

Then he focused on Vivi. On being that shield, ready to take her rage and allow her to mark hi with it and her bat. Arthur could reach her. He trusted that (his stomach fluttered and he hated himself for it). He told Arthur he had a plan, and Arthur-him trusted him without a second thought. It was hard to tell if he liked that or loathed it after everything.

*

It was working. The plan was working. He kept Vivi busy, kept her from Arthur while he called to her, appealed to Vivi. He did the same, trying to keep her bat from injuring him.

And then she’d slipped through his defense, going after Arthur-him again with a blow he couldn’t survive. He wondered why he was worried—this could be what he wanted. But the thought barely left him before he was in front, pushing Arthur away, yelling as he did. Arthur-him hit the ground, safe, but his chest was struck. He felt agony the reminding him of his moment with the Splatter Man the knife had sunk into his chest.

His voice was a wild scream as it loosed from him, and he felt his form twist and shift to his living one. His heart was broken it hurt so much.

He was down on his knee now, holding up his arm as a feeble defense. He was weeping, open from the pain, all of it, body and soul. He called to Vivi still despite that, in a voice that didn’t echo. He could feel himself fading. His vision was darkening, still in pain from earlier and now this. He felt like he was falling apart, but seeing Vivi fight back gave him the strength to call to Arthur-him to keep trying. Something coppery filled his mouth as he finished the request, and he coughed a splatter of it out onto the earth. His suit faded to the clothing he’d worn as he died.

He tried to stand on legs that wobbled and threatened to snap, but he still reached for Vivi.

It hurt again, and he was so weakened, that the next blast sent him to the ground. He laid against the earth, feeling his blood begin to spread beneath him. The holes that formed, the wounds he’d suffered in death, hurt (feeling them again hurt nonono Lewis you didn’t deserve this--).

Blood ran down his face, and he could feel it welling in his throat before he coughed. It dribbled down over his cheek. He could feel himself beginning to lose himself to shock, going numb and brain slowing. He fought to stay though, knowing he was needed.

Chains were on his arms but he hardly felt them, He saw Vivi above him, felt the kick that made him wince and cough. His bones ground together as her heel found his chest, blood seeping from his injury. He couldn’t understand her now. She was too garbled.

But he still told her how beautiful she was, as her bat raised up.

*

There was confusion when Arthur-him stopped it. But it quickly turned to a will to keep going, even if he knew Vivi was not his and the words reminded him like another bat to his heart. He was in pain, shattered, but he found his feet, held fast behind Arthur, and the two together, through every excruciating second, reached her. He consumed the spirit, and snapped at Arthur-him to go. To take Vivi away. But Arthur was stubborn and refused not to come back. He tried to tell Arthur-him he was fine. He always was. And he tried to sound cold. He didn’t need help.

It was annoying. He should be focused on Vivi, not him.

And then Vivi was blaming herself and it hurt (hurt a second time). He wanted to reach out with everything, but after all he’d caused, he couldn’t allow himself. He drew back, but pled with her to realize the truth. It wasn’t her fault.

It was his.

He couldn’t hold it together much longer. He tried to make them go. His chest dived when Arthur-him said his name, striking him hard (he didn’t know—he didn’t know. He wouldn’t do it if it hurt he didn’t know--). But in a gruff voice he ordered them gone. Fucking Arthur-him had to keep Vivi okay and alive. He fucking hated the concern, hated it from Arthur of anyone. He barely had the energy to be angry, but he was. They were both saying his name now and it was knives on him and finally he shifted, returning to his suit to hide his dying form, hoping that was enough for them to stop. He could feel blood seeping through the fabric but he ignored it.

He finally allowed Arthur to come back. They would get Vivi safe and to the better Lewis. He demanded they go, and when they complied finally, he watched before smiling. They were better off. They were all better off, and he’d done something…good.

He formed something to hide his body, and he collapsed with the sound of breaking glass into a hollow, lifeless heap.

*

Arthur came back to get him and brought him home. And then Arthur-him kept coming back. It was infuriating. He had Spectrum and Vivi to take care of! He’d be fine alone! Like he always was! What was the stupid man doing, being here and giving him gifts? Smiling at him like that was acceptable? What was he doing being here when they others needed attention too?

*

He couldn’t see Vivi—he couldn’t. She needed time, she wouldn’t want to see him, it was his fault she was like this, his fault she was hurt. He couldn’t see her, even if others needled him to. He couldn’t.

He was…. Afraid.

*

They were needling, the grey beings, and it hurt this time. They were right. He regretted it. He regretted what he did. He knew why but he hated it.

Maybe he should stay away. Maybe it was safer for everyone (the though cut at something deep and hidden).

He closed his manor doors, and all the lights went out as the doors locked.

He was dangerous. This was for the best.

*

Spectrum wouldn’t leave him alone. He was here, and honestly it was nice. He felt horrible, selfish, for wanting it, but his company was something, and he held them as they rested together, hating himself for how much he loved it.

*

Arthur asked for a kiss, and he was pissed. How could he? It was magical in nature, forced, but he could he ask for that? The knife in his back twisted at the thought (he’s sorry, he’s so sorry) as Arthur even asked. But he still held out his hand. He ignored Arthur’s grateful look.

*

His father was ill. His father was sick and they were telling him to go to him. But how could he? He was a monster. It was….. it was better this way. If he didn’t. He couldn’t hurt them anymore.

*

It was new years. He was healed now, in body, but his soul still echoed his pain in the fractures along his locket. The wouldn’t have happened if he saved Arthur. Why had he? He did care for some reason. Maybe how much it would have cost Vivi and Spectrum. But the damage was done.

His hand on the heart squeezed. It leaked with his power, but the damage made it harder to contain. His anger was consuming him, rage screaming over logic. He was hurting people. Ones he never wished to.

His fingers found the wall with strike, and he shoved the locket away into the dark. He would maintain control. He had to.

Unless it came to those who earned his wrath.

*

Lewis showed, returning his deadbeat now that he was healed. He almost wanted to refuse it, to tell Lewis to keep the deadbeat longer. But Lewis insisted in a way he couldn’t argue. He took it back with only a slight frown.

*

Vivi had showed, recovered as well as she could be. Her presence had shocked him after the converasation he’d been having with a creature. She laughed and it hurt so much, how long it’d been since he heard it.

He told her she shouldn’t be here. But she didn’t. She drew closer and the tension and fear pounded against him. She was so stubborn. He loved her for it but he couldn’t he shouldn’t she wasn’t his—

He noticed her clothing, and he paused. He wanted to reach out and his hand even twitched to, but he held it back.

She was crying now. She told him it was her. He showing herself as she was, with not barriers between them. She was hurt, scarred (so scarred he hadn’t even seen all of these). She choked on her words but forced them. She wanted him to stop leaving. She wanted him to stop hiding. And so in exchange… she wouldn’t hide from him. She was laying herself bare.

He felt himself cringe watching her cry. It cut him to his soul, leaving him lost for words. She had so much weight she kept hidden, so much she carried she let no one see.

Glass broke as she did. He took off his coat, resting it over her. He could only apologize. Tell her he never wanted her hurt. That… he was scared. And the apology came again. He was honest, vulnerable in way he seldom if ever was.

He was so locked in his thoughts, it jarred him when her fingers brushed against the skin of his face, wiping at his own tears. She was smiling at him now. Forgiving him. Her forehead touched his.

She called him by Lewis again and it made his chest tighten. Did he have a right to be Lewis? He wasn’t like any other. He was something corrupted and changed.

It felt wrong. Wrong for her to be this close. Wrong for her to say that name and to touch him. He felt walls crumbling, an internal scream to get away screeching on repeat. He had to remind her. He wasn’t her Lewis. He was alone. She deserved better than this. Better than him.

His hands shook as he too hers, curling them over hers where they framed her face. The temptation was so heavy, weighing him down. But he had to be strong. She shouldn’t want this.

But she did. He almost didn’t want her to, but she did. And she kept speaking. And she went to say-

It scared him and he tried to stop her—he begged even, afraid of the words that might leave afraid of what they might mean. His stomach was in his knees and his heart beat faster, thumping and damaged. He was shaking, knowing what was coming, And when she screamed them and he was falling, sliding down where he couldn’t stop. He shifted again, something living but between Splatter and Lewis.

He had her against the wall in a beat, and he ached until his lips found—

*

Another grey being. He held it in his hands, tempted to stop holding back. His family had been told of his death, and it was the one thing he didn’t want for them. He lost it, finally, and his fist crushed them into paste, burned until blacked ash when he was done.

*

He was filling up up up—up with too much so much he couldn’t breathe he didn’t need to but all this power was everywhere, and holding it back was so tiring. It hurt. Was he even him anymore? Could he be when this was turning him into a monster, no matter how he tried?

*

Thud

Thud

Thud—

Stop hitting him. Stop it wasn’t good. It wouldn’t end well please stop he didn’t want to hurt him please—

Thud

Thud

Enough.

*

Regret.

It pounded against him as he panted, looking down at the Lewis he had nearly destroyed. He cried out, feeling himself twisting around and lurching, before leaving. What had he done? Why had he done that? How could he? Was he Lewis if he fell to those moments? Could he even be a good man anymore?

Maybe he was just a monster.

*

Lewis was yelling. He cared, but he just stayed calm. Regret soaked him like gasoline and he was burning and nearly on fire for it. The words he said carried a finality because… it was. He was not safe. He needed the others away.

He placed his locket in Lewis’s hands. He would see what happened. Maybe he’d be free from this finally.

The grip began to tighten, growing tighter and then—

*

Lewis was on the ground and he was scared. He lifted him up, running, trying to find anyone who could help. Lewis told him how he had scared them, and he felt a pang a guilt.

But he would do—

*

Someone asked him if he felt things for Arthur. Pain trickled through as he whispered the truth. He was a better man, once.

The recounting was painful. He loved them. He did. Surely what happened was his fault when things had changed. And then he died. And now… a family seemed impossible. He wouldn’t bind them to his own fate.

*—

He was in the woods. He was crying he was bleeding he felt like he was dying—

He was him.

He made it. Arthur sobbed a ragged breath in the grass, heaving and shaking, filled with agony and relief. Everything was painful everything was so much it hurt it hurt he just—.

His eyes dimmed and then closed, and Arthur passed out.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Christmas at the Museum

Summary: Ahkmenrah discovers the traditions of Christmas, and Y/N gets him a special gift.

A/N: This is SO disgustingly fluffy that it may actually kill you. I made five incoherent noises of cute as I wrote it, so be warned. 

A/N II: I’m still working on requests ☺️ The muse bit, and I just HAD to get this one written. 

“We can’t put the Christmas tree in your display.”

“Behind the wall—no one will see.”

“People walk all through your display during the day. They are going to notice a Christmas tree.”

“But I want one just for us! I do not wish to share the big one in the lounge.”

“You sound like a—"

“Call me a brat and you will face my wrath, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ahkmenrah’s frustration, knowing damned well he was all bark and no bite now that he didn’t have an empire at his fingertips to command.

“We have the tree at my place, too. That tree’s just for us.”

Ahkmenrah looked at you for a long moment before sighing, “I suppose you are right.”

“I am known to be on occasion. Besides, don’t you want to know what magical Christmas tradition I have planned for us this evening?”

Ahk’s posture straightened and for a moment, you were reminded he was once a king—still, technically, a king.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice barely able to contain the awe despite its authoritative lilt.

“Gingerbread houses!”

Ahkmenrah turned, his golden cape flashing as he ran to the notebook he kept in a secret compartment under his sarcophagus. He flipped through the pages and jogged back, practically shoving the notebook under your nose.

“Yes,” you giggled as you lowered the notebook and looked over his notes and illustrations on Christmas Tradition #52. “That’s the one.”

“This one looks most complex,” Ahk said as he pressed his lips together and reexamined his notes.

“Don’t you trust me? Haven’t we pulled off at least some version of every tradition you’ve researched so far?”

Ahkmenrah looked up again and narrowed his eyes, mentally tallying the results of each of your efforts.

“Tradition 15 did not go so well,” Ahk said quietly, his mouth turning down as he remembered the attempt to form a group of Christmas carolers. After rehearsing for a few hours, you hit the streets only to be heckled as Atilla belted out “Silent Night” in a very broken version of English and in a very gruff voice that startled most of the passersby.

“But what about Tradition—” you trailed off and grabbed Ahkmenrah’s notebook, quickly flipping back a few pages—“Tradition 23. A kiss under the mistletoe?”

Ahk looked up with a wicked grin, his eyes clouding with desire as he pulled the notebook out of your hands and tossed it on the floor. He grabbed your waist and pulled you directly against him, not a breath between you.

“I think that was my favorite,” he growled before kissing you with the same intensity as the night you tried Tradition 23. The mistletoe kiss had led to such a raucous bout of lovemaking that no less than five of the exhibits walked by the storage closet and yelled for you to keep it down.

You probably should have waited to explain mistletoe at your apartment.

And now, you were once again minutes deep into a kiss with Ahk, his hands roaming your body and yours mirroring him, grasping his ass with one hand while the fingers on your other pressed into the back of his head—

“Hey!” Larry interrupted. “What is it with you two? Mistletoe again?”

You and Ahk broke apart, hazy and not quite remembering that you were standing in the middle of his exhibit.

You cleared your throat, swiped at your mouth, and smoothed back your hair.

“Right. Gingerbread. Kitchen. Thanks, Lar. Off we go,” you said as you grabbed Ahk’s wrist and yanked him forward.

The kitchen was perhaps the most festive of all the rooms in the museum, the daytime staff wondering at first if they’d been the butt of a practical joke but instead of tearing down the gaudy decorations, they succumbed to the Christmas spirit and added even more of their own.  

Christmas lights of all shapes and sizes were winking around the steel countertops as the museum’s night-time occupants spread out to gather up their icing and their candy decorations. The gingerbread houses ranged from the extra-large to the traditional to the tiny—you were sure to include something for everyone.

As much as you wanted to sit with Ahk and make a house together, you ended up acting in the role of a teacher as you walked around to help everyone avert a crisis. You sighed and sent a longing look in Ahkmenrah’s direction as you fished out one of Jeb’s cowboy friends who was nearly drowning in a vat of icing.

Ahk was meticulously lining his perfectly constructed gingerbread house with gumdrops alternating in a green, white, and red pattern. His tongue was poking out and his brow was furrowed, but what caught your attention was the streak of white icing on his jaw, just under the corner of his mouth.

You smiled and made your way over to him, letting out a sigh of exasperation as you sat down for the first time that evening. He glanced at you and flashed a quick grin before returning to lining his rooftop.

“You’ve got a bit of icing,” you said, leaning into him and pressing your lips to the sticky mess, “right here.”

A red gumdrop fell from Ahk’s fingertips as you nibbled along his jaw.

“The mistletoe incident was quite enough of that, thank you very much,” Lewis said as he leaned over to pluck some M&Ms out of a dish.

“Quite right, Y/N. We’re all happy Ahk has a somebody but try to reign in the open displays of affection,” Clark added, surveying his crooked house before deciding that licorice might make it look a little less haphazard.  

“Americans. Brits. You are all so squeamish when it comes to exhibiting fondness,” Ahkmenrah muttered as he cocked a critical eye at his gingerbread house.  

“Probably because they’re all so old.”

Ahkmenrah gave you a pointed look.

“They are old? What does that make me?”

“You know what I mean!” you laughed. “Ancient Egyptians were more socially ahead of the times than the oh-so-enlightened ‘modern’ civilizations that cultivated my society.”

“Quite right,” Ahk said as he turned to you, clutched your chin with sticky fingers, and kissed you.

Lewis and Clark sighed in defeat as Ahk returned to his gingerbread house, carefully shaking iridescent sprinkles over the roof of his house to make it look like fresh-fallen snow.

“I think they’re both just jealous of your perfect gingerbread house,” you said, shooting them a wink as Ahkmenrah beamed with pride.

* * * * *  

Before you knew it, the hushed anticipation of Christmas Eve had fallen over the occupants of the museum. You had all agreed that everyone would “sleep” until midnight, and at 12:01 am, you would wake up as if it were Christmas morning, which technically, it really was.

Many of the museum’s occupants, including Ahkmenrah, had bunked together in the lounge with the Christmas tree, making Larry’s job of playing Santa Clause rather difficult. It didn’t help that Nicky wanted to open his presents at the museum, too, so while Larry was struggling to very quietly place presents under the tree, you snuck off to Ahk’s exhibit to work on your surprise.

You were reluctant to leave his present alone for long, but after checking on it for the tenth time, it was 11:55 pm and you had to get back before you were missed.

Nicky was already “waking up” everyone in the lounge by the time you got back. Ahkmenrah gave you a curious glance, but his attention was diverted by the pile of presents under the tree. It truly did look like a magical scene, especially to see the displays dressed up in varying degrees of Christmas outfits.

Ahkmenrah and you were dressed in matching pairs of dark green pajamas patterned with tiny reindeer. However, someone had thought he needed to look more Christmassy and had adorned his curly hair with a bobbling headband that had a pair of red and green ornaments attached to the top.

You smiled to yourself as you watched the bobbles moving while Ahk helped Nicky locate all his gifts, the two of them laughing over the fact that Santa Clause had managed to find his way to the museum so early in the night.

As soon as you were able, you pulled Ahkmenrah away from the chaos and up to his exhibit.

“What is this about, Y/N? I have not yet even given you—I mean you have not yet opened your present from Santa.”

“Only Nicky believes in Santa, Ahk. Well, Atilla and Jeb probably do, too. Anyway, I did a thing—just trust me.”

You stopped right outside of the opening to Ahkmenrah’s exhibit and asked, “Close your eyes?”

He gave a lopsided grin and complied. You took his hand and led him into the exhibit.

“Open.”

You watched, a smile on your face, as Ahkmenrah’s eyes reflected the white lights of a little Christmas tree all decorated in golds and silvers to match the hieroglyphs that adorned the walls of his display.

Underneath the tree was a single, mid-sized present, wrapped in golden paper. However, the present couldn’t remain quiet and a tiny, warbling “mew” emitted from the box beneath the tree.

“Damnit,” you said under your breath, but Ahkmenrah’s mouth had already dropped open as he shot you a glance.

“Y/N,” he whispered, rushing to the tree and dropping to his knees as he reached for the box with shaky hands.

He pulled back, looking to you for permission, and you quickly nodded, biting your bottom lip to stifle your grin.

“MEW!” came the box, this time much more insistent.

Ahkmenrah’s head whipped back in the direction of the golden present, the bobbles on his headband almost rotating in a circle from the ferocity of his movement.

He scooted a little closer to the box before gently lifting the lid. You took a few steps forward, your hand over your mouth as you watched.

Ahkmenrah leaned over and just as he lined himself up parallel to the opening, a tiny, grey, furry head poked up over the edge of the box and looked up, taking in his new owner.

Ahk greeted the little kitten in ancient Egyptian, speaking softly before he offered the little guy his hand to sniff. The kitten reached out, his dark nose touching Ahkmenrah’s proffered hand.

“Mew,” he once again stated.  

Ahk made a strangled noise in his throat before turning to look at you again.

“It’s a little boy, and yes, he’s yours—I thought you might like an heir,” you said chuckling as you kneeled next to Ahk and looked into the box.

“He’s mine?”

“All yours. I’ve worked it out with Rebecca and the museum is excited to have a ‘museum cat.’ Apparently, it’s all the rage now. Aaand you know I’m here during the day at work, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on him until you wake up. We want to keep him in this area, though, until he gets big enough to roam on his own.”

“Oh, Y/N. How did you know?”

“I listen, Ahk. To everything you say. I tried my best to find a kitten that looked like yours.”

“He does,” Ahkmenrah said, his eyes a little misty as he watched his new kitten climb out of the box.

“What are you going to name him?”

“That will require some thought,” Ahk said as he shifted his position and the kitten crawled onto his lap, mewing intermittently.

You smiled and watched him pet the little ball of grey, his eyes 4,000 years away. You hung back and watched the pair bond, smiling softly and thinking about how nice it would be for Ahk to have something of his own.

“You’re in love,” you said, smirking.

Ahkmenrah looked up and held your gaze, his eyes serious.

“I am,” he said with a finality that made you straighten up, and you knew he wasn’t talking about his Christmas present.

You swallowed, your tongue too heavy to form words.

“Thank you. I’ll never forget this Christmas,” Ahkmenrah said. 

“You mean the past 25 days of Christmas?”

Ahk chuckled, “Have they not been magical?”

“Every day—well, night—with you is magical.”

“I would kiss you but Azizi is so comfortable.”

“Azizi? That was fast.”

“It means something akin to your word for ‘precious.’ And nothing is more precious to me than you, Y/N, so it is only fitting that what you have given me holds the same status.”

“You’re too good for this world, Ahkmenrah. How did I get so lucky?”

“Well, 4,000 years ago, my brother stabbed me in the heart—”

“Too dark for Christmas, my love,” you said laughing softly and moving to sit next to Ahkmenrah, your body snuggled next to his as you reached over to stroke the softly purring Azizi.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @akai-coat!

Read on AO3

******

Be Still my Foolish Heart (Don't Ruin this for me)

Chapter 1

Alec stared at the green and gold invitation with the words ‘You are invited to the wedding of Lorenzo Rey and Andrew Underhill’ written in cursive in front of him with contempt. It seemed to be the source of all his suffering since he got it exactly 14 hours and 23 minutes ago. Oh God, he would have to go, wouldn’t he?

Most of the people in the coffee shop stayed away from him. He did look quite intimidating with his piercing blue eyes that looked like they were going to burn a hole into your heart and all black clothes (but don’t blame him—he was having a bad day, okay?).

Ah, yes. His coffee. He needed his coffee. He sighed, even though he’d ordered it over fifteen minutes ago, it still wasn’t here. He could barely keep his eyes open without it, and for a good reason. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, stressing over the invitation and a mostly useless conversation with his sister and her girlfriends. (“What should I do, Izzy? Lorenzo invited me to his wedding. To Underhill.”

“Andrew Underhill and Lorenzo Rey?” She had asked incredulously over the phone. “Your ex and your former best friend? They’re together?” He confirmed it, hoping she wouldn’t freak out. Instead, she laughed. “Maia, Clary!” she had yelled “Get over here!”)

He loved his sister (he was still getting used to Clary though and Maia was pretty cool) but he hadn’t needed her telling him that he needed to get a date or he was just going to look pathetic. He already knew that, thank you very much.

But he didn’t know anyone who could be his date. The only other gay or bi/pan man he knew was Simon Lewis. And both Lorenzo and Underhill knew that Simon was still going strong with his brother, Jace.

Or he could, you know, just not go. “And look like you’re still hung up on Lorenzo?’ A voice in his head said. “Suck it up, Lightwood. You’re going.” By the Angel, his life sucked.

“One caramel Frappuccino for Alexander Lightwood! Extra sugar!” The woman called.

Magnus Bane was not having a terrible morning. His ex, Lorenzo Rey, had just invited him to his wedding (and he didn’t have anyone to go with), his cat ran away (third time this week but it was frustrating) and he was suffering from a monster hangover. And he couldn’t even magic it away because it was wolfsbane he took in at Cat’s last night. And wolfsbane makes magic weak.

He doesn’t even remember why he chose it.

So yes, he was in a bad mood. And, yes, he was currently in line to get coffee at an actual coffee shop because, again, he couldn’t magic some into his hands. “Your order sir?” the lady at the counter asked. He gave her a blank stare. Why was he here again? “You’re holding up the line, sir,” she said, annoyed.

“Ah yes!” he said, snapping back. Coffee. Hangover. He remembered now. “One black coffee for Magnus Bane, please.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Coming right up, sir. That’ll be five dollars.”

He fished for his credit card, just as the woman shouted, “One caramel Frappuccino for Alexander Lightwood! Extra sugar!”

Magnus’ blood froze. Alexander Lightwood? The Alexander Lightwood? In this coffee shop? Probably with his life together, married to Lydia something with three kids, judging Magnus for the dark circles and shitty apartment? That one? No, no. It could be some other Alexander lightwood. He tried not to turn, staying frozen. And, yeah, he’s not weak, he can handle another ex. He’s Magnus bane for god- He turns. What can he say—he’s weak. Yeah it’s definitely that Alexander Lightwood.

Well, shit.

Alec stood up to get his coffee, taking the paper with him so he could throw it away. Finally. No more tired…? Was that a sentence? She handed it to him, and he took it gladly. He took a sip and-

“Uh, hey Alec.”

He recognised that voice. But it couldn’t be-

“Magnus,” he said, “how are you? Why are you here?” He internally winced. That came out wrong. “I-I meant, uh, can’t you just… magic coffee into your hands?’ Magnus gave him an awkward smile. “Yeah, usually, but, um, wolfsbane.” “Oh, yeah, that sucks.” It was silent and just as Alec was about to go back to his table, Magnus spoke up. “So I noticed the invitation in your hands…”

Magnus felt his face heat up. ‘I noticed the invitation in your hands’? How had he ever been with someone like Alec if he couldn’t even manage to not embarrass himself every five minutes. This was a mistake. A big mistake. But, at least, even if Alec said no, nothing would change. They would go back to pretending the other didn’t exist.

“I got one too.”

Alec looked confused. “That’s nice?”

“I don’t have a date and I assume that you don’t either.” This was going worse than he hoped. It just sounded like he was mocking him. Someone kill him. Now. And then he said it.

“What I’m saying is, can you go with me?”

Alec blinked. What. Was. Happening.

“Uh... could you repeat that?” He asked.

“Can you be my fake date?” Magnus repeated. His heart sank. Of course Magnus had meant it that way. He didn’t have feelings for Alec (even if Alec did). This would just be pretend. But this was the closest he was going to get on ever acting out on those. He should think this through, instead he just said, “Yeah, sure. Do you have my phone number?”

His headache forgotten, Magnus smiled. His heart was doing strange things. It jumped around in his chest, did a little jig, probably died for a few minutes and then came back only to squeal.

Somehow, his immense stupidity hadn’t scared off the (former) love of his life. He’d blurted out a completely random suggestion in the heat of the moment, and ALEXANDER FREAKIN LIGHTWOOD took him up on it. He had managed to secure a date to his ex’s wedding with another one of his exes. It was a fake date, of course, and would only last for the duration of that wedding, but still. This was the closest he would get to being with the only person he's ever been truly serious about.

He beamed at the man in front of him. “Uh-huh, text you the details later? I gotta leave right now…”

Alec smiled back. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes YES. He could barely contain his excitement. “That’s cool. Bye!” he said, trying to not sound like he was going to die of happiness any moment now as Magnus gave him one last wave before walking out.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Magnus: Hi

Magnus: it's me

Magnus: bane, I mean

Magnus: wanted to ask; are we still up for the fake dating thing?

Alec: Hi

And yeah, lol

Magnus

Cool! Want to go suit shopping tomm? I get free at five.

Alec: Yeah, that's fine with me! Luke's shop?

Magnus: sure!

Magnus sighed. It was time for suit shopping.

“Well, how do I look?” Alec questioned, straightening his tie in front of the mirror. He was wearing a white dress shirt and fitted dark blue pants along with a navy blazer. He didn’t look quite bad, if he said so himself.

(Honestly, he wished he didn’t have to spend money on these suits but he didn’t really have any at home and no way in hell was he asking his father for one.)

He turned, showing it off. “Magnus?” he asked. The warlock hadn’t replied yet, staring at him intently.

“Huh?” said warlock asked. “What?”

Alec wondered if maybe Magnus had been admiring him, and then told his mind to shut up because of course he wasn’t.  

“I asked if this was fine?” he repeated.

“You look good,” Magnus said. “Really good. I think this is the one.”

He grinned and Magnus gave him his sunshine smile in return the one that could light up the whole room.

“You’re not buying one?” Alec wondered as they walked out.

Magnus shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “I have one at home. If I add a bit of glitter to it, it’ll be perfect.”

Alec laughed and Magnus almost banged into a sour looking businessman.  He missed that laugh. That wonderful laugh.

“I assume that ‘a bit’ means a lot?”

“Always,” Magnus said.  “Glitter forever.”

Alec snorted. “That sounds like one of those slogans you’d find on a top from H & M.”

“Hey! I like H & M. Most of their dresses are my size and don’t get me started on those soft sweatshirts.”

“Okay,” Alec said. “Okay.”

Oh my god, he was in a rom-com, wasn’t he?

Magnus:

We need a story

Alec;

What

Magnus:

In case anyone asks how we got back together

Alec:

Can’t we just tell them that we never broke up???

Alec:

Pretty sure rey and underhill didn’t even realise

Magnus:

I dont think thats how it works.

I've read a lot of fanfiction, you know, you should trust me

Alec:

Fine. but you come up with it

Magnus:

We met at a coffee shop and rekindled our love for each other???

Alec:

That works

Magnus:

K

Alec:

K

Magnus:

hey i’ve gotta go right now cat’s calling

Magnus:

Bye ;)

Alec held the phone to his heart. His heart was beating way too loudly over something not even remotely romantic or important. He was such a fool.

Magnus:

Hey

Magnus: So I just realised

Magnus:

That the date is actually the 27th

Alec:

Ummm, yeah???

Magnus:

Which is tomorrow

Alec:

and?

Magnus:

I thought it was on the 2nd

Of jan

Alec:

But you don’t have any plans tomm right???

Magnus:

No??? But it’s surprising?

Alec stared at the phone with a small smile. Gods, Magnus was cute. And he missed him, really missed him. But that didn’t matter, because it was never going to happen.

Magnus had made that very clear when they’d broken up. But, if he was being honest, he would go through all of that pain again just got to say “I love you” to Magnus once more.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Alec:

I’m outside your apartment

Magnus:

So come inside?

Alec:

I can't

Magnus:

It's only polite

“Welcome,” Magnus said, gesturing around, “to my humble abode.” It was messy, to say the least. Clothes were thrown around everywhere, Alec could hear meowing from… somewhere. The vents, maybe?

But Magnus- Magnus was gorgeous. He was, as promised, covered in glitter. He had some blue paint around his hair, but not the face paint kind but stripes. He had had his beard trimmed and his eyes weren't concealed like they usually were. No, they were the gold cat eyes that Alec had fallen for.

And would fall for again, a million times over.

“Drinks?” Magnus asked, pouring a glass for himself.

“Don’t you want to save it for later?” Alec smirked. “I don’t think either of us will get through the wedding without a few shots.”

“If we can survive through that in an hour,” Magnus said, “we can survive this right now.”

That was dumb, but fair.

Okay so maybe it was more dumb than fair.

Alec was drunk. Very drunk. And they were late. Very late.

“Alec, Magnus,” Lorenzo greeted them, a huge grin on his face.

Magnus tried to smile back vut Alec tripped, falling on Lorenzo and then giving him a hug.

“Hey,” he said, his voice was weirdly high-pitched. “I’m happy for you, man. Happy. Very happy. That you both are getting married.” He paused. “I mean, I would have been happier if the reason you two had gotten together wasn’t you cheating on me with him, my best friend since I was three years old, on christmas, two years ago, but still. It’s in the past.”

Lorenzo visibly paled and Magnus wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or be mortified.

A mix of both, maybe.

“I’ll, uh,” Magnus said. “Just take him outside, he needs some air.” Lorenzo nodded mutely and Magnus couldn’t be happier to do just what he said.

“What was that?” he hissed. “That was a long time ago and  you know it!”

Alec stared at him from under his eyelashes, and, for some reason, Magnus couldn't bring himself to be angry at him.

“Not long enough,” Alec said, finally.

“Oh,” Magnus said bitterly, hsi heart sinking. “So you’re still hung up on Lorenzo. That’s what this is?” Maybe he wasn’t going to get the guy this time either.

Alec shook his head. “Lorenzo?” he asked, maybe to himself. “No! No, no, no!”

“Then what?” Magnus asked. “What could have possibly possessed you to do that.”

Alec sat down on the stairs. “You?” he said, feebly.

Magnus didn’t reply. “You’re not in the right mind,” he said, sitting down on the stairs next to him.

“But I am!” Alec protested. “Can’t yousee?”

“See what?”

“I’m still in love with you!”

“What?”

Alec sighed. “It broke me, Magnus, when you said we shouldn't be together anymore. I know it would’ve been heard to maintain a long distance relationship, especially since my college was in London, but we could’ve managed. Somehow. I almost quit after my first semester, because I could barely get out of bed. I didn't have any friends, and I didn't talk to anyone anymore. Izzy had to drag me out, and she made me okay again. But I still loved you. And I do right now too. And it hurts me so much that you don’t.”  

“Who says I don’t.”

Alec laughed coldly and stood up, walking away, hsi hands in his pockets. "Yeah right," Magnus heard him say.

Magnus reached out towards him. “Alec, wait.”

“It’s fine,” Alec said, and Magnus almost swore that he wa crying. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. I’ll get Izzy to pick me up.” And Magnus could only watch as the love of his life left him.

[jaroslavlewis]

The Same Old You: Behind a Photograph

Title: The Same Old You

Chapter 1: Behind a Photograph

Author: Jaroslav Lewis

Fandom: Detective Conan

Pairing: ShinRan with slight KazuHei

Summary: Time has passed for them to believe that they have changed only for them to realize that some things haven't. Some things just don't.

Chapter Summary: She liked photographs. He never did but her habit grew on him. Now, they keep the same photograph to remind themselves of how pictures never change the same way memories don't even if people do.

Disclaimer: This is the first Chapter of the excerpt I posted last week. This contains some side/satellite characters which are my OCs. I don't own Detective Conan and any of Gosho Aoyama's characters. I simply borrow them when I'm bored.

New York, Friday, 8:00 am

He sits back, staring at the pile of case reports on top of his desk, with a mug in his hand. The bitterness of his black, morning coffee wakes him as he takes a sip. The warmth floods his whole system as he drinks. The caffeine starts to kick in and then suddenly, he feels energized and ready to start the day's work.

He takes a small bite out of his cream cheese bagel and then sets it aside together with his coffee mug. With a sigh, he takes one folder, ready to go through with the filing of case reports which he absolutely despises. Then he feels a punch on his shoulder. It doesn't hurt him but it is strong enough to make him flinch and shift his attention to whoever did it to him.

"What the fuck?!" He reacts in full straight English as he stares at the assailant who turns out to be a petite woman with brown hair, tied in a neat pony tail. She is tan, brown-eyed and wore an NYPD uniform. "What the hell's wrong with you, Jess?"

Jess then looks at him furiously with her hands on her waist.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?!" She answers back, this time taking a folder from his desk to hit him with. He raises his arms in surrender, still confused by her sudden attacks. "I can't believe you're ghosting Yejin! What's the matter with you, man?"

Then it hits him. He purses his lips together, thinking as he stares into space. Jess puts the folder back in its rightful place before casually propping her short frame up on his desk so she can sit there. He proceeds to take a file from his desk to promptly scan through it.

"I don't know…" He shrugs. "I guess she's just not it."

Jess furrows her eyebrows in both confusion and frustration.

"You only had one date with her. How could you tell?" She asks looking at him judgingly. "God, Shinichi! You're unbelievable!"

"I don't know, okay? We just didn't click. The chemistry isn't right. I'm sorry." Shinichi apologizes swiftly, brushing off the topic as he starts typing the report on his computer. Jess continues to stare at him, quizzically as if analyzing him.

"Chemistry shemistry. What do you know? You're a detective. Not a scientist! Is she not beautiful enough for you? Was she not a bombshell like I described?" She interrogates like the police officer that she is.

"She's pretty, alright…" Shinichi replies in an apathetic manner as he continues to type on his computer. The case reports suddenly seem interesting to him now.

"Then what's the matter?" Jess presses on. Shinichi then stops typing and leans back to his chair's back rest. He briefly looks at framed picture on his desk. It is a photo of himself with her at the Kiyomizu-dera in Kyoto, from ten years ago.

"Nothing." He answers. "She's great. She seems nice too. But…"

'She's just not her…'

Shinichi shakes his head, avoiding certain thoughts as he leans over his computer to type again and to start working. Jess hops off of his desk but she doesn't leave his cubicle.

"But what?" She asks curiously as she studies his uneasy manner.

"Nothing…" He repeats, avoiding Jess's gaze, hoping that she would just leave him alone but she stays. "I feel nothing…"

Jess shakes her head.

"It's a shame. Yejin was so into you. Can't see why though. You're so cold." Jess comments, teasingly. "You're hopeless. You've practically rejected and broke the hearts of all women here in New York."

"I think that's too much of an exaggeration, don't you think?" He chuckles, half-heartedly.

Suddenly a man in an adjacent cubicle peeks at them. He is in his forties with ashy-gray hair and light skin, his eyes were blue with gray undertones. He has strong features, and looks somewhat intimidating but his smile is kind.

"That's because the one he truly wants isn't in New York…" The man says, joining the conversation. He then disappears for a while as he leaves his cubicle, only to show up, approaching Shinichi's with a bag of jelly donuts which he offers to Jess who takes a piece and to Shinichi who politely declines since he suddenly feels as though he has already lost his appetite after being suddenly put on the hot seat. His bagel and coffee sit on top of his desk to grow cold while he works to get his colleagues off of his hair.

"She's someone you left in Japan. I'm thinking, that girl in the picture." He points to the picture on Shinichi's desk, deducing like a pro as if they are in an actual crime scene. Shinichi laughs with not much energy. He feels like a cornered culprit. His heart aches with nostalgia as he looks at the picture again. He stays silent, not knowing what to say. The man on the other hand has a satisfied smirk on his face. Jess gapes in awe at the deduction and at Shinichi's reaction.

"Wow, Inspector Collins, come to think of it, Shinichi has had that picture since he got here and he has never said anything about it." Jess comments. Shinichi shakes his head disapprovingly, hoping that they'd stop pestering him. He tries to remain focused on his work since he has tons to do, but the image, the memory of her keeps messing with his brain, making him lose focus. Even after ten years, she still has that effect on him.

"So who's she, Shinichi?" Inspector Collins asks. His tone is calm and more concerned and caring. "You're awfully secretive, you know."

"Nothing." Shinichi lies with bad attempt, dismissing their show of interest in his personal life. Even after a long time has passed, he still couldn't get himself to talk about her without getting hurt.

"Nothing huh? But clearly, she's important enough to have her picture sitting on your desk for years…" Jess says, shaking her head in disbelief at how bad a liar Shinichi is.

Shinichi on the other hand, says nothing. He smiles sadly as he looks at their picture together and it takes him back to when they were both so young. It had already been ten years since then, but he remembers it just as if it were yesterday. When he thinks about her, he could still remember how her frame felt against his, how she stumbled and he caught her, saving her from a bad fall. She was tall for an Asian girl but when she stood next to him, she looked like a small fragile being that he wants to protect. He remembers the way her lips felt against his cheek the first time she kissed him when they were in high school. And then everything comes rushing back, he remembers every memory they had, the good and even the bad…

"She was the one who liked taking pictures. I never did but her habit grew on me." He says fondly. He takes the frame in his hand and looks at her. He touches her image through the glass, ever so delicately. "She says she liked pictures so much because they never change, the same way memories don't even when the people in them do…"

Shinichi sighs as he places the picture back carefully in its old and permanent spot on his desk. Jess and Inspector Collins stay silent, marveled at how he has suddenly opened up to them.

"She's sentimental like that." He chuckles, remembering her adorable quirks. "Her name is Mouri Ran. She's my childhood friend and my first love…"

Tokyo, Friday, 10:00 pm

From the different side of the world, she stares at the same picture as she stands in the dim room of her new apartment. She drops her shoulder bag on her desk and she takes off her trench coat hanging it by the chair near her desk. She takes the picture in her hands before dropping exhaustedly on her neatly done single bed, while still in her day clothes.

She sighs as she looks at him, studying his half-startled, half-annoyed candid expression. She looks at how he casually wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Goosebumps creep to her skin as she remembers the feeling of him holding her protectively. She remembers his warmth, his touch and she suddenly feels a need, a deep longing for him.

She can't help but think about him still. She can't deny that she still thinks about him every day and even more after today. She wonders how could ten years pass by already, how could she have aged and changed and deep down she knows that he has already too but despite all that and although she hates to admit it to herself, she is aware that her feelings for him haven't.

It is pathetic for she has tried and tried so many times and she continues to do so but despite all her on-going attempts she still continues to fail, so many times, one "relationship" (if it ever lasted long enough to call it that), one date after the other.

Just a few moments ago she took a chance on another date but it didn't go well, at least on her part. And in a few moments, Sonoko will find out why. She groans at the thought. Sonoko is gonna freak yet again.

Then as if on cue, her smart phone rings and she reaches her pocket to answer it. She finds Sonoko's name on the screen and she groans again because she knows she has to take the call, tell her everything then she'd have to endure her long hours of scolding, lecturing her about her boring, non-existent love life.

Without much of a choice, she accepts the call and brings the phone to her ear. She never got to answer with a hello because Sonoko already starts talking.

"Ran! How was it? Did you have fun? Wasn't he great? Ah tell me everything!" She squeals ever so excitedly. Ran winces. Sonoko's gonna be so disappointed. At loss for words, she stays silent.

"Come on, Ran! Tell me! When's the second date gonna be?" Sonoko pesters impatiently after hearing no response from her friend.

"Please don't get mad…" Ran begins, begging but before she could even continue, Sonoko had already let out a gasp of disbelief.

"For the love of god, Ran! Please don't tell me you're rejecting this one again." Sonoko sighs exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry." Ran apologizes, resting her head on her pillow." It's just not gonna happen."

"But why? Is my taste in men not good enough for you? I've already set you up with a lot of great guys! I'm running out of them!" Her friend complains.

"Well, he's cute, very handsome as a matter of fact but he…" Ran struggles to find a more appropriate, less-brutal comment. "He lacks substance…:"

Ran could imagine Sonoko face-palming at this point. She couldn't help but wince to herself.

"What? Are you saying that he's dumb?" Sonoko asks

Ran stammers and mumbles some incoherent words, feeling very embarrassed at her irrational pickiness.

'And this is why you're gonna die alone.' Ran silently tells herself.

"I didn't say that but for lack of better words, yes. Yes, he kind of is." Ran replies and Sonoko groans in frustration over the line. "He refused going to the abstract art gallery nearby the restaurant because he said it would be boring to look at and that abstract art is so easy that a toddler could make them."

"So, what? He's not perfect. You're just saying that because you have a thing for smart boys!" Sonoko retorts. Ran is about to disagree when she went on rambling. "Not to mention, your great love is such a huge nerd."

Ran's face starts to heat up in embarrassment. Sonoko continues to ramble but she fails to hear her by the sound of her pulse, ringing in her ears as her thoughts drift to the other side of the world, as her thoughts drift back to the past.

Her heart skips a beat remembering his weird quirks, the way he's so passionate about things he wants to pursue, the way his eyes would light up every time he talked about Holmes or about some case he solved. Though Ran is not much of a mystery geek as he is, she'd find herself mesmerized just looking at him just being so driven and passionate. Then she smiles sadly as she thinks to herself how it is one of the reasons why she loved him so but also the main reason why she had to let him go.

"Ran, are you listening to me?" Sonoko says, making Ran snap out from her reverie.

"What?" Ran asks all of a sudden, realizing that she hasn't been paying attention to her concerned friend. Sonoko sighs for the nth time.

"I was saying maybe you're trying to look for something wrong in other guys because you can't find his traits in them…" Her friend explains and it suddenly hits her. "Come on, Ran. There's only one reason. You still haven't gotten over Shinichi even after ten years…"

"That is so not true. Ten years is a pretty long time and I've had some serious relationships after him." Ran says, but her voice sounds more like a defensive squeak rather than a well-constructed argument with conviction, as though she is trying to convince herself rather than reject Sonoko's spot-on conclusion. And it is funny because she's a respected lawyer just like her mother. But alas with such conversation, she would easily lose her composure.

"Please, Ran. Your only serious relationship after Shinichi was with Ryuji-san from college and even then you were still so guarded with him compared to when Shinichi was your boyfriend." Sonoko counters.

"Well, Ryuji turned out to be a cheater so…" Ran reasons, hoping to finally shut Sonoko up and it does for a moment until…

"True. Which takes us back to what we've been talking about earlier.-Shinichi. Call him. I thought you guys broke things off on good terms? Why are you guys cutting each other off of your lives?"

"We're not cutting each other off. We just got preoccupied with things and lost contact with each other. Remember how tough law school was for me? And Shinichi, you know him with all the cases he has to solve besides he already works for the NYPD. He's too busy now. Well, we both are. We have different priorities now."

Ran's heart aches at the thought. Sonoko did have a good point. She and Shinichi used to be so tight, like two peas in a pod. Now, it's just different. She somewhat blames herself. Maybe her mother was right after all.

Falling in love with a detective would do you no good.

And she hit the double whammy since he is also her childhood friend. Now, everything's just in the ruins.

Sonoko is about to say yet another word when a beeping sound on the line interrupted, thereby saving Ran from a longer discussion of her dreaded relationship failures.

"Call waiting. I have to take this. It could be a client." Ran explains to Sonoko and she sighs in defeat.

"Alright. But this isn't over okay? Think about it, okay?"

Ran doesn't promise Sonoko anything and takes the other line. This time she finds Kazuha's name on the screen. Her curiosity grows, she wonders what her Osakan friend could probably be up to at the hour. She hopes that it wouldn't be anything like Sonoko's call earlier.

"Kazuha-chan?" Ran asks in wonder and she hears a delightful squeal from the other end.

"Ran-chan! You would not believe what just happened!" She begins, giggling giddily and excitedly. "Heiji asked me to marry him and I said yes!"

Ran gasps and for a moment she is speechless and feeling all sorts of happy for her friend. She grabs another pillow hugs it as she rolls over her bed with a smile, trying to restrain herself from jumping up and down on it out of excitement. And then she wishes she could fly all the way to Osaka in a second to give Kazuha a big hug.

"I'm so happy for you! Congratulations, Kazuha-chan!" She says and Kazuha lets out another giddy laugh. Ran swears she could hear her blushing. If that is even possible.

"Oh my god. This is such big news! Tell me everything!" Ran demands excitedly.

"Sure! Every detail, but first thing's first…I want to ask you a very important question." Kazuha says. "How would you like to be my maid of honor?"

The question earns a cheerful squeal from Ran.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

New York, Friday, 9:00 am

Shinichi is taking a short break from his work, browsing through the newsfeed of his social media account. He looks bored until something peaks his curiosity. It is a new post from Kazuha. Since she is one of his friends he becomes so interested as he hovers his finger through the touch screen ready to press the reaction button but he reads the caption first.

I can't believe I'm marrying this ahou.

Tagged on the post is his best friend who is none other than Hattori Heiji, his fellow detective who stuck with him through thick and thin back when he encountered trouble with a huge, dangerous syndicate.

His cerulean eyes then focus below Kazuha's post and he sees two pictures. One is of Kazuha's hand with her ring finger bearing an elegant diamond ring and the other is of Kazuha and Heiji together, all smiles and right below the post were comments, one of which immediately caught his attention because of the name of the person who wrote it.

Mouri Ran: Congratulations again! Love you guys so much. Honored to be the maid of honor. Pun intended. LOL

He takes notice of how she flooded the comment with heart emojis. He finds it adorable. He unconsciously smiles and soon his mind is filled with questions. He couldn't believe it. Hattori is finally getting married and not only that, he totally beat him to it when all along, back in the day he really thought…

Suddenly his phone rings and Hattori's name and picture appears on the screen, requesting to video chat with him. Shinichi snaps out from his thoughts and smirks. Typical, Hattori. So he answers, positioning the phone at an angle in which his face could clearly be seen and then he sees Hattori's face through the screen, smiling from ear to ear.

"Not gonna lie. I was actually expecting this call, right now…" Shinichi greets him. "Congratulations, Hattori."

From the other end, Hattori scratches the back of his head sheepishly and laughs.

"Thanks, Kudo. Now that you know, I guess I'll cut to the chase." Hattori says. "Remember when you told me you owe me big time after the syndicate case? Well how about paying your end of the bargain by being my best man on my wedding day?"

"Of course. You didn't have to threaten me with my life-long debt." Shinichi chuckles. Heiji smiles triumphantly.

"Great. So, we'll see you soon?" Heiji reiterates and Shinichi nods.

"Yeah. Keep me posted when you guys think of a date so I could immediately file a leave and book a flight." He reminds strictly.

"Sure thing. Thanks again, man!"

"No problem."

Tokyo, Friday, 11:00 pm

Ran now lies in bed in her pajamas browsing through her phone smiling giddily as she looks through Heiji and Kazuha's photos together. Suddenly she feels a slight pang in her chest. It finally sinks in. Everyone's moving forward but her. Her smile fades and she feels the presence of loneliness. She shakes her head. She is not about to let such thoughts ruin such moment to celebrate her friends' milestone because she genuinely is happy for them. Although at the back of her mind she wonders, would she ever have that kind of relationship in her life? Then she realizes she isn't getting any younger.

Then a ping from her phone distracts her from wondering. She sees a notification on her social media and it opens to reveal that someone "liked" her comment and has commented right next to hers on Hattori-kun and Kazuha-chan's proposal announcement. Her eyes stays glued to the screen as soon as she sees the name and reads his text

Kudo Shinichi: Guess, I'm planning that bachelor party after all. See you soon! Best wishes from the best man.

He ends the text with a winking emoji and Ran chuckles to herself and shakes her head. It is just so typical of him.

'That subtle hint, but dramatic announcement. He still has that charm.' She thinks to herself, contemplating whether or not she should hit him up or wait for him to do so. Her lips curve into a mischievous grin as she presses the like button on his comment.

She decides to be subtle with him too.

AN: Sorry it took a while. Got a little preoccupied at work. Anyway, here's chapter one of the story. Made sudden changes as I was writing it. Originally, I planned to reveal the reason of the break up in this chapter I realized it would ruin the story flow and natural progression because I've decided to do two timelines, two perspectives in one chapter. I felt that an information overload is at risk if I'd stick through the original plan. So, I decided to reveal the past on chapter 2 instead. So stay tuned!

Feel free to tell me what you guys think as well. This would be my first time writing a chaptered fic for the DC Fandom so I'm really hoping it will turn out well. I usually just stick to one shots because I'm afraid I won't be able to commit because I've failed so many times. Hahaha

Anyway, I will be posting this fic on , AO3 (Yes! I finally have one now!) and on tumblr. So if you guys want to follow me or this story, you can pick any options for your convenience.

Fanfiction.net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13195514/1/The-Same-Old-You AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17626277/chapters/41558528

Will try to update tomorrow, if not maybe a few days later.

It's 6:56 AM here and I haven't slept. So, forgive me if there are typos and grammatical errors, not sure if I proof-read it enough since I'm sleepy. Will go through it again as soon as I get my rest. For now, hope you guys enjoy.

BTW, I've done a playlist for this fanfic. Just so, I'd be able to set the mood while I'm writing it. Tell me if you guys want to know what I listen to while writing this and if you'd like to listen to the playlist while reading it.

~J

NEXT CHAPTER

[innerpowercounseling-blog]

I Won't Kill Foxes...

I Won’t Kill Foxes in Breath of the Wild

(and I'm okay with that)

I can easily get lost in the kingdom of Hyrule—literally and metaphorically. Playing Breath of the Wild (BOTW) on my Switch, I’m taken in by the soothing sounds of my shoes tapping on the stone and the swishy clank of gear when I run. I’ve spent hours exploring the terrain, cutting through valleys or climbing mountains, looking in every nook and cranny for treasure and Korok seeds. I never take the path on the map.

Within this vast world, and with the aid of divinities and advanced technology, I—in the body of Link—have numerous choices. Combat aside, I can blow up trees for wood, tame wild horses, catch fish with my bare hands, cook my own meals, and move rocks around (not exciting but sometimes necessary). I can also hunt the local wildlife, from mountain goats to squirrels. I choose to live off foraged vegetation, but I have hunted boars or goats as needed and will sometimes kill a wolf if it continues to attack me.

I am not a vegan in the real world. I understand the circle of life and the need to protect oneself, or one’s character, from wild animal attacks. But I do not enjoy the killing of small animals, even in games. I don’t aim for squirrels, birds, or butterflies and I especially DO NOT kill foxes. It’s bad enough that I have to kill wolves when forced, and hear their sad puppy dog cries, but I just can’t do that to the fox.

Unlike wolves and other large wildlife who may charge if you get too close, the foxes are peaceful. They run when they see me, instead of turning to fight. I’ve never been attacked by one, and I mostly see them frolicking in flower fields or playfully chasing butterflies. When they are attacked, the foxes make heartbreaking little sounds, very squeaky, like newborn pups. They don’t even try to fight back; they just turn and run, crying as they go. I killed a fox in the beginning, not really sure of the game mechanics and how much food there would be. My heart immediately broke and I swore “Never again!” So, to avoid a stony heart turned black and icky by the oil of puppy murder, I swore off hunting most wildlife.  

In contrast, I am happy to clear out a band of Moblins and Bokoblins using swords, bombs, fire, electricity, whatever I have. I feel a sense of success when I am faster and more lethal than a Lizalfos, and I’ll proudly take down a Giant Stone Talus or a sleeping Hinox. But I won’t kill a fox. Truth be told, I am not bothered by this. It makes perfect sense to me, defining who I am as a person and as the Hero of Time. According to my moral rules, injustice must be conquered. I am not an aggressive person, but in a world of monsters I think it is appropriate to wield a sword and protect the innocent.

—We could easily launch into a discussion of how to define terms like “moral,” “immoral,” “sinister,” “evil,” “good,” and so on, but that would miss the point of this post. So for clarity, I’m using the terms in their simplest forms because they conjure a clear picture for most of us and we understand how those terms relate to games.—

When I embody a character, I want to give him or her my sense of the world—impart my beliefs, values, and preferences to whatever extent I can. I prefer games where character creation and narrative choices are largely in my hands. When that isn’t possible, I still appreciate playing as a character who shares my worldview in some way. I don’t need or even want to be the hero of my world, but I do like to feel that my presence has a purpose in the game. Link is undoubtedly designed to be a hero in the truest sense of the word—showing courage, strength, and virtue. He is not one of the popular antiheroes, who can sometimes summon enough energy to make good choices in the face of their darker nature, and often still for personal gain. While those characters can also be fun to embody (I like making them do nice things without pay) they typically have a different, more sinister flavor to them, with the message of the games they live in also feeling sinister.

I don’t want a world where we must do evil in order to do good. That does not make sense to me. I want a world where we fight evil by doing good, even when it is very, very hard. I want to be the person who makes the tough but right decisions, knowing that it will save my heart from stony blackness. I am not that person in every moment, but that is what I’m reaching for and I’m glad my gameplay reflects that. For me, it isn’t necessary to play through immoral decisions in order to feel and explore the weight of a wrong choice. I know what wrong choices will lead to, and how they feel. I want the experience of making a lot of valuable but difficult decisions, of being brave when I am afraid, and of being kind when I could be blindly enraged.

When we play video games, we invest our mental and emotional energy in the narrative or characters, often finding that the games become more real to us the more we invest ourselves in them (Bailey, Wise, & Bolls, 2009; Jin & Park, 2009; Lewis, Weber, & Bowman, 2008). We enter a virtual space but we remain self-aware, with some arguing that our moral choices in games still have real implications and that it is our moral awareness that actually makes in-game decisions meaningful (Sicart, 2009). If I go into a game deciding that all morality is out the door, then I don’t have to make tough decisions and nothing I do really matters. Essentially I’ve made the only real decision I’m going to make and there is no need to seek development as a character. I am just going to slash and dash, end of story.

If I choose to engage with my moral center intact, and be a version of myself in that game, then I have interesting choices ahead of me. Maybe I will help the widow, even though she cannot pay me. I won’t murder innocent people or rob them. It will probably take me longer to earn what I need when I could just steal it, but maybe that is how I make the game truly interesting—I survive by doing good in a world designed for atrocity.

Holding it all together, the good and the bad, I love games. I believe in their ability to impact and shape us, and I have hope that in the right hands games can be globally transformative (McGonigal, 2011). I know the power of what I interact with. That being said, I feel really good when I pass a little red fox moving peacefully through the grassy meadows of Hyrule. I am on my way to conquer the ultimate evil, and he is trying to eat a butterfly. The world is as it should be.         

References

Bailey, R., Wise, K., & Bolls, P. (2009). How avatar customizability affects children’s arousal and subjective presences during junk food-sponsored online video games. CyberPsychology & Behavior, 12(3), 277-283. doi:10.1089/cpb.2008.0292

Jin, S., & Park, N. (2009). Parasocial interaction with my avatar: Effects of interdependent self-construal and the mediating role of self-presence in an avatar-based console game, wii. CyberPsychology & Behavior, 12(6), 723-727. doi:10.1089/cpb.2008.0298  

Lewis, M., Weber, R., Bowman, N. (2008). “They may be pixels, but they’re my pixels:” Developing a metric of character attachment in role-playing video games. CyberPsychology, 11(4), 515-518. doi:10.1089/cpb.2007.0137

McGonigal, J. (2011). Reality is broken: Why games make us better and how they can change the world. New York, NY: Penguin Books.

Sicart, M. (2009). The Ethics of Computer Games. Boston: MIT Press. Retrieved from http://ezproxy.baylor.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=nlebk&AN=259281&site=ehost-live&scope=site

Disclaimer:This is a blog, which contains a mixture of my current knowledge and opinions. The information is accurate to the best of my knowledge but may contain omissions, errors, or mistakes. I am a psychologist licensed to practice in the state of Washington, but this article does not create a psychologist-client relationship. I am providing psychological information and my own opinions for informational purposes only, and anything I present should not be seen as psychological, emotional, or medical advice or treatment. You should consult with a mental health professional or your primary care physician before you rely on this information or take any action. I reserve the right to change how I manage or run my blog and may change the focus or content at any time.

[nerdbabyarthur]

hey, Artie... you alright? starting to worry a few folks...

“….”

Arthur’s eyes blaze, the orange glow bright and….not all too entirely pleased. His teeth are clenched as his hands become claws. His cracked pendant’s soft golden glow flickers, green sparks coming from it. Standing up, after days of bitterness. He did not look happy.

“Really? Really. Do you actually believe I’m that stupid? That I don’t see the pattern here? You wanna know how I am? I’m pissed. I’m tired and hurt, and so fucking angry you barely know the beginning of it. And you know what? All of it is your fault. All of this, is because of all of you.”

His voice is a growl, the glow of his necklace and his eyes momentarily flashing…green. His form sparks as his electric powers react to his growing emotional response, the color unable to decide if it wants to keep it’s usual yellow hue.

“Do you know what it’s like to be abandoned for years? Only to see others again only because they’re checking to see what level of hot mess you are now, and not because they care? I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being alone, of being laughed at and made fun of and dragged around like a chew toy. No more, I’ll deal with this. No! MORE!”

The apartment flashes, all the items inside raising as if losing gravity, Arthur’s form twitching with barely contained anger. The glow of his necklace was entirely green now, and that color seemed to bleed outwards, slowly infecting his peachy ghostly glow with a vibrant sickening neon green. He sneers down at everyone who’s watching, sharp fangs bared in a snarl as his orange eyes flicker.

“You’re all sick freaks! Nasty little fucks who find entertainment from my suffering! You barely so much as waste your breath on me, but always make sure you’re there for my next breakdown! My life is just a game to you, a show! I bet you’re just sitting there watching me now, waiting to see what I’ll do! Waiting to see if someone will show up and hurt me, if I’ll hurt myself! FUCK YOU! Fuck you and your bullshit, LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME! I’M A GHOST WITH BARELY ANY PURPOSE!!”

His voice raises and raises by each passing second, wind picking up in the apartment as tools and metal and furniture is tossed around. His eyes are green now….his voice taking on dual tones, shrieking in despair and anguish and anger, the sound ringing the ears of all who listen. The green sparks fizzle and zap from his broken anchor more and more, figure glitching with it. He’s hurt, he’s been living with a damaged anchor for too long…it’s starting to take affect.

“Can you wrap your pathetic little brains around the fact that I only started to become truly happy after I died? Do you understand how TERRIBLE that is?! You fuckers barely gave a shit about that too!”

Arthur’s voice cracks with emotions, ghostly visage unable to choose between fully electric and deadly, or his undead human guise. Green and yellow green and yellow…

“My best friend Thaia is missing, the only person to care about me and give a damn. NONE of you care. You all pretend and play pity party to wriggle in under my skin and make it all hurt even worse. You didn’t care when I was sick, when I died, when that demon came back for me. That! THAT’S the worst part! YOU LET HIM POSSESS ME AGAIN! YOU SAT THERE AND WATCHED AS HE HURT ME, USED ME, MADE ME HURT OTHERS, BROKE ME. I WAS STUCK IN MY ANCHOR FOR MONTHS AND NONE OF YOU TRIED TO HELP! My so called friends. My so called family. It’s all lies. All of it. You’re all monsters and I’m tired of you. I hate you. Do you hear me I HATE YOU!”

The apartment was breaking and cracking, the walls splattering with green and turning charcoal black as the uncontrollable lightning bolt strikes against them. Dark murky green stalagmites shoot up through the hardwood flooring, the ceiling gaining a spooky cave-like design. Halls and rooms stretched and darkened. Entire eyes green and violently glowing, tears began to roll down Arthur’s eyes as he finally vented out his pent up emotions. The betrayal and abandonment he felt all this time. Of course…everything else was being pushed along by the residue remains of when he was possessed by Odium a second time. He didn’t seem to be resisting it, however….he was welcoming it, enjoying the dark surge of energy as it fueled and validated his anger.

“I’M BROKEN AND DAMAGED AND I HATE YOU HATE YOU HATE YOU. I SHOULD HAVE LET ODIUM KEEP ME, I MEANT MORE TO HIM AS A PUPPET THEN I EVER MEANT TO ANY OF YOU. DON’T EVER COME NEAR ME AGAIN! DON’T TALK TO ME, DON’T EVEN BOTHER THINKING ABOUT ME, YOU NEVER HAD BEFORE. SO FUCK YOU ALL, GO ROT IN HELL! ALL OF YOU! LEWIS, VIVI, MYSTERY, EVERY VARIANT IN-BETWEEN. YOU’RE ALL JUST AS GUILTY. IF YOU EVER COME NEAR ME AGAIN, I’LL KILL YOU!”

Arthur’s hate filled rant ends with a burst of energy, a mix of yellow and green. The two closest to him, who broke the damn and released this quickly strengthening poltergeist get fried and electrocuted, millions of volts of electricity running through them. It’d be a surprise if they weren’t dead. With a high pitch scream, all the lights in the warped abode go out. 

And then Arthur was gone. And everyone else was left alone in the dark. In the new cave the possibly malevolent ghost had made out of his home. 

[youthincare]

[ image description is screenshot of facebook page Toronto IWW General Defence Committee Local 28 that says, “this site holds the personal journey of Allison, an Anishinaabe woman and survivor whom experienced intense abuse at the hands of Canadian Child protective services. These letters, videos, and other evidence tell her life story - from her point of view - aiming to help victims and expose the disgusting reality of Canada-bred colonialism. Please share widely! #familiesbelongtogether.” ]

Allison:

I will begin by saying the following information can be triggering for many people. Especially Indigenous People and it includes extremely sensitive subject matter. Please have supports present if you fall under the following categories (not fond of that term, but it is what it is);

Residential School Survivors Sixties Scoop Survivors Victims of Millenial Scoop (ongoing Neo-Colonism) Domestic Violence Victims Sexual Abuse Victims Justice System Victims Victims of Discrimination via Health Care Systems Victims of Human Rights Violations Victims of Disenfranchisement whether legally in the past or via Modern Day Disenfranchisement by way of Neo-Colonism Human Trafficking Victims

The attached letters include my personal journey while attempting to navigate the Federal and Provincial Policies that we as Indigenous People are Governed by via the Corporate Government of Canada. Kanata. They essentially contain my life story. Like many of our People a time came when Child Protective Services began knocking on my door. At the time I had no way of knowing where this would lead me and had I known I may have ran for my life with my children tow. I didn’t though, but I also didn’t give up. Although this Correspondence is Traumatic in Nature, there is also hope within these pages. If you know where to look, there is always hope and I aim to touch the hearts of those with similar stories and also provide them with a Template of sorts as to how I effectively protected my family so that maybe they can dig deep within themselves, find that fire within and use to Protect their families from the Vast Amounts of Systemic Racism we as Indigenous People face on a daily basis. Our lives being Politicized for us through the Indian Act and other Discriminatory Federal and Provincial Policies. I dare even say Genocidal Policies. Debwewin.

If you look into History, you will see evidence that the Settlers often used our own People to aid in their Assaults on us. This has not changed, a Symptom of Intergenerational Trauma is Lateral Violence. Heartbreaking but true. Divide and Conquer often being an effective technique during times of War. Debwewin.

“A Nation is not defeated until the Hearts of its Women are on the Ground.” A well known Cree saying. How is this accomplished? By going after the children. Instilling Patriarchal Policies, Seperating Tribes and Clans. By removal of the Matriarchal Ways of Being by which we Governed ourselves Pre-Colonization. By Removal of our Traditional Ways of Life and rendering our Women Silent on Matters that control their very lives.

Victims of Domestic Violence are not protected but Prosecuted. Their children taken by force. Assimilated into the Justice and Child Welfare Systems. Our sons are denied appropriate services and Educations until they are forced into a live by gun die by the gun lifestyle. Gangs, Prisons, and Graveyards claim our sons as their own. Our daughter’s forced into unsafe positions. Outside most Women’s Shelters, Group Homes, Jails, and Child Protection “Safe Houses” you will see vehicles. I have seen them with my own eyes. Been followed and stopped by them many times in my life, both as a Youth and an Adult. In these cars are Pimps. Ready to sweep away young women with broken hearts with promises of Safety and Belonging. Grooming behaviours. I have buried many Sisters in my life because of these cars and dangerous men behind their windshields. I speak now for them. To Honour their Lives because I survived it.

Our Communities often do not help us. Band Systems are Government Systems. If a child gets sent to live with Family, the Band gets Funding for that, the Child Welfare Organizations get funding for that. The Familes themselves often get Funding for the extra Children in their Care. Corruption allows these “Corporations” to decide amongst themselves who will Parent who’s Children under the guise of “Kinship Societies and Agreements” This is what I faced. I had no idea how high this corruption would go. Each step I took, each letter I sent I thought to myself….”This will be the one, someone will hear me.” I was wrong. Devastatingly wrong. My children though ARE in my Care. I DO still hold Sole Custody. It was these letters, how I wrote them, and how I sent and Served them that made all the difference. Communities should not have so much say over Children. Children are born to their parents, not to Government Systems. Yes they should stay in their Communities when they ARE in need of Protection, Kinship was our ways, but how it’s being done is not true to the Traditional Ways and is riddled with Colonistic, Patriarchal, Racist, and Genocidal Characteristics.

My Mother In Law wanted my daughter. I believe she wanted to her in Part to ease her own guilt at failing her son, who spent the majority of his youth in Juvenile Detention Centers. Cecil Fraiser. Another reason I contribute to this is it was merely their way of ending relationships. Their Cycle of Trauma repeating itself from Generation to Generation. Jealousy, feelings of Betrayal, Intergenerational Trauma. Although this infuriates me to no end, I see the Trauma behind it and so attempt to remove my personal emotions and look at the Whole of the Situation. A Birds eye view if you will. Taking this approach saved our lives. It truly did. It was anything but easy. My anger runs deep. My disgust runs deep. My sadness runs deepest. I grieve this woman I once loved. I grieve her everyday but I know she is not safe for me. Her Trauma will kill me if I allow it too. So I won’t. I’ll fight till the bitter end to remove her control over my life and the lives of my children. Even if it costs me my life. This Cycle of Abuse….ends here. My children and future Generations mean that much to me. I would die for them. Willingly give my life for theirs.

I do hold Imartial Documentation relating to these claims. Which is why nobody will Serve me or attempt to remove my children. Not Child Welfare, not Michipicoten First Nation, not Toronto District School Board Trunecy Office, the Office of the Attorney General simply hangs up on me, in fact upon speaking with United Nations I have been referred to Amnesty International. That’s how high the Corruption went. That’s how vast the Human Rights Violations committed against myself and my family were. Amnesty. Faaaack.

When it became clear that taking my daughter via Child Protection was NOT going to work. I was Served with a Motion to Change an Original Order. I fully expected this. In fact I am quite comfortable in a Court Room. They were now on my turf. Debwewin. Relief set over me. At first I was very quiet in the Courtroom. I bit my toungue and allowed them to build their Case against me. My Lawyer was not responding to me anyways. I eventually held him accountable. I looked terrible in Court. Dilico Anishnabek Family Care was flat out refusing to be Transparent. They told me they were only required to issue a lettter whether I had an open case, a closed case, and if I was cooperating or not. So I stayed silent. For years they had been investigating me. Sometimes as much as weekly. I knew full well what claims would be made against me because Dilico had already investigated them all. False Claims against me began happening in rapid succession. My home and my children’s school constantly being infiltrated. My daughter, ONLY MY DAUGHTER, constantly being pulled out of school to be interrogated without Representation, our home Investigated, our fridge went through, our bedrooms viewed, HER Health Records requested…again ONLY HERS, not my sons. My daughter began to break down under this pressure. She TOLD Aimy Price and Teresa Black, an Intake Worker for Dilico and a Family Support Worker from Michipicoten First Nation that she wanted her Father and her Nokomis to stop. She was ignored and a Privacy Breach took place. My ex, Benjamin Lewis, was given extremely sensitive information and confronted our daughter with it. She completely broke down. Details are provided in my letters. She had a Suicide attempt at school. At this point I had already obtained a referral for a Psychiatrist. Dilico Mental Health, a different Department under the Umbrella of Dilico Anishnabek Family Care WERE SUPPORTIVE of us throughout our battles with their Child Protection Department. I would like to Thank the Individual people that supported us through this time, without you we never would have made it. You know who you are and know how much we love you. Miigwetch….will all our hearts Chi Miigwetch.

At this time, very suspicious behaviour was taking place. Some involving my sister to whom I’m not close. I didn’t see the connections until a few months later upon looking back. I was shocked and furious that my sister was affected in this way. Although we are not close, I love her with all my heart. Nobody deserves what they did to her. Luckily she is a force to be reckoned with herself and had no problem effectively holding them accountable. By them I mean Michipicoten First Nation. Chief Joe Buckell was found guilty of Workplace Harassment and Wrongful Dismissal by the Human Rights Tribunal. Rock on Sister…you are a Warrior, Ogichidaa Kwe.

I was soon asked to sign Consents for the Courts regarding Child Protection Files, Police Records, and Health Records. I signed without question. At the time of my daughter’s Suicide attempt I had written Commissioned Complaint letters and sent them Registered Mail to Executive Director Darcia Bourge. I told my lawyer I would be writing my own Affidavits from here on out and he would be serving them unless he wanted my next letter to be to the Upper Law Society. He was surprised but did as asked. I attached my letters to my Affidavits as Exhibits along with Corresponding Health Records. This essentially flipped the direction Court was going. My Mother in law was removed from Supervising her sons access and as I requested his Step Father was put in his place. It’s not so easy to control his step father and he was soon left without a willing Supervisor and was Reduced to Supervised Access at a Temporary Access Center. When Lynn Tegosh, his Legal Council realized what I’d done she attempted to proceed without the Records. She was swiftly denied by the Judge. All Parties fought Subpoenas relating to the realease of their files. It was not until August of 2017, an entire eight months after being Subpoenaed that Dilico finally relinquished their Files for the Courts viewing. I felt physically sick to stomach when eight bankers boxes worth of files were realeased and it was discovered that in all those years they had NEVER had the grounds to serve me with a Protective Application. The Police Records never did reach the Courtroom. The week before a schedualed Mobility Hearing thatbwasvexpected to be remanded due to lack of Police Records, Benjamin was charged with an Assault on his new partner as well as Possession of Weapons while under a Weapons Prohibition. I also had secured an Investigation for Criminal Harassment, Making false Allegations to Police and Child Protection. I had been instructed by Shelley Nuefeldt to update my Lawyer and secure a Restraining Order against them. However when I got to Court, a Settlement Offer awaited me. If I signed this Settlement, relinquishing my Child Support and agreeing to Unsupervised Reasonable Access upon Reasonable Notice I could have my Mobilty and keep Sole Custody. In order to secure our IMMEDIATE Physical Safety I signed at my Lawyers advice. He said to go to Toronto, File from the Residence of the Child and put Restrictions back on him. I took his Advice, signed and fled. We never went home again. We went through the Shelters. So the Police Records never made it too the Courtroom.

Upon getting to Toronto, I concentrated on my children’s Mental, Emotional, Spritiual and Physical Safety. I secured an Apartment, managed to get our belongings shipped to us. Found them a school and counselling services. Arranged for Speech Assesments, that we’re never completed for my son. I contacted Shelley Nuefeldt, of Ontario Provincial Police, only to be told the moment I left town they dropped their investigation. She flat out refused to view Corresponding Health Records she was supposed to have secured. I wrote more letters of complaint and have been told that there is an Ongoing Organized Crime Internal Units Investigation, however Helena Wall of the Ontario Provincial Police refuses to give me written verification that they are in fact investigating, only phone calls and she does not respond to my emails.

Also since my arrival in Toronto, my children began experiencing Human Rights Violations via Systemic Racism in the First Nations School of Toronto. Six months passed and my son was not even given a Speech Assessment. I was given multiple excuses as to why not. Unclear signature, no Health Card number. Refusal to use the email address they were provided with and refusal to call his father who’s number I had provided the School with on Mulitple Occasions. I had been assured that they could obtain that information from his OSR as we had lost his Card on our Journey. My son barely speaks. I brought him to a Psychiatrist as well and it was Documented that he does not struggle from Mental Disabilities, but rather his ability to communicate and developmental delays are a Direct Result of Trauma from Human Rights Violations committed against him by way of Lack of appropriate Services, and Inconsistent Services. It has been recommended that he receive a Full Pyscho Education Assesment. As well recommended I get a Private Speech Assement to provide them with in order to prevent any future delays in Services to him.

My daughter’s experience. The teacher, told a group at school one day that nobody would care if they were raped or murdered. She also told them personal information regarding a Foster Child in her Care who she was supposed to have adopted. The adoption somehow fell through and all her students were aware. Highly inappropriate for children to be that involved in the personal details of their teachers life. Complaints by other parents were made. My daughter was part of an Investigation against the teacher without my knowledge. She began coming home snapping her fingers, and wanting to be beside me at all times. Clingy behaviour that raised Red Flags for me. I went into the school and spoke with one of their many Principles. He assured me my daughter would not be questioned again without my Prior Formal Consent. She was though. Multiple times. Due to Student on Student Sexual Misconduct. At this time I was furious. I pulled both children out of school immediately. I reported it to Police and Native Child And Family Services. Again, I hold Documentation to back up these claims. The School agreed to make a Saftey Plan with me for my daughter, yet they did not fill this out properly. Again I picked up my daughter showing high signs of stress. The boy had called her a Suicidal Slut. He should not have had any information that my daughter was ever suicidal. My daughter and I were told by Christina Breen that the boy involved had to show accountability himself in order for them to hold him accountable. I again removed both children. This time the school called Native Child and Family Services on me, as well as the Truency Office. After speaking with me both have declined Involvement. My children have not attended school since April of 2018. Nobody has Grounds to serve me and nobody will. They know full well the type of Documentation I hold and the thoroughness of it as I was Transparent throughout. Should any of these Corporations Serve me, they know full well what my Responses will look like, and so we are now at a Legal Standoff. My children being denied their Educations. Anything through Native Child, things Education related get sent back to the Bands through Federal Policy. So my Mother in Law and Michipicoten could easily track and influence the outcomes of any Investigations surrounding Truency and Child Protection. Had I filled out Home Schooling Forms, the School could challenge me as well so could Michipicoten. For this reason I refused, and the burden of proof lies on them, again they know what my responses will look like. So silence. Silence from TDSB, silence from the Band, Silence from Child Protection, silence from AFN, silence from Police, silence from the Attorney General. Just silence. I will be returning to Family Court. Should I not, due to her Suicide attempt, my daughter could be “red flagged” by Child Protection when she herself decides to become a mother. I will do everything in my power to ensure that doesn’t happen. Yet I will be taking a different approach, hopefully breaking trail for other women and family’s trapped by these systems. With the same words I’ve been using all along. Restorative Justice.

Restorative Justice was not originally meant to protect offenders, or provide them with excuses for violent or harmful behaviour. It was meant to Restore the “Cirlces” of the victim and possibly provide the Offender with the help they need to not reoffend. The offender and their family, victim families and communities would come together and survey the damage that had been done. How it affected all involved. And what could be done to repair Relationships, and if that was not possible or a danger, than the offenders were removed and a Circle of Care placed around the Victim or Victims in a Protective fashion. This was an extremely beneficial way of doing things Traditionally. Yet some are misusing this System in today’s Legal Systems. As I have repeatedly requested this Traditional approach to our situation but been denied everywhere I’ve reached out. I will now provide my daughter with it myself. I have reached out to an Elder who is willing to help me achieve this. We will not find the help we need through any Government Service. So I am taking my daughter on a Spirit Quest. A Medicine Walk.

Many of our People Fear the Change to which I aim to address. Some of these issues include sensitive subject matter. However, in order to truly obtain Healing and Restore Balance Amongst our People we can challenge ourselves to begin addressing them. As we walk I will release Oral Accounts via Video of my Journey that led me to where I now find myself. My daughter will be kept out of the Public eye for her safety and privacy. Should she wish to share her story on her own, that choice will be left in her hands for it is not mine to make.

Our end goal…to make an offer of Restorative Justice and Healing to my daughter’s Paternal Family, specifically her Nokomis.

My daughter is a wise child, always requesting of me to fix the troubles she sees in the world around her. A tall order indeed. I know in my heart of hearts that our People need to establish our own Systems and Authenticity DeColonize from the Western Linear Systems which we have become not only Oppressed by, but reliant on. She confided in me that she felt as though by being born she had somehow disrupted everyone’s “Circles”. Her words. She did not. Colonization, Assimilation, Genocide, disrupted these “Circles”. It can now be up to us as ONE NATION to Restore these Circles and begin to take steps toward this Common Goal in a Authentic Way. We all have these circles. I believe we also all have this evidence. What would happen if you, reading this, put all your Records into one room? What would you find? Something very similar to what I did I suspect. Differentiating situations, with the same overlaps, pushing and herding you where these Policies were set up to herd you. I believe this with all my heart and it saddens me deeply. To watch my People struggle through no fault of their own. Their Fate sealed by the Genocide. So under the Steady, Relentless Gaze of my daughter and with her at my side, we are committed to completing this Medicine Walk together in a Quest for Restorative Justice and to request her Nokomis to attend a Healing Lodge in Order to repair their Circle.

We are lovers of the land, and so have chosen to camp our way there. By doing so, Mending and Strengthening our Circle with each other. We will be walking 1013 Kilometres from Toronto Ontario, back to Michipicoten First Nation…ending our Walk for Healing on Whitesands Beach. This is a Rights of Passage for my daughter and Health Care Professionals are aware of what I am doing and are supportive. However her Nokomis reacts will be up to her. My daughter will always know where she stands. She will begin this walk a child and come out a woman. Essentially vaccinating her and instilling in her a strong sense of Self and Balance. As I will not be able to stand over her forever protecting her from the evils in this world, I will instead teach her to use her voice to set healthy boundaries. Even with those she loves. To put her own needs first ahead of the wants of others. We will NOT be approaching her father as he is a Physical Danger to us. My daughter understands that. My aim to teach her that sometimes it’s okay to love people from afar if that is what is required to maintain her personal safety and well being. When I return I will release the records I hold. I will speak out. I will Advocate for others. I will Call for an end to the Six Point Plan. I will Advocate for Clan Systems to be reintroduced into our ways of life. True Restorative Justice. I will be returning to Family Court. Should I not, due to her Suicide attempt, my daughter could be “red flagged” by Child Protection when she herself decides to become a mother. I will do everything in my power to ensure that doesn’t happen. Like minded people…I ask you, get together. In groups and find your Brothers and Sisters by Clan. Access your own Records and see what you find. Research your Family Trees. I believe we can do this. I believe we all can together. I believe we can make a difference. One Nation…. We are not responsible for our wounds, but we are responsible for healing them. For True Healing comes from within. Not from any Government Service. From within. Should we find healing, and let go of our Traumas that hold us back. We could end this Trauma Pipeline. For a Government cannot control a Healthy Nation. Their biggest fear…is the day we truly stand together as one. I believe we can…if…

I make this Statement for no Improper Use.

Keewatinung Kwe

[freyjaiam]

H9b

Rogue Canary— Superhero AU— “Let me remind you that I had said no.”

“For someone who claims to be a hero you sure like to do the wrong thing.”

Leonard Snart froze then slowly turned around to face the last two people he wanted to see. The two were a constant pain in his ass and if he wasn’t the hero and more like them he’d probably have killed them by now. She was in her typical black leather, her purple hair loose around her shoulders. Her mask hid her eyes but he could still see the stunning blue. Her lips weren’t purple tonight though. They usually matched her hair. Tonight they were a soft pink and he had to look away only to see the male at her side. He never talked much. Not with his mouth, anyway. He always used his fists to get his point across. And his powers. He had his usual sleeveless red shirt on along with his dark denim jeans with black boots. He always showed the scars he got the day he acquired his powers, as if they were something to be proud of. 

Perhaps he was proud of them. 

They’d earned the names Crimson and Blaze, due to her ability to draw blood and his to set things on fire. Names that Leonard, for once, didn’t make fun of Cisco for using in his quest to name all the bad guys in Central. They fit.

“Shouldn’t you two be out torturing some innocent soul instead of here bothering me?” asked Leonard, his signature drawl earning a smirk from Crimson.

“Oh, now, Cold… You and I both know people are never that innocent,” she said with a mock pout, spinning a lock of her purple hair in her fingers before letting it drop. She had dubbed him Captain Cold a long time ago. An inside joke between the two of them because he was ‘too serious’. Cisco and all of Central knew him only as Absolute Zero because of his powers. A name he wasn’t all that fond of but it had stuck. He’d be damned if he’d admit he liked the name Crimson gave him instead.  “Seriously though, what are you doing here? This isn’t your usual stomping ground.”

“Been spying on me?” he asked.

“Always,” she answered with a grin. “Need to know all your secrets, Cold.”

“Look. I’m not in the mood tonight. So how about instead of our usual-”

“Ah, Leonard, you came…” A man’s voice had Leonard stiffening. Not because the man had just given out his name to the two people who he considered his enemies. No, because the man was the reason why he was here. “…though I distinctly remember telling you to come alone.”

“Ah, Dad, now you and I both know you didn’t come alone either,” said Leonard, his drawl cold and emotionless. Crimson and Blaze shared a look, as if debating on leaving, before deciding with a shrug to stay. “I got what you wanted. But first you need to hold up your end of the deal.”

“Your sister is home and safe,” said Lewis. 

“Thinking she had a fun day with good ole Dad, too, huh?”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “She had no idea about this.”

Lewis held up a remote. Leonard stepped forward to take it.

“Nuh uh!” said Lewis, wagging his finger. “Step back. Or the deal is off and I press this button and your sisters brains are splattered all over that new sofa she just bought and wouldn’t shut up about.”

“Jesus,” muttered Crimson.

“I count five,” muttered Blaze.

“Easy pickings. Stay sharp,” murmured Crimson.

“Got it, Boss.”

“Here!” shouted Leonard, pulling out a small velvet sack. He tossed it forward and it landed at the feet of his father. Lewis picked it up and opened the bag. He hummed in satisfaction. “Not give me the-”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Lewis. “There is a lot more I’d like for you to do. You hurt my feelings when you decided to play hero instead of partake in the family business. We have a lot of time to make up for.”

“We had a deal!” shouted Leonard, angry.

“Plans change, Son. Now, don’t disappoint your sister by-”

It all happened in a flash. Leonard extended his hand. A large shard of ice shot forward and embedded itself into the heart of Lewis Snart. Lewis dropped to his knees, the remote and the large diamonds falling from his hands. Chaos erupted but Leonard was oblivious to Crimson and Blaze killing the men his father had brought with them. He was deaf to the screams. Blind to the flying blood. All he could see was his father, dead at his feet. 

“Cold?” Who was talking to him? They sounded so far away. “Leonard?”

He snapped out of it when a hand went to his shoulder. He twisted and pushed the person back, a wild look in his eyes as he brought up his hands to defend himself. It wasn’t until a ball of fire formed in his face that he snapped out of it, stepping back so he didn’t loose all the hair on his eyebrows. 

“Back off, Cold!” snarled Blaze. 

“Get out of here,” muttered Leonard.

“A thank you would be nice,” said Crimson, a hand on her hip while she twisted a blood-stained dagger in the other. 

“What…” Leonard looked around. His father wasn��t the only dead man. “Shit…”

“Them or us. Easy decision,” said Crimson with a shrug. 

“You two need to leave.” 

“You’re staying?” asked Crimson.

“I just killed my father. I need to…”

“What?” she asked. “Turn yourself in?” She laughed. “You’re serious? He deserved it! At least, from what we could see.”

“No— I… I need to…”

Crimson rolled her eyes. Leonard turned his back to her. A mistake. She lashed out quickly. A quick strike to the back of his head. She then turned to her partner. They spoke without words, as they normally did, and soon he was bending to pick up the unconscious meta. 

.

.

.

“Let me remind you that I had said no to him coming here.”

“Shut up, Mick.”

“Seriously, Boss… He could blow our whole hideout,” said Mick, aka Blaze.

“We have many hideouts. Losing this one won’t hurt us at all,” said Sara, aka Crimson. She tapped a few keys on a keyboard and watched the monitor. Leonard was awake and pacing the small room they were keeping him in. She grinned. He looked pissed. She always liked it when his feathers were ruffled. “So, shall we go talk to our guest?”

“Hm… I guess.”

Sara and Mick walked to the door. Sara gave it a rap with her knuckles.

“Knock, knock!” she called out cheerfully.

“Get me the hell out of here!” shouted Leonard. 

“Say pretty please!” she said in a sing-song voice. He was silent and she once again rolled her eyes before opening the door. She saw the punch coming and deflected, twisting her body so that she could throw him over her shoulder. He struggled as she kept his arm in a hold, her foot planted at his back. When he ceased his struggles she released him. He rose to his feet, looking around the room and taking everything in. It wasn’t much. It was one of the shittier holes her and Mick had picked out. As soon as they let him go they were going to burn it down and move on. “You should be thanking us.”

“For what? Kidnapping me? Assault?”

“You were about to make the biggest mistake of your life by turning yourself in.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” he said.

“We don’t,” inserted Mick. 

“Deny it all you want, Leonard,” said Sara. “But you’re just like us. You try and try to be good but there is that little monster buried deep that wants to come out and play. You push it down again and again but we saw it tonight. You should let it out more.”

“Or maybe you should think you could be more than a killer,” said Leonard seriously before looking to Mick. “Or a pyromaniac.”

“Doesn’t pay well,” said Mick.

“Well, this has been fun, but I’m leaving,” said Leonard. He put his hands up as Sara moved forward. “Don’t try to stop me.”

“We won’t,” said Sara.

Sara and Mick watched as Leonard left their safehouse. 

“He’ll come around,” she said. 

“Fifty bucks says he’ll turn himself in.”

“You’re on.”

.

.

.

Leonard never turned himself in. He paid for a funeral. Pretended to care that his father was dead. The world was better without Lewis Snart in it. Lisa was the only person to truly mourn him. He told her to keep the ashes. He would have just flushed them down the toilet. Those he worked with in the hero circle noticed a change. That he was a little darker. Took things a little further than he should. He was still a hero, just not by the book like the rest of them. They all asked questions and he deflected them. He’d go home after each night and drink and plan his next move. He hadn’t seen Crimson or Blaze in weeks. Then, one night, he got a call about a robbery in progress and that the first responders were busy containing a fire set miles away. It stunk of those two and so he took it. He cut through traffic with his bike and when he saw two other bikes, one with an occupant with bright purple hair, he took chase. He could’ve easily shot out some ice to make them skid to a stop… But he wanted this tonight. Street after street whirred by as the speeds increased. When they hit a dirt road he put on the brakes as they slowed. 

“That was fun!” shouted Crimson.

“Just hand over the money you stole and we’ll call it even.”

“Oh, that’s no fun,” teased Crimson. “Besides, we have a proposal.”

“And what is that?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest, amused. 

“Join us,” prompted Crimson, making Leonard snort. 

“No.”

“But why not? I’ve been hearing through the grapevine that you’ve changed. Now, we both know why that is… C’mon, Leonard, straight and narrow is boring. Besides, we know you like us. Our hideout has yet to be compromised. And so we returned the favor by not telling anyone who you really are.”

“Why do you want me so bad?” asked Leonard. 

Crimson bit her bottom lip, white teeth digging into purple stained flesh as she looked him over from head to toe. She was clearly checking him out and he felt the collar of his coat get a little warm. 

“That’s a question to answer for another day.”

They left. And he didn’t stop them.

.

.

.

A fire broke out in an apartment complex. It was nasty. People were trapped inside. Leonard was doing his best to get to them. He was at the top floor holding a child when he realized he was in a bad spot. He had the child covered with his coat and she clung to his neck as he used his powers the best he could to escape the flames. When he realized he was stuck he went out the window. He fought to stay conscious as the child screamed from the fall. He shot ice at his feet, looping and swirling to slow his fall until he landed with a slide to the ground below. People cheered, but they sounded muffled to him. He barely managed to hand the child to a firefighter before he passed out. When he opened his eyes he was in a hospital room alone. His chest hurt and his eyes felt gritty. He felt a pressure at his hand and he turned to see Lisa sitting in a chair beside him holding his hand. 

“You’re one tough sonuvabitch,” murmured a familiar voice. Leonard turned to see Crimson and Blaze standing there. He knew it was them, but they were different. Blaze looked normal in his jeans and flannel shirt. Crimson had her hair up in a bun and her mask was off. She looked almost innocent without the mask on. 

“Why are you here?” he asked, or tried to. Crimson grabbed a cup of water and offered it. He gave her a skeptical look before taking a sip. “Why…”

“Because everyone knows who you are now. You save the town and they repay you by blasting your name all over the news. You aren’t safe. Lisa isn’t safe. I’ve already heard rumors of the Watchtower Order coming to take you out. You’ve pissed a lot of people off in the past… And they want your blood. And, well, they can’t have it.”

“If anyone is going to kill you,” continued Mick. “It’s gunna be us.”

“How reassuring,” murmured Leonard. 

“Get some rest.” Sara nodded to Lisa. “She’s safe with us. I had a sister once. I know what it’s like to want to protect them.”

For some reason he believed her. So, he went to sleep, knowing in that moment that those two were about to get what they wanted. He was about to become one of them… Because they were right. He’d saved this city again and again—and their repayment had been to put his name out there. He wasn’t safe. Lisa wasn’t safe—And he had no one to turn to because he’d slammed a lot of doors after he’d killed his father. And so, on this day…

Leonard Snart was going rogue. 

send me a prompt

[nxjacbbnc-blog]

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[homeschoolbase]

Teach this in Home school! please, God will condemn guilty sinners to Hell because He is Just, God offers salvation as an free gift through the Lord Jesus Christ, who is God come in flesh to suffer the wrath of God we deserved, died for our sins buried and rose again. Repent and believe!

Teach this in Home school! please, God will condemn guilty sinners to Hell because He is Just, God offers salvation as an free gift through the Lord Jesus Christ, who is God come in flesh to suffer the wrath of God we deserved, died for our sins buried and rose again. Repent and believe!

Thank you for taking the time to read this message, I appreciate it! - I’d love to share this amazing news with you, but first, there is some bad news, here, take a test. Where are you going when you die? Do you think your a good person? If so... * How many lies have you told? * Have you ever stolen anything despite its value? * Have you fornicated or entertained lustful thoughts (aka. committed adultery-of-the-heart)? * Maybe you’ve never gone so far as to murder someone, but have you simply harboured hatred for another human being (aka. committed murder-of-the-heart)? * Have you desperately longed for something you do not own, or that someone else possesses? (covet) * Have you taken God’s holy and awesome name in vain, using it as a swear-word? (blasphemy), Have you remembered the sabbath day? There are some of the Ten Commandments. Now, if God were to Judge you on the Ten Commandments, would you be innocent or guilty? The Results You and me, we have both broke God’s laws, we would be guilty, none are good but God. Since the fall of man, it is now embedded into our very nature to be dreadfully sinful, utterly disobedient, and outrageous rebels. Romans 3:23 says, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God”. God is Holy and Just and will condemn guilty sinners, just as a Just Judge must condemn someone guilty of a crime. The Consequence God’s law clearly displays our wickedness and the problem we have with sin. His standard of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:3-17) expose our sinfulness. Romans 6:23 informs us of the wages of sin — death. By disobeying God who is Holy, Righteous, Just, Perfect, Sovereign, Eternal, by breaking His laws, we have earned death for ourselves (spiritually, physically, and perpetually for eternity). That was the bad news; Now we know nothing can create intelligent design, order, conscience, morality, but an external greater force, (Almighty God) can. Romans 1:20 For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: People know God exists, but suppress the truth in unrighteousness, John 3:19 And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. Some sources for Jesus: 500+ witnesses, 24000+ manuscripts, fulfillment of Biblical Prophecies, historical, archeological, scientific data, 9 ancient sources, Holy Scripture, etc. The Lord Jesus Christ's resurrection shows that the Lord Jesus Christ is the one and only way, truth, and the life. HERE IS THE + GOOD NEWS! + The Ultimate Sacrifice and Victory Though we’ve lied, stolen, blasphemed, lusted, and broke all God’s laws, and will be justly condemned to Hell if we remain in our sins, God is the God of Love whose mercy endureth forever, God does not want any to perish but for all to come to repentance, so God sent His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, (God manifested in the flesh), to suffer the wrath of God we deserved, then Christ died for our sins, was buried, and rose again on the third day conquering sin death and the grave! God offers salvation as a free gift, amazing Grace! Our Response When we repent of our sins and trust fully in the Saviour to rescue us from our own sinfulness, we become new creations! “The old has gone, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17)! Along with inheriting our new identity as a Christian, a child of God, an ambassador for the Lord, we are assured a place in Heaven and gain the desire and power to battle sin. Whereas before, we were held captive to sin, utterly powerless and given zero reason even to fight against it, now, we are slaves to Christ and His righteousness (Romans 6:18). This is where true freedom begins! But, what exactly does repentance mean? And what does it look like to trust Christ exclusively. Repentance is to reject your old sinful ways of living and make a 180-turn towards God and His good, righteous character/statutes. It means we feel the weight of our guilt before God and respond by sincerely apologizing for our wickedness, thanking Him for His pardon through the blood of Jesus, and living the rest of our lives to please Him — and Him alone. To trust Christ is to understand that only He has the power and authority to rescue you from your sin. No amount of good deeds will save you; only His redeeming blood-sacrifice will. Not one person will make it to Heaven because of something they did. The credit for our salvation belongs entirely to the Lord. So, love Him! “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30) because of Who He is and what He has done for us. Summary To sum it up, here is a brief message of the Gospel: You’ve sinned; I’ve sinned; we’ve all sinned. Every single one of us needs saving and we can’t save ourselves; there is no possibility of earning our way to Heaven. Jesus Christ, the blameless Messiah, — truly God & truly man — humbled Himself as a servant on Earth and died a horrible death, paying the penalty we rightfully deserved for our own sin. Three days later, He conquered sin/death once-and-for-all by resurrecting from the grave. Now, through Christ’s death and victory, we can be made alive (no longer spiritually dead). He paid our ransom, our fine, and triumphed over the power of sin so that we could do the same, following after Him. What do you need to do to receive this precious, totally undeserved gift of salvation? Repent and believe (Mark 1:15). Turn away from sin, reject your old way of life and place the entirety of your trust in Jesus Christ. Humble yourself. Quit being prideful, relying upon your own good deeds to get you through. Understand that He is the only way to Heaven and put your faith in Him alone to save you. Thank you for taking the time to read it, the person reading this, I care about you so much and there is nothing more important than your salvation, and God wants you to come to salvation. Peace be with you. Love you! We are saved by grace through faith in what Christ has done on the Cross, justified and given His righteousness as a gift!

Some quotes, not needed beause everyone knows intuitively God exists, but here anyway. I care for you, please humbly put your trust in the Lord Jesus Christ.

This view [that Jesus didn’t exist] is demonstrably false. It is fuelled by a regrettable form of atheist prejudice, which holds all the main primary sources, and Christian people, in contempt. …. Most of its proponents are also extraordinarily incompetent.

Maurice Casey, Nottingham University, in Jesus of Nazareth

Today, nearly all historians, whether Christians or not, accept that Jesus existed and that the gospels contain plenty of valuable evidence which has to be weighed and assessed critically.

The late Graham Stanton, Cambridge University, in The Gospels and Jesus

Biblical scholars and classical historians now regard it [the theory that Jesus didn’t exist] as effectively refuted.

Robert Van Voorst, Western Theological Seminary, in Jesus outside the New Testament

I do not have to provide you evidence because you know God exists but suppress the truth in unrighteousness, it is not a truth problem, it’s a heart problem, people don’t want there to be a God because there love for sin and pleasures are more than being righteous.

nothing can not create space matter nor time, and also they believe there is no such thing as good or evil nor objective truth, our conscience says otherwise.

The Bible is a reliable collection of historical documents written by eyewitnesses during the lifetime of other eyewitnesses which report supernatural events in fulfillment of specific prophecies claiming that they are words of divine origin, rather than human in origin." derived from 2 Peter 1:16-21

C.S. Lewis on Reasoning to Atheism

‎”Supposing there was no intelligence behind the universe, no creative mind. In that case, nobody designed my brain for the purpose of thinking. It is merely that when the atoms inside my skull happen, for physical or chemical reasons, to arrange themselves in a certain way, this gives me, as a by-product, the sensation I call thought. But, if so, how can I trust my own thinking to be true? It’s like upsetting a milk jug and hoping that the way it splashes itself will give you a map of London. But if I can’t trust my own thinking, of course I can’t trust the arguments leading to Atheism, and therefore have no reason to be an Atheist, or anything else. Unless I believe in God, I cannot believe in thought: so I can never use thought to disbelieve in God.”

—C.S. Lewis The Case for Christianity, p. 32.

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[hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff]

YOU PROBABLY HAVEN’T HEARD of Duncan Hannah, a New York–based painter and illustrator, though there’s a somewhat famous, mid-’70s photo of him lounging in a rattan chair next to a bathing-suit-clad Debbie Harry. The image comes from an obscure 1976 art film called Unmade Beds, an amateurish, charming New York time capsule directed by Amos Poe (neither Hannah nor Harry could act).

Hannah will now be known as a diarist. As he notes in his new book Twentieth-Century Boy: Notebooks of the Seventies: “This is not a memoir. These are journals, begun in 1970 at the age of seventeen, written as it happened, filled with youthful indiscretions.”

Arriving in New York City from Minnesota, thin and wispy young Duncan is already well read and culturally hip — and not lockstep hip either, but rather a precocious contrarian. In art, he likes comic books, illustrators, and, most of all, David Hockney. To his credit, he tells his knee-jerk-avant art teachers at Bard College that he likes the Pre-Raphaelites. (“They shook their heads…” Well, of course they did. Of course they did.) He paints portraits of his offbeat literary heroes (e.g., Wyndham Lewis, Colin Wilson), which itself is kind of odd, and exhibits them in a group show, “in spite of not fitting in with the show’s agenda.”

Most of this book recounts our young rake meeting almost everyone important in his two worlds of art and music: Hockney, Warhol, Henry Geldzahler, Larry Rivers, David Bowie, Brian Eno, Bryan Ferry. A precocious dialectician, he can spar with the best — and worst — of them:

Danny shouts, “Louis, Louis, come join us!” looking at the entrance to the back room. I crane my neck to see who he is talking to. Gulp. Standing there in an alcoholic stupor, looking into my eyes, is the avatar of decadence and perversion, the legendary Lou Reed!

Creepy Reed lopes over to their table and whispers a truly stomach-turning proposition to our young diarist, which I won’t describe here. Appalled, Hannah becomes an ex-fan: “My hero worship is immediately over. Ick. […] He downs the rest of his tequila and leaves me alone in the booth to ponder my missed scatological opportunity.” It’s telling that Hannah, who lets the reader know that he has excised much from these journals, decided to leave this story in. Later on, he spots Reed at Max’s Kansas City, looking “like a skinny chimpanzee.”

Our narrator’s musings reach a peak of quotability whenever he’s witnessing the sorry truth about his heroes:

Fran Lebowitz sits with us and complains about her latest trick. [New York] Dolls drummer Jerry Nolan comes in with a gaudy chick in leopard skin, zippers, and frosted hair. Real skanky. Fran slips off …

Hannah also displays a shrewd ear for good music versus trash:

Bryan Ferry never disappoints […] Hawkwind […] weren’t to my taste. Queen […] I don’t like. […] Television is sounding better and better. Lenny Kaye called them “the golden apple at the top of the tree.”

[D]rove to Edgar Winter’s house on Sands Point, Long Island. This is Fitzgerald country, the fictional East Egg […] Gatsby! Yet inside this mansion was a rock band, dressed in their glitter sneakers and spandex, playing pinball machines and watching crap TV. Oblivious […] Pearls before swine, I thought to myself. We listened to a rough mix of their new album, which sounded lame […] Just loud, boring product for dullard youths. Rock ‘n roll can be incredibly stupid.

At what must have been the greatest New York rock-star party that ever happened, at the Academy of Music in June 1974, he sidles up to both Bryan Ferry, who’s distant and distracted, and David Bowie, who’s friendly, engaging, and witty:

He graced me with a glance, and I asked him if he was collecting material for a new song at this very minute. He sneered his canines at me and said, “Yah, why, do you wanna be in my song?”

I sneered back, “Yah, what about it?” We kept up our grimaces like a couple of thugs, necks outstretched, until he broke out laughing.

Meanwhile, in the art scene, minimalism is in full swing, but Duncan is (appropriately) unmoved. His stubborn conservatism, though, seems possibly to have cost him a more high-profile art career in such a ripe time and place. Hockney himself pays a visit and critiques his work (“Your drawing is a bit heavy-handed in the American fashion”), but progress remains slow, and he resists painting “something conceptual […] [s]omething that had quotes around it.” Regardless, Hannah’s days in New York were clearly tilted more in favor of “the life” (sex, drugs, and parties).

You might assume that our young-and-waify hero proceeded to screw his way willy-nilly through the gender-bending, glammy ’70s, this being the comparatively carefree, pre-AIDS era. But though his wolf-baiting good looks and friendliness are a constant magnet to a parade of lecherous males, he remains, steadfastly, straight as a razor.

The budding sociologist in Hannah (all of 22 here) is sharp-eyed when recalling a party at “the old Factory”:

This is the place where trigger-happy Valerie Solanas shot Andy. Creepy. They used to shoot laser beams from up here across the park into Max’s. I feel the party’s force fields, currents of strength, currents of weakness. “The love that dare not speak its name” just won’t shut up these days. Gayness has lost its underground status in NYC and is busy becoming the dominant sensibility. Lots of affectation. Sad when things turn to parody.

A short detour through London in August 1972 (“We sit at the dark basement bar and eyeball a couple of likely-looking English lasses, in their ‘frock coats and bipperty-bopperty hats’”) contains yet another best-possible-time-and-place music pilgrimage I can’t help but envy:

Robert Wyatt’s new group, Matching Mole, play. I love them. Then it’s Roy Wood’s Wizzard, who look ridiculous but sound great.

At intermission, we drank vodka […] and wound up talking to a forward young girl named Mary. […] Mary said she liked effeminate boys and I nudged her over to the doorway […] and kissed her and felt up her tits.

Bingo, glam-rock-era success! (This episode aside, the book is disappointingly scant on pornographic details, despite the number of conquests it chronicles.) Our thin white duke’s 20th birthday is summarily ruined, however, when his androgynous looks and excessive drinking in a London gay bar lead to what he calls a “near-rape experience,” the one truly frightening episode in the book.

While the party girls and the art-student girls keep on “flying low” for our handsome young buck, the picaresque life is starting to wear him down:

I smell like booze all the time now, but it’s expensive booze for a change. Perpetual hangover. […] I’m living faster than I can write. Not that I actually have something to write about. There’s no time to do it.

Everything turns sour. “The next chapter of this blackout finds me alone…” Hannah realizes he’s an alcoholic. A “real” girlfriend in his life (a rarity) turns out to be nuts:

Terry was hearing voices in her head, and she stabbed me in the chest with a small penknife she keeps in her bag. The little blade bounced off a bone. Ouch! This because the voices were teasing her about my so-called “harem.” “Terry, there is no harem!” But the voices insisted.

There is much tottering down smelly New York alleyways in platform shoes during many a besotted dawn. It’s a pungent, Scorsese’d-out New York that wafts up from these pages: “It’s hard to unravel people’s origins in New York. They act cagey. Suspicious”; neurosis in the air “mistaken for energy […] the new pissiness”; “[p]eople fall apart all the time.” 

As a final flourish, our now jaded dandy is disappointed when he visits grumpy Ned Rorem, who doesn’t come on to him at all but is actually a rather unfriendly old fuck. But Dunc is unfazed. To quote from an old blues song: “His disposition takes him through this world.”

Twentieth-Century Boy is a breezy, demotically precise portrait of Bowie-and-Warhol New York, splayed like a passed-out wino on every page. Hannah, who has no regrets and still looks young, now lives in New York and Connecticut.

¤

Anthony Mostrom is a journalist living in Los Angeles. He was formerly an LA Times columnist and a book reviewer and travel writer for the LA Weekly.

The post The Thin White Dunc: A Jaded Dandy in 1970s New York appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2v4lMbA

[stevescoles]

Julie Teckman has joined the traders of Most Marvellous…

The late, great John Lennon once said “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans” and it’s a belief that has rung true to me throughout my life. Most recently, and shortly after making the decision to retire from my full-time job, plans to buy a dog and take life easier were hastily shoved to one side when I discovered that ex-colleagues, Mick and Shirlee Hayes had taken over local vintage emporium Most Marvellous on Abington Square.

If you’ve never visited it, Most Marvellous resides in an old church at the point where the Kettering and Wellingborough roads intersect and is truly an Aladdin’s cave of treasures at prices that Aladdin himself would be able to afford. My flippant comment about having cupboards full of old (and, in some cases, new) clothes I’ll never wear again, somehow resulted in an offer rent a space in the cellar of the Emporium, which is how I found myself lugging bags of clothes into my very own ‘shop’ just a couple of weeks later and becoming the newest member of the Most Marvellous community.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The huge interest in vintage, retro and upcycling that has increased despite or, perhaps, as a result of the technological age in which we live, means that locally we now have three vintage emporia in the town itself (Most Marvellous Emporium, The Old BakeHouse in Abington Avenue and the Vintage Retreat in Lower Harding Street) with others spread out around the county including the massive Antiques Cellar in Brackley and a plethora of reclamation and restoration items for sale in Weedon. Television programmes like Money for Nothing, French Collection and all the antiquey-style shows in which fortune-hunters search for treasure amongst other people’s trash contributing to the unabated fascination we have with the past, and a morning spent at any of the vintage emporia will demonstrate the varied age range and backgrounds of customers.

There are 60 traders currently housed in the huge Emporium, and every bit of wall and floor space is heaving with household objects and pre-loved clothing in a stunning visual display of nostalgia and recent fashion history. Browsing can take a very long time as one moves between traders and through the nooks and crannies that house yet more items, many of which will bring back memories of childhood and teenage years. Considering a lamp made out of copper piping? There’s plenty to choose from. Searching for shabby chic garden containers? Masses of choice. Unusual storage? Sorted!

At a time when most of us are having to spread our financial resources ever thinner, the desire to find bargains that will enhance our homes, make creative gifts or offer the opportunity to upcycle, restore and re-use items that might previously have been thrown away is increasingly attractive. For those of us who enjoy the shopping experience, the combination of unusual items (check out The Mathom House and Annie Gunn), good quality products that can be given a new life as shabby or industrial chic home-wear and the knowledgeable, friendly staff who really enjoy helping customers find the perfect item makes for an engaging guilt-free mooch. From the funky tee-shirts and retro sweets at the front of the shop, to the labyrinth of clothes’ areas in the cellar, there really is something for everybody and prices start from just a few pence so if you start the new year broke but needing to feed a shopping addiction, you can’t really go far wrong here. But back to my new venture.

I moved into my little cellar area at the beginning of November with grand plans to install a chandelier to show off the brick walls, floor and ceiling to best advantage but realised that with a ceiling height of under three metres, this would not be a practical option, so instead I opted for fairy lights and gilt mirrors to brighten up the little room.

I quickly learned from the other traders that the key to success is to cram your area as full of stock as possible and to keep stock updated because the Emporium attracts many regular customers who like to browse for new booty. Matthew Lewis, owner of Darcy’s Delights Retro Sweet store and the Hayes’ right-hand man, gave me an induction into pricing and displaying my stock to best advantage, before casting his expert eye over my handiwork. His knowledge of each and every trader means that he can easily direct customers to exactly what they are looking for, although perusing the whole place is definitely recommended.

Some of the other clothes shops specialise in pure vintage which is always popular. Whether selling to vintage purists or simply customers looking for vintage for themed parties, traders like Dulcie Britain, Nutshell Vintage and Reviver combine retro style with ‘wearability’ for both men and women. From faux fur to hand knit jumpers they are awash with stylish and funky items for all ages. I decided to call myself Vintage2Versace to reflect that my clothes range from genuine vintage from the sixties and seventies to pre-loved fashion from the more recent past.

Running my little ‘shop’ has taught me so much already. I’m getting better at locating stock that will appeal to my customers and then displaying it so that visitors get an appealing first look at my wares. With help from Matthew, I’m learning more about using social media, especially Facebook and Instagram, to promote individual items and increase awareness of my presence in the Emporium. Every week I make sure I move stock around and add new pieces from my weekly buying sprees. It’s taken a while to work out what is most likely to sell and how best to set prices and, again, I’ve looked to the more experienced traders around me to give me a guide to pricing.

I’m not expecting to earn a fortune but the joy of finding a new item of clothing that sells quickly to a delighted buyer, makes my new venture one of the most enjoyable things I’ve ever done. There’s something really wonderful about knowing that I’ve given somebody else pleasure in buying clothes I’ve chosen. And the best thing is that, as the

Most Marvellous Emporium is completely dog-friendly, with well-behaved dogs welcomed and treated to biscuits from the behind the check-out desk, it seems that my dog-owning plan will soon be a reality too! The Most Marvellous Emporium is open seven days a week with new stock arriving daily and is really a most marvellous place to shop!

The emporium strikes back

Julie Teckman has joined the traders of Most Marvellous… The late, great John Lennon once said “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans” and it’s a belief that has rung true to me throughout my life.

The emporium strikes back Julie Teckman has joined the traders of Most Marvellous... The late, great John Lennon once said “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans” and it’s a belief that has rung true to me throughout my life.

[nqbuddy]

Julie Teckman has joined the traders of Most Marvellous…

The late, great John Lennon once said “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans” and it’s a belief that has rung true to me throughout my life. Most recently, and shortly after making the decision to retire from my full-time job, plans to buy a dog and take life easier were hastily shoved to one side when I discovered that ex-colleagues, Mick and Shirlee Hayes had taken over local vintage emporium Most Marvellous on Abington Square.

If you’ve never visited it, Most Marvellous resides in an old church at the point where the Kettering and Wellingborough roads intersect and is truly an Aladdin’s cave of treasures at prices that Aladdin himself would be able to afford. My flippant comment about having cupboards full of old (and, in some cases, new) clothes I’ll never wear again, somehow resulted in an offer rent a space in the cellar of the Emporium, which is how I found myself lugging bags of clothes into my very own ‘shop’ just a couple of weeks later and becoming the newest member of the Most Marvellous community.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The huge interest in vintage, retro and upcycling that has increased despite or, perhaps, as a result of the technological age in which we live, means that locally we now have three vintage emporia in the town itself (Most Marvellous Emporium, The Old BakeHouse in Abington Avenue and the Vintage Retreat in Lower Harding Street) with others spread out around the county including the massive Antiques Cellar in Brackley and a plethora of reclamation and restoration items for sale in Weedon. Television programmes like Money for Nothing, French Collection and all the antiquey-style shows in which fortune-hunters search for treasure amongst other people’s trash contributing to the unabated fascination we have with the past, and a morning spent at any of the vintage emporia will demonstrate the varied age range and backgrounds of customers.

There are 60 traders currently housed in the huge Emporium, and every bit of wall and floor space is heaving with household objects and pre-loved clothing in a stunning visual display of nostalgia and recent fashion history. Browsing can take a very long time as one moves between traders and through the nooks and crannies that house yet more items, many of which will bring back memories of childhood and teenage years. Considering a lamp made out of copper piping? There’s plenty to choose from. Searching for shabby chic garden containers? Masses of choice. Unusual storage? Sorted!

At a time when most of us are having to spread our financial resources ever thinner, the desire to find bargains that will enhance our homes, make creative gifts or offer the opportunity to upcycle, restore and re-use items that might previously have been thrown away is increasingly attractive. For those of us who enjoy the shopping experience, the combination of unusual items (check out The Mathom House and Annie Gunn), good quality products that can be given a new life as shabby or industrial chic home-wear and the knowledgeable, friendly staff who really enjoy helping customers find the perfect item makes for an engaging guilt-free mooch. From the funky tee-shirts and retro sweets at the front of the shop, to the labyrinth of clothes’ areas in the cellar, there really is something for everybody and prices start from just a few pence so if you start the new year broke but needing to feed a shopping addiction, you can’t really go far wrong here. But back to my new venture.

I moved into my little cellar area at the beginning of November with grand plans to install a chandelier to show off the brick walls, floor and ceiling to best advantage but realised that with a ceiling height of under three metres, this would not be a practical option, so instead I opted for fairy lights and gilt mirrors to brighten up the little room.

I quickly learned from the other traders that the key to success is to cram your area as full of stock as possible and to keep stock updated because the Emporium attracts many regular customers who like to browse for new booty. Matthew Lewis, owner of Darcy’s Delights Retro Sweet store and the Hayes’ right-hand man, gave me an induction into pricing and displaying my stock to best advantage, before casting his expert eye over my handiwork. His knowledge of each and every trader means that he can easily direct customers to exactly what they are looking for, although perusing the whole place is definitely recommended.

Some of the other clothes shops specialise in pure vintage which is always popular. Whether selling to vintage purists or simply customers looking for vintage for themed parties, traders like Dulcie Britain, Nutshell Vintage and Reviver combine retro style with ‘wearability’ for both men and women. From faux fur to hand knit jumpers they are awash with stylish and funky items for all ages. I decided to call myself Vintage2Versace to reflect that my clothes range from genuine vintage from the sixties and seventies to pre-loved fashion from the more recent past.

Running my little ‘shop’ has taught me so much already. I’m getting better at locating stock that will appeal to my customers and then displaying it so that visitors get an appealing first look at my wares. With help from Matthew, I’m learning more about using social media, especially Facebook and Instagram, to promote individual items and increase awareness of my presence in the Emporium. Every week I make sure I move stock around and add new pieces from my weekly buying sprees. It’s taken a while to work out what is most likely to sell and how best to set prices and, again, I’ve looked to the more experienced traders around me to give me a guide to pricing.

I’m not expecting to earn a fortune but the joy of finding a new item of clothing that sells quickly to a delighted buyer, makes my new venture one of the most enjoyable things I’ve ever done. There’s something really wonderful about knowing that I’ve given somebody else pleasure in buying clothes I’ve chosen. And the best thing is that, as the

Most Marvellous Emporium is completely dog-friendly, with well-behaved dogs welcomed and treated to biscuits from the behind the check-out desk, it seems that my dog-owning plan will soon be a reality too! The Most Marvellous Emporium is open seven days a week with new stock arriving daily and is really a most marvellous place to shop!

The emporium strikes back Julie Teckman has joined the traders of Most Marvellous... The late, great John Lennon once said “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans” and it’s a belief that has rung true to me throughout my life.