#for example today i saw my colleague and turns out she knows my father

[ilovecoffeeandchemistry]

ooooh i woke up in a bad mood and it's so hard not to be a bitch about it

[songbirdsingingthings]

You and Your Everything - Shouto Todoroki x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

MHA Masterlist - Main Masterlist

WARNINGS: Your parents being the absolute worst, a few minor curse words, a lil angsty

Requested by Anonymous:

HI i love your writing and i saw that your requests were open? i was wondering if you could do like a shoto x reader but instead y/ns parents are like the opposite of shoto and endeavor? like for an example how shoto wants nothing to do with his dad and and all y/n wants to do is please her parents or make them happy since they never pay attention to her like that? both house holds are still toxic but i feel like thatd be an interesting dynamic

A/N: This was so interesting and cool to write! Obviously, the subject matter was much angstier and sadder than a lot of the stuff I have written, but I found writing this, like, entire paragraph of dialogue of Shouto (you’ll know it when you see it) to be so entirely incredible. I just kept on writing. Thank you so much for this awesome rec!

Word Count: 1.8K

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Kana Y/L/N. Please leave a message. BEEP”

“Hi Mom, it’s me again. Just calling to remind you that third years are allowed to reserve a box for their parents in the Sports Festival arena! I saved one for you and Dad in the front row, which are the best seats in the whole place. The Festival takes place tomorrow, as I told you guys about three months ago so you could put it on your calendars. I’m, uh, looking forward to seeing you again! Love you, bye!” Pressing the red circle that represented an “end call” button, you heaved a sigh and looked through your recent calls. Nine recent calls that your mother had missed within the last three days. Ten that your father had. They’re just busy, you tell yourself, trying to ease your mind. They’re just busy right now, but they had said that they’d come. They’ll come. Your thoughts had consumed you to such a point you didn’t even register the little nudges to your side.

“.../N? Y/N?” You blinked quickly to rid your consciousness of its prior dilemma and turn your head to the side. With heterochromatic eyes blinking fondly at you matched with a slight frown of concern, your boyfriend prompts the same question that had earlier feel upon deaf ears. “Y/N, I was asking if you are alright. You seemed a little… not here when I asked you just a minute ago.” Shouto’s voice, like always, is level, however little hints of emotion always tend to slip in between the cracks of his pronunciations. Like now, for instance, you hear the traces of worry cling onto his words.

“Oh, sorry, I was just leaving a voicemail.” You say simply. The sentence that left your mouth would seem normal to any person that you were friendly with. However, Shouto knew the implications. His shoulders seemed to tense as he took your hand. You squeeze his hand to reassure him. “Don’t worry Sho, they’re just really busy people. I’m sure they definitely carved time out of their schedules to come and watch me. I just need to make sure I get into the tournament round so I don’t waste their time.” You say, laughing a little dryly. Shouto doesn’t smile at the joke you made at your own expense.

“I just don’t get it.” He says, which makes your smile drop into a frown. “Why do you try so hard for them.” Your spine straightens at his words and your grip on his hand loosens. “Y/N, they’re awful people-”

“They’re my parents and I want to make them proud.” You say swiftly, a slight grimace on your face. Silence settles between the two of you, that is, until you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. Jumping up immediately and grabbing your phone, you take a glance at the caller ID. Your heart sinks as you see it’s a random telemarketer, and click decline call. You look back to your boyfriend, which was a mistake, because his eyes pooled with pity. Not feeling quite right in the space you were in, you grab your school bag and stuff your phone the furthest down it would go. “I’m going to go freshen up before dinner.” You decide, nodding towards Shouto and walking away a bit.

“Do you want me to come with you?” His suggestion on a normal basis would make your face flush and your heart beat a bit faster, however today you just wanted to be alone for a bit.

“No, it’s okay,  I’ll see you at dinner.” You say quickly.

“Y/N.” His grip came softly around your wrist, tugging you back a bit to face him. “I’m… I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I just love you,” he said those last two words a bit softer than the others, “and I want to see you happy.” Butterflies took flight in the pit of your stomach as you held Shouto’s gaze, his heartfelt and earnest words weighing heavily within your heart. Your frown wobbles into a smile as you lean in to place a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I know.”

“Did you see me out there?!” You cheer, careening down the arena hallway towards where Shouto was waiting with open arms. You leapt directly into them and was quickly picked up and spun around in a little circle.

“I did, you were incredible.” Shouto gushes, his cheek squished against yours. You laughed joyously as you felt his arms squeeze you closer to him, your heart racing with both leftover adrenaline from your second round tournament match and the feeling of love from your boyfriend. However, your laughter and the embrace you were tucked into died down when you heard the faint clearing of a throat, causing both of you to turn towards the sound. If you were looking into a mirror, you’re sure you would see your eyes grow to the size of saucers and your jaw dropping just a tad at the sight before you. There, standing about ten paces away, were your parents. Your mother, with her hair tied back in an uncomfortable looking bun with her freshly pressed pencil skirt and matching career jacket. Your father at her side, his suit and pants looking as sharp as ever. And the expressions they held…

“M-mother? Father? You two made it?” You stammer out, dumbfounded at their appearance. “But I, uh, didn’t see either of you in the stands.” You admit, earning a nonchalant expression from both parents.

“Well, with that lackluster performance that you executed, did you really think we would want to show our faces? It’s bad enough our colleagues know of you and all your little failures that you like to categorize as triumphs. Honestly, you really thought that we would want to be on camera for the entire world to see?” Your mother’s bored tone and biting words struck you hard. You felt your spine straighten and your hands stick to your side as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“But… I won.” You said, so soft that the sound of someone’s heartbeat could overpower it. If your gaze wasn’t stuck to your parents’ forms, you would have seen Shouto’s eyebrows narrow, awaiting for the oncoming onslaught.

“Good Lord, you want to call that a win? It makes me wonder how you ever got into this school or passed any physical examination in your class.” Your father’s tone, just as bored and apathetic as your mother’s, sent trembles down your spine. You clenched your fists and jaw to try and prevent crying. But, of course, it was of no use. The tears trickled their way, one by one, down your cheek like raindrops on a car window.

“And you’re crying now. Fantastic.” Your mother retorts, turning her to your father now. “I told you we should have sent her directly to the Hero Public Safety Commission. Would’ve toughened her up in no time-”

“CAN’T YOU SEE SHE’S UPSET?!” You almost didn’t recognize his voice. The soft spoken, pensive Shouto Todoroki that you knew to be your boyfriend rarely got upset. When he did, it was almost always in the middle of a battle or fight, just as he was about to use a special move. But this time, it was pure rage and anger that clung onto his words. Your parents, now sprouting an expression of slight surprise turned their attention to the seething red-and-white haired boy at your side. “All she ever does is work to make you happy. Day and night, twenty-four seven, it’s for you. And now here you come, strutting back into her life with some agenda on how she should fight and how much of a so-called failure she is?! Well screw that! You don’t get to have an opinion when it comes to her! She has been trying to get a hold of both of you for months on end and getting no more than the same damn message from your voicemails, telling her that you’re too busy for her!” Shouto’s face was red now. His fists were balled up and the tiniest flecks of flames were flaking from his left side. “And then, you’re now finally here, and you come with this holier-than-thou attitude! Y/N L//N, your daughter, is the most incredible and capable person I have met in my entire life. The fact that a person like her can rise like a phoenix from the ashes that is your attitudes and parenting styles is a miracle, because in every way, shape and form, she will forever be a marvel. To me, to our classmates, and to the entire world. I just can’t wait to see the look on your sorry asses when the time comes for her to give her thank you speech after becoming the number one hero, and you don’t hear either of your names mentioned once.” The silence is deafening after Shouto finishes speaking. You feel your whole body trembling and can recognize that there are tears falling down past your cheeks, but nothing else. Nothing else, until that constricting feeling that you felt bound to you to your parents’ approval starts to loosen the moment Shouto takes your hand in his. 

“Let’s go.” Your words, merely more than a whisper, is all it takes for Shouto to wrap and arm around your waist as he marches past your dumbstruck parents, towards a private room. The second Shouto clicks the lock shut, you let yourself break down. Sobs racked your body as you clung onto his shirt, his arm, and his love. “They’re supposed to be my parents. How… I can’t even do anything.” You hiccup into his tear-stained gym uniform, the one identical to yours (without the blotches of tears).

“Hey, shh, you’re okay. You’re fine.” Shouto says, his reassuring words grounding you. “You will get through this whole… mess, okay? I know you can. All you need to do is take it one day at a time.” You nod into his chest and let your head lie there as the tears finally started to cease from falling.

“You, uh, probably have to get ready for your match, right?” You sniff, moving one of your hands up to your face to rub at your nose.

“I’m fine here.” Shouto says, wrapping his arms around you. “Y/N, you really were incredible out there. Do not let them make you think otherwise.” You nod again as you feel Shouto begin to play lightly with your hair. “You are enough. More than, in fact. They might think otherwise, but I don’t. I love you, and your smile, and your everything.” You were too fried emotionally to say anything back, but Shouto knew. He knew that it would take time to finally break from your parents�� psychological hold over you and that he would always be there at your side.

[aperrywilliams]

The Resident Genius (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader x BAU

Summary: Reader joins Spencer in his last day in the BAU.

Word Count: 3497.

Warnings: None. Melancholy? Could be a category for this.

A/N: Today is Monday. I don’t want to work. I’m thinking in retirement. That’s all.

——————–

“Are you ok?” (Y/N) asked me squeezing lightly my arm while the elevator lifted us to the 6th floor.

“Yeah. A little bit nervous, but I’m fine,” I replied giving her a little smile. She took my hand intertwining our fingers. “Thank you” I muttered.

“Why is that?” she asked smiling.

“You didn’t need to be here right now. You haven't come here for a while”. I shrugged.

“I didn’t let you do this alone. You did the same with me some years ago. I’m your wife, remember?”

“I remind it every day I wake up next to you. And I realize me how lucky I have been all this years for that” I told her with a smile.

“You have become cheesy over the years, you know?,” affirmed (Y/N) giggling.

“And you love that, don’t you?,” I pointed out.

“Yes, my cheesy and loved Dr. Reid,” whispered (Y/N) kissing my cheek.

“I love you”

“I love you too, baby” she replied.

The elevator doors opened and we walked to the glass doors of the bullpen. Opening them made the environment feel like any other day at work. Agents moving from one desk to another, from one office to another. Some reviewing files, others making phone calls, others discussing an ongoing case. My routine for the last 40 years.

With (Y/N) we go up the stairs to the offices sector, coming at the door of my office. Oh yeah, Dr. Spencer Reid finally managed to have an office for himself when he completed 30 years of service at the BAU.

It wasn't a big deal to me either. I was used to my desk. The desk which witnessed so many conversations with my team mates. Where I could perform my magic tricks by experimenting with the laws of chemistry and physics, where I spent hours and hours reading reports. The same desk that housed hundreds of coffee mugs on it. Desk from where I could peek at (Y/N) without her noticing. The same desk that witnessed our sneaky kisses with (Y/N) when everyone had already gone home and we were the only ones working in the bullpen. Desk where I knelt to ask her to marry me. The same desk where I was sitting when (Y/N) told me she was pregnant the first time.

"Are you going to step inside?". (Y/N) asked when she saw I stood in front of the door without opening it.

"Yes. Sure. I got distracted. Sorry". After I put a feet on the office, the first thing I saw were empty boxes ready to be filled with my things. Which were not few. It was enough to see the shelf full of books, some of which I had from my first years at the BAU.

“I think these boxes won’t be enough. I had forgotten how many books you had in the office” (Y/N) commented laughing.

"And we still haven't discussed where I'll put them at home..." I stated clearing my throat.

“Now I think is good Emily doesn't live with us anymore. You could use that room for a 'new' library,” (Y/N) suggested.

"It’s possible. Although Abby surely wanted to take that room for her...".

"I'm sure you can reach an agreement" (Y/N) replied giving me a kiss in my forehead.

“Yeah, I think we will”

“Okay, start packing. I'll make you a coffee in the meantime" she said starting to move to the coffee machine placed in one of the shelves.

"You are the best, you know?". I answered, taking her by the waist, bringing her close to my body and lifting her chin to look at those eyes that keep driving me crazy as if it were the first day I met her.

"I know. But… are you going to stare at me forever or will you dare to kiss me?". We both started laughing. That verbatim phrase left her lips for the first time after our first date. I leaned down to meet her lips with mine. Almost 30 years of marriage and kissing (Y/N) still makes me erupt butterflies from my stomach. The power of this woman over me is indescribable.

Our kiss was disrupted when someone opened the office door.

"Dr. Spencer Reid on his last day of work. I thought I was going to see him busily packing his books and not in a make-out session with his wife."

"Wow, I didn't expect my boss to find me this way". I commented laughing.

Jack Hotchner had become the BAU’s Unit Chief 5 years ago, following in his father's path. Easier to smile than Aaron, Jack maintained the same rigor leading the BAU, proving to be a natural leader. Respected and loved by his colleagues, no one questioned his rules, not even the impulsive Hank Morgan, who joined the BAU 3 years ago.

“I think you will need help Reid. I doubt you can finish packing by yourself before lunch” Jack affirmed.

"Hey, maybe I’m old and never have been very athletic, but at least I can take care of my books" I protested.

"If you say so Reid... if you say so..." said Jack teasing me.

“I would help him. But I know him and I know that just touching one of his relics he will go crazy. So I just make the coffee and thus avoid problems" stated (Y/N) laughing.

“You know him better than anyone (Y/L/N). When you left the BAU a few years ago, Dr. Reid became a grouch in the office because no one else understood his ways,” said Jack.

"Could you at least consider me here when you talk about me?" I protested again as Jack and (Y/N) laughed.

“I'd better leave you, so Dr. Reid can start his task. I'll be back for you at lunch,” Jack declared.

"Jack... is it necessary?... I mean, I can say goodbye to each one of you here... it’s not necessary to have a large lunch meeting with everyone..."

“I won't hear complaints about that now Reid. I'll be back for you at lunch time,” said Jack before closing the door.

"The boss has spoken" (Y/N) recited looking at me and shrugging.

"You know that I don't like these activities with so many people... and even less if I have to give a speech..."

“Spencer… baby, I know. But they are your colleagues, several of them children of your best friends. They have known you for years. You are even godfather to some of them. The least they want to do is say goodbye to you in this job that has been your life for almost 40 years”.

(Y/N) was right. A lifetime at the BAU. Just thinking about it I felt tears well up in my eyes. I knew it was the natural passage of time, but I didn't know yet if I was ready to leave this life behind.

"I know. It's just… thinking I won't be working in this place again makes me anxious. What am I going to do now (Y/N)? "

"Isn't it Dr. Spencer Reid, who is always enthusiastic about knowledge and new things, who asks me that?" (Y/N) teased me.

"Don't make fun of me (Y/N), you know I don't have the same energy as before..."

"Maybe not. But I know you. That brain of yours will handle it. Besides, I think you owe me some nights where we can go to bed early and many mornings to stay in bed until after noon, don't you think?”

"Yes. It’s true" I replied with a smirk.

“Spencer, you have to take things in a different perspective. And to enjoy what you have achieved in this years of full effort. For example, seeing your children doing what make them happy. Learning from his father”.

"Stop right there (Y/N)... I don't want to cry... yet, please." (Y/N) grinned and pulled me into a tight hug.

“For many years you were the resident genius of this place. It’s time you leave that place to new resident geniuses”, she sentenced, sealing her words with a kiss on my cheek.

We start packing. Indeed the boxes weren’t enough. (Y/N) had to go get some more from the basement. The few pictures on the wall were also packed up. As well as the photographs that were on my desk: one of my mother, another of (Y/N) with me on our wedding day, another of Emily, Theo and Abby, my children. One last from the BAU team with Hotch, Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan and JJ.

The morning went quickly. It was a little after 1:00 p.m. when Jack got back to the office.

“I see you are almost ready. The remained things we can take it later. We can ask some of the boys for help,” said Jack, looking around the almost empty office.

“I think that help will needed to load the car. I didn't think it would be so many boxes after all” I complained.

"No problem. Now come on, it's time for lunch”.

Leaving the office and walking down the hall to the conference room, one last time, was more difficult than I thought. (Y/N) noticed it immediately and took my hand, squeezing it gently to encourage me. I looked at her and when she saw my anxiety she approached my ear and whispered 'I'm so proud of you Spencer, I love you so much. We are in this together, don't forget it.' I nodded, gulped, squeezed her hand, and I continued walking.

Stepping inside the room, my surprise was greater than I expected. Not only did I see my colleagues, in fact, I saw the children of my friends, my godchildren, some of my friends and my own children. Everyone lining up to give me a hug.

The first was SSA Hank Spencer Morgan:

“Uncle Spencer, we're going to miss you here. You have been a great example for everyone”.

"Thanks Hank. I’m leaving comfortable knowing you are here and knowing you’re a great contribution to this team”.

Then it was his father's turn, Derek Morgan:

“My man! At last you are leaving this place. I didn't think you were going to last so many years. I thought I was going to die and you would still be rambling at the BAU. Come on!. It's time to enjoy life with (Y/N). Start thinking about a second honeymoon" he sentenced, elbowing me in the ribs.

"Completely considered" I replied laughing and giving him a squeeze on the shoulder.

Then it was SSA Michael LaMontagne's turn: “Uncle Spence, it was an honor to have worked with you at the BAU. I have learned a lot from you in life, not only here. We’ll continue to see each other for sure”.

“Of course we do, Michael. I'm sure you’ll continue to do an excellent job here. I have no doubt about it”.

Behind Michael was Henry LaMontagne. The first baby I held in my arms– almost panicking: “Uncle Spencer. The BAU owes you a lot. I am proud to be your godson and thankfully for you to be part of our life. Much success in this new stage of your life”.

"If the BAU owes me, I also owe the BAU, so I think we are at hand." I replied.

By now tears were falling from my eyes. A motherly smile spread to the next person in line: JJ. She came over and I buried my face in her shoulder.

"Hey, you should be happy. You will stop drinking this horrible coffee" she said while hugging me. "Spence. We both know that this place became an important part of our lives. But you have to let it go. We deserve it".

"I know. I'll just have to get used to the idea. You know, no longer bad sleeping habits, decent food, those things… I don’t know if I’m ready for that”. I replied wiping my tears with my fingers.

SSA Chloe Simmons was next to hug me:

"Dr. Reid, really thank you very much for all the teachings you have given us over the years. My dad always spoke with great appreciation of you. I'm sure he would have loved to be here now”.

“Thanks Chloe, Matt was a great man. Very smart and much more athletic and stocky than me, of course. Surely he must be happy that you have decided to join the BAU”.

Who was next in line? Former BAU chief and now former FBI director Emily Prentiss:

“Finally Spencer!, just like Morgan, I thought I would disappear from this world and you would still be working at the BAU. Come here my favorite genius”, Prentiss said while she pulled me into a hug that could have left me breathless. It’s true Prentiss no longer had the same youthful strength as before, but she would always be a tough girl. I reciprocated the hug as strongly as possible.

“Sooner or later it had to happen. I hope you have already forgiven me for how badly I treated you the first months of your arrival". I said laughing.

"You fool. Your memory is clearly better than mine. I already forgot” she replied laughing too.

Then it was Jack Hotchner's turn:

“Thank you very much Spencer for everything. For all the years you spent at the BAU. This place owes you a lot and there is nothing we can do to even make up for even a part of your dedication here."

"Thanks Jack. I can only say that Aaron would be tremendously proud to see you in the man you have become."

At the end of the line were my children. The first to hug me was Emily, now SSA Dr. Emily Reid:

"Dad. I'm so proud of you. I just wanted to thank you because despite this job and how demanding it is, you managed to be with us in our childhood and growth. You’ll always be an example for us and I only hope to live up to what you have been for the BAU”.

"My little pumpkin. Now you are Dr. Reid of the BAU. Have no doubt you’ll do an excellent job here. Better than mine even, because you have your mother's DNA and teachings. I'm proud of you. I love you so much. I wish you the best for the future. You deserve it". The hug we gave each other could have been eternal. My little one, my daughter, the first fruit of my love with (Y/N).

Then came Theo. My little man. The image of (Y/N). The same kindness, the same audacity, the same dedication to others. Not for nothing did he become a primary school teacher. His vocation fills me with delight and seeing him happy is my greatest happiness.

"Dad, congratulations! You managed to overcome the adversities of life and you have reached this point where now you can see everything you have achieved. You can be with mom and enjoy this new time with her. I have always admired the love you have for each other. Patience and dedication towards each other. Thank you for showing us that and teaching us to be better persons, both through the good and the bad”.

“Thank you Theo. My little man. You know you’ll always be our little one, right? With your mother we love you very much and we are happy to see the person you have become”. We both embraced and when we parted I kissed his forehead, just like I did when he was a child.

Abby came later. Without saying anything, she hung around my neck, burying her head on my chest. She was crying. I couldn't help it either and started crying too.

"I'm sorry dad. I didn't want to cry because I knew it would make you cry too. But they are tears of joy, to see everyone in this room loves and appreciates you. You’re the best in the world dad, even if you are a nerd and sometimes you are more strict than mom”. We both started laughing.

“Thank you my little baby. It makes me so happy to have you still with me. To see how you grow up every day and find your own way. Sorry if I'm a little more strict than mom sometimes. I'll try to relax a bit, I promise." Abby squeezed me hard and before releasing me she gave me a kiss on the cheek.

As if all the tears I had shed up to that moment and the lump in my throat from the emotions of the moment were not enough, I had to give a speech. At least say something. (Y/N) came to my side and took my hand. She knew perfectly well this was the part that made me nervous, even at my age. They were all silently looking at me. I cleared my throat and started to speak.

"I must start by saying that with all the hugs that I gave today, I’m ready with the hugs that I had not given in these 40 years...".

Collective laughter. Of course, we were talking about Dr. Spencer Reid, the man averse to displays of affection who appreciated them over the years and only reserved them for the most important people in his life.

"Having said that. And knowing that you expect a speech in the least eloquent from me, I must be sincere and confess that everything I say in from now may make very little logical sense in some parts, because it responds rather to the most emotional and chaotic part of my person. Part that (Y/N) knows well and who I know is chuckling without even looking at her…"

I could hear the giggles of (Y/N).

“Am I rambling already? I'm sure you expected no less from me. As well. I'm not going to tell you the story of how I got to the BAU because you already know that. Nor am I going to tell you how each one of these 40 years working here was, because almost half of you also know it and the other half are living it right now..."

Again, collective laughter.

“Apparently with age I managed to find my comical side, because when I was young nobody laughed at my jokes. I don't blame you either, they were nerdy jokes, I wouldn't have laughed in your place either. Anyway. I don't want to diverge from the main issue..."

Silence. Full attention to me. To my words. It was like a conference, but the most important of my life.

“I want to thank each of you for being here today. I'm sure you had more important things to do today. Even my wife, whom I had to bribe to help me pack my office stuff. No, seriously. Thank you very much. Today is a weird day. I’m happy to see all of you, but I’m also sad because I have to leave and I’ll no longer work at the BAU anymore...

This place saw me grow up. Here I made mistakes, here I could made a difference too. Here I fell in love with a great woman. Here I made great friends. Here I started a family…

I just want to tell you that this place has been full of excellent people, not only good professionals, but good people, with a good heart, committed to the objective of this work, although sometimes the personal costs have been higher…

I think it's fair to mention them now, because I had the honor of meeting them and working with them. Everyone made me part of their life and so they are part of mine: Jason Guideon, David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner, Penelope García, Elle Greenaway, Jordan Todd, Jennifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Ashley Seaver, Alex Blake, Kate Callahan, Luke Alvez, Tara Lewis, Matt Simmons, Stephen Walker… I could go on. There are so many people. There are so many stories..."

I couldn't stop my tears. The rest of the audience either. It was a chorus of sobs, some more muffled, others more expressive. I had to stop for a moment. I took a deep breath and composed myself again. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around my torso, resting her head on my back. I could feel her tears running through my shirt.

“Well, I don't want this to be a sad moment. I want to leave this place thinking I tried to do things right. That I did all I could to be a contribution to this team. Now, as (Y/N) told me a few hours ago, it's time for the new resident geniuses. The BAU stays in you, this great family continues with you. You must work together, support each other, grow up, make mistakes, learn from your faults, listen to each other. You must be a team. I will always miss you guys, and if you ever need an old nerd who likes to ramble and talk about everything, who knows strange things and a lot of statistics, you know where to find me”.

———————

[philomathhh9]

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

Philomath, I just took a stroll down memory lane. A very cliché thing to say, I know. It was a long stroll though; the sun set and dawned upon my path countless of times and I kept walking. Swept away in a journey of nostalgia and emotions of comfort, I soon was struck by a wave of anger and resentment.

  All began when I chose to check my phone as I dressed to leave home to study for a big upcoming exam. A friend and colleague of mine had messaged me his location in Riyadh; his family recently moved there. We went back and forth and chatted about how our homes where a mere ten minute walk apart and that we could meet up once we visited our families in winter. It then hit me. “Home” was no longer that small cozy place in Saudi Arabia; the little apartment that I spent seventeen years of my life in. The place I had just called Home in front of my friend was nothing but a figment of my past - a dream I dreamt for just a little over a decade and a half. Home in the present is this place in Amman in which I currently take residence in with my sister, my lovely cat Leta, and my sweet departed cat-angel Valenta, who has been buried in our garden since May when illness rode her fate.

  I am content with the present day. I really am. However, calling my parents’ place in Saudi Home swung me back to the moments, days, months, and years of my being that I spent in innocence. I ran the Maps application and I checked every part of what used to be my life. I saw the school I spent the whole of my childhood in. I saw the park and the malls I used to go to on weekends with my mother. I saw the restaurant that my father enjoyed dining in on Fridays and I even saw the school I spent my high school years in. I then paused. Memories of my high school senior year washed up from an ocean I thought I had left behind. I spent it the way I spent the entirety of my days till then: dreaming, reading, and exploring the wonders of what life is. Curious is what I was. Not the kind of curious that is forced and involves taking a risk and leave familiar surroundings because they feel threatening and unsafe, but the type of curious that sticks to you in innocence while thriving in your provided environment- you just wonder if the outside is just as splendid.

  I wanted to become a lawyer at some point in high school and that brought me to read my personal statement that I had sent to universities in the UK for an undergraduate law degree. In front of me was a live example of what I used to be: a dreamer. Today, I believe that ignorance and innocence are synonymous from a certain perspective, despite being two very different words. The saying “Ignorance is bliss” is popular because of that very reason. Not knowing and staying in my naivete brought me happiness. Soon, the clock started to tick and the time came where being curious was not a thought to think of, but a thought to I had to execute. I had to figure out what was to become of me. My dreams of becoming a lawyer leaped away as the reality of its demanding financing settled. This marks strike one against young Philomath.

  Now, I am in the path of becoming a doctor; something I had chosen and kept as a back up plan in case the launch of my time with law failed. I know I did not choose it for the prestige of it. The human body and the world within infatuated me just as much. To reiterate, I am content with who I am and what I am doing today. It just so happened that the start of my new life as a meds student yanked my innocence away from me as I cried for and held on to it for dear life. My parents’ conditioning brought me to block away all my triggers and flaws by daydreaming and spending my time with thoughts of idealism. Now that my little daydreaming session of seventeen years had been brought to a screeching halt, I was shocked with what I found down here. As I recalled this and what followed today, I felt nothing but a strange mix of anger, resentment, disembodiment, and disbelief of what I had been and put others through. My surroundings in my first year of medicine were not only less than ideal, but straight up parasitic and gnawed at my little body day by day. The gnawing manifested physically; I lost a good fifth to fourth of my weight as depression and maladjustment took over me. Now that my bubble of idealism was popped, I was subjected to the thorns I harbored all along and had no idea what to do with them other than project them on others, both good and horrible people alike. That marked strike two for young philomath.

  Personal boundaries were alien things to me. Unfortunately, that me twinkle in the eyes of whom I know now to be a narcissistic sociopath. During the timeline in which him and I met, I was already dealing with confusion, maladjustment, and a dear friend that faced demons only I knew of. Today her and I do not really keep in touch anymore despite being mostly amicable. As far as I know, she is thriving and walking up her own path and struggle day by day and I am happy for her. Though, resentment still plagues the back of my head as she fell victim to projection of my own flaws and I sadly fell into hers. It was a lot of up, downs, lefts, and rights with her and at that time we brought horrible things out in each other. Apart from my doings, she had a phobia of abandonment and would do anything and everything to reassure herself and of course, due to my lack of boundaries, I enabled her. She was and is not a person of bad morale, but the anything and everything included a lot of jabs and stabs that mark where some scars in my soul still are today. That was strike three for you, young philomath.

  Back to the twinkly yet empty eyes of the narcissist that ended up becoming my wicked boyfriend. Like a vulture, he spent his first few weeks and months with me circling me and analyzing just how vulnerable I was and how much I had on my plate. Again, I had no boundaries; that meant that whatever he wanted, he would draw out of me. And inspite of that, nothing was ever enough for him. Everyone dear in my life at that time, I gone to the extremes for. That is: everyone but my own self. So I kept enabling him to use me, control me, and display me as an accessory. Did I project my flaws on him too? Yes. The truth is I never was, am, and will never be perfect. The difference though, was that I eventually recognized where I fell wrong with my people and took it upon myself to halt it and improve myself. Him on the other hand, emotionally abused the soul out of me until it no longer yearned to be in my body and to this very day, he victimizes himself as the ex of a horrible liar slut that harassed him for affection and ended up cheating on him. Again, horrible move on my part for both parties involved, but I will never ever dismiss the things he would do to me. He would use my insecurities as leverage and hold my emotional needs hostage until I popped and fell into an irrational reactive state. And of course, he contorted it all to make me out as the guilty. The crazy bitch. Yes of course, the crazy bitch that gave him everything she could give to him. The same crazy bitch that he gaslit, put down, and rejected when she needed him the most. What people do not know today is that when I horribly sought other than his affection as I fell into another reactive state due to constant episodic emotional rejection, I already was contemplating leaving him. The cycles of abuse became unbearable, and although I do not excuse myself for it, they finally pushed me to do something that was awfully wrong on my ex’s and the involved person’s behalf. And I cheated. The cherry on top of the icing? I do not recall the timeline it happened and suppressed it due to personal trauma. I lived my life knowing and believing that everything that happened between me and said person was at a time where him and I were not an item. Until it was brought to light by the third party that I did what I did around two weeks before I left him, the time I knew as the moments I was building myself up the courage to leave him. And that was strike four.

  Strike four marked the most ultimate of an ultimatum for me; it was either saving myself or continue down the path of self obliteration. Those two weeks before I left him were a turning point; for once I felt like I had to choose myself and my sanity before anyone else’s. I took back control of my life by ending it with him. Although initially it was amicable as we shared a group of friends, I ended up backing away more and more until I cut him off completely because he kept trying to get his sticky fingers on me and snatch me back onto his rollercoaster. Things with my friend were still going though, and with all that I already had endured she again did anything and everything to feel like I was not going to abandon her. I felt and feel for her, I really do. Just like emotional rejection and abuse pushed me to do a big mistake, her fears pushed her too. But reasons and context do not mean excuses. If I held myself accountable for everything I projected on her and him and everyone else in my life at that time, it would mean I had to hold her accountable too. And so, the journey of learning how to set boundaries and bettering myself began. She rejected it the whole time. To her, boundaries meant abandonment, and the more I set them, the more she’d do anything and everything to reassure herself I would not desert her. Until she did one last move, after which I could not bring myself to tolerate anything. At a weak point of hers, she spoke with my same ex that I had cut off to console her about my issues with me. She knew what kind of a person he is. In her vulnerable moments, he saw an opportunity to “avenge” the narcissistic injury I caused him by taking back my own control and pulled and withdrew information from her that he ended up using against me. With one big mistake, he contorted, molded, and spiced things until they tasted just right. To him, this was his big moment that he was waiting for: to end the bitch that dared dump him before he finished dumping her. One year after breaking up with him and not speaking with him at all, he used my friend’s poor judgement and vulnerability to attempt sabotaging me and my reputation. He circled me with other people and bullied me for my pronounced sexuality and supposed “manipulation and lies” and tried to convince other people to jump on an anti-me bandwagon. He even went as far as claiming that his reputation, which he ruined with his own hands, was in fact tarnished by me and the said fact that I was “psychotic” and never shut up about him and talked horrible of him to everyone I knew. All I did was confide in my so-called friends about the abuse I endured; ironically, no one turned against him the way he claimed and everyone that actually had a problem with him had nothing to do with the people I confided in. In this circle of nonsense that brought me severe trauma, barely anyone took him seriously. Reasonably so, picture viewing a couple split and move along with their own lives until one decides to dish and chase the other with some old dirt between them to convince people that the other was ruining their precious reputation. No sensible person would interfere with someone else’s problems with another. I ended up standing up for myself and further asserted my boundaries away from him by refuting responsibility for his broken reputation and stated that in fact it was his problem. I also mentioned that the circus of a show was unnecessary and that if he approached me like normal people do I would have been reacting very differently and took responsibility for my “dirt”. I ended things between him and I by pointing out the fact that it was pathetic to harass someone a year after they broke up him and it did nothing but prove his goal of claiming me as the “obsessed liar” the actual opposite. In the end, I was not the one to harass the other long after no contact with an old screw up.

  I then retained my most powerful tool: boundaries. Although I understood why my friend spoke with him, I could not help but hold her accountable that her irresponsibility with that move caused him to set off on a rampage. So I kept withdrawing from her and she could not bear it. Until one day she comes and “warns” me to “be careful of what I tell my friends because they are not the people I think they are”. The very friend that I had trusted with my life and a lot of information and mistakes on my behalf. The same friend that allowed him to grab those out of her in her vulnerable moments. I am more than sorry for everything I caused her, but this is something I would never forget. I remember trembling with anger and blocking her so that I would not blow up on her and cause her trouble and cost her a spiral. I got so angry that I became sick the next day. And ever since then, I had enough of my relationship with her. It was clear to me that we had both done too much to each other to recover from as normal friends. It had to end. After a few months of occasional angry SMS’s from her, I made it clear why I left and what I felt and that she would have to stop sending me message. She ended up acknowledging my hurt and apologized for everything she had done on her part. Everything. I remember crying with exasperation as I read her message admitting to everything; as for a good while of my life, I felt like I was the only one paying for my mistakes and trying to remedy them. The fact that someone else finally took responsibility for the damage done to me was something new and something alien. All that because I learned to set boundaries.

  I brought myself out of my stroll down memory lane. Now, I am filled with nothing but pride that I not only overcame my own demons and learned the concept of boundaries, pride that I chose to use my mistakes as a learning point and not a point of shame. I now have more power and independence than ever; although, I still have a lot to work on. My ordeal has caused me to be very reluctant with expecting anyone to assist me with any hardship and become guarded. On a note, I do not expect my ex’s last appearance to be final; that is unless he becomes knowledgeable enough to realize one more move towards me would show everyone watching his true color and that his most prized possession, his ego, would be in danger. I do hope he left things as they are and just gave up; as I am not a hostile person that enjoys attacking- even in self defense. But it became clear that staying out of his path does not stop him from staying out of mine. I feel always ready and on edge to play his exact game and use leverage against him so that he would never come near me again.

  As I now conclude writing to go study, I feel nothing but content with who I surround myself now and the person I have become. Thank you, Philomath again for living up to your name and allowing your love for learning get me out of a path of self destruction.

[thecoleopterawithana]

When you were young and your heart was an open book

Don’t Let Me Down | Paul’s Upbringing

John, because of his upbringing and his unstable family life, had to be hard, witty, always ready for the cover-up, ready for the riposte, ready with the sharp little witticism. Whereas with my rather comfortable upbringing, a lot of family, lot of people, very northern, ‘Cup of tea, love?’, my surface grew to be easy-going. Put people at their ease. Chat to people, be nice, it’s nice to be nice.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

Paul grew up in the warm embrace of a loving family. There was hardship, certainly: they were definitely working-class, and the war had been unkind to the cotton exchange business, so it fell on mother Mary to be the main bread-winner of the family, as a domiciliary housewife. Her nursing job also made it so they were always on the move, from one new outskirt council estate to the next, “always on the edge of the world” that was the rebuilding of a war-torn Liverpool. But despite this surrounding instability, the core of the family itself was a safe harbour of reliably loving parents.

I got my compassion for people from my mother. She was a midwife. I think that would probably be the most important quality. Again, respect and caring for others.

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Jonathan Wingate for Record Collector: Paul McCartney gets back to work (July 2007).  

[My mum] was very kind, very loving. There was a lot of sitting on laps and cuddling. She was very cuddly. I think I was very close to her. My brother thinks he was a little closer, being littler. I would just be trying to be a bit more butch, being the older one. She liked to joke and had a good sense of humour and she was very warm. There was more warmth than I now realise there was in most families. [...] They aspired to a better life. That idea that we had to get out of here, we had to do better than this. This was okay for everyone else in the street but we could do better than this. She was always moving to what she saw as a better place to bring her kids up.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

Not only had this notion of rising out of their current situation been instilled in Paul and his brother Michael from an early age by his mother – by encouraging them to speak “the Queen’s English” and insist on their education, for example – his father, Jim McCartney, also did his best to pass down his values of “Toleration and Moderation”, a good education and a special emphasis on an honest and responsible work ethic.

I think I got my respect and tolerance for people from my dad, which is a pretty cool quality to inherit. He was very big on tolerance, my dad. It was a word he used to use all the time. I think I grew up with that attitude. You know, you’d say, ‘Bloody hell, I hate that guy.’ and then you’d stop and go, ‘Alright, wait a minute, maybe he’s got a point,’ and you’d try and consider it from his or her point of view. I think that was a great lesson.

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Jonathan Wingate for Record Collector: Paul McCartney gets back to work (July 2007).

He had us out aged about nine. I was virtually a door-to-door salesman by the time I was twelve. [...] I was certainly not shy with people, I think because of all these activities my dad encouraged us into. I think it's probably very good for your confidence with people. It was all right. That was my upbringing.

[...]

My parents aspired for us, very much indeed. That is one of the great things you can find in ordinary people. My mum wanted me to be a doctor. 'My son the doctor' - and her being a nurse, too. No problem there. And my dad, who left school at fourteen, would have loved me to be a great scientist, a great university graduate. I always feel grateful for that. I mean, God, I certainly fulfilled their aspirations, talk about overachieving! That was all bred into me, that.

We had George Newnes Encyclopedias. I can still remember the smell of them. If you didn't know what a word meant or how it was spelled, my dad would say 'Look it up.' I think that's a great attitude to take with kids. It steers you in the right direction. It was part of a game where he was improving us without having had an awful lot of experience of improvement himself. But I always liked that, and I knew I would outstrip him. By going to grammar school I knew I'd fairly soon have Latin phrases or know about Shakespeare which he wouldn't know about.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

Just from these passages alone, we can spot the origins of Paul’s tolerant and caring nature, social skills, self-reliance, and tireless drive for self-improvement (with its nuances of social climbing and fierce competitiveness).

All in all, it was a good solid childhood: exploring the woods outside of his house – “Mother Nature’s Son” through and through – playing and running from Speke teds with his friend George Harrison, going to school and working the occasional odd job, helping his family and making them proud.

And then, Paul McCartney’s secure existence was shattered.

My head was in a whirl, only then I realized, I lost my little girl

On the 31st of October 1956, Mary McCartney abruptly dies from complications following her mastectomy. She’d been admitted at a far too advanced state of breast cancer after she’d kept working – while in pain – for several weeks, choosing not to divulge this symptom or the fact that she had a lump in her breast to her colleagues.

The whole family is caught unawares, but the boys especially are mostly kept in the dark.

I remember one horrible day me and my brother going to the hospital. They must have known she was dying. It turned out to be our last visit and it was terrible because there was blood on the sheets somewhere and seeing that, and your mother, it was like "Holy cow!' And of course she was very brave, and would cry after we'd gone, though I think she cried on that visit. But we didn't really know what was happening. We were shielded from it all by our aunties and by our dad and everything.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

The boys are sent away to stay with relatives, noticing that something was wrong but unaware of what was going on, unable to actually say goodbye.

Two days later, it’s too late.

Paul is 14.

As Jim comes to break the news, and his brother Michael breaks down in tears, Paul has an unexpected response.

Mum was a working nurse. There wasn’t a lot of money around – and she was half the family pay packet. My reaction was: ‘How are we going to get by without her money?’ When I think back on it, I think, ‘Oh God, what? Did I really say that?’ It was a terrible logical thought which was preceded by the normal feelings of grief. It was very tough to take.

— Paul McCartney, in Ray Coleman’s McCartney: Yesterday & Today (1996).

It would not be the last time that Paul McCartney’s initial shock response to grief is considered “flippant” or “callous” by the people around him; a fact that has haunted him throughout his life.

I’m very funny when people die. I don’t handle it at all well, because I’m so brought down that I try to bring myself up. So I don’t show grief very well. It actually leads some people to think I don’t care, and I do. I’m not good at it like some people. [...] But I’ve always been kind of inward about those things. So I just deal with it myself.

— Paul McCartney, in Ray Coleman’s McCartney: Yesterday & Today (1996).

By virtue of nature or nurture, Paul exhibits from early on an extreme difficulty or unwillingness to deal with his less pleasant emotions.

His response to the alarm that is pain is to deny that it is ringing altogether.

And this manifested not only in inadequate optimism for some situations, it most often took the shape of what appeared to be too hard and cold pragmatism. Some people, unfortunately, saw his defence-mechanism of turning completely rational in the face of crisis and mistook it for him not caring; when, in fact, he cared so much that his only solution was to try and shut it off.  

He carried with him a great burden of guilt and regret; not concerning his reaction to his mother’s death but also due to other misdemeanours and minor hurts he’d caused her when she was alive.

There's one moment that I've regretted all my life which is a strange little awkwardness for me. There was one time when she said 'ask' and she pronounced it posh. And I made fun of her and it slightly embarrassed her. Years later I've never forgiven myself. It's a terrible little thing. I wish I could go back and say, ‘I was only kidding, Mum.' I’m sure she knew. I'm sure she didn't take it too seriously.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

In retrospect, he even theorized that the lyrics to his acclaimed ‘Yesterday’ were related to his mother’s sudden departure.

With ‘Yesterday’, singing it now, I think without realising it I was singing about my mum who died five or six years previously, or whatever the timing was. Because I think now, “Why she had to go, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say, I said something wrong…”

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Pat Gilbert for MOJO: Don’t look back in anger (November 2013).

So in the aftermath of life completely pulling the rug from under his feet, Paul was not only struggling to deal with his own emotions, trying to bury them far from sight as best as he could, he was being consumed by terrible guilt for doing exactly that.

More than that, he was under the care of his uncle and aunt for several more days, trying to rally his brother so that they wouldn’t appear ‘softies’ in their cousins' eyes, while friends and family tried to hold together a shattered Jim McCartney, “whose first thought was to join his wife”.

Seeing his father break down like that had a huge impact on Paul.

My mother's death broke my dad up. That was the worst thing for me, hearing my dad cry. I'd never heard him cry before. It was a terrible blow to the family. You grow up real quick, because you never expect to hear your parents crying. You expect to see women crying, or kids in the playground, or even yourself crying – and you can explain all that. But when it's your dad, then you know something's really wrong and it shakes your faith in everything. But I was determined not to let it affect me. I carried on. I learnt to put a shell around me at that age.

— Paul McCartney, in The Anthology (1995).

This is very important.

Not only had the only reality he’d ever known been destroyed by his mother’s sudden death, his own father – who was supposed to be this strong, unshakable pillar in his life – couldn’t be relied on to hold it together.

Paul had been let down. He was on his own.

Fear steems from a feeling of powerlessness. You feel painfully vulnerable to whatever life might throw at you, at constant risk of being hurt again, and the only solution is to be on the lookout. Be prepared.

Paul was caught unawares because the people he’d counted on to always be there suddenly weren’t. And with his compassionate and reasonable nature, he probably didn't even blame them at all. But the facts were that Paul had been left hanging, not once but twice, when he needed them the most. So he kind of lost his faith in everything.

Life is chaotic and unpredictable; and people, through no fault of their own, are just as inconstant.

And so, in order not to risk being let down again, Paul took matters into his own hands. He tried to escape the pain and dread of being powerless by seizing control of whatever he could. And that was mostly himself.

And so begins Paul McCartney’s saga of isolating independence and other control-issues.

As Paul said above, he’s “always been kind of inward” about grief and other “negative” emotions. He’d rather be alone at this stage because he doesn’t want to expose his vulnerabilities. Not to others and much less to himself. So he needs a distraction. Something to devote himself to that’ll take his mind off the pain.

The saving grace, as usual, was music.

— Paul McCartney, The Q Interview (2007).

His brother Michael, probably the closest observer we could have of this period, recounts how Paul was like in the aftermath.

Paul was far more affected by Mum’s death than any of us imagined. His very character seemed to change and for a while he behaved like a hermit. He wasn’t very nice to live with at this period, I remember. He became completely wrapped up in himself and didn’t seem to care about anything or anybody outside himself.

He seemed interested only in his guitar, and his music. He would play that guitar in his bedroom, in the lavatory, even when he was taking a bath. It was never out of his hands except when he was at school or when he had to do his homework. Even in school, he and George Harrison used to seize the opportunity every break to sit and strum.

When we left our auntie’s house and returned home, it was agreed that Dad, Paul and I would take it in turns to do the housework.

“We’re a family on our own now,” Dad said. “We’ll all have to help.”

But time after time when I came home from school, I would find that Paul hadn’t done his bit. I would go looking for him and sometimes I would find him, up in his bedroom, perhaps, sitting in the dark, just strumming away on his guitar. Nothing, it seemed, mattered to him any more. He seldom went out anywhere – even with girls. He didn’t bother much with any of his friends except his schoolmate George Harrison and John Lennon, who was at the art school next door. Work and work alone – his school books and his guitar – appeared to be the only thing that could help him to forget.

— Mike McCartney, Woman: Portrait of Paul (21 August 1965).

So Paul takes to complete dedication to work and music to help him ignore his pain. And he’d rather go through this process of burying it on his own. We see him isolate himself from his family and friends, according to Mike socializing mostly with George, also in the context of playing music. John is also mentioned; this could be a smudging of the timeline in Mike’s recollections, as Paul would only meet John the following year. That or Paul’s mourning lasted until the autumn of 1957, when John was enrolled in art college.

We also have a clue about how guarded Paul was with his “negative” emotions – how resilient he always wanted to be – that no one imagined he would be so affected by his mother’s death as he was.

This will also be a repeating theme through Paul’s life: his wish to always be strong, positive and reliable will make others and himself overestimate his imperviousness to trauma. People will then feel free to burden him with their own pain or unload their frustrations on him, without feeling that there would be consequences; because Paul is so tough as to be unaffected by all that. This proved, time and again, not to be true.

His true strength arises, in my opinion, not in the fact that he is unshakable but in his determination to quietly pick himself up again and again.

Losing my mum when I was fourteen was a major tragic event in my life. But, when I think about myself, I am, overall, pretty optimistic, pretty enthusiastic, pretty much into getting on. One of the reasons being, she would want that. I know for certain she would want that. I know Linda would want that. I know John would want that, and George would want that. My dad would want that. They were very, very positive people. And the idea that their deaths would plunge me into some sort of morose depression would bother them. I know that for a fact. So that helps me to not go there.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by John Colapinto for the New Yorker: When I’m sixty-four (4 June 2007).

But as a 14-year-old Northern lad, his tactic of picking himself up didn’t involve dressing the wounds, which would continue to bleed silently in the recesses of his mind.

I certainly didn’t grieve enough for my mother. There was no such thing as a psychiatrist when I lost her. You kidding? I was a 14-year-old Liverpool boy. I wouldn’t have had access to one and I do now.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Nigel Farndale for The Telegraph: Love me do (17 May 2002).

But soon, Paul would find an even greater outlet for his love of music, almost magical in its specialness:

Someone to perform with.

[dreamcatcherjiah]

🎐Bubbles (Yoongi!Producer x Reader!Writer)

Bubbles Masterlist

Part 10

Plot: Yoongi, a famous music producer, and y/n, a writer, had been neighbors for a couple of months when Yoonji and her dad moved to the apartment in between the two. Due to some unbelievable coincidences, these two weird incompatible people were appointed baby Yoonji’s babysitters. What will they do when something happens to Yoonji’s dad and she’s left alone in the world?

Tonight Yoongi arrived soon from the studio. He was always one to spend endless hours there, working on his music, talking to his artists and his friends about his lyrics. But tonight was different. After confessing to Y/N and having her confessed back, his day seemed a bit brighter than he expected. That morning had been nerve wrecking, after waking up tangled in a mass of limbs with a tiny hand pulling his hair and a leg flung over his torso, it had been a challenge to leave the bed and go to work. With both his girls asleep, it had been impossible to discuss where Y/N and his relationship stood. They were parents to Yoonji, and friends to each other, but all that kissing last night must have changed that… Right?

The text they’d exchanged that afternoon had laid his mind at rest, but something different had awoken in his chest, something that didn’t really allow him to concentrate and made it impossible not to jump for his phone every time her notification rang. If his friends could see him now, they’d say he was whipped, but then again it was a good thing his new relationship with the mother of his daughter was a secret… God, that sounded a lot better in his head… And he should really stop talking to himself.

Back to the topic at hand, that thing on his chest that impeded a normal day’s concentration was what urged him forward and Yoongi ended up leaving work for the day two hours before he normally would. He was anxious, a good anxious. He couldn’t wait to get home and have his heart do that little leap it did when he saw Y/N and Yoonji together, doing the most simple of things. It was way too soon to tell, but his heart shouted “HOME!!” every time either of them looked at him with that shine in their eyes.

Traffic usually was a pain in his ass, everyone who knew him well enough knew how much he hated being stuck on a traffic jamb, or crammed inside the tube for longer than should be acceptable, but tonight, oh tonight, it looked like everyone had agreed to leave work later than usual, and that put a smile on his face.

The ride on the elevator wasn’t so bad as it usually was, when he was feeling gloomy for leaving Yoonji behind or guilty because he arrived back way too late and she was asleep. Tonight he was arriving even before her bath time, and that alone made him feel a better father. He wasn’t the ideal one, but he tried hard, and today was an example.

He entered their shared apartment and found the house silent. That alone was weird, but he took his shoes off and entered the living room.

Do you know that sensation you get, when you see something you can’t quite believe it’s yours and your chest hurts so much you have to clench your fists to your heart and can’t really breathe? That exactly was the sensation that Yoongi felt when he was presented with the image of Y/N sitting on their sofa, with an ever-growing, but still tiny, Yoonji nested under her arm, with her chubby little cheek pressed against her mother’s chest and a sleepy look on her face. Y/N was gently humming the lullaby he’d heard so many times while she caressed the girl’s hair. They hadn’t noticed Yoongi at the door, so immersed in one another as they were, and he took his chance to observe and think about how lucky he was to have them in his life.

Before Mr Kang and Yoonji moved in, he had been too shy to even look at Y/N long enough to strike conversation, let alone to tell her he thought she was breathtaking. But then it turned out that she was Namjoon’s colleague and a true friendship started. They’d gone backwards for everything, it seemed. They hadn’t known each other for nearly two months when the situation with Yoonjinie changed their dynamics, and sure enough, they started to behave as her babysitters. Mr Kang was away most of the time, only being there on weekends due to his work, and him being a widower and an only child, left Yoonjinie without anyone to take care of her. His feelings for Y/N had skyrocketed from then onwards. Seeing her taking care of Yoonji had awoken something primal within him, and that new perspective had him nearly grounding his teeth every time something seemed threatening near his girls.

And then Mr Kang had gone and had gotten himself killed. Yoongi was now a father and Y/N was the mother of his child. A year ago, that would have made him ecstatic, but as things stood their responsibilities towards this little life that now depended exclusively on them became real. Yoongi became preoccupied with being able to provide for her for as long as she needed, and Y/N became anxious about her daily needs. That had done more harm to their relationship than anything could have, and he sincerely thought that was it, they’d have to fight for custody not even three months after the adoption.

But then she had apologised, and he had apologised and just like that everything went back to normal. Until last night when they both had confessed how they liked each other and he had snogged her senseless.

Apparently, it was too much to ask to remain unseen by his three-year-old, because as soon as he let out a content sigh, she jumped up from the couch shouting “daddy!” and straight into his arms she went.

“Hello, sweetheart. How was your day with mommy?” he asked, impressed by the speed at which the toddler could speak without getting tongue-tied.

Y/N was just looking at them fondly, with her cheeks slightly coloured red and a pretty smile on her lips. How could such small gestures brighten up someone’s day so quickly, he wouldn’t know.

He hugged his daughter tightly to his chest and made his way to sit next to Y/N, leaning and gracing his lips against hers, for a moment, so lightly he nearly didn’t feel it. She wasn’t having any of it and nibbled his bottom lip to deepen the kiss. Yoongi was feeling in cloud nine, he never would have guessed how much he could feel for another person, how fast his heart could beat, as if it wanted to beat in unison with hers.

And then a two minuscule fingers hooked his lip and separated him from Y/N’s mouth.

“Why are you kissing momma now, daddy?” asked Yoonji, innocent big eyes looking at them both with a gummy smile.

Yoongi really was at a loss. How do you explain this complex situation to a toddler so that she doesn’t tell your friends? Luckily, Y/N was fast enough to cover him up and she picked her up, and placed the girl on her lap.

“You see, my darling, daddy kisses you a lot right?” that really caught Yoongi’s attention, to see how she would explain that. “Well, daddy loves you very, very much, and when you love somebody, you show how much you love them with a kiss!”

That was a perilous road she was treading, they had confessed liking each other, but it was way too soon to know whether love was a possibility or not, but he really hoped that would be the natural course of their relationship.

“So daddy kisses you because he loves you!!!” the little girl was ecstatic. Yoongi decided to intervine, not wanting there to be a misunderstanding.

“Daddy likes mommy very, very much. And one day soon, he’ll love mommy just as much as he loves Yoonji.”

Yoonji seemed to think deeply about that, with a big pout that gradually became a big smile. “Promise?” she asked.

Yoongi hugged both his girls to his chest, kissing both their heads and said “I promise you both.” This was what he’d always wanted, his little family, and even though going public was not in the cards at the moment, he would be happy if they stayed like this a bit longer.

A/n: Even though I still don’t have a computer, I wanted to put this out so that you could have a snippet of our fluffy Min Family! If there’re some mistakes, keep in mind that I’m not a native English speaker and on top of that I don’t have my computer to do the proofreading. I love you as always, and I’d like to hear what you think!!

Send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list.

Love 💜🌙

Tag list: @daydreamindollie @live-2-fangirl @mizz-kraziii @rjsmochii @jiminslovly @igotarmyofarohas @desteweirdo @chewymoustachio @lvnakook @sugapaste @salty-for-suga @expensive-grl @threedecadesofawkward @elegantfanshoelover @jisnuq @krystalizando @littlestsweetpea28 @chogiyeol-utopia @delilaahbards @agusttaegid @thebookishnerdsblog @kisskissshutmydoor @httppbaby @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @mabel-k3 @thenocturnalreadingotaku

[mystery-deer]

Angst HC with fluff potential, Kevin has anxiety. Most of the time he deals with it with his and Holt's signature stoicism-and-snark combo, and he does get flustered easily. Rarely, though, things are just too much and he reverts back to a behavior he developed as a child from dealing with his father. He shuts down. He lowers his gaze, goes vacant and does nothing. Ray freaked out the first time this happened but since then has learned to deal with it, but is always deeply concerned. Thoughts?

 The first attack he remembered having was when he was young. 

He had broken something. He didn’t remember exactly what it was, all he remembered was the rush of his blood cooling all at once as he realized what he’d done.

What was coming.

His mother had sent him to his room without any anger, her own face trying to be stern and comforting all at once as she told him that his father would be home soon. That she’d try to calm him down before he found the wreckage.

Oh, a pen. Yes, it had been a pen. He had taken it from the top of his father’s desk and it had broken as he wrote.

He felt like his heart was going to explode.He was going to throw up.He was going to die.Yes, he was going to die.

The thought kept circling around his head as Kevin sat with his ink-stained hands shaking and then laid down with his whole body trembling and spasming with something he couldn’t quite identify. Fear?

He’d never been this afraid before. It had never rendered him speechless and immobile.

His father had waited half an hour between finding the pen (He could hear him roaring with rage and then talking in loud disappointment “That kid Marie, that kid…” before it was all silence and waiting waiting waiting) and coming upstairs.

He stood outside the door for another minute before opening it. “Sit up.” He demanded and Kevin did.

Then his memory blinked out. A lightbulb with faulty wiring. When it came back on he was washing his hands of the ink as his father looked on.

“I’m proud of you.” He said, resting a hand on his still-shaking shoulder.       “You didn’t talk back.”

He wouldn’t have a name for them for years, until well into his adult life one of his friends told him “That sounds like anxiety.”

“Brilliant.” He’d struggled to reply, everything around him unfocused and too much. “I can see why you’re a leader in your field.”

“I mean anxiety disorder.” His friend had clarified, gently leading him out onto the balcony for some air. “You absolute dick.”

He’d researched it the moment he’d been able to.

“Why are you reading about anxiety disorders?” Raymond asked, coming up behind him and resting his chin in the crook of Kevin’s shoulder.

“I believe I might have one.” He replied, reaching one hand up to idly scratch at Raymond’s hair. Neither of them commented on it.

Raymond closed his eyes (much like a cat, kevin often thought but would never voice) and hummed a matter-of-face “I see.” Before quieting and eventually leaving his boyfriend be.

“Are people not always worried?” Kevin asked one day a few weeks later. His researching had given way to formulating hypotheses and questions. “Does the average man walk around oblivious to the world around him?”

Raymond scoffed. “The average white man.”Kevin smirked. “The average straight man.”Raymond nodded appreciatively.

“Perhaps you have no disorder, your life circumstances are just differing from the norm?” Kevin examined his boyfriend’s face for any derision and only saw curiosity. “Perhaps.” He said, thinking back to his childhood. Differing from the norm, indeed.

Whether or not he had anxiety was giving him anxiety.He had a half-dream when he was half-asleep in bed, brain dipped forever in worry, soaking it all up. In his dream one of his colleagues (the annoying one trying his damnedest to grow a mustache) was giving a lecture and pointing ineffectually without a pointer. Just…using his hands. Like an imbecile.

“And here we see Prof Kevin as a wonderful example of dramatic irony.” He was saying in his trying-to-be-humorous voice. The projector showed Kevin pacing around his and Raymond’s apartment.

Kevin woke up when he felt Raymond shift. “Mm.” He muttered.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” His boyfriend whispered and Kevin shook his head.

“Reynolds.” He tried to explain, one eye still closed.

“Your colleague with the…well, I’m feeling charitable. The moustache?” Kevin nodded. “You were dreaming about him? I’m jealous.”

Kevin smiled slightly. Some might call this a smirk, especially given the intense aura of smug dislike emanating off the man. Raymond called it a slight smile. “Don’t be. He was being very…Reynolds.”

“Ah.” 

       "He called me ‘prof Kevin’ out loud.“       "Dear God.”

They laid in silence for a minute before Kevin spoke again.

“Raymond I don’t know if I have…anything. I am unsure.” Raymond made a noise of understanding and reached out, resting a hand gently on Kevin’s pillow which Kevin took without thinking.

“However, I know that I do have certain issues. You remember my episode that took place in childhood?”

“Vividly.” Kevin squeezed Raymond’s hand to reassure him of his being alright. It always upset his boyfriend to hear about Kevin being upset even if it was years in the past.

“Yes, well there have been…similar incidents since then.” Raymond sat up straight.

“When?” Kevin sat up as well, rubbing an eye.“I can’t remember. Various incidents. What’s important is that should such an incident occur again-”

“There are synonyms of ‘incident’ you know-”

“-I’m very tired Raymond.”

“Sorry, I forgot myself. Please continue.”

“…should such an episode occur again, I will require your assistance.” He moved over and rested his head on Raymond’s shoulder, making a slight show of leaning down to do it.

“I will support you in any way I can.” Raymond said, bringing Kevin’s hand up to his mouth and kissing it softly.

They fell asleep like that.

And so, with a horrible pain in Kevin’s neck and Raymond’s back, they went to work.

Kevin to his literal job and Raymond…also to his literal job, but with an additional personal job as well. Researching on ways to assist Kevin if he were ever to have an attack of anxiety around him.

The first few attempts were less than ideal.

—— (Flashback, Kevin eating breakfast and Raymond washing dishes)-——-

Kevin: It looks like rain today.

Raymond (perking up, alert): Does that…worry you?

Kevin: I suppose. The subway is going to be hell.

Raymond (placing a reassuring hand on Kevin’s back): It’s going to be alright. You are safe.

Kevin: I know. (examining the water on the floor from Raymond’s hand) I will have to change now.

Raymond: Just remember to keep breathing.

Kevin: I’ll try to keep that in mind.

—— (Flashback ends)——–

However, he had persisted in his research and as a result been able to assist his boyfriend through a small series of episodes;

When he’d forgotten his phone at work after telling Kevin that he’d be attempting to arrest “YoYo MaMa” the prolific mother murdering serial killer that day. (He’d come home to find Kevin had re-organized half their bookshelves and abandoned the task midway through to dust the empty shelves instead.)

Kevin’s first work party that accepted plus one’s onto the premises. (They’d both been nervous for that one but it wasn’t until Kevin re-made the ratatouille they were bringing for the third time that Raymond realized he was more than nervous.)

When the news had reported a bomb in the building across the street from Raymond’s workplace. (It had turned out to be a fake threat but when he’d called Kevin after it was all over he’d heard his voice shakier than normal, light with relief.)

And after years of relative peace he had forgotten.

He’d forgotten that this could happen too.

Everything had seemed fine when he’d gotten home. Kevin was researching for an upcoming paper and Raymond had popped in sparingly so as not to disturb him. 

When he’d noticed that Kevin hadn’t touched the tea or apple slices that Raymond had left him he’d idly remarked that the apples would brown and Kevin had snapped at him that, “I know the damn apples are going to brown.” and then stared vacantly at the wall.

Raymond had stepped inside and gently shut the door. “Kevin?”

No response. “Kevin, are you ok?” No response, predictably. Raymond’s own heart began to quicken. He didn’t know how to deal with this. He was going to screw up, he was going to hurt him he was-

Kevin wrapped his arms around himself but otherwise remained blank.He had to do something.

Raymond reached out instinctively before pulling his hand back. He had to ask before touching but Kevin wouldn’t speak. He began to pace, racking his brain.

“Kevin can you…hear me?” He asked, trying to keep his questions small and yes/no. 

Kevin nodded his head slowly. Raymond breathed a sigh of relief. “Is it okay if I hold your hand?” Kevin nodded again and Raymond took one of his hands without moving his arm.

He had no idea what to do now. He and Kevin usually talked through any issues they had and having him be so…out of it, was disconcerting.

In the middle of trying to puzzle out what to do Kevin suddenly squeezed his hand. Raymond blinked, his heart ached. His Kevin was trying to reassure him, to tell him that he was alright.

Kevin was who needed him right now, Raymond thought, nodding resolutely and squeezing his hand back. He needed to stop thinking and act.

So he did the first thing he could think of. 

He began to describe how to make bread out loud, step by step.

“Before you can begin making bread you will need to feed the yeast. This process will take a minimum of half an hour but can continue for longer if that’s how you or your guests prefer your bread. Pour one cup of water-”

He remembered Kevin had been planning to bake bread that afternoon. He remembered that when they had first begun dating he’d said to him, “It’s easy and fun. Homemade bread can be a great gift and the process of making it is quite relaxing.” And Raymond had thought he sounded like he belonged on a cooking show.

He remembered hearing Kevin explain things step by step in a low monotone had often lulled him into a state of calm. Remembered how when he was kept awake by nightmares of crime scene photos and missing persons he was not finding, Kevin would explain to him how old houses were built. From foundation to attic, he’d always fall asleep before Kevin could explain the roof to him.

“-After the first rise you will need to punch it down and shape it once more until it resembles a loaf. Spray the inside of the pan with cooking spray and replace the dough. Watch it rise until-”

He remembered Kevin’s eyes. His laugh and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile. His cat-and-mouse way of teasing or tormenting people. Remembered how much he loved him and thought it hard enough that he hoped it came through in his words. He hoped Kevin would be able to understand, to let that love reach him the way he always had before.

“-Place in the oven and bake for twenty minutes-”

“…Twenty?” Raymond paused, hope hanging in the air between them. 

“…Yes, twenty minutes.” He waited and was about to continue when Kevin spoke up again, voice soft but there.

“…It’s going to be too soft. It’s much better to cook it for thirty five to forty minutes.” Sensing that he had his boyfriend’s attention, Raymond continued to gently prod at him.

“Well, wouldn’t it be less time consuming? You could always…nuke it.” It pained him to say the words but that pain was immediately eased by Kevin turning to face him, eyes focused and voice solid.

“Nuke it? It’s a kitchen not a missile launch facility.” Raymond smiled, the familiar sentiment assuring him that Kevin was going to be alright.

“Point taken.” He agreed, leaning up slightly to kiss him. “Welcome back.”

“I didn’t go anywhere.” Kevin stated, smiling gently. “Thank you.”

From there they discussed the source of Kevin’s anxiety; Namely, that he had become increasingly worried that he was on the verge of being fired.

Why that anxiety might be irrational; Namely, that he had done nothing wrong, he was a smart and capable man and that Raymond loved him. (Which had nothing to do with the situation at hand but Kevin appreciated it all the same).

And what he could do about it; Namely, ignoring professor Nami who had it in for him and continuing to do his work while keeping his anxiety in mind and taking steps to manage it.

“And you can always let me know if something’s bothering you.” Raymond said, the two of them now eating the apple slices. “Whether it is related to your anxiety or not.”

“I know.” Kevin replied. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I’m your boyfriend. I want to know these things, especially things that might worry me.” Raymond replied, picking up the now cold tea in order to dispose of it. “Because I care for you and want to support you.”

Kevin smiled and turned to his computer once again, picking up his pen and beginning to write. “I love you Raymond.”

“I love you as well.”

[holylulusworld]

Broken hearts and high-school drama

Summary: Dean was your first love but he broke your heart when you were sixteen. Meeting him at the same high-school years later will cause some unexpected problems…

Pairing: Young!Dean x Reader (flashbacks), Dean x Reader, Young!Dean x Amanda, Sam Winchester, Young!Sam, Sam Winchester

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, cheating, monster of the week, injuries, ghosts, possession, violence, arguments, fun

Now

Walking through the hallway of your old high school still feels odd. You remember spending time sitting on the floor, in front of your locker, watching the kids pass by, wishing you were lighthearted and careless like one of them. Wishing you did not know anything about the darkness hiding out there.

Barely recognizing what of one of your co-workers is babbling you find yourself stopping in front of his locker…Your eyes light up for a moment at the memory…

—-

Then

“What brings you into this shitty town?” You ask Dean leaning against his locker. His piercing green eyes shine every time he looks down at you. The worn-out leather jacket suits him so well, he’s not like the other boys at your school, Dean is different…

“My dad’s job. He drags Sammy and me around.” Dean mumbles and you nod. At least Dean has someone to drag him around…

“That sucks.” You lie glancing at the smaller boy walking toward Dean. “Sammy. You okay?” Dean asks and the young boy rolls his eyes.

“Sure. I can handle a few hours without my bodyguard.” The boy retorts and you chuckle.

“Sammy, this is Y/N, a friend of mine,” Dean says and you feel the heat creeping into your cheeks. “Hi, Sam, nice to meet you.” You say shaking the boy’s hand.

“Hi, Y/N. You better not get involved with this heartbreaker.” Sam says and Dean moves one arm around his brother, ruffling his hair.

“Do not listen to the little brat. He’s just kidding…” Dean says, and you wonder if Sam was trying to make a joke…

—-

Now

“Earth to, Y/N. Did you hear me?” Your colleague asks and you shake your head. “Sorry, I was thinking about something. What did you say?” You ask.

“I asked if you already had the pleasure to see our new coach in his tight red shorts.” Jamie swoons and you want to roll your eyes. Every new guy is a love interest to Jamie.

“Nope. Didn’t have time for staring at our coach’s ass so far.” You tease busy checking you EMF for any sign of activity.

“Odd phone,” Jamie says glancing at your smartphone which you rebuilt into an EMF meter.

“Ah, it’s a prototype. I told you my cousin is working for a certain company. He asked me to check the functions out.” You lie shamelessly.

“Cool. Next time tell him I will check the functions out.” Jamie chuckles as you walk toward the storage room to check it.

Your eyes drift toward the door handle and another memory pops up…

Then

His lips are softer than expected, well you didn’t expect anything happening as he dragged you into the storage room. Now his hands are squeezing your butt as his lips claim yours. You feel dizzy, lightheaded…hot and bothered.

Dean slips his tongue into your mouth, sweeping over your tongue, tasting you. Your hands fist his hair, tugging harshly as his hands wander to your breasts, kneading, pinching your nipples.

“Dean…” You moan against his lips. “I never…” You confess and he smiles against your lips.

“I know, it’s okay. We’ve got time.” Dean whispers crushing his lips onto yours…

 —-

Now

“I’m going to get some chalk; do you need anything?” You ask and Jamie shakes her head. “No, I’ve got enough chalk, see you later at lunch.”

Watching your colleague walk away you shake your head. “Only if I do not find the ghost till lunch.” You whisper grabbing the door handle to twist it.

Your hand is shaking, and you need to take a deep breath as you open the door and your eyes land on the piece of paper lying on the floor. Kids still come here to kiss each other breathless…

 —-

Then

You were looking for Dean everywhere. He wanted to meet you at the storage room and now he’s nowhere to be found.

Maybe he’s already in the room…waiting? You ask yourself as you open the door only to find Dean, kissing someone else. He pulls away from the girl he was kissing. His eyes land on you and he turns pale.

“We were studying. Come on, Sweetheart. She means nothing to me. Don’t be mad.” Dean tries and you scoff.

“I’m no mad, rather disappointed, Dean. I thought maybe… underneath your whole “I could give a crap,” bad-boy thing, that there was something more going on. I mean, like the way you are with your brother. But I was wrong.” You exhale. “I thought maybe you are ‘the one’. Sammy was right, you’re just another heartbreaker.” You yell and everyone just stares at Dean as tears stream down your face.

“Y/N…wait. I can explain.” He tries to touch you, but you shove his hand away.

“Save it, Dean. I’ve seen enough. I was just another ass to grope to you, nothing else. Good thing I saw you today cause I wanted to have sex with you after our date. I’m such a fool…” Sniffing you turn on your heels, running away as fast possible.

—-

Now

The EMF meter shows no activity again. Cursing you slam the door shut only to bump into a firm chest. Your eyes land on his red shorts and you realize you bumped into the coach Jamie was telling you about.

“Sorry, Sweetheart.” The guy rumbles and you gulp. Your eyes meet emerald ones and you try to look away but then you see the scar at his chin and you are sure it’s him.

“My fault…if you excuse me now.” You say and his eyes light up. Before he can say anything else you shove him away to rush toward your classroom.

Why is Dean Winchester at your high school?

—-

“I’m telling you, Sammy, it was her.” Dean insists and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Dude! I’m telling you I checked all the teachers and everyone else. There is no one with the name Y/N Y/L/N working here.” Sam mutters.

“It was her. Her Y/E/C, the lips, the little mole at her neck…hell she even smelled like her. I swear it was Y/N.” Dean mutters pacing around the gym in his red shorts.

“Dean. Only as you broke her heart back then doesn’t mean she is here, at the same time you come back to her high school. This is ridiculous, even for Winchester standards.” Sam exhales beyond annoyed. “Let’s concentrate on the case and forget about your little Dean for a while.”

Glaring at his brother Dean shakes his head. “This has nothing to do with sex, Sam. She was my first true love. I messed up, okay. I wanted to apologize back then but dad dragged us away and I couldn’t tell her how I feel…” Dean sighs.

“Dean, that was how many years ago?” Sam asks and Dean nods. “I know…Sam…I know.”

—-

“That’s sad, Mr. Gregor. Can you tell me where Dirk is buried? I’d like to put some flowers on his grave.” You lie. After you found out about Dirk’s death you are sure he is the one using the pupil’s body to punish other kids.

“Oh, he wasn’t. I had him cremated.” Mr. Gregor sniffs and you silently curse.

“All of him?” You ask and he stares at you not knowing why you are asking something like this. “I, for example, kept my mothers’ braid.” You lie and Mr. Gregor nods.

“Well, I kept a lock of his hair. Always have it with me on the bus, in my bible.” He whispers and you pat his hand gently.

“I need to go now but I’m truly sorry about your loss. I wasn’t at his school for long, but Dirk was a nice boy.” You lie. Truth is he was an asshole, but you can’t break his father’s heart.

“Thank you, Ms. Y/L/N.” Mr. Gregor chokes out and you give him a cracked smile.

—-

Sitting on the bus you look around. You need to find a way to get this bible and the lock of Dirk’s hair to burn it before he can possess another innocent kid.

Your eyes drift toward the driver’s seat as the bus is driving fast down the road.

“UH, Eddie I think we are way too fast. Maybe you should use the pedal?” You ask seeing the cold expression on his face. You want to get your salt out but then the bus stops and Eddie’s hand wraps around your throat.

Blinking you feel coldness creeping into your bones and then…nothing…

—-

Your body walks on its own as you look up at Dean and a taller man with shaggy hair. Dean is looking at you with wide eyes as you grab the hem of his shirt to smash him into the bus.

“Liar! Cheater! Worthless scum!” Dirk inside of your body screams. He’s using your memories to control your body. No matter how hard you fight him he keeps on smashing Dean into the bus.

Dirk is distracted by wrapping your hands around Dean’s throat. This way he can’t see Sam sneak up behind him to wrap a rope around his middle.

Screaming you feel the rope burning your skin. “What!” Dirk yells.

“Soaked in salt-water.” Sam pants struggling to keep your body at bay. Fighting against Dirk you point toward the driver’s seat. “Bible…” You gasp before Dirk takes over control, ramming your elbow into Sam’s ribs. Dean is rushing toward the driver’s seat, grabbing the bible he finds the lock.

“Dean…hurry.” Sam pants aiming his shotgun at Dirk, well at your body.

“Don’t or he will use someone else,” Dean yells, salting the hair to burn it.

Dirk is leaving your body, making you fall to the ground. He screams before his ghost vanishes.

“Shit…” You pant sitting on the ground, exhausted, body aching.

“You okay?” Dean asks trying to help you up but you slap his hand away. “I don’t need your help, Winchester.” You spat.

Sam is less patiently. Picking you up he carries you toward his brother’s car. “Let me help you, Y/N. Ghosts drain the energy out of your body while using you. We don’t want you to collapse.” Sam mumbles and you nod before you drift into unconsciousness.

—-

“I told you it’s her, Sam,” Dean mutters watching you sleeping on his bed.

“Dean, calm down. She’s fine. No one else got hurt thanks to her. She managed to show us the Bible. Never saw someone able to break out of a ghosts grip.” Sam says glancing at you.

“She’s something else and I messed up…”

—-

Body sore, head pounding you try to sit up on the foreign bed. Two strong hands steady your body as your brain tries to process what happened yesterday.

“How do you feel?” Dean asks and you groan.

“Now even worse.” You mutter and Dean chuckles.

“Listen…I’m sorry. I was a stupid boy back then. I was sixteen and all these hormones. She meant nothing to me but you were someone special. I knew I can’t stay so I thought to break your heart would make it easier for you.”

“Breaking my heart would make it easier? Are you cruel or simply stupid? You could’ve told me your dad is dragging you into another town, Dean. I would’ve understood for sure.” You grunt showing his offered hand away.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Boys are not smart at the age of sixteen. I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N. The kiss was the best I ever had.”

“Dean…”

“So…you’re a teacher?” Dean asks and this time you chuckle. “Seriously? I was able to keep the ghost inside of me at bay. I pointed toward the Bible to help you find the object binding Dirk’s ghost and yet you believe I’m a teacher?” Rubbing your forehead you try to make the headache go away.

“Well…I’m hot for teacher…” Dean rasps and you glare at the tall hunter. Still cocky as hell he smirks at you. “…or rather hot for you…” He adds.

“Dean Winchester, do you believe I’m falling back into your arms after the stunt you pulled all these years ago?” Your eyes narrow now and Dean gulps hard.

“I know…broken hearts…high school drama, but we are adults now. We can talk things out, have a date…hot sex. You could tag along.”

“Hot sex? You think I would have sex with you anytime soon?” You spat jumping up a bit too fast to poke your finger into Dean’s chest.

There’s a fire in your eyes and Dean can’t help it but look at you in awe.

“This look won’t help you!”

“Hmm…let me make it up to you. How about you tag along and I’ll apologize for the rest of my life.” Dean suggests.

“As a hunter, your life may be pretty short…” you talk back.

“That’s not a ‘no’…” Dean mutters glancing at your lips.

“No, it’s a hell no!” You state slapping his cheek.

“I like the fire in you. Damn, you will tag along for sure. How about helping us with another case?”

“Case?”

“Yeah. Sammy found is a job, Bedford, Iowa. Guy beat his wife’s brains out with a meat tenderizer.” Dean explains.

“Sounds like a good way to get rid of someone.” You threaten and Dean licks his lower lip. “You can beat me, shoot me or yell at me as long as you agree to come with me…” Dean says raising his eyebrows as your knee collides with his balls.

Slowly walking toward the showers, you grab a fresh towel, glancing at Dean. “I’ll take your offer, my Sweetheart.” You chuckle.

“Damn, hell of a woman…” Dean groans falling to his knees.

Forever Tags

@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22, @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @strayrosesbloom, @thewinchesterco, @hobby27, @kittycatlover18, @gh0stgurl, @marvelfansworld , @sandlee44, @hawaiianohana31, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt, @katpatrova17, @notyourtypicalrose , @heyitscam99, @onethingthatkeepsmealive, @natura1phenomenon, @flamencodiva, @echoesofpassion, @cocklesbelli, @voltage-my2dlove, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @thenamelesschibi, @lauravic, @fandomsrourlives, @wittysunflower, @drakelover78, @lemondropirwin, @lonewolf471, @wronglanemendes, @electraphygelectraphyng , @spnhollis, @void-imaginations, @jay-and-dean, @shatteredabby , @juniorhuntersam, @helpmeluci, @neii3n, @goodgodimaweirdperson, @alltimesamantha, @chonisberonica, @supernaturalonice @stuckys-whore, @shadowkat-83, @officialmarvelwhore, @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel, @wecantgiggleitsafandom, @meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @miraclesoflove, @yolobloggers​,@guardian-tn, @lu-sullivan, @maniacproffesor​, @hollymac79​, @straycuties9, @destieladdict-221b, @kayla-2000​, @ilovefanfic86​, @gracefultrenchcoat494​, @babygirls-fav​, @sadn0va​, @spnwoman​ @amiquette​, @linki-locks11​, @geekofmanyforms​, @eggingamazinglove​

If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason. Sorry.

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags     

@spnfamily-j2​, @supernatural-bellawinchester​, @butifulsoul125​, @lyinginthegingerlocks​, @deans-baby-momma​, @hawaiianohana31​, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​, @20gayneen​, @janicho88​, @thefaithfulwriter​, @dreaminemz​, @negans-lucille-tblr​ @sadwaywardkid​, @akshi8278​, @hhiggs​, @midnightsilver16830​, @mrspeacem1nusone​, @ria132love​, @caligraphee​, @the-witch-in-silence​, @multisuperfandom​, @deansgirl-1968​, @justanotherwinchester​, @jadesupernatural​

[caramelslate]

Day 1 of Moms Made Fullmetal Week!!

It’s a bit late becaue work, but here it is!

Prompt:  Family or Love or Baby-talk

Ao3 link here.

Riza was pulled from her deep slumber by something tugging on her hair. She groaned and turned to the other side, willing for sleep to come back. Still, the tugging continued. Riza groaned and turned her head towards the bedside table at the clock sitting there: ten in the morning.

As a soldier, it was drilled into every one to be a morning person. This proved to be a huge problem for Rebecca who still had to set three consecutive alarms, all within 5 minutes of each other, just to be able to get up. Riza, however, is a morning person, ever since she was a child. So during their time in the military, she was usually the one to wake Rebecca up instead of suffering through the shrill noise of all her alarms.

It was rare enough for her to be home during a weekday, much less for her to be sleeping in. Usually, off days are spent by doing the extra chores around the house, paying bills, or doing laundry. But a particular nightmare kept her up during the night until Roy found her sleeping and curled up on the chair in the living room, an open book on her lap. She must’ve gone back to bed in the early morning hours and was not even aware of it.

As she started to rub the sleep from her eyes, something tugged on her hair again.

At first, she thought it was Hayate. Usually, her dog is well mannered but if he wants something, like his breakfast, for example, he climbs up the bed and snuggles with her. Riza thinks this behavior started to happen when Roy moved in and he lets Hayate up the furniture and even on the bed. His complaints of inhaling dog fur became nonexistent when Riza said that if he doesn’t want dog fur to get everywhere, he has to let Hayate sleep on his bed by the door. Still, she finds the dog curled up by their feet every night.

She turned around, with every intention of scolding Hayate for climbing up the bed again and chewing her hair but instead of a black wet snout, it was something else.

William. Her son.

It seemed surreal to even say that. Now even months later, she found the idea of becoming a mother and a wife seem more like a dream than her actual reality. But here she was, in bed at 9 am on a Tuesday, in a beautiful family house near the city, with her son.

Will’s chubby fingers are wrapped around a fistful of her hair, giggling and laughing. His eyes, very much like his father’s, are shining with delight. He released his grip and flapped his arms up and down, delighted to see her awake. With her reputation as a veteran in the war, especially with the title “Hawk’s Eye”, people tend to look at her and see a ruthless soldier. Detached and cold, only serving the country to fulfill her duty. Some see a hero, some see a murderer. Others who know more of her look at her and see a friend, a colleague, a confidant. Yet, now, nothing else matters because this boy in her arms only sees someone he loves, someone who is his mother.

Riza sat up, a smile etched on her face. She took the boy into her arms and said, “Why are you here, how did you get here?” Her question was answered by a piece of note she found by the bedside table.

He woke up at 6 this morning, so I took him to his crib but he started crying and just stopped as soon as I placed him down beside you. Was out like a lamp within minutes after lying down. Guess he also sleeps better besides you too. I sent Kathy to do all your chores for today so you can stay at home for once. She’ll probably be back before noon.

Just take it easy today. -R

Damn, that man is late for work again. This statement comforted her, the thought of the baby being left alone with her sleeping made her feel uneasy. It was tough during the first few months but she was getting better at leaving him from time to time. It also eased her mind to find something who they trusted to look after their son while both of them are at work. Fuery suggested one of his younger sisters as a temporary nanny. This helped the young girl too as she was going to the city for university and needed extra income. Fuery vouched for her and she trusts him. Having Kathy around the house is a godsend. Also, the fact that the baby likes her is another good thing.

She smiled. “You were crying this morning? Are you hungry? Do you miss Momma?”

Will’s answering laughter is the most beautiful sound she has ever heard. With everything that happened in her life, all the ups and downs, the countless times she came close to dying and losing everything, it was all worth it because of him.

She knows she did not deserve anything she has today. Not the doting husband, the beautiful son, not even the freedom she received. Not when she robbed the people she killed in Ishval.

Still, she would give everything up for her son. Everything.

Riza felt him tugging on her hair again, this time he was chewing on the blond strands.

“You like my hair, do you? Hmmm.” She swayed him slightly from side to side, the way he likes.

After the Promised Day, she decided that she was done with the long hair and got her hair cut up the way she had when she was younger. Partly in preparation for Ishval as scorching hot weather will surely be irritating while having long hair. Also, she welcomed the thought of something new in her now monotonous life, devoid of dealing with immortal super-powered creatures who wanted to take over the power of God.

Now almost a year after her last haircut, it just fell back behind her, brushing against the top of her tattoo.

Her son suddenly became quiet. Leaning over to him, she found him snuggled against the crook of her neck with one fist around her hair and the other inside his mouth.

So he has a fascination with her hair too. Like father, like son then. Maybe she should take a rain check on getting that haircut appointment?

“Honey, don’t.” Riza carefully pried her son’s chubby fingers away from her hair. She stood up, Will in her arms, and headed into the kitchen. Someone, probably Roy made eggs and coffee for her before they left. She lowered the baby down the bassinet they had set up in the living room and fixed herself a plate and much-needed coffee.

She loved lazy mornings like this as she rarely got them. Just her and the baby in the house. Riza quietly watched him in the bassinet, clutching a wooden toy soldier painted with a blue Amestris uniform. Ed has said it seemed fitting when he saw it at an antique store during one of his travels. He figured he’d give it to him when he dropped by shortly after the baby had been born.

She leaned over and stared at him. Will stared back with wide eyes that brought a soft smile to her face. He giggled and reached out his arms, wanting to be carried.

Riza reached down and took him into her arms. She put her feet up the coffee table and settled the baby on her lap. Once again, she found him with a tendril of hair between his fingers.

“Aw, you really love my hair, do you? Is it just the hair or is it me? What do you think?” She playfully moved her thighs up and down, rocking Will slightly, making him burst into adorable giggles again. “Should I just make a wig or something and leave it with you at night, huh? That’s disturbing, so no but what do you think? Should mommy cut her hair again? Hmmm, say Mama. Come on, honey, say Mama? I won’t cut my hair if you say Mama, sweetheart.”

“I don’t even have a say in it?” a voice spoke up.

Looking up, Roy was taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the armchair. He strode over them and kissed the top of her head and then the Will’s, and sank down beside her on the sofa. Noticing the empty plate and cup on the coffee table, “You just got up?” he asked.

“First off, you never had any say in it. It’ll always be this little guy’s opinion. Second, why are you here? It’s barely noon?” Usually, during weekends, when Roy has to leave for work, he usually gets home until after lunch, but it’s barely 11 and he’s already here.

Roy leaned back and sighed, putting up his boot on top of the coffee table next to hers. “They just needed me to attend a couple of meetings and go over some paperwork, which I finished,” he added that last part as an answer to Riza’s questioning gaze. “So once all that was done, I got up and went home. Already missed your lazy morning with the little guy. I don’t wanna miss lazy afternoons too.” He had his arm resting across her shoulder, a finger absentmindedly twirling a tendril of hair.

See? Like father, like son.

Riza rested her head against his shoulder and both of them watched in awe of their son babble unintelligible words like he was making a speech for the entire nation. She sighed.

“What?” Roy looked down at her. She shook her head. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Okay, now I am scared.” Roy muttered which earned him an elbow to the ribs.

Looking at their small apartment, at the dirty dishes on the sink, clutter on the counter, and then to the little human on her lap. “I just didn’t think we’d end up here.” she confessed. “With everything that happened in the past few years, I can’t imagine, not in my wildest dreams, that I’d actually be here, married and a mom, being all domestic. That was the last thing I ever imagined. I mean, we were all too busy trying to stay alive and not get caught arranging a coup.

Roy chuckled. “Are you reminiscing?” Riza snorted then rolled her eyes. “No, I’m just happy.”

Her husband looked down at her with this look in his eyes and pressed his lips against her temple and tugged her closer to his side. “So, the scary Hawk’s Eye baby talks, huh? Roy teased. Riza aimed another well-placed dig into his ribs and leaned away, rocking Will a little, her hands splayed across his back. Beside her, Roy is doubled over, arms across his stomach, fake betrayal etched across his face.

“Oh, stop being a baby. We already have one.” Riza rolled her eyes. Of course, she remembered aside from a baby, she also has a man-child husband too. “And if you ever let that out, I will drag you to the range to keep your ego in check.”

Roy leaned back in and tugged her back to his side, “Don’t worry Mustang. Your secret’s safe with me.”

She made him remember those words when Rebecca made it slip that everyone in the team knows about the baby talk the week after.

[cosmo-gonika]

The Inspiration behind the Original Star Wars.

Okay fam, I cannot leave this fandom without leaving this increidble article I stumbled upon while I was writing Songs of Innocence. This article has never gone through main medias but I believe it is entirely true. I am myself very knowledgable of the esoteric current they are talking about here and I can confirm all what they say is true and makes so much sense. And why I think the TROS has failed to bring mystical depth to the ST.

Here is the source if you want to read directly: https://neoanthroposophy.com/2017/02/05/source-of-the-force-secret-behind-star-wars-inspiration/

Source of the Force: Secret Behind Star Wars Inspiration by Douglas Gabriel.  

I would like to share with you my personal experience of collaborating for three days in the early 70’s with Marcia Lucas and a small team of Anthroposophy scholars on the script of Star Wars and my recent discoveries about how that foundational work affected the writing, editing and expansions of the original Trilogy.

First of all, it seems fitting that my first encounter with the origins of Star Wars – a modern fairy tale ultimately about the return to spirit – would happen at Christmas time, a season in which humanity recalls its sense of spirit and hope.

I was a student at the Waldorf Institute at the time, and remember the day that I first met the characters of Luke Skywalker, R2D2, C3PO, and the entire Star Wars entourage. Yet, when I first encountered them, they were more like two-dimensional paper-dolls in an unfinished script, before their true meaning had been breathed into them. For example, Luke Starkiller as I met him was a far cry from the Skywalker he turned out to be.  You may be surprised to learn that the story in its early form was depicted through the machinist eyes of two robots, not yet the familiar, crowd-pleasing epic that would become one of the most famous and endearing movies in the world.

That is, of course, before I and colleagues from the Waldorf Institute would spend three days as part of a think-tank working session with George Lucas’ talented wife and professional film editor, Marcia Lucas (née Marcia Griffin), to transform a story that was originally based on two robots into a sweeping modern fairy-tale that even today still evokes a timeless sense of human destiny.

Meeting Marcia

At that time, like the characters, I was in development, too, as are all earnest students.  In addition to being a student of Anthroposophy – a discipline of knowledge developed by Rudolf Steiner concerned with all aspects of human life, spirituality and future evolution – I also managed the Waldorf bookstore, which was a treasure trove of spiritual knowledge.

That Christmas season had been busy, and I was just locking up the store and ready to head home when my teacher, Werner Glass, approached me.

Born in Austria, Werner was a beloved instructor at the Waldorf Institute and inarguably the most prominent Anthroposophist scholar in America.  I can only say today that it was a great honor to be his student. That day, there was a glint of lighthearted cheer in his eyes. Thinking that he was simply going to wish me a merry holiday, I was surprised when he asked me to follow him.

“Where?” I said, blindly following him like a faithful puppy.

Without answering, he led me into one of the more spacious classrooms, where four other students were already seated around a table, talking with the Institute’s co-director, Hans Gebert.  A woman I did not recognize seemed to be at the center of the conversation – a pleasant-looking brunette with a friendly, yet sophisticated, air.

When everyone saw Werner in the doorway, they looked up with a sense of expectation, as most students typically did when Werner walked into a room. He was like a father to us all. He motioned me to take a seat, then sat down and began to explain the situation.

“I’m very pleased to introduce you all to Marcia Lucas,” he said. “Her husband is a well-known movie director who is working on a screenplay for a science fiction film – a space opera of sorts – and they would like our Waldorf perspective. I don’t know if you have heard of George Lucas?”

This was the first time I had ever heard George Lucas’ name.  I certainly hadn’t seen his critically-acclaimed and commercially successful American Graffiti.  I also didn’t know that his wife, Marcia, was an accomplished film editor in her own right.

“Well, Marcia is familiar with Anthroposophy and the work of Rudolph Steiner, and she needs our help with the script, to make it more Waldorf-inspired so it will have good merit as both a movie and a spiritual story.”

Marcia nodded and offered more context.  She said that the “big screen” should be used to deliver important messages to audiences and tell a more spiritual story, one that has a good foundation in the truth, not just another director’s dream.

This began to inspire me, as story-telling is at the center of our teaching curriculum in Waldorf schools.  Movies are mass exposure to stories.  Stories, like fairy tales, help inspire the psyche of those who witness them, similar to shared dreams. At the Waldorf school, the teacher will tell a story to the children, who learn it by heart and recite it back in class the next day. Once memorized, the stories are further interpreted through music, dance, drawing, painting, and any number of other creative responses.

Marcia needed our input, she told us, because the script was entering its third draft and lacked an element of spirituality. I could see that she was problem-solving, earnestly searching for a way to make the screenplay work.

“I’m sure we’re up to the task,” Werner said, looking at me.

For the past few minutes, I had been sitting there wondering, “Why am I here?  No one had even told me about this meeting.” Then, I looked around and realized that I was the most experienced student there. The others were too young, less studied in Anthroposophy and certainly not up to this level of work. I was immensely relieved that Werner would be there to lead us through the session, and sat back, relaxed.

“The dialogue is a bit lacking,” Werner said. “I told Marcia we could help with that as well.”

With that, Werner rose from his seat and said, “Well, then.  My family is waiting at home and I must be off.”

None of us could believe it.  America’s leading Anthroposophist was going to leave this important project in our hands?

Werner added, “Douglas is my right hand, and I will check in on your work throughout the next few days.”

He then welcomed Marcia to the resources and hospitality of the Institute and politely left.

With Werner gone, we all looked at the Institute’s co-director, Hans, to lead the session.

Hans stood up.

“Well, I must admit that science and mathematics are my true specialty,” Hans said, in his characteristic fashion. “So, I am afraid I will not be of much assistance to this group.”

He politely bid us all adieu, then left.

At this point, I became a bit panicked.  My leaders had left me in a great unknown!

Marcia Lucas, who I did not know at the time was one of the greatest film editors in the world, was looking expectantly at me.

I suddenly got the feeling Werner had said something to her about me, akin to his comment about me being his “right hand.” I had a vague realization that both she and I were here solely because of Werner.   Having been a brilliant actor at the London School of Theater, Werner had been the primary Anthroposophist from the Waldorf school in North Hollywood in dealing with actors, directors and producers. She was here because of him and I was here because he had brought a promising student to the table for this specialized project.  Surely, he knew what he was doing, so I decided to trust it.

“Well, then, let’s get started,” I said.  “Tell us the story, Marcia.”

As she spoke, I got up and went over to the classroom blackboard.   Marcia had trouble articulating the story; it didn’t flow easily. In colored chalk, I began to sketch out the story-board.

“It’s a story of two robots, you see – the movie is seen through their eyes,” she said. “The robots are key elements of the story.  They must be kept.”

I understood that the robots were non-negotiable. We must somehow work with them.

“Ok,” I said.  “Can you please read us the starting dialogue?”

She began. It was difficult for us to listen to. As an experienced editor, Marcia knew this. The characters didn’t work. They weren’t alive. She sincerely wanted to rewrite her husband’s movie script to its full potential, but at this moment, it was stilted. Only later would I learn more about the context of their partnership – how George was a genius concerned with the theme of machines and technology, and Marcia was the humanistic side, focused on telling a meaningful story that would resonate with the audience. I did not know it then, but she was here, basically, trying to save the script.

I decided to be frank with her.

“First, the story is not archetypal,” I said.  “The author doesn’t know the true nature and value of the characters he is set on gluing together.”

Marcia began writing down notes quickly in her notebook.

“The dialogue is unreal and trite.  It serves only one purpose – to move to the next scene.  So, the message of the story happens in the action between scenes.”

She nodded, writing.

I continued. “There is no character development.  No one will identify with these characters.”

Then, on a positive note, I said, “However, your husband has tapped into the true spiritual reality of our time. His obsession to see the world through the eyes of two robots is genius, but a little confused. We can work with that.”

Since everyone there, including Marcia, was a student of Anthroposophy, I began to do what Werner knew would come naturally to me as both a teacher and a student – apply the principles that I had studied to our current problem with the script.

“George has described the challenge of our times,” I said, “The war with machines, symbolized in the two robot playmates of Luke Starkiller.”

Now, an interesting side note about the names. Like Luke Starkiller, none of the character’s names that Marcia read to us were in their final form. In fact, I later recommended that the hero, Luke Starkiller, be changed to “Luke Skywalker,” from American Indian and Tibetan traditions. Then, since Lucas is the name for “light,” I also had the concept of a light saber, a weapon that both defends as a shield and attacks as a formidable force. (In Anthroposophist terms, the light saber represents the human spinal column.)

Those details would come later.  Now, we had to focus on shaping the story itself.

“I think it needs to go back to the concept of a fairy tale,” I said, explaining that all fairy tales begin with a reference of the story being outside of time and space and end with some reference to their own continuance. “I think what you may want is an adult science-fiction fairy tale that is spiritually accurate, yet engrossing and interesting.”

Marcia agreed.

With her input, we decided to begin with Luke Starkiller.  We tried to describe his character development in terms of the polarity that every person has in their soul – the left and right-hand paths of evil. In the end, it is the middle path, “the Force,” that the Jedi warrior should choose. Yet, without exploring both the left and right paths, the Jedi is weakened by not knowing his enemy.

“So, each movie goer will be faced with making the same decision, no matter what their life is like?” said one of the students.

“Yes, that’s the path of most fairy tales,” I said.  The question is: “Which of the three paths will you choose?”

Here again, I was impressed with George Lucas’ brilliance. His obsession with machines underscored the biggest challenge of our age – the right-hand path of mechanical occultism as described by Rudolph Steiner and the left-hand path of thinking that has turned evil.  Had I seen his first film, THX-1138, I would have recognized this even more clearly.

“The two robots can represent thinking and willing,” I proposed.

As the heroes of George’s original story, both C3PO and R2D2 enable the audience to “see through the eyes of machines.”  In his relationship and interactions with them, Luke uses his robots to enhance his thinking (C3PO) and willing (R2D2) in an age of machines, but finally finds the middle path – of feeling.

“Let’s explore the two extremes: the left-hand path of thinking and the right-hand path of willing,” I said.

We spent time talking it through.  Both C3PO and the Evil Emperor are on the left-hand path of “thinking” that has turned evil. For example, C3PO can think but cannot act, and the Emperor needs Darth Vader to carry out his desired actions. In contrast, R2D2 and Darth Vader are on the right-hand path of “willing.” Having the capacity to will, they still must be told what to do.

“Darth Vader is the being we know as Ahriman,” I added.  “He represents the composite cleverness of all machines, incarnated into a human being.”

“So, what about a middle path?  Is there one?” one of the students asked.

“Excellent question,” I said. “The middle path is what both the right-hand and left-hand paths miss. Unable to understand the middle path, both sides seek to destroy it.  The Jedi masters such as Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda have developed themselves on the middle path, having already mastered the other two paths. They represent the desired balanced center between the two extremes.”

Indeed, this dynamic of two poles of evil is the central motif of the first Star Wars trilogy.

Master of the Machines

Once we understood the story in context of this Anthroposophical framework, the next step was to focus further on Luke’s character.

“I think that Luke needs to develop his character by interacting with the two robots, both the left and the right hand,” I said.

We then discussed each robot.

As a robot on the “thinking” side, C3PO can speak many languages and is programmed for etiquette and translating, a truly inspired use for machines that we seldom see.  He represents an evil that has been around as long as languages in every culture since the beginning of human intellectual development – the being named Lucifer, who incarnated in a physical body in China in 2000 BC.  As the “left-hand path of evil,” Lucifer is a Promethean archetype who brings fire, language, philosophy, writing and culture to humanity. Chained to a mountain, he suffered each day as a vulture ate out his liver until rescued by Heracles.  By representing Lucifer/Prometheus, C3PO would serve as a counter-pole for the incarnation four thousand years later in 2000 AD of Ahriman, the king of machines, otherwise known as Darth Vader.

Luke, who models the original Heracles or the hero in all of us, eventually breaks the chains to free Prometheus, the fire-bringer, who is on the left-hand path. So, too, the Evil Emperor in Star Wars represents the power of fire (demonstrated as lightning from his hands and the evil wisdom of the Sith) that increasingly consumes him as he misuses it.

“Luke is situated between the two robots, between the two paths, like his twin sister.  His lost spirituality is drawing him upward into spirit,” I said.

All Jedi warriors have transformed blood, what was later called “midi-chlorians” in the blood. As they balance the forces of the left and right paths, they raise their consciousness, which then increases spiritual potential in the blood, a process that Steiner calls the “etherization of the blood.”  As Steiner taught, spiritual people charge their blood with a consciousness that connects them to spirit (the Force).  However, unlike the movie, the ability to access spirit or the Force isn’t passed along through heredity.

So, after discussing all of these concepts and laying the groundwork for common understanding, here is the story of Star Wars that we mapped out:

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, Luke Skywalker (the archetypal human) finds his life embroiled, if not consumed, by machines.  Luke is the master of those machines, because he has consciousness and, therefore, is pulled by the left and right.  He is an orphan, as all modern humans find themselves, and knows that something great lives inside of him. He has hope in a hopeless world.

Luke’s father has fallen prey to the evil right-hand path of machines that has transformed him into a part-man – part machine abomination who wars against his own spirit and wishes to dominate the world, even if it means killing his son.

The left-hand path of personal black magic lives in the Evil Emperor who also wishes to kill all Jedi and, most especially, the son of Darth Vader.  

Luke is protected by the humble Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Eventually, this Jedi leads him to his teacher of the “middle way” (the Force) and sacrifices himself so that he can help him from the spiritual world.  This middle path is like the path to the Higher Self.

On the path, just like Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road, Luke gains some traveling companions.  Just as the Wizard of Oz was a distillation of Masonic initiation rituals, Star Wars introduces the audience to parts of the soul.  This is necessary to make the story archetypal, so that it will always be fresh.  

For example, Obi-Wan Kenobi represents the highest of the three parts of the soul, the consciousness soul, which merges spirit with matter just as his Jedi powers give him the power of mind over matter.  

Chewbacca represents the lower soul, the sentient or astral soul that must turn the animal in us into a human with spiritual characteristics.  

Han Solo represents the intellectual soul that first begins to awaken to higher thinking. Although clever, Hans lacks the ability to see the big picture like Obi-Wan.  

Between Luke’s three companions, much like the Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow, each contributes a special quality to Luke along the way.  Steiner calls these soul qualities “thinking, feeling and willing.”

At the center of the story, Luke represents the ego, or the thinking human being, and must master the three steps of the development of the soul.  

A return to spirit

Now that we had built the underlying framework, which was the most Herculean part of our task, it was clear to me that we needed to develop these characters into archetypes. Knowing now what motivated each character, we could easily hear the words that each would naturally say and even envision their realistic reactions to the unfolding plot.

In doing so, we kept in mind a fundamental truth:  good and evil are choices.  The Evil Emperor and Darth Vader were not born evil; they chose their own paths. Luke, the archetypal human, also must make his choices and live with the good or evil that results.

Still, after all of this work we had done, one thing was missing.

“We still have one problem,” I reminded Marcia.  “Where is Luke going in the story?”

Sorely missing in the original version of the story, this issue had to be resolved so that everything else would make sense.

“Isn’t Luke, essentially, the prodigal son?” I said.  Others agreed that Luke was separated from his parent’s home and longing to return.   This is a universal element with which everyone could identify.  Like Luke, each of us has our particular destiny. In our life, we embark on the search to find it and return to our kingdom in the spirit.

We further developed Luke’s direction and role in the story as follows:

Luke knows he is special but doesn’t know why. Throughout the story, he must evolve into his mission of facing his true identity as Darth Vader’s son, accept it, and decide what to do with it.

Ultimately, Luke denies the power of the machines that try to gain control over him. Instead of the cold-hearted machine-human hybrids, Luke chooses love.  He must come to this awakening only after receiving help from his companions.

His sister Leia (who I suggested should be called Maya) represents his spiritual self.  Although first drawn to her through physical desire, Luke transforms this attraction into spiritual love and links his destiny to hers, as the soul links to the spirit.  

More sure about herself, Leia has been treated like the Princess she is. Luke has struggled to “catch up” to where she was, but in the end, their destinies are permanently entwined. Because he is on the spiritual path of self-development versus the physical path of earthly gratification, Luke doesn’t “win the girl” – that part of the story is left to another character, Han Solo.  

As part of his journey, Luke uses the middle path of the Force to conquer both the Evil Emperor and Darth Vader. The more the left and right-hand paths try to win Luke, the more they fall prey to the side effects of using evil for personal gain.

As the modern human, Luke conquers the evil machine-like foes with help from his companions and develops two powerful “forces” that the machines cannot control: human freedom and love. In this way, Luke learns to “see through the eyes of machines.”   He even sacrifices his human hand for denying his father’s attempt to win him over to the Dark Side of the machines.

In the end, Luke loves his father and witnesses the death of Darth Vader, Ahriman, before his very eyes.  

This is the same modern challenge that each of us faces:  

Who is your parent?  

What do you choose: the physical world of machines or the middle path of the spirit, the Force?

A beautiful fairy tale

Over the next two days, we built on our initial framework and polished the ideas to represent every possible perspective in our archetype science-fiction, prodigal-son story. The script was turning into a beautiful fairy tale that I was certain had merit, whether or not it ever made it to the “big screen.” I was very happy to work through these concepts, because I could see my own path to the spirit unfolding in the story. (Of course, Werner had known this would be part of my involvement!)

I also appreciated Marcia’s priority of effective story-telling. In our modern times, I have seen a decline of storytelling in our culture. This is dangerous, for as archetypal stories vanish, our imagination weakens as the source of inner nourishment and soul inspiration. Movies have taken the place of storytelling and actors have taken the place of the heroes and heroines found in all archetypal stories, whether myth, religion, legend, fairy tale, fable, or any other transcendental source.  Yet, as we learned in developing Star Wars, if a story is not archetypal, it will not last the test of time. Successful to this day, a full 40 years after it was released, Star Wars has proven that to be true.

After our work was completed, I said good-bye to Marcia and wished her well with the movie. She thanked me and everyone else who had contributed their ideas to our marvelous fairy tale.  I heard nothing more until 1977, when the movie was about to launch and generating a frenzied buildup of media attention.

I was working in the bookstore when Werner came in to tell me the news:  Marcia and George Lucas were so happy with our help that they were offering all Waldorf schools in the U.S. a chance to show an advanced screening of the movie as a local fundraiser. This was a thrilling offer, because I knew that a good deal of money could be raised.  Yet, staying true to its practice of opposing TV, movies and technology in general, the Waldorf Institute politely declined the offer, to my deep disappointment.

I finally saw the Trilogy, after waiting impatiently for all three installments, and was happy that it stayed true to the fairy-tale idea we had developed in our Waldorf think tank.

As I watched the movies, I realized that Star Wars had affected the paths of those of us involved in the project. Just as we had mapped out a path for Luke, we were all on a journey to our own destinies. The archetypes we built had done their work!

For example, by working through the philosophical concepts, I saw my own path to the spirit reflected in the story, as Werner knew it would – the process had further emboldened my own understanding of the study of Anthroposophy. Also, I remembered that Werner, who was like a scholarly father, had introduced me to Marcia as his “right hand,” while Luke Skywalker had sacrificed his own right hand in the battle with his father – both situations connected to the pursuit of spiritual knowledge. As a “right hand” substitute for Werner in the project with Marcia, I grew into my leadership role as a teacher.  So, too, with the substitution of his right hand, Luke acquired more masterful poise as a Jedi warrior who had successfully denied the Dark Side and became more in touch with the Force.

George Lucas himself was on the path for his genius to be recognized with commercial and critical success. He would later open his famous Skywalker Ranch, which I think is a much better name than “Starkiller” Ranch, don’t you?

Yet, when his own right hand, Marcia Lucas, was symbolically severed in their 1983 divorce, he lost a part of the humanity that had been evident in the earlier movies, and some say lacking in the later versions of the Star Wars series.

For her part, Marcia Lucas would stand on stage to be ceremoniously honored, just like the characters in the ending of Star Wars. Looking tasteful and quietly elegant next to a glittery-gold presenter Farrah Fawcett at the 1977 Academy Awards, Marcia accepted an Oscar for best editing of a film that had started off an as unknown space opera and become a household name. At that ceremony, one of her editor colleagues would speak for her, and she would not have an opportunity to thank anyone publically, not even her husband. Had they given her a chance at the microphone, I imagine that Marcia perhaps might have thanked the Waldorf Institute, although the process of being involved in this influential project was, for me, its own reward.

In fact, later, when working with Producer Kathleen Kennedy during the writing of the Indiana Jones movies, I was quite aware of my participation in shaping small moments in the movies where true wisdom and light shine through the story.  This is what I have tried to do in all of my writings: share the love for spirit that I try to live each day and to bring that spirit into the souls of everyone I have the privilege to meet or touch in some small way – even through a simple story that is the ubiquitous retelling of the original story, the return to spirit.

Just a few days ago, with all of the resurgence of Star Wars memories and the recent release of the latest installment in the series, I googled Marcia Lucas’ name and discovered that she and George had divorced in 1983. She had returned to using her maiden name, Marcia Griffin. When I had worked with her, I had no idea that she was one of the greatest film editors in the world, her skills having been regularly in demand by the top directors, including Scorsese and Coppola. I was delighted to learn about her Academy Award and believe she is an unsung heroine in the history of Star Wars.

After all, how often does a mortal human being create something eternal – a story that lasts forever?

I leave you with this link to an article about Marcia Griffin that gives a beautiful picture of her contributions to the making of Star Wars:

Enjoy, and may the Force be with you!

2016 @ Douglas Gabriel. All rights reserved.  

[bssaz97]

RWBY Ancestries Chapter 5 Part 2 of 3

* Hello Everyone! I’m back with part 2 to the 3 part chapter 5. I’ll admit took me longer to write but that’s because I have been busy with work and didn’t have enough energy to fully finish this part. But here it is and hope you all enjoy!*

* Also to clarify because I completely forgot to explain how the dialect goes here’s a chart. So you all won’t be confused. *

Talking: Something.

Thinking: 'Something'

Telepathy: 'Something'

- Schnee Manor -

Jaqcues: Arthur! What are doing here?! Nevermind, that, why have you been not answering my attempts to contact you?!

Watts: Hmm? Oh yes! How rude of me. I have been noticing your attempts contact me but you see I’ve been preoccupied with other matters at the time. Such as making it to your lovely home. And as you see I had the trouble of bringing my colleagues along with me.

Jaqcues Schnee is honestly baffled by Arthur’s blunt explanation. He had been having a panic attack for a good two hours before he started his attempt to flee, and here comes the source of his unrest and what does he say?

Jaqcues: You mean to tell me you avoided all my calls today, just so you come to here to tell me you were busy with other matters?!

Watts: That would summarize what I just said yes. But enough about that, you see I need to ask a favor of you. You see my colleagues and I are in desperate need of shelter and transportation for the night. So because of our partnership I thought that, well, if you allow us to borrow one of your personal ships.

Jaqcues couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This man who had persuaded him to give him access Atlas’s Control grid in exchange for assurance that he would have been the victor of the election and to have Ironwood’s figurative head on a platter. Seemed like a worthwhile deal at the time. Now, Arthur assumes that he has him around his finger. Because of this, Jaqcues finally sees his fears are coming to fruition.

Jaqcues: You’re leaving. What’ve our previous arrangement, your promise of my victory against Hill and Ironwood.

Watts: Oh yes, well you see some pressing matters compel me away for the time being and well I cannot simply ignore it for the time being. Though I have not forgotten about our deal.

Jaqcues: Oh really now, and what assurance do I have to know you will keep your promise.

Watts: Well, on that matter it will need to be a matter of trust.

Jaqcues: Trust, how exactly do you expect me to trust you? Not only have you not yet fulfill your part of our agreement but you are also asking me if I could lend you a airship. If anything I’ve put more trust in your hands than you can assure me.

Watts: Jaqcues I just need this small favor and then you will have-

Jaqcues: NO!!! YOU’RE NOT GETTING ANYTHING MORE FROM ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I HAVE RISKED FOR YOU?! AND THEN YOU ASK ME FOR MY DAMN SHIP!! I’M TIRED OF YOUR DAMN PROMISES AND NEVER GETTING THE RESULTS I WANT! WELL GOOD SIR I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU WHEN YOU FIRST CAME TO ME! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE, TAKE YOUR FUCKING CHEAP PROMISES, AND FUCK OFF!!!

Jaqcues takes a few deep breaths to recompose himself, but damn did it feel good. Honestly, while he is normally never so vulgar he must admit after these past few days he feels he needs the stress relief. He looks to Arthur to see he has an unamused face, but he couldn’t care less about what this man cared about.

Watts: So...I assume that this means the end of our partnership then, yes?

Jaqcues: Oh gods sakes- YES! I’m ending our partnership!

Watts: Oh good, I just wanted to make sure. Tyrian if you’d please?

Jaqcues: 'Tyrian? Who’s- Wait where did that Faunus go-!' AAAGH!!

From behind him felt two arms wrapped around his mouth and torso in the span of a two seconds, then in less than one he felt the stinging sensation of a needle being stuck into his neck and feeling a injected dosage being sent into his body. In a matter of three seconds he feels light headed and has feeling of vertigo. He looks towards Arthur only to see in appear to move in slow motion. Then he feels the most disturbing thing he has ever felt in his whole life. The Faunus behind him exhaled a breath, what’s terrifying is that the breath seemed to sting like residue of burning Dust. And when he spoke it was like hearing a spectral phantom.

Tyrian: Oh what fun!~ It’s been awhile since I have seen Watts lose his nerve like that! Bet you feel special, don’t you.~

Jaqcues:MMFF! MMMMFFFF!

Tyrian: Ssssshhh. Don’t rush the moment.~ Saver it.~ My poison won’t kill you just yet, it’ll just make you experience everything at ten times more sensitivity. Oh how I wish this could go one for longer.~ But alas we are rushed on time so~!

Jaqcues: MMAAAAFFFF!!!

From behind Jaqcues, Tyrian unwrapped the arm around his torso, switching for his mechanical tail, and used one side of his bladed weapon to impale Jaqcues from the back. Without ever having his Aura unlocked, the blade finds no resistance in going through his abdomen. The blades, thanks to the poison, feel like they could have been chainsaws being stabbed through him at ten times the agony. It was a pain too much for the old man and in a matter of seconds to them, his eyes rolled into his skull and hangs his head limp, succumbing to his injuries.

Tyrian then looks behind the suit of the man just murdered and sees the pool of blood coating the prestigious white suit, and begins to cackle. His laughing is heard by his colleagues and besides Watts, who is unfazed by his antics, disturbed the two youths. While Emerald and Mercury were no strangers to killing, having to do so on occasions, the pleasure that Tyrian was getting from this was disturbing none the less. They haven’t found out until recently that the man was a infamous serial killer and that shocked them quite a bit. Eventually settles down his laughing and places the dead man on the floor.

Tyrian: Aaahhh!~ That was very savoring, out of all the victims I killed, I think that will stick with me the most. I mean who else can say that they killed someone as big as Jaqcues Schnee.

Watts: Yes, yes, you can celebrate your popularity later. We have pressing matters at hand.

Tyrian reluctantly does as Watts says and along with Mercury and Emerald, move pass Jaqcues Schnee’s dead body and make way to find where the ship garage is. Not knowing that they had a hidden witness watching their escape from the crime scene. Their watcher was none other than Willow Schnee, who was hidden around the corner of a room near the front door. She had a hand covering her mouth silencing any noise that they could hear and bore a haunted expression.

Originally, Willow came out here because through her camera system around her house, she saw her bastard of a husband strike her poor youngest child Whitley across the face and dared asked him to apologize for it. She had lived with the man’s neglect and mental abuse of herself and her children for many years, but never was she aware that the bastard was actually physically abusing her dear boy. Out of all things that man has done to this family, that is what broke the camels back. She was done, she was so done with this man’s abuse to her family. She was going to confront the man herself about this and see just how long had he been mistreating her children as such. But before that, those people came. They killed her husband and she could only watch hidden away from their sight. Now Willow could only feel shock but also despair. Why? Because now, all the years she had spent trying to keep her family safe from that man, were wasted. After finally finding something that could incriminate him enough to send Jaqcues away for good. The man is killed in her home. Which now means that everything, the evidence she held was null and void. For how can one incriminate a dead man.

Now those people are in her house, looking for a escape. But then she had a horrifying thought. What if they find anyone else in the house, more specifically her Whitley. She needed to find him before they do and get to safety. Who knows what these people will do to any of them if they find either of them. However, while she feels much complement to find her son, she feels as movable as a stone pillar. Had the assailants scared her to the point of fearing to move?

Willow: 'No...NO! I need to get to him before they do! Now is not the time to play frozen statue right now, your son needs you! ....my son.....my baby.....Who probably will want nothing to do with me. No! Don’t think like that, even if you had been the worst example of a mother you need to get to him! His life is not yet decided, you can save him! ....but I’m afraid....I don’t want to die....what can I do to save him if I can’t save myself....'

Willow can’t help but feel frozen in place. As much as she tries to move her will is to weak to make her move on her own. She looks down and in her right is a half full bottle of ‘Six Swans’ white wine. Willow recalls taking the bottle with her to give her courage to confront her husband and hasn’t let go of it since. She looks at herself, the daughter of Nicholas Schnee a renowned huntsman and founder of one of the biggest Dust company on Remnant, who is a foolish alcoholic who can’t even lift a finger to save one of her own children. She desperately wanted to I cry at her cowardice. For all the years she allowed that horrible man to ruin her own and her children’s lives. For being a failure to her father’s name. Why couldn’t she had been like him? Where did all of her courage go?

She looks towards a portrait of her father on the wall next to her, as if it was casting judgment on her she looks away in shame from her father’s gaze. Too ashamed to call herself a Schnee. What would he say if he saw her now?....Maybe a sip of her wine will numb her pain? Yes. Numb her and take her away. She brings the bottle close to her lips, just one sip couldn’t hurt.

...

Immediately she tore the bottle away from her face and turns away in disgust. What she been thinking? How could she possibly even think of getting drunk while her defenseless boy is alone at the mercy of these assailants. She looks towards her father’s portrait once more to see his eyes as if they were looking into her soul, disappointment clear in his lifeless face. She swallowed a very large lump in her throat, and not even looking at the bottle, she turned it and poured it’s contents on to the floor. She may have failed as a daughter and a mother, this she knew to be true. But she’ll be dammed before she’ll let her son suffer a worse fate than her. With one step forward, she moves towards the staircase and in the direction of Whitley’s room. She will not lose him, there’s still time. If she was a failure, so be it, but she will save her precious boy.

- Somewhere In Mantle -

Jaune: Auuuughh...

Jaune wakes up having a splitting headache, wondering had what happened. From what he recalled they were flying to face the Wyvern, he was hearing more of the same voice in this head. One the thought was imagining. But what happened after that. He opened his eyes to see he was in the deck, with all his teammates scattered about-!!!

Immediately Jaune refocuses and sees that he lying in a crashed airship. That was right they did crash, right after colliding with the Wyvern. It was coming back to him. He rose to his feet only to wince a moment later, but continues to stand. He surveyed the deck to see if his teammates are okay. He moves forward, using the wall as his support, he sees Ren being the closest to him and sees Nora right next to him. Huh, even in a airship crash and they still are inseparable.

Jaune: 'Not the time Jaune'

He moves his gaze past the two and sees his youngest teammate... With blood on his forehead! He immediately moves to the boy’s side and shakes his shoulder gently but urgently. He knows that since Ozpin no longer aiding Oscar in his training, he still doesn’t know how to manage his Aura’s protective abilities.

Jaune: Oscar! Oscar can you hear me, please you got to get up!

Oscar: Uuugghh... Was’ that. Jaune is that you- Agh! My leg hurts! What’s going on?

Jaune: Turns out our plan didn’t go as smoothly as we thought buddy, we got hit by that Wyvern pretty hard. Hang on, let me heal you you’re pretty banged up.

Oscar: Wait shouldn’t you save your Aura, I know you’ve been training it but healing somebody else’s still takes a lot out of you.

Jaune: Hey don’t you worry too much about me, from where I’m standing you are in some desperate need of healing. Besides I’m the leader here so I can pretty much order you to accept the healing.

As Jaune starts to amplify Oscar’s healing, both Ren and Nora starts to come to. They untangle from each other and noticed their two other teammates. Nora is immediately alarmed by Oscar’s critical condition.

Nora: Oh my gods, Oscar! Are you ok?! Oh I knew we should have had you in a secured seat!

Oscar: Nora! Don’t worry I’m ok. Jaune’s is healing my aura so I’ll live. Nothing fatal.

Jaune: Don’t think that’s gonna calm her down there buddy. (Noticing Nora’s still panicked state)

Nora: What happened? One minute we’re in the sky, now we’re grounded!

Jaune: The Wyvern is what happened. Turns out our plan didn’t work out, because it went back to flying to hit us again.... Oh my gods! Ruby and the others are still out there!

Jaune after done healing Oscar to the best of his ability, reaches his scroll and tried to contact Ruby, only to see that it was damaged during the crash.

Jaune: Damn it my scroll is damaged! Nora is your scroll working?

Nora: Let me see... Oh no mines busted too! And it’s the fancy new one too.~

Oscar: Wait... where’s Ren and the pilots?

Both take notice of their absent teammate and see that he has made his way to the cockpit.

Jaune: Keep an eye on Oscar for me a moment, I’ll check what Ren’s up to.

Nora:(Nods) You got it fearless leader. Don’t take too long, I’m kinda starting to feel claustrophobic in here.

Jaune moves towards the cockpit, using a small bit of his semblance to heal himself. While not at 100% he would gladly take anything if it meant he could help his team. As he reaches the cockpit Jaune does find Ren, right next to the pilots who look like they didn’t make it through the crash.

Jaune: Ren...are they?

Ren: Dead, both of them. Appear to have suffered from the impact of the crash.

Jaune closed his eyes in sadness, he knew Ren was somber over their deaths. These men were the same ones to fly them during their first mission when they came to Atlas and got their modifications. While not particularly close to either pilots, it was sad to see them suffer such a fate. He recalled trying to warn them of the danger but alas he couldn’t get there in time.

Jaune: Ren...I-

Ren: How did you know what was going to happen?

Jaune: Huh?

Ren:(Turns to face him) How did you know that the Wyvern was going to attack us? Because even I didn’t sense that before you apparently had.

Jaune:(Looks to the floor) I...don’t know.

Ren: How could you not know! Jaune I’m not blind, Nora and I could see that something has been bothering you since this mission started and you’ve been zoning out for instances at a time. I know it’s not sleep deprivation because I male sure you don’t wander into the night to....Look just tell me what’s going on, Jaune, I don’t want there to be anymore secrets that we have to keep to ourselves. Please.

Jaune: I....I can’t explain it exactly but I can try. It’s like I’m hearing something or someone trying talking to me but I can’t see them. I thought at first I was imagining it and blamed it on my nerves, but it persisted. I kept hearing them, and the weirdest part, I feel like a familiarity with the voice, but it’s of a person I have never met before. I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it would bring down the team but here we are. I’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense but that’s all I got.

Ren tried to process what his friend told him, given how bizarre it sounded. It sounds like someone or something was trying to contact him telepathically? Not too out there as there are different semblances in Remnant but they knew no one with such a ability. What’s worse is that Jaune doesn’t know who the person was. All in all while it doesn’t explain how he is able to hear such a voice, Ren could clearly see why such a thing would be bothering Jaune. It’s not everyday you have something talking into your head.

Ren: I’ll admit what you’ve said is strange, but not unsympathetic. I guess one would act strange if they heard someone talking to them in their mind. Sorry if I seemed too pushy on the matter.

Jaune: No you’re fine Ren, I guess I shouldn’t keep things like this to myself too often. Make myself crazy. But maybe let’s not explain this to Ironwood or Ace-Ops until we have a proper explanation for this. They may try to lock me up for being crazy.

Ren: You’re not crazy. Though I do agree that we should probably keep this incident close to the chest.

Jaune: Thanks Ren. Oh! Yeah, forgot do you have your scroll intact. The rest of ours are damaged by the crash.

Ren: I do. I’ve been trying to get in contact with Team RWBY but to no avail. However, I have been able to use the ships distress beacon to pinpoint the location of the other airships crash site. So hopefully we can find them.

Jaune: Ren, this is brilliant! I never knew you were so good with machines!

Ren: Well when you have been with someone who’s as hyper as Nora, you have a lot of time to get things done quickly.

Nora: I heard that mister!

Both winced at their fellow teammate overhearing them about the slight comment about them, one thing was for sure. They were both in trouble once this was over. Once they were all ready they made the difficult of breaking down the airship’s escape hatch. All of them came out one by one and they gathered together once they were a good distance of away from the ship.

Jaune: Ok so Oscar and Ren’s scrolls are the only ones that weren’t destroyed from the crash. Which means can track the others location and meet up with them.

Nora: Alright, lets get moving then.

Jaune: Ok let’s move out team.

*Clang*

Jaune: Huh?

They all look to see what Jaune stepped on and sees that it was a piece of a Atlesian Knight that was in beyond repair damage. Upon noticing their full surroundings they see that they were surrounded by mangled and destroyed Atlesian Knights all over the place.

Oscar: What the-? Why are there Knights here? I thought they were supposed to meet us at the rendezvous point.

Ren: The way they were damaged doesn’t look like they fought the Wyvern, it looks like they were facing a human sized opponent, maybe more than one.

Nora: Guys....look.

All three boys turned to their female teammate and saw what she was holding. It was a piece of a glass knife. With a distinct orange markings. The sight of the weapon caused Jaune’s blood to run cold.

Jaune: No...no, no, no, No! That can’t be what I think it is. There’s no way!

Ren: Who else do we know that happenes uses glass weaponry.

Jaune as much as he wants to deny the truth, the proof was in his presence. Cinder Fall was alive, and apparently she wasn’t alone. He clenched his right hand into a fist. He desperately tries to calm his thoughts but the negative emotions and thoughts were coming faster than he could handle. His brow furrowed in anger.

Jaune: 'She’s alive. Cinder is here In Mantle. But if she’s here then that means....!' RUBY!

His thoughts are going a million miles per hour as it was not hard to picture the scenario. Ruby and her team were here but in a state of shape he didn’t know with a woman who’s got a fierce vendetta against his silver eyed friend. Who could be in a vulnerable state. While he’s standing here just doing nothing about it! Quickly he snatched Ren’s scroll and earning a cry of protest from his fellow teammate but dismissed it.

Jaune: Change of plans! You guys need to contact Ironwood and send back up. I’ll go find Ruby and her team.

Nora: Jaune wait! Where are you going!

It was too late to stop their leader as he made a mad dash towards the direction of the other ship. Hopefully with enough time he can make it there before them. However his team did not have the same thought he did. Quickly Ren chases after him only turning around to call out to Nora.

Ren: Nora! Stay with Oscar I’m going to go with Jaune.

Nora: Wha- Like hell I am!

Oscar: Wait shouldn’t we be sticking togeth-WOAAH?!

Nora proceeds to pick up Oscar and carry him by the shoulder and makes chase after theirs two other teammates. Not noticing the two figures watching over them from a roof of a building. Cinder Fall watched as the blonde fool took her bait and now sees that they are making the path to the target she and Neo both seek. Ruby Rose.

Cinder: Come Neo, looks like our time for vengeance is at hand.

Neo: (Grins sinisterly)

-End of Chapter 5 part 2-

Preview: Part 3

Ren: Jaune you need to stop! You’re not thinking straight!

Jaune: Cinder Fall is out in the streets of Mantle, probably planning to make Atlas another Fall of Beacon and you want me to calm down!

***

Qrow: Team JNPR is not here!

Winter: Could they have?

Qrow: No, they’re not dead. We would have found bodies if that were the case.

****

Whitley: M-Mother what are you-?

Willow: Whitley we don’t have much time we need to leave the mansion! There are intruders in here, they’ve attacked your Father already. So we must leave at once!

*****

Watts: It appears we are not alone...Tyrian, Mr. Black, you both know what to do.

******

???: Oscar, Oscar! Can you hear me!

Oscar: ...Ozpin!

*******

Salem: Jaune Arc, I finally found you.

[harveywritings92]

Arno x reincarnated!Reader

The following is a non profit fan based story Assassin's creed belongs to Ubisoft please support the official release.

_

I gain no profit from this nor do I own anything other then OCs  and whatever sprouts from my imagination. Thanks for reading!

[Y/n always knew she was different growing up, but being the reincarnation of a Templar and the lover of a master Assassin who lived during the french revolution, and somehow warping back to said time well that just takes the cake.]

[Year 20xx.] 

Elise De la Serre was dead, very dead that much was for sure however the universe likes throw curve balls. Example? Oh I dunno..Like reaching down in the well of souls and bring miss De La Serre back into a newborn baby girl name Y/n L/n. 

The former templar was terrified when she first opened her eyes and saw bright lights, unknown machines that made a god awful beeping noise! "What is it?...A Girl?" A new voice causing her eyes to search around frantically as a masked man came into view his e/c eyes shined warmly at her confusing Elise, Who was this man?

 "*laugh* Oh, hear that M/n We have a daughter!..Hi there sweetie! I'm your daddy."Her daddy?! Impossible! This man was not her father! she went to protest this only to be stunned when a baby's wail left her mouth causing the man to chuckle and as a woman's voice happily chime "Oh a daughter? I'm so happy we have a little girl..." 

The woman voice was breathless and oddly comforting before that infernal beeping starting Elise started crying as M/n's voice started panicking "F--F/n?" she wheezed as F/n handed the new born off to a masked as he and the other people in the bright room tried to help the poor woman.

It would seen Elise was not meant to know her mother in this life either, M/n name didn't make it apparently she had a heart condition, and knew the risks of having children would cost her. but that didn't matter to her, she wanted a baby. 

F/n was wreck for the first couple weeks his colleagues would tend to Elise or rather Y/n as she was now known as; It wasn't a bad name or anything it just felt odd...And she was still trying understand this world and where she fit into it?

It's obvious something awful must've happened because sometimes when one of her "Aunts took her out; Elise could see destroyed landmarks and nature slowly taking back the streets of {Y/city}... 

Soon a year had passed F/n had come around and was starting to raise his daughter himself and Elise's consciousness started to fade slowly being taken over by Y/n's. but that doesn't mean Elise was completely gone! some of her traits shone through the girl through the years.

When Y/n started school, she somehow knew more about history and the arts, and took up french, aced that with flying colors despite never speaking the language, ( She always knew how to speak french, But had no idea why? So, she pretended she was a newbie to the language); and when she was 12 she took up Fencing had a real flare for it and was even captain of the school's team for a while...

But those were the positives... the negatives were the dreams! Those legitimately scared Y/n because they feel  so real,and during those dreams she's still herself...but at the same time she's someone else, and they often revolve around a boy or a man ...Arno, He always looked so broken when ever she saw him in her visions...It made her want to slap and talk some sense into who ever was causing him pain! But, sad to say it was her causing him that pain...or at least she thinks it was her?

He calls her Elise..But that's not the y/hc's name. Y/n would often wake up crying or screaming at the end of those dreams; scaring her dad half to death! he would rushing into her room holding a hammer, looking around frantically for what was hurting his daughter? after seeing nothing, he would calm her down and coax her into telling her what happened? Y/n would apologize and say it was a bad dream.

Then came her nineteenth birthday Y/n brows furrowed as she was awoken a four in the fricking morning?! she sighed grumbling about being right there passing her dad's room the door was opened and his bed was undisturbed... Did he pull another all nighter in his lab? the y/ht yawned as un-bothered by this it wouldn't be the first time her old man the whole night down there.

"I'll bring down his cereal and coffee later..." she mumbled as she went down the stairs to front door she undid the chain and was confused to find Dr. Kit standing on their front porch...Odd Y/n knows that Kit and her father aren't exactly on speaking terms.

"Dr. Kit, what are you doing here?"

"Look, I'm gonna keep this short sweetheart cuz' i know yer dad and I don't get along."

"Wha-"

"It's starts tonight."

“What starts tonight?!” Y/n demanded flabbergasted, but Kit had already thrown their hoodie up and took off into the night. Leaving a confused birthday girl standing on her porch, Y/n blinked and went back inside before heading downstairs to her dad's lab she knocked on the basement door once, walked down the stairs while running a hand through her hair. "Hey dad, Kit was here, and they were acting weird and..." The y/wt girl finally looked and saw her dad's lab empty? "Dad?" she called out confused as she surveyed the dark spake the only light source being a blank computer screen...

Y/n's heart started to speed up. "Daddy?" She called out again more awake now, Maybe he's in the laundry room? she reasoned and went to check only to hiss in pain the second she step foot on the basement floor.

Y/n grabbed the little cord for the lights and turned them on, the pain in her foot; which turned out to be broken glass, was all but for gotten she saw the state of her father's lab it was trashed! The cellar door was busted open and it looked like whoever trash was looking for something as all the drawers and containers were ripped open and rummaged through, then she saw blood not her blood.

Y/n swallowed still ignoring the pain in her foot went to check the laundry room where the trail ended or began? She certainly hoped it was the second one... The y/hc sighed in relief when she swung the laundry door open to find no dead dad...but her over packed duffle bag stuffed into the dryer, Her cell phone went off in her bag reminding her it was her birthday...

Why was her phone in... "Right dad wanted to take me camping today, he always made sure everything was packed" she took the bag out of the dryer and saw a small box fall out of it, her brows furrowed as she opened the box to find a bracelet? 

Along a small note from her father saying [I'm sorry Y/n please protect this, get it to the sanctuary in [other town]-Dad] That certainly doesn't explain what happening? Surely this little gold band isn't the reason behind all this?! Y/n took the bracelet from the box and put it on her right wrist, as soon as the metal made contact with her skin a flash lit up the entire room temporarily blinding the confused girl.

When the light died down, Y/n cautiously looked down at the little gold band unnerved, and tried to pull herself of the floor when she felt like the air was suddenly knocked out of her, Y/n remembered grabbing the straps of her duffle bag before everything went black...      

[thedistantstorm]

Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 15

Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

This time: Hideo makes his play. Zavala says goodbye to Karena.

-/

There have been few times in Hideo's life that he has genuinely been afraid of Commander Zavala. He isn't a man who instills fear. He is direct and honest, leads by example and rewards those who do right by him with the most impressive loyalty. 

So when he makes this meeting request, he expects it to be a joyous, thankful affair. It certainly begins lightly, Hideo bring his usual wine, Zavala politely sipping at half a glass. 

"I had heard through the grapevine," He begins, swirling the wine in his glass to better release the bouquet, "That you were interested in adopting a child."

Zavala straightens, immediately. Tense. "And?" He asks, tersely.

"She was moved to one of New Monarchy's facilities, last week."

The intensity of the Commander's gaze is something to behold. Were it not directed at him, he might have noticed how crystalline it was, his irises a perfect marriage of aquamarine and sapphire. However, it was directed at him, and thusly, it was terrifying.

"She…" He knows the Commander will see through a fib, so instead he offers quietly, "It's clear she is struggling."

"Who told you as much?"

"I went to see her this morning."

Zavala sets down his glass with the finesse of a dainty woman, the majority of his wine completely forgotten. "Why."

That the Commander is not asking is not lost on him. "I simply wanted to confirm this was a legitimate issue," Hideo answers. "Certainly you're an important figure, and there are often nefarious plots to extort those figures."

"Is this one of them?" It's asked in an icy monotone, the curl of each word making his spine tingle. The Commander sits perfectly still, not a shred of emotion crossing his face, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows neutral and yet giving a very frightening contrast to his eyes. His skin flicks lazily with the aura beneath it, but it only reminds the Executor of a predator, poised to strike. 

Every atom of his being screams one thing: I will not allow harm to befall those I care about.

Hideo holds up both hands to beg a truce. "Not at all, not at all." He laughs nervously. "I had followed up with the board of governors, and the administrator of the facility. I will see to your application's approval myself. Considering all you do for the City and her people, this should never have been an issue."

"Tell that to the child."

"I was not sure how to approach it with her. I didn't want to complicate the situation further."

Zavala folds his hands together on the table, nodding. "Will I be denied visitation again?"

"They did what?" Hideo's eyes bug out, comically wide. "Commander, I - I had no idea."

The Titan evaluates him carefully before reaching for the wine glass he discarded moments before. "I didn't imagine you would. I do not expect preferential treatment."

"It should still be afforded to you."

"I will accept it, this time, because it is not for my sake."

Hideo nods. "I - this isn't for New Monarchy. You have always protected the City's denizens and their interests. I simply wished to offer you the same courtesy."

In his mind, Zavala hears a sarcastic laugh courtesy of his Ghost, but he does not not react. "I appreciate that," He says. "You have my gratitude."

"Just… keep doing what you do, Commander. This City needs a strong leader like you."

Zavala senses the propaganda at the tip of the Executor's tongue, but the other man simply finishes his wine and rises.

"I will have a word with the Matron at the facility. If she gives you any trouble at all, I'll have her removed from the City."

"Executor."

Hideo laughs, smiling wide. "I'm kidding. She will be sorely reprimanded, though, for her lack of respect."

-/

"I want her moved back to the Tower," Karena says to the physician. "Today. Right now."

The child is clinging to her. She'd been called the moment Hideo had finished speaking with Zavala, and had come immediately. Zavala himself wouldn't be able to come down until he'd finished for the evening. It would be late. Eva had offered, but Karena was determined to evaluate the damages for herself.

Amanda had yet to say more than a few words, not that she was a chattery child, but the last week seemed to cull her spunky side. It was clear she hadn't been eating, as well. Even now, she looked at the tray they'd given her with distrust. When Karena looked into it, she saw why. The evidence of crushed pills in the jelly-like applesauce was enough to turn her stomach too. 

The physician sighs. "Ma'am, New Monarchy has the most state of the art-"

"She's a child, not a wild animal. Pills in her food? She deserves to know what she's being given and why."

"She was refusing," He presses.

"Now she's refusing to eat. See the issue?"

"I don't see how a new facility would change things," He tells her, gruffly. "And to be honest I didn't think the public health system had that kind of pull."

Karena runs a hand over Amanda's wild hair, smoothing through her tangled curls. The empathy in this place was certainly lacking. "It doesn't," She agrees. "But by the end of business today, it won't be the public health system calling the shots."

The facility's matron lingers in the doorway, approaching after the doctor leaves. "You didn't tell me who," She accuses, bluntly. "I would have gotten the Executor on the horn myself."

"Of course you would have,” Karena scoffs. Amanda flinches at the sound of the newcomer, pushing her head into Karena's knee. "He was in the room when I called you."

"They fired whomever refused him visitation. They'd remove me, but since you want her moved, I should be able to keep my job."

"Lucky you," Karena answers. "I wouldn't be around when he comes."

"He won’t be here," Gracie informs the other matron instead. "I was actually coming to tell you I called report to the Tower’s facility. I knew you'd want her moved, and the powers that be are more concerned with salvaging the situation than the money involved." Matron Gracie toes at the floor. "They'll pick her up in an hour. You can ride with her."

"There is some kindness left in your heart, after all," The senior matron marvels.

"It was nothing personal. This is my job, Kar', you know that."

"Oh, don't give me that, Grace. You were never like this before New Monarchy doubled your paycheck. You used to give everything to your children. It's why I recommended you." Karena shakes her head, unwilling to turn it into an argument with the child shaking beside her. "Thank you for expediting the process," She says. "It will make things easier."

She steps into the room. Amanda clutches at Karena almost painfully hard. "For what it's worth-"

"You should leave."

Grace hesitates, sighs, and does as her old colleague is asking. 

Karena returns to stroking the child's hair. "Things will get better soon," She tells her. "You'll see."

It doesn't, though. They have to sedate her for the move. It's non-negotiable, mostly since the moment they get her into the shuttle she begins panicking, flailing about at the sound of the engine, babbling about convoys and rovers. It's not a stretch, the matron thinks. A combination of exhaustion and lack of nutrition leave her clammy and fevered, her stress levels clearly beyond whatever coping skills she'd learned already in her short life.

It's for the best that she’s knocked out, as the medical team taking over runs a myriad of tests on girl to see if there are any masked issues from her time in the other facility.

"She's already lost close to five pounds. They'll want to put a tube in to feed her," The new nurse says. "We should do it now before she wakes, she'll-"

"The Commander is coming by later. Let him work with her first. I'm certain she'll eat for him." Karena sighs. "I don't think we should be doing anything traumatic without telling her. She's had enough of that."

"If you're certain."

"I am," Karena tuts. "You'll be running things by him from here on, anyway."

-/

It's the strangest thing. He's not entirely sure what he was expecting and honestly, he still had to squash the thought that he could not believe what he was doing. One minute he'd made up his mind, thinking he'd be able to ease into it with bureaucracy, and the next he's scrawling his name across legal documents with a shaking hand and it's done.

Permanent.

Surreal, he thinks. It's all rather surreal. And terrifying. He hadn't exactly asked her what she wanted, just assumed that perhaps she'd looked to him in a familial way because they'd encountered each other early on, and-

Oh, Traveler's crack, Shiori swears. Amanda loves you, stop being so paranoid.

None of her encouragement lessens his elevated heart rate. He's been keyed up all afternoon and into the evening. Even Cayde had found his behavior peculiar, watching him with a calculating stare befitting of a Hunter.

The Tower's medical facility was almost more familiar than his flat. Which reminds him that he needs to figure out a living situation. Even if New Monarchy did pull strings and the deed was done, she was in his care, he knew he'd have to make her a bedroom. As his thoughts spiral away into uncertainties and alleys of thought, Shiori chimes in again, serious, her elegant, almost biting tone a balm for the anxiety racking his mind.

Karena slips out into the hallway when she hears him approach, sliding the door shut behind her.

The lights in the room are dim, and the glare of fluorescent light on the glass door makes it hard to see anything but his own reflection. Still, that doesn't stop the Commander from trying to look over her shoulder.

"It was a bad day," She informs him softly. "A very bad week."

"We expected as much," He agrees.

"She was almost entirely non-verbal when I arrived. They had to sedate her on our way back. It reminded her of a rover. There are some psychological things you’ll have to face with her."

Zavala nods.

"She's still a bit out of it." Karena sighs. "Her response to some of the stress was to stop eating."

"Why?" His lips turn in a frown.

"They snuck pills in her food. I saw it today.” She pauses, wetting her lips. “She's a smart girl. They wanted her calm, but this just terrified her. She clung to my leg like they were going to drag her away kicking and screaming."

His eyes darken dangerously. "You don't think-"

"Oh, not at all. Some of it is irrational fear on her part. Their demeanor with her was standoffish, but nothing short of professional. She hasn't been harmed. She was simply trying to exercise some control over whatever she could."

He nods. It isn't rational, but he understands that the child doesn't know that.

"I won't be able to come by as often," She tells him. "But I'll try to, when I can."

"You've more than enough," He says warmly, accepting her gentle - but brief - embrace. "I cannot thank you enough.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.” He promises.

Karena leaves right after. Then, it’s just the two of them. He takes a deep breath, his Ghost reminding him to breathe.

What if she doesn’t want this? He wonders again.

Shiori’s answer is immediate. She does, Zavala. Trust me.

He straightens his shoulders. “Alright,” He says to himself; As though he’s stepping into a warzone, boots on the ground, ready to go to war.

You’re such a dork, His Ghost tells him, but there’s affection woven into the static. Get in there, soldier.

Zavala opens the door.

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 18 -- The Heist

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

Sometimes, when a person makes a declarative statement, they are only referring to one specific, usually fleeting instance. For example, if someone said “it’s cold in Lohnausfall,” what they may actually mean is “it’s cold in Lohnausfall today.” This statement would remain true even if it was warm there the next day. They could also mean “it’s cold in Lohnausfall in winter,” which would also remain true even if it is incredibly hot in Lohnausfall in the summer.

However, they could also be referring to the general, often much more permanent, state of things. In that case, when they say “It’s cold in Lohnausfall,” what they mean is that it is just generally a cold place, and that whenever you visit Lohnausfall, it would make sense to bring a coat.

In some cases, both senses of the word apply. For example, if someone said “it’s cold in Lohnausfall,” what they could mean is “I know it’s always cold in Lohnausfall, but wow, it’s especially cold today.”

A more relevant example would be the statement “Nicks Rizzo was bored,” which is, unlike “it’s cold in Lohnausfall,” was true both in general, and specifically at this moment.

Nicks Rizzo was bored. She rarely managed to find a moment when she was not bored, but right now, she was especially bored. The night was dark and dull and absolutely nothing was happening in the casino that you wouldn’t expect to happen at a casino.

Most movies about Cosa Nostra crime families made the life seem glamorous and filled with mystique. In reality, it was incredibly dull and almost bureaucratic. Her father, Harry “Big Top” Rizzo, spent most of his time running numbers, loaning money to desperate people so he could charge insane levels of interest, and having his goons launder his ill-gotten money through their family’s casino. It was, of course, fairly easy to launder money through a casino, since it’s one of the few forms of business where money is exchanged for neither goods nor services. In fact, most of the time, it is simply surrendered to the business in exchange for nothing at all.

Since anyone could enter with thousands of dollars of ill-gotten cash and leave with nothing, while Big Top Rizzo could report those thousands as legitimately earned casino profits, pretty much all of his illegally-obtained money was handed down to subordinates who were instructed to lose it all gambling in his casino. The family business wasn’t doing so well lately, but a recent acquisition might turn that around.

The most exciting part of the life, in Nicks’ eyes, were when a minor turf conflict escalated into a shootout. That seemed rarer and rarer lately, however, and after the fifteenth time you’ve seen six guys shooting at each other from behind washing machines in a dirty laundromat until the cops show up and they have to flee out the back, it loses some of its charm.

This was how she’d fallen in with a community of confidence tricksters, since that allowed for a little more creativity than organized crime, but even that had grown a little stale.

At this very moment, she was sitting on a gaudy red velvet couch in her father’s office, whose already low comfort level was made much worse by the baggy plastic slip-cover (placed there to avoid the same dust-covering that coated her father’s trusty but long-unused pulse handgun on the shelf behind her), watching the security hologram of the casino floor that flickered about two inches above the surface of an antique mahogany coffee table. She was, as she often did in this situation, praying to god that a rival gang would burst through the doors and try to start something.

Today, for the first time, she would not be disappointed.

On the corner of the hologram, she saw a young woman about her age jump up onto a blackjack table and brandish a fully automatic pulse rifle in the air. A thrill surged through Nicks. The unmistakable flicker of repeated muzzle flashes appeared from the gun’s tip, blowing holes in their very expensive ceiling. The hologram didn’t provide audio of the casino floor, but she imagined the young woman was shouting something to the effect of “EVERYBODY GET ON THE GROUND,” since the next thing that happened was that all of the casino patrons dropped to the floor and covered their heads. A few of the casino employees reached for concealed firearms, but the woman on the table quickly revealed some kind of switch in her hand and opened her jacket to reveal rows of explosives strapped to her body. She began speaking again, likely something in the vein of “ANYBODY MOVES AND I BLOW THIS PLACE SKY HIGH,” since even the armed employees stopped reaching for their guns and slowly kneeled down on the floor.

Several more young women filed in. All of their faces were covered by strategically wrapped scarves, and they were all strapped to the nines with automatic weapons. One of them used their free hand to pull an aerosol can out of her pocket, and seemed to aim it directly at Nicks.

Nicks smiled. These girls are clever, she thought. A moment later, everything viewed from that angle seemed obscured by a dark fog. The girl had sprayed over one of the composite cameras that formed the hologram. Nicks changed her angle so she could keep viewing the action, but it didn’t matter. Within a few minutes, all of the cameras had been painted over and the hologram on the table looked like nothing but a dark cloud.

She had to be a part of this action. She regretfully looked back at the safe behind her father’s empty desk. She knew she’d be in a world of trouble if she left the safe alone and something happened to its contents, but, she doubted anyone would be able to detect it. There was one safe hidden behind the portrait of her grandfather, which contained a few wads of petty cash and a handful of jewelry so that potential thieves would think they’d gotten away with something, but the real valuables were kept in a concealed secondary safe behind the vault’s false back.

She briefly considered staying there, but, thought better of it. Without her father’s handprint, retinal scan, and fifteen separate passcodes, it would take the system’s greatest hacker to break in, and from the look of these girls, they weren’t looking to commit cyber-crimes.

On her way out the door, she retrieved her father’s dusty Chekhov M2460 off the shelf, and quickly thought to grab something to conceal her own face.

This should do nicely, she thought, grabbing a metallic-looking cowl from one of the drawers on her father’s desk. She remembered he’d worn this to a recent masquerade thrown by a colleague who’d referred to him as a “snake” behind his back. Big Top thought it would be funny to show up to the party wearing a snake mask, and he’d paid handsomely to have a realistic-looking mask custom-made.

In the drawer, she also noticed a small device that she thought could come in handy, and hastily jammed it in her pocket.

She tucked the pistol into her waistband and left her father’s office, flagging down the two nearby enforcers to follow her. They quickly barrelled down the steps, but quietly slipped in one of the less conspicuous entrances to the casino floor, concealing themselves behind a row of large slot machines.

“We don’t need anybody to get hurt,” the main girl shouted, “My associates will be coming to each of you with a large sack. Consider them fare collectors. You are buying safe passage to the exit of this casino. The cost of admission is all the cash, credit cards, jewelry, and electronics you have on your person. Fail to provide this, and you will not be granted admission into the rest of your long, happy lives, and that’s not what anyone wants, is it?”

As if on cue, a woman who had been playing poker before the bandits arrived began to cry, and tried to make a break for the door.

The girl standing on the table did not hesitate to put three shots in her back. The woman fell to the floor and lay there, motionless. Her assailant announced, “Are we clear?”

The girls started to bring their bags to the casino patrons.

“It’s okay,” Nicks heard one of them say in a voice that was much softer than she expected, “you look scared so I’m not going to make you give us anything. Just pretend to put something in the bag and I’ll let you go safe, okay?”

This struck Nicks as strange. Why would a group of armed bandits be swayed by their victims seeming scared? Wasn’t the whole point of armed robbery to intimidate people into giving up their money?

Nicks looked at one of the other girls. She watched as a crying man in the suit reached into his pocket, brought an empty hand to the mouth of the sack, and open his hand.

It suddenly clicked with Nicks. “They’re just trying to cause a scene,” she hissed at the guards, “it’s a diversion, get back to the office now.”

They rushed back up to the office, but they were too late. The portrait of her grandfather was on the floor. The decoy safe was blown open and its contents left untouched. The false back was set aside with a note on it reading “Child’s play.” The duffel bag full of priceless religious artifacts was gone.

Thankfully, Nicks had thought to put a tracker in the bag. They wouldn’t get far. She turned on the tracking beacon and rushed back downstairs. The bandits were gone, as was the supposedly dead woman they’d shot.

She rushed out the front door, following the homing signal as fast as possible. The guards attempted to follow her, but she dismissed them by saying “Haven’t you two have disappointed me enough for one day? Send the rest of the guards after me in fifteen, you two take the night off. Without pay.”

This hurt their feelings, since it was her who’d left the office unattended and ordered the people in charge of stopping intruders to abandon their posts, but as so many people do in the workplace, they swallowed their objection since their continued employment meant more to them than their dignity.

Nicks knew the streets of Lohnausfall better than anyone, she’d been sneaking out from the watchful eyes of a crime boss for years and she knew all the shortcuts. Based on the movement of the homing signal, it looked like they were heading to Belafonte Park, but they were not taking the most direct route. Four narrow alleys and two jumped fences later, Nicks arrived in Belafonte Park just in time to see about a dozen young women she didn’t recognize, and one young man she did, running up to an idling shuttle with a duffel bag that belonged to her.

“Stop right there,” she shouted. She stepped out into plain view, holding her pistol in one hand and the small device in the other. She quickly hit the switch on the device and the bandits all felt a small electric charge run through their body. Nicks heard the engine of the shuttle suddenly go quiet. “Your weapons and explosives are useless. Right now, my pistol is the only one within 30 meters that is able to fire and it’s going to stay that way for the next 20 minutes.”

“Who the hell are you?” Said one of them, a Chinese girl with a pompadour standing unmasked with blood on her shirt. Nicks recognized her as the woman who’d been shot on the casino floor. She wondered how long she had to play the table to realistically seem like a casino patron before she could be “shot” to make the robbery seem real.

The girl next to her, who was still wearing her bandana, asked “Why are you wearing a corny halloween mask?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Nicks replied.

The man she recognized, Prescott, responded, ignoring her. “This is Nicks Rizzo. Remember what I told you about her?”

“Yes,” replied a short black girl wearing strange goggles, who Nicks had never seen before, “I tried that, but we’ve established that my pistol isn’t working.”

“Prescott,” Nicks smirked, “Thought you’d have been killed when you got caught punking out on the church heist.”

“Not for lack of trying,” said the tallest bandit, also still masked, but clearly identifiable as the woman who’d been standing on the table issuing commands.

“You have something that belongs to me,” Nicks said, and gestured at the duffel bag in his hand.

“I stole it, it belongs to me,” Prescott snapped, “you just betrayed me and left me to die.”

“Let’s not get caught up into what belongs to who here,” said the girl in the goggles, “it’s not like any of us acquired this bag legally.”

“We were supposed to use this to start our new life together,” Prescott said, sounding pretty genuinely hurt, “did you ever care about that?”

“Ugh,” Nicks replied, “a new life doing what, exactly? Running low-level cons on dumb wagoners? Scamming some bumblefuck cult out of their goodies?”

“With this kind of money, we could’ve gotten out of the criminal life,” Prescott sounded close to tears, “finally settled down somewhere, you know? We finally could’ve lived on easy street for the rest of our lives.”

“What fun would that be?” Nicks chuckled, and summarily unloaded two rounds into Prescott’s chest.

Out of force of habit, the bandits all raised their guns, despite the fact that they were still completely useless. Had they brought any sort of bladed weapons, there would be one lodged in Nicks’ neck before Prescott hit the ground, but as knives are better for covert operations and this was supposed to draw as much attention as possible, no one had thought to bring any.

“Don’t think I don’t know about your little trick, either,” Nicks said, gesturing her gun at the girl in the bloodied shirt. “I watched her take a fatal dose of plasma and here she is walking around, so I’m betting in a few seconds, our friend Mr. Cain will be in fighting shape again. That is, unless I do this…”

She aimed at Prescott’s corpse and fired off one more shot, this one landing directly between his eyes.

“Now,” Nicks began, “I’m going to take my duffel bag and then I’m going to go home and take a warm bath. I’m going to let you walk away from here unharmed, and I’m not going to call the authorities.”

“Sorry, I just…” the bandit from the table began, “You have us at your mercy and you’re just going to let us go? I mean, I’m not complaining—”

“Oh yes,” Nicks said, walking up to the tall girl from the table and the short girl in the goggles, laying one hand affectionately on the tall girl’s face, “you girls are just too. Much. Fun.”

“And what if we don’t let you leave,” asked the girl in the bloody shirt, “I mean, you can’t shoot all of us, we could easily overpower you.”

As though by magic, at this exact moment, the fifteen minutes Nicks had requested was up, and several dozen mob goons sprung out, all brandishing high-powered plasma hand cannons.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, these guys were 50 meters away when I disabled the weapons, so be aware: their weapons work too! Now, give me what’s mine.” Nicks gestured for the duffel bag and the bandit with the goggles handed it over. “Boys, grab this degenerate’s body and throw it in the incinerator. Last thing we need is a buncha pigs trying to jam us up on another murder.  Alla prossima, belle ragazze,” she called back, “arrivederci!”

The crew piled into the shuttle. As soon as Fastwing could get the motor running, they found their way off-world and navigated back to their station.

Tripwire was there to greet them. “So, the mission went well?”

“We didn’t get the cargo, Prescott died, and that pampered little princess has his decryption key and she’s going to incinerate it,” Sasha replied dejectedly.

“Only one of those things is true,” Tripwire said, and smirked at Ariadne. “You sure are quick on your feet, cap!”

Sweettalk looked confused. “What is she talking about?”

“I knew he couldn’t be trusted. When we got into the office,” Ariadne explained, “Prescott thought I was too preoccupied with the safe to notice him dislocate his wrist to get free of the Jumper, attach it to this, and stash it in a potted plant.”

Ariadne held out a small, visibly broken, electronic device.

“It’s a bomb,” Ariadne said. “Its detonator is configured to respond to the energy of a teleportation field. Proprietary hardware of the Rizzo crime family, to keep people from attempting to teleport valuable property out of the casino. He was planning to run off with the bag and leave us with a useless, burnt-up decryption key. So, while his back was turned, I grabbed the decryption key out of the Jumper and slipped the Jumper in the bag.”

“So,” Pilar practically beamed at Ariadne’s deviousness, “you’ve had the key this whole time?”

“Not only that,” Tripwire said, “but with their safe in our cargo hold, I’m betting the Rizzo crime family won’t be dealing in religious artifacts anytime soon.”

[jotunlokisuggestion]

I’m gonna illustrate to you the Thanos-problem not so quickly.

The studio went to Kenneth Branagh in 2010 and told them they want a villain as good as Magneto for their Avengers film.

And almost 10 years later the MCU wanted to write an interesting, political villain called Thanos for Infinity War/Endgame.

Now, when Kenneth Branagh got the (really annoying) custom-order for a good villain, he didn’t look at the villain the studio liked and copied him. Instead he had the brains to write Loki as a character. With his own personality traits, qualities, quirks, a unique backstory that appeals to Branagh’s strength as a writer, whose origin story can be used and re-used in future films and plots, who has unique and adaptable strengths and weaknesses and who is played by an actor who is really good at playing roles like that.

Meanwhile Thanos is just...going through the Killmonger/Loki/Magneto motions of: political villain: ✅ tragic backstory:  ✅ destruction: ✅ big baddie speech ✅ --- but there is no heart to any of that, no sense of detail, no moment for him to shine no personality.

And you know (I really tried to stop myself from adding this) in the 90s we had this flood of dark, gritty anti-heroes with their giant guns and ten thousand pouches. And some of them like Cable were really good while later characters became pale imitations of Cable (think of that famous video of Liefeld inventing a character and he just draws Cable number 8948320 and his backstory is that he’s a cyborg) and all those rehashes of the Killing Joke. And in the end they all lost track of what made these characters good in the first place.

And in the late 2000s and early 2010s we had this wave of young, hip, funny for the lulzs supervillains who just had quirks and no reasons and personality and in the end, basically nothing of substance remains of any of them - an epidemic starting with Heath Ledger’s Joker but were later replaced with young men in suits who were also kinda pop-culturally - ironically Leto’s Joker hopped onto that bandwagon like 9 years late with a starbucks 

And I understand why in the last few years, political villains have entered mass-production, but a villain like that doesn’t work unless your writing challenges their ideas. Okay lemme give you another example: Since the (in)famous Far Cry 3 with its very 2012 villain quirky-crazy-Joker-y villain Vaas we now had Far Cry 4 playing in the land of a slightly quirky fashionable young man dictator and Far Cry 5 and New Dawn with an evil Christian cult right in the US. 

The transition from early 2010s to late 2010s is obvious but - these are video games and by the time we fight the final boss, we have automatically actually spent a lot of time in their respective worlds. We know why these are horrible people. We are challenging their methods and ideas already when we encounter them. In the MCU, we see Killmonger actually rule over Wakanda and we know while his ideas are good. his methods aren’t - while at the same he challenges Wakanda and forces T’Challa to accept that his father was not perfect. Each time we see Loki rule over Asgard, imperialism is challenged - in the first time when he actually attacks Jötunheim (thus executing exactly the things he had been taught his entire life) and by not intervening in the colonies in Ragnarök.  But, you are going to say, Thanos ideas are challenged! We see that people are sad that he killed half the universe! - and I mean yeah, but I didn’t need to watch the movie to know that people would be sad. Instead, everything happens exactly as you expect it would. All these previous examples were interesting because we wouldn’t know what the villains would do and how it would affect the population. Also the final notion - that the universe would eventually be better of if half the universe was destroyed, remains unshaken and unaddressed.

And honestly, their attempt to make Thanos likeable or understandable might be the huge problem of the film. Thanos as a morbid, unlikable killer who’s in love with death works because we don’t need to relate to him for that. We don’t need a connection. Many good villains are absolutely detestable. You can do a lot not by making them seem sympathetic (which is almost impossible with villains like Thanos anyway) but you can make them interesting to the audience-

let’s talk about villains who are absolute giant assholes but I like them:

Yeah him <3 You remember the first season of Hannibal? As members of the audience, we know who Hannibal is before we even start watching. Hannibal Lecter is one of the most famous villains there are. In the movies, he’s arrested in Red Dragon right in the first scene - there is never any doubt about who he is. But in the show, he’s yet an active serial killer and working with the police. The police that solves his murders. The police who doesn’t know that he’s the killer. The killer whose name literally rhymes with cannibal and who makes cannibalism puns. There were hundreds of memes about how fucking frustrating it was that the police always just walked right past him.

That was the thing: We, the audience, knew something the characters didn’t. Like in a horror film when we know the killer is hiding behind the door and the main character doesn’t. You want to fucking scream at the screen in frustration. Okay what does that have to do with Thanos? Imagine all those glimpses and we saw of him in previous movies would have presented him in a likeable light. Imagine if his disciples were actually seen gaining people’s trust or if people in GotG would actually casually mention “oh Thanos will fix this, I heard he has a brilliant plan” or he tried to convince them that there was a huge famine coming. It would have been so frustrating to see people trust him because obviously everyone who reads the comics would know that Thanos is bad news and if we saw people actually trust him? maybe actually give him Infinity Stones to fix the universe because he’s the only one who can use them? Fucking rude.

Reveals :)

I guess I don’t have to tell tumblr who the first guy is but a quick rehash: In season finale of Sherlock, a guy who appears in one scene as the girlfriend of a colleague of Sherlock turns out to be Moriarty. 

And guess what? It absolutely doesn’t matter one single fucking bit that Moriarty is the lab guy. And the big reveal doesn’t matter because we’re not given any of the clues. He might as well have been the mailman. Now, the Man In Black from Westworld however? That was a huge reveal. (Major spoilers if you haven’t watched it but I’m keeping it vague). We saw the Man In Black commit the worst crimes imaginable throughout the first season of the show, he killed hundreds of people without remorse. And in his defence, we thought that he thought it was all a robot theme park. Except? We find out that he’s actually the older version of one of the main-characters who absolutely saw robots as people once and evn protected them and loved one. This was both a horrifying reveal, an origin story and it made his crime even worse. That’s good villain-writing.

What does that have to do with Thanos? - Technique. Just how the reveal was written has a huge impact. Imagine if there had been no mention of Thanos at all until Infinity War - and the characters were actually forced to figure out who brought Loki to Earth, who supported Ronan, who attacked Asgard. Maybe you catch some glimpses of his disciples and maybe you get to hear the name of one of them at the very end or Loki even whispers “Thanos” in Thor’s ear before he dies and he as to figure out what that means. Make us work to get there. 

Relevance!

Now, they wanted a political villain, right? AHS Cult gave as a political villain who is absolutely detestable every step of the way. But the reason he was scary and interesting is because...it was relevant af. Every word he said, every political opinion he expressed, the way he staged attacks on him by migrant workers and spread fear in his community - that rings very close to home right now. I  can get why someone would say you can’t do the same in a Marvel film, but Sci-Fi has always been a projection screen for political subjects for decades now. Star Trek has been doing it since the 1960s and if they had actually committed to making Thanos allude to actual political slogans of today, he would have been way more relevant.

Dynamics (aka how to make someone likeable without condoning their actions)

On my main, I made a post once about Loki and Magneto and how having, forming and developing relationships helps to flesh out a character. In short: We learn to understand them. We see them grow. We see (ideally) how they learn from encounters and how it shapes them. Now we are entering the realm of likeable again with Azula, because what made her a brilliant villain was not her brilliance or her abilities (they made her a great opponent though) but her motivations. The more we see her family, the more we learn that she, too, is a victim of a dysfunctional family. She allows a whole new perspective on the royal family. That scene where she tells Ozai that he ‘can’t treat her like Zuko’? - those were ten fucking books written in one line. Her descent into paranoia basically rewrote every scene of her in the past and is also a reminder that she’s 15 and yes, of course, she’s a victim. She’s a child fighting in a war.

How many meaningful relationships does Thanos have? He’s quite fond of Gamora I guess? Less fond of Nebula? There was an embarrassing attempt to create a connection between him Tony. Now, remember that in the comics, Thanos is someone driven by love. He loves death - that’s the relationship that drives him. It’s important that there is a face to everything. Show me Thanos family, show me his homeworld. Show me his previous desperate attempts to save the people he loved and how he was held back and driven to more and more desperate measures. Show me how he finally gives in and wants to destroy everything.

“show don’t tell”

I’m going to argue for a Thanos solo movie now :)      (kinda) 

Okay I feel kinda compelled to put David in this when I’m already posting this on my rp blog but also a) I love him and b) shut up. short summary: David was created an android that is programmed to serve humans. He grows to resent them more and more, especially because many of them are petty and abusive towards him until in the second film, he just wants them dead.  Now in his first scenes of Prometheus, we see him alone on the ship while the human crew is in cryosleep. We see him eat, play basketball, ride a bicycle, watch people’s dreams. He also watches Lawrence of Arabia while dying his hair to look like him and quotes the above sentence several times just before the rest of the crew wakes up. 

It’s a tiny sequence in the film but we learn various things about David: He’s vain, he does things he - as a robot - doesn’t have to do, he identifies strongly with a man torn between two cultures, he has a lot of fun when he’s alone, he habitually spies on people, he is feeling pain in some capacity and he associates it with humans. We learn all of that in those few tiny moments.

compare all of what we learnt in this short sequence to what we know about Thanos. After seeing him in...I think three films by now? And having people talk about him in even more? With literally every character I listed now (excluding Moriarty bc he’s a negative example) we know what drove them to do what they did. We know their pain. We know them.  Even if the things they are cruel because here it comes:

They are a Story.

And Thanos is a plot device.

or to quote fellow tumblr user hackedmotionsensors:  I’ve never liked Thanos because hes like a video game villain. Like he’s the annoying equivalent of finding the final boss in a FF game and its just a giant head or something stupid.

[crackmadhi]

Day 4 - Comfort

Friday, 11 May 2029 – Age 30 It had been loud inside that restaurant and Simon needed a break from the noise. Discreetly he had snuck away from their table and now stood outside on the street. People were walking by, some cars moved away but he felt lighter away from the ruckus his colleagues made.

His friends. He wasn’t sure how that had happened yet but he was to tired to complain about it back then. And happy, if he was honest with himself.

Softly he smiled while watching his feet and pushed a pebble aside. Steps from behind him. He looked up. The small figure of Trucy Wright came into his view and he watched her approach him calmly.

For a moment the girl said nothing and just stood next to him. Then she looked up to him and brightly grinned.

“It’s a lot cooler out here, isn’t it?” she started the conversation and vaguely pointed around them.

Simon quirked up an eyebrow but nodded. She wasn’t wrong, it was just a clumsy conversation starter for a great performer like her.

“I wanted to thank you.”

Now Simon was even more on the edge than before. Why would she need to thank him? He hadn’t done anything to deserve such a treat.

“What for?”

Trucy watched him, the cheerful mask taken off and a gentle contentment showed itself beyond it.

“When you helped us in March. You were so quick to act and so kind. I never really got around to say thank you for that”, she told him and tilted her head.

Simon shook his head and waved her praise away.

“It’s fine”, he mumbled and looked down on his shoes, “I’m glad I was of use.”

He quickly glanced over to her and saw her cheeky grin and fought a smile rushing on his lips.

“Also”, she continued to his surprise and turned back to her, “it is really nice to know someone, who is aroace like me and has never dated. It’s refreshing to see that you can actually grow up happy like that.”

Slowly he watched the rest of her showmanship’s mask fall as she went on and elaborated: “I rarely hear somebody talking about aro people and even though Daddy told me about it and supports me, he can’t really answer anything about the topic and I really know nobody who’s openly aro and over twenty. And – smiling at him with a cheerful hum – you were just so open about it! It is so awesome seeing somebody being happy and proud to be like us! It gives me hope and it comforts me to know that there are people like you. It means I can be like that too. I’m allowed to be happy even if I am not dating anybody or living with anybody. That’s really cool.”

Simon let out a huff. Softly he laid his hand on her shoulder and nodded.

“It’s always nice to find somebody aroace. And if it helps you, I gladly answer the questions you cannot ask your father”, he offered and leaned at the wall beside him, so he was in a bit lower position than before.

The girl tapped her lips and then asked curiously: “Did you sometimes think you had a crush on somebody? And were you sometimes so fed up with all the others talking about their lovey-dovey relationship stuff? As if it was the most important thing in the world, when it really wasn’t?”

“Oh, I know this just too well”, Simon laughed and looked up in the sky. “There were a few girls I liked a lot as I kid. They were usually incredibly nice and creative and I with those I was comfortable to hug. It confused me that I liked them so much and I doubted more than once that I might be demi or maybe not even aro at all, but usually when they started to tell me how they wanted their “perfect relationship” to look like I knew that I never dreamt of such a thing, nor did I want to have something like that. But if you struggle with it or feel like you want to try it out with somebody you trust, please do. As long as you communicate well enough nothing bad should come out of it and you’ll learn more about yourself. And I know exactly what you mean with people being obsessed with their romantic relationships. Sometimes I thought it was the only thing people ever wanted to talk about and I was so tired to play along. Except when it was about Aura. Her stuff didn’t annoy me nearly as much as the stuff of my school mates. I was kinda invested in that to be honest.”

“I know that with Daddy and Polly!” Trucy cried and laid her hands over her heart. “Their stuff is not annoying at all. I’m really glad for both of them and love to listen to them. Maybe also because I know uncle Miles and Klavier. And they’re both really great!”

Simon nodded at the excited commentary of Trucy and lightly laughed at her glowing eyes.

“Yes, they’re both really good people”, he agreed and got her to calm down with that.

“Yeah. They are. You and Klavier are good friends, right?”

Simon nodded and she continued: “Did you ever consider having a qpr with someone? With him as an example?”

“I didn’t really. When I was younger it never interested me and in – prison – I wasn’t looking for friends.”

“Understandable”, Trucy told him and folded her hands in front of her, “but as it is now? Could you imagine it today? With somebody?”

Simon paused for a long moment. He heard the cars drive by. The night air was thick with heat and dryness. He knew it shouldn’t calm him down, but it did.

“I’m open to it. If something actually was to happen, I wouldn’t say no, I suppose but otherwise… Prosecuting makes me happy and I like the way my life is right now. I don’t really need it.”

Trucy had perceived him subtly. He wasn’t lying. She hadn’t expected that but it was rather interesting how his eyes had wandered around. He had someone in mind.

She grinned. If it wasn’t the prince who had brighten up the second, he had seen Simon, she didn’t know who else it could be.

As they stood there in mutual silence, Trucy felt light and relieved. She felt comfort in Simon’s honesty and experience. It was nice to know you weren’t lonely.

Happily, she hugged him from the side and dragged him in direction of the restaurant. Confused he looked down to her.

Smirking she winked at him and said: “Well, if someone actually comes along, like Yuta to whom you have talked the whole evening and immediately noticed when you sneaked out, you really should try it out, I guess. You’re allowed to try out just as much as I am, right?”

Simon shook his head. Damned shall be the Gramaryes perception. He rolled his eyes and opened the door for her with the words: “Absolutely Miss Trucy, absolutely. I couldn’t have said it better.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003753/chapters/45336103