#granted he spent a significant amount of time talking. he talked far more than I did which is often the case but Im not sure how I felt here

[exopelagic]

talking to him more very much achieved. we just talked for like 4 hours in the kitchen holy shit I need to sleep

[lilac-5ky]

A birthday wish (Kamui x Fem!Reader)

A/N: If any of you have paid attention to my blog, then by this point you must have noticed all about how Kamui is my cherished sinnamon roll. Despite having tons of requests piled up, I could not in good faith skip on his birthday, I just had to write something about him, even if it didn't come out perfect or ideal! Still, I tried my best and without any further ado, Happy Birthday to one of my favorite and cutest characters of Gintama. Happy Birthday Kamui! 🎉

Warning: IT DOES GET A BIT NSFW BUT ONLY MENTIONS OF IT. NO ACTUAL SMUT.

Plot: It's Kamui's birthday and you decide to show him how birthdays are spent in Earth.

bright ray of sunshine. just look at him. so pure and innocent, about to murder some bitches and OKAY I'LL STOP

“Y/N, I’m home!” Kamui’s cheerful tone greeted you the second he pushed the door open.

It had been so long since he’d last visited you in Edo, always chasing after the next big thrill, an opponent who’d excite him. He rarely had time for you these days, but on days like this, one should always spend time with the people close to them. Kamui may not be an earthling like you. Even so, spending such a day together with him was important to you, considering it was his birthday, the first birthday you’d be celebrating with him as his significant other.

You didn’t have much time to prepare for this, considering you only found out about your boyfriend’s birthday through Abuto’s daily ramblings. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have the slightest clue about what today meant for Kamui. As much as he loved to talk about his fights and his journeys, to your dismay, he never really talked about his past or himself. From his family background to his innermost thoughts, even after a year of dating him, there was so much you didn’t know about him.

Still, no matter how much time it took for him to open up, you’d be waiting for him. Besides, you were the one he had chosen, a mere earth weakling that had captured his interest, and hopefully, heart. Perhaps you wouldn’t be able to get him to share certain things with you just yet, but as his partner, the least you could do was help him have an enjoyable time during his birthday.

“Y/N, I said I’m hoooome!” He said again with a louder voice as he searched through the rooms for you.

Once you managed to light the final candle of the cake, you hurried outside of the kitchen with the platter resting your hands. You had no idea what kind of cake he’d enjoy, but, Kamui had never been a particularly picky eater. The boy was keen to Edo’s cuisine and would probably enjoy whatever it was that you served him, as long as it was made from you and wasn’t completely inedible.

“Oh, there you are-” Kamui waved, but before he could finish his sentence, his eyes fell on the cake.

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Kamui, Happy Birthday to you!” You sung, offering the platter closer for him to blow the candles. However, rather than doing that, he found himself looking at you with a puzzled expression.

“That was a rather nice tune, Y/N. This cake also look delicious but… what is the meaning of these torches on top of it?” Kamui asked, pointing at the candles with his index.

What? He was kidding right? There is no way he didn’t know what to do, right?

“These aren’t torches, they are candles, and this isn’t just a cake, it’s a birthday cake! When it’s your birthday, you get a special cake with lit candles on top. If you make a wish while blowing them, your wish will come true. Now hurry up, before they melt!”

He still appeared to be intrigued, but decided to go along with your whim anyways, leaning closer to the cake before blowing all of the candles at once.

“Blowing on candles to grant wishes… humans are far more fascinating than I thought.” He exclaimed, a winsome smile on his lips as he dipped a finger into the cake. Once he got a considerable amount of cream, he brought it to his lips, a delighted hum following after he had licked it clean. “Your culinary skills keep improving, Y/N!” He praised you, repeating the same motion, while you held the platter still for him.

Kamui seemed to be content with eating the dessert bite after bite, using his bare fingers to scoop it up. You were looking at him, part of you happy that he seemed to enjoy it so much, while another part of you kept wondering whether you should offer him a plate or something. It wasn’t really surprising for him eating with such gluttony, but even so, it wasn’t what normal people were supposed to do. But, then again, Kamui never belonged to the 'normal people' category to begin with, and so, you let it slide.

“Would you like some?” He asked, offering his finger to you.

Before you could say or do a thing, he pressed it against your lips, smearing cream all over you. He gave you no choice, and so, reluctantly, you opened up, taking his finger inside your mouth. Kamui pushed it about halfway in, giving you room to twirl your tongue around it so that you could taste it properly. He was right, you had really outdone yourself this time.

“Isn’t it really good?” He asked, tilting his head in amusement.

You nodded, as you kept sucking it clean. Yet only after he pushed his finger deeper in your mouth, did you realize how perhaps his intentions weren’t as innocent as his smile was. Widening your eyes, a gasp escaped your now parted lips as you tried to push his finger out with your tongue. The boy tilted his head back, your reaction inducing a hearty chuckle from him. How could he be taunting you this shamelessly?

“I thought so.” Kamui retrieved his finger, oblivious to the glares you were shooting his way.

While you tried your best to come up with a reason as to why you shouldn't throw the cake to his face - the number one reason being that you'd rather not infuriate someone who could break your entire body with a single movement-, Kamui kept picking onto the cake, until nothing but the mere platter remained. Once he was done, you excused yourself to the kitchen, all the while attempting to calm your nerves down.

“My, don’t run off like that! I have more questions you know.” Kamui pouted, following you to the kitchen.

“ Questions? Like what?”

“Like… what other things do earthlings do on their birthday?” He asked, propping himself on top of the counter, his eyes on you the entire time.

“Hmm… Other than cake, usually you spend them with the people close to you. Your family and friends gather up and they bring you gifts and then you celebrate together. But you can also go out, restaurants and stores tend to give freebies on your birthday.”

“I see…” He exclaimed, his smile dropping from his lips ever so slightly at the mention of the word 'family'.

“Kamui, haven’t you celebrated your birthdays with anyone before?”

Your question caught him by surprise. Usually, you wouldn’t be as daring, however seeing his blue eyes darken, you couldn’t help but wonder why. Even if he wasn’t on great terms with his family, surely he would have some fond memories from his childhood, right?

He took a minute to reply, contemplating to himself, before flashing a rather forceful smile at you.

“I wouldn't say I have. Yato have no need to celebrate reaching another year closer to their death. If you spent every day on the battlefield claiming lives like we do, it would also be some sort of birthday, don’t you think? Your opponents might fall, but you get to live another day, each day becoming stronger than the day before. Now that is something worth celebrating.”

Well… you couldn’t exactly argue with his logic. When he brought it up like this, birthdays sounded rather grim. It wasn’t even surprising for him to have such a dark approach, even when the topic of discussion was something as joyous as birthdays. But… despite his ever sunny disposition, upbeat tone and cheerful smiles, you could tell that he was being far from honest with you. Still, that was enough for now, pressuring him would do no good. You were far from satisfied with his answer, but all you could do was nod, forcing a sympathetic smile for his sake.

“But, Y/N, you mentioned something about gifts, right? So where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“My gift, of course.”

His gift… His gift!?! You had barely managed to buy the ingredients needed for the cake. Buying a gift for him had completely slipped your mind! If only Abuto had told you faster, if only Kamui had told you, if only you were a psychic. Now he’d be so disappointed and all because of your forgetfulness. Good job, Y/N, you had totally blew it.

“I… there is no gift.” You admitted in defeat. “Abuto only told me about your birthday yesterday, I didn’t have enough time… I’m so sorry, Kamui.” Unable to face him, you lowered your head before him.

“In that case,” He paused, jumping onto the floor. Taking a couple of steps, he walked closer to you, a mirthful grin across his lips. “How about you become my gift for the day, Y/N?”

At once, you looked up at him, feeling heat rise up your cheeks. He couldn’t possibly mean that you…? Surely, he’d never been subtle when it came to you getting down and dirty, but to be demanding such a thing all of a sudden was too much, even for him. But then again, it was your fault that you hadn’t been able to get him a proper birthday present in the first place. You had to pay for your mistake and if that’s what it took, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.

“I accept…” You spoke in a raspy voice, batting your eyelashes as your fingers hitched up to the hem of your kimono, pushing the fabric off your shoulder.

“We should get going then! I’m really curious to find what those freebies you mentioned are all about. I’ll entrust you with it, so make sure to show me all of the things you earthlings do on birthdays.”

His words managed to surprise you once again. You felt so ashamed! To even think that he had such a pure goal in mind, yet there you were, about to throw yourself at him.

“Perhaps you wanna get changed first? Do you need help with this?” He asked you, momentarily glancing down at your bare skin. Maybe your thoughts weren’t too far fetched, after all.

Once Kamui understood that you had no intention of doing so, he let you drag him outside of the door, the two of you leaving your apartment before things escalated any further.

There were only a few things Kamui loved more than fighting, and most of the time, one could round those things up to a proper meal. Or two. Or even three. It didn’t matter how the boy had finished the entire birthday cake in one go. Kamui was still a Yato, and as a Yato, his appetite remained ever insatiable. Taking him out for lunch, would probably resonate more with him than anything else would, and so, you made up your mind.

Your first destination for the day was the local food market. At this time of the day —near afternoon— there weren’t many stalls left open, but luckily, everyone seemed willing to appease you the second you mentioned that it was your boyfriend’s birthday. Perhaps, his infectious smile was enough to convince them, you thought to yourself. Despite his nature as a tenacious fighter, a descendant of one of the strongest clans in the universe, Kamui’s youthful appearance seemed to be working in his favor. Even the stingiest store owners bent to his will, quick to give the two of you everything he asked for, while returning the smile. Part of you found the whole endeavor hilarious, but you kept this to yourself. Kamui seemed to be enjoying himself, and that’s all that mattered.

After visiting the third vendor, you had pretty much given up on eating, the different tastes causing a ruckus in your stomach. Much to his appreciation, you did hand your portion over to him, only contributing to his ever increasing haul. From free dango to free yakisoba, at the end of your stroll, Kamui seemed rather pleased by the loot the two of you had accumulated. If you were to be honest, this felt more like a trick or treat than an actual birthday time.

While strolling, Kamui held onto the bags, allowing you to briefly explain what each of the delicacies were. Some, he’d had tried before, while others were entirely new flavors to him. Despite that, his reactions remained all the same, his smile never dropping from his face while devoured the contents of each bag. Had it been anyone else, you might have found yourself disgusted by their eating habits, but when it came to watching Kamui’s cheeks puff up with every bite, all the sounds he was making upon tasting each of his treats, you couldn’t help but squeal to yourself. He looked so endearing to you like that.

“As expected, Y/N, you didn’t disappoint. Whenever I visit Edo, I wish I could stay longer.” He muttered once he had finished eating.

“For me, or for the food?” You asked, chuckling at his exclamation.

“Who said I don’t consider you a treat?” The way he so earnestly said that, was enough to make your heart skip a beat at the sudden compliment, making you feel as if you had placed a finger into a socket.

Even when you were having an internal melt down, Kamui kept on walking forward, not minding your reaction. You silently followed behind him, until eventually his steps came to an halt. He was looking at something very intently, and once you reached him, you could tell why; the object he was looking at was a photo booth.

“What is this thing?” He asked, a curious expression on his face as he leaned his head. As far as you were aware, he shouldn’t have seen or done such a thing before, and that was exactly why the two of you running into one of these was ideal! At least, he wouldn't be able to argue about never having celebrated a birthday afterwards, not when there'd be proof.

“This is what we’ll do next! It’s called a photo booth, you can take pictures inside of it and sometimes, there are also props included. It’s so much fun!” You said, masking your intentions with excitement.

Kamui still seem a bit puzzled, but curiosity ended up getting the best of him. He made his way inside without asking any more questions, you following him shortly after.

There wasn’t much room for the two of you to sit comfortably inside the booth, yet that would do, for now. Inside, you found a basket full of hair pieces, masks and other accessories hanging from below the screen. Kamui let you be the one to handle things, observing your every move in awe, just like a child would. You went through the entire basket, looking to find the perfect props, until your eyes landed on a pair of cat ears and you came up with the perfect idea.

“Here, put these on!” You urged him, handing him the ears along with a paw stick for him to hold. He didn’t seem too sure about it, but went along with it anyways, his curiosity turning to amusement as he held onto them.

“I didn’t know humans enjoyed doing planet Catnip cosplay. I hear their King can barely get it up, or at least that's what Abuto says. He does seem to have an extensive knowledge when it comes to genitalia.” Kamui admitted, looking at his reflection in the screen and then at you. His inappropriate comments would have made you roll your eyes, but at the time, you couldn’t focus on anything other than the way he looked. To think that someone as strong and fearful as him would look this cute!

"Did you even know that they are supposed to look like thorns?" He went on, adjusting the ears until they fit just right.

“I guess so?” You replied as you tried your best to push the image of an old cat man's limp dick off your brain. Even if you didn't want to think about it, the more he kept talking about such things, the harder it was for you to focus on putting your own cat ears on.

Once you were set, you placed a couple of coins into the machine, selecting the correct picture format, before finally leaning back towards him. The countdown on the screen begun and before you could explain anything to the boy, you threw one arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to you. Flashing a smile for the camera, you held your own paw in front of it, urging him to follow suit and then…

Snap!

The whole thing was over in mere seconds, and soon, the two of you had left the props along with the booth behind, patiently waiting outside for the pictures to be printed. You had ordered two copies of each picture, in the rare event Kamui wanted to commemorate that day as well.

It didn't take long for them to be ready, and once they were, you were more than satisfied with the result. As expected, his natural smily expression was enough to illuminate every image, while the cat ears only added to his boyish charm. This was the first time you were taking a picture of him and truthfully, it couldn’t have turned out any more perfect than that.

After looking at them for a while on your own, he pitched in, gleeful exclaims as he went through all of them one by one.

“This is yours, by the way. I got two copies just in case.”

Although he hesitated for a moment, Kamui ended up accepting, grabbing his own copy from your hands. Taking a final look at it, he smiled to himself, before stuffing it inside his jacket. Once that was over and dealt with, the two of you went back to strolling through the streets of Edo, aimlessly walking side by side, until Kamui suddenly stopped in the middle of a street.

“I have celebrated my birthdays before, but it’s nothing worth remembering. That’s fine by me. But, today, I had so much fun, Y/N. The land of Samurai keeps surprising me with every visit and so do you. That’s why, my wish was to spend next year’s birthday with you too.”

His sudden declaration caught you off guard. You had suspected as much, birthdays weren’t an Edo exclusive concept, and he seemed rather uncomfortable earlier. Making sure he would at least have some happy memories on this day with you, was all you wanted to do. However, when you realized that he had revealed his birthday wish to you, a part of you couldn’t help but panic.

“You aren’t supposed to share your birthday wish with others! Now it won’t come true!”

“Oh, is that so?” Kamui asked, entertained by your expression. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know, after all, you were the one who had forgotten to mention this one tiny detail.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I never believed in wishes, anyways. Who has the time to sit around waiting for things to happen instead of making them happen on their own? So… don’t worry about it. As long as you are mine, I’ll make it so that every birthday is celebrated with you.”

His words felt comforting to hear. Knowing Kamui, you knew that there was no way he’d let anything stand in the way of his wants. Superstition or not, there was no doubt in your heart, the two of you would get to spend together many more birthdays to come.

“So, what now?”

“Is there anything you’d like to do?”

By the time you were done with your little food expedition and the photos, the sun had disappeared from the sky, a mellow purple shade sprawling past the clouds. Soon, it’d get dark, and while there were many night activities you could engage into, perhaps it’d be wiser to let him dictate the rest of the evening, birthday boy and everything.

“There is still room for dessert.” He said in a rather serious tone, one you wouldn't expect from him.

“But you ate so much birthday cake and then all the stuff at the market-”

Kamui shushed you by grabbing your wrist, forcing your body along with your thoughts to an halt. Holding onto it, he took a couple of steps closer until he was standing right in front of you, his bright blue eyes peering into yours. Rather than talking, he kept looking at you for a bit, his gaze traveling down to your lips and then up to your eyes. Even though he didn’t say a thing, you could feel his demand as he kept pressing harder onto your wrist, his thumb merely rubbing circles across your skin in a surprisingly gentle manner. The contradiction in his movements was enough to send shivers up your spine, your body turning stiff to his touch. That was such an unexpected turn of events.

For him to be acting like this, it certainly wasn’t a first. Throughout the day he had managed to tease you on more than one occasions- be it mostly due to his obliviousness-,however this time, there was something different. Perhaps it was the way mischief was clouding his otherwise innocent smile, or maybe, it was because of the way he looked at you, a set of blue flames that burned with silent desire. Whatever the case was, Kamui had managed to capture you entirely, be it your body or mind, your entire attention falling to him and him only.

“Wouldn’t you agree that saving your favorite dessert for last, is what makes every day more exciting?”

You were about to ask him what he meant, when he brought your hand closer to his face, his parted lips ghosting over your knuckles before, finally, planting a soft kiss on top of them. Even then, he kept his eyes glued to yours, making sure that you were watching his every movement.

“It’s been too long since I last feasted on your body, Y/N. So long that I can’t help but wonder, how much sweeter you must have gotten.” Kamui said once he let go of your hand completely, each word of his firing warning signals in your brain.

He wasn't wrong, it had been a rather long time since you'd last been intimate with one another, but even so, you were still in public! You were still standing in the middle of the street were kids played 'kick the can' and elderly people had their evening strolls. What would they say if he heard him talk like that?

“So what do you think? Shall we go back, or are there more things earthlings do on their birthdays for me to see ?” As if snapping out of a trance, he squinted his eyes, his typical elated expression returning back to his face.

Without awaiting your answer, Kamui went back to walking, acting as if he hadn’t just talked all about how he wanted you to spread your legs for him. But then again, that was Kamui for you, a man who could ask you to go down on him with the same ease he’d ask for an extra scoop of ice cream or even kill an enemy. There was no filter to his personality or words, a fact that if anything, added to his charm.

After all this time of dating him, you could never break free from this charm of his, merely tagging along behind the boy no matter what he did or said, as if you were utterly bewitched. Even now, your mind failed to pay attention to what he was talking about, while you followed in his tracks, too busy to concentrate on anything other than depicting all the inappropriate scenes that were sure to follow, should the two of you reach your apartment.

Perhaps failing to buy a birthday gift for him, had worked in your favor, after all.

A/N: Hopefully this didn't turn out horrible. My brain is mush, just like reader-chan, I only realized what day it was this morning and I had to push everything to the side, coming in for the last minute clutch. Still worth, and that's all for today!

*goes back to simping for Shinsuke*

[messers-moony]

Comics 2 | A.G

Paring: Aidan Gallagher X Fem!Reader

Summary: Aidan meets an unusually pretty girl at a library while trying to find a textbook for school

Warnings: Cursing

Years later, Aidan and Y/n were now twenty-five. All these years and Aidan hadn’t seen her since he gifted her the comic book when they were just twenty. All these years later and he still loved her.

He left a bookmark in there on purpose, one with his number, but yet, she never called. It made his mind wander. Why wasn’t she calling? Maybe she wasn’t fond of calling, but even then, she never texted either.

A certain feeling of defeat lingered in his heart. Maybe she didn’t like him like that. Her words were stuck in his mind; they lagged in his head like a broken record every time he was to fall asleep.

“ Y/n L/n. Remember it. “

Why was he to remember it? She was a comic book artist, for Christ's sake, not an upcoming actress. As far as he knew, there would never be a significance to her name. A new Netflix show was in the making, another one based on comic books.

Of course, Aidan got the call. The call was a producer begging him to audition for the leading role. He would be perfect for this role, swore the producer. Aidan was hesitant but did it anyway.

Aidan wasn’t the only one in the audition room, of course, but he was only here because of the pleading the producer did. He auditioned, and that was that. Within a week's notice, they would notify him.

On his way home, he stopped by a library, the very same library he met the girl at. Sighing, he walked to the comic book section and picked up the series of comics. There were five in the series, and he bought all of them.

He walked home with a backpack filled with his belongings and now new comic books. Walking into his apartment, he unzipped his bag and took out the first comic. The male ignored who wrote and illustrated it. It didn’t really matter. Did it?

The brunette read through the first comic and was hooked almost immediately. He read through them relatively quickly, and when he finished, he was agitated. The books were completed on a cliffhanger, only leading him to assume there had to be a sixth book soon.

Three days went by, and Aidan couldn’t help but reread the comic books for a more thorough analysis. The more he read, the more he saw how similar he and the main character was.

Everything down to the hair, the dimples, the smile, and the eyes were the exact same. The mannerisms being almost identical scared him. But he realized why the producer begged him for this role. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said Aidan was the perfect candidate for it.

He finished the series a second time and stared at the cover. That’s when he realized it and then began to scold himself for how dense he could possibly be.

“ Written and Illustrated by Y/n L/n “

We’re the words written across the top of the book. That’s why the main character was so similar to him, because the girl who wrote it knew who he was. She was observant, hella observant.

Within a week's notice, as promised, Aidan got a call saying he got the role and they would fly him to New York to begin filming. He’d be leaving in a month, probably the least amount of notice he’s been given before filming a show.

Nonetheless, the month went by faster than you could blink, and he was on a plane to New York. The set was much bigger than he imagined and made his way to the producers.

“ Aidan, you came! How wonderful! “ The producer from the phone exclaimed happily, “ My names Alex. I’m so ecstatic you came. “

Alex put his hand out to shake, which Aidan accepted politely, “ I assume you’ve read the comics by now? “ A familiar voice queried.

“ I have, actually. “ Aidan replied, turning around to be met with the dyed-haired female, “ I told you, remembering my name would come in handy. “ Y/n winked.

Aidan snickered, “ Why make your main character almost exactly like me? “ Aidan questioned, fully serious, “ Because Gallagher, you’re intriguing. You also seem to attract the best audience. Not to mention you always put on a show. “ Y/n said with prominent confidence.

The way his last name rolled off her tongue almost made him faint. He adored her and wanted her to be his. Now that she was here, he’d do anything in his power to make her his.

“ So you’re using me to make your show popular? “ The male joked, “ No, don’t take it the wrong way. I used you because you’re hardworking, and you put everything into your role. You, my love, are perfect for this role. “ Y/n responded, and Aidan’s cheeks flushed at the pet name.

“ Now, I must be going. However, I will see you on set tomorrow, I presume? “ She questioned with a soft smile, “ Yeah. Definitely. “ Aidan breathed as she left.

A hand was laid upon his shoulder, “ You are completely head over heels for her, huh? “ A male voice spoke in his ear, making him jump, “ Jesus Christ Robert, where did you come from? Why are you here? “ Aidan heaved as his hand was on his heart.

“ I’ve actually earned myself a role as well as Elliot Page. I’ve never seen you so entranced. “ Robert commented, “ She's been stuck in my head for years. “ Aidan murmured.

Robert had a face of curiosity, “ We met like five years ago at a library, and I talked to her for only two hours, but by then, she had me completely wrapped around her finger. “ Aidan explained, and Robert raised an eyebrow, “ She moved the next week, and I hadn’t seen her since. “

“ Well. Better make your move soon. I’ve seen guys eyeing her up all day. “ Robert replied as he walked off.

Months later, Y/n was right. Aidan was absolutely perfect for the role without even trying. Granted, the character was practically him, but he excelled in making the role his own.

Y/n and Aidan had gotten quite close throughout those months. They seemed pretty fond of each other. She was confident, intelligent, and caring. He was thoughtful, kind, and sweet. The pair made a loving match.

However, the girl's heart was guarded, she had been let down so many times, and she didn’t want to ruin the friendship she had acquired with the famous male. Aidan, in his free time, had been working on an EP. The title and main song on it was held close to his heart.

After a couple of dates and a lot of convincing, she gave in. Aidan Gallagher had now achieved the girl of his dreams, Y/n L/n. She was everything he wanted and so much more. He was captivated by her and made sure he showed the world.

Every chance he got, he posted her everywhere. His fans absolutely adored her, possibly even more than he did. Saturday lives his fans spent begging to see the admirable female when she wasn’t present. It honestly made Aidan quite jealous.

Regardless it made Aidan’s heart feel unbelievably full that both he and his fans loved her as much as he desired. Mornings were spent holding each other with subtle morning kisses. Nights were spent eating take-out and playing the original Mario kart after many arguments that it was better than the newer versions.

Filming was almost complete, and Aidan’s stay in New York was coming to a very prominent close. A day neither lover was looking forward to. His home was in Los Angeles, and hers was in New York. There was no changing that.

“ Do you really have to go? “ Questioned the teary-eyed female, “ Unfortunately. “ Aidan sighed.

They both stood in JFK Airport as close as they could before having to depart. Aidan’s hands held her tear-stained cheeks, and she moved stray strands of hair from his forehead.

“ I promise, I will come back for you. “ Aidan pledged to, and she sniffled, nodding, “ I’ll move in with you if you want. “

Y/n looked up slightly guilty, “ I don’t want to be the reason you leave your hometown. You grew up there. Your entire family is there. I would feel awful taking you away from them. “ She admitted, “ I would be living here willingly. Plus, there’s more opportunities acting-wise here, believe it or not. Hollywood isn’t all it’s made out to be. The United Nations is also home to New York. It’d be closer to everything. “ Aidan explained.

“ If- If that’s what you want, then I wouldn’t hesitate. “ Y/n smiled softly.

Aidan pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, “ Then this isn’t really goodbye, is it? “ Aidan’s whisper left a hot breath lingering on her lips, “ No, it isn’t. “ Y/n replied.

“ Stop your crying then. I hate seeing you cry. I will come back. “ He muttered softly, wiping her tears and kissing her forehead, “ I love you. “

“ I love you too. Be safe, please. Text me when you get on and when you land, okay? “ She requested, “ Always. “ Aidan simpered.

Gently he let her go and walked away with a tiny wave. Now there were only two things left to do. Pack up all of his stuff and play one last show in Los Angeles before leaving his home.

The male pack quickly when he arrived home, way too excited to live with his new partner. His show was scheduled for that night. Tonight he’d be playing his brand new song, the main song on his latest EP, the one he held close to his heart.

Nerves ran through his body like no tomorrow as he stepped up on stage. Screams were heard throughout the entire venue, making him smile brightly.

“ Hello everyone. “ Aidan greeted, getting screams in response, “ As you all may know, I will not be living in LA for much longer. New York seems more like home now than it’s ever seemed, so after this show, I’ll be getting on a plane to my new home. “

“ While I’ll play your favorite’s such as songs like Blue Neon and Fourth of July, there’s a new song at the end I’d love for your feedback on. I hold this song very close to my heart, and I hope you all will as well. So let’s get this started. “ Aidan informed with a gleeful smile present on his lips.

Aidan began strumming the guitar and singing the all too familiar lyrics. Applause was given in between each song, only encouraging his love for music as he continued to sing— his fans sung along with him giving Aidan a sense of love and commitment.

Finally, the last song was due to play, ��� I call this last one, Comics. “

[neurodihuegent]

[PART ONE] Huey's character development: season 1 to season 3.

with ducktales 2017 coming to a close in less than two weeks, i thought that now was best of all times to create a post of how i think huey has developed as a character throughout all three seasons. please remember, this post is just based on how I see his character development, and you're free to have your own ideas and/or not agree with all of my points!

1.) learning to adjust to new environments/accepting failures: When we were first introduced to huey's character, one of the biggest take aways was that he's a very "by the book" kind of a person, and has a hard time adjusting to foreign environments or situations that he will need to go with the flow and what he already knows, rather than doing everything by the book.

This was mainly introduced in "The Terror of the Terrafirmians!" in season one, where we could literally see Huey scrambling to make sense of the situation, and at some points, spouting out B.S. to make sense of the situation in his head. While he did end up coming to terms that the Terrafirmians are in fact, very real, he still only decided to believe it once it was documented in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook.

Progressively throughout the show, we see Huey being put in situations where he has to be able to think quick on his feet rather than anxiously try to sort out all that he knows from the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook. Because of his personality, Huey not only had a hard time adjusting to foreign environments, but it's also been shown that he has a hard time accepting set backs as well. From what we've seen, it's easy to infer that when Huey has his mind set on something, he will do nothing short of achieving that goal: And when said goal is not achieved, or is starting to look like it won't be achieved, he takes it very personally.

This is especially seen in "The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks!" and "The Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!": Where in "The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks", even though Huey was definitely more qualified for the position by a significant amount, when Dewey got the position, his first instinct was to get angry instead of congratulate his brother: Granted, Dewey wasn't completely deserving of the position over Huey, and at this point, Huey was just a kid still learning how to manage his emotions, but his instictive reaction tells a lot about his character at the time. Thankfully, we see this progress with "The Challenfe of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!", where Huey is once again put in a situation where the odds were against him, considering that this time around, Violet was more qualified and prepared for the position than he was. At first, Huey does take this badly, getting super anxious that he'll have to do a challenging, dangerous course that no 11-12 year old probably should be doing, on his lonesome without even the help of the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, which has been shown to be a source of comfort for Huey. At one point, he is only surviving through the course by creating a talking Junior Woodchuck Guidebook in his head, but even that goes south as he gets so overwhelmed and anxious to the point where he sets it on fire in his head. Eventually, noticing how far he's fallen behind Violet, and realizing how deserving she is of the title over him despite his love for everything Junior Woodchucks, he is able to come to terms with the fact that he lost, and instead of getting upset or beating himself up for it, he gracefully allows her to be announced as the winner, and shows her his full support. This is meaningful, because if this was season 1 Huey, we honestly can not say that his reaction to his loss would've been the same: He probably would've gotten a lot more upset about it than he actually did in season 3.

"Quack Pack!", despite somewhat being more of a comedic episode, also sheds light on how Huey's learned to adjust with a change in environment: He was the first character (other than Donald, who was fully aware) to pick up on the fact that they are in an alternate universe, set inside of a 1990s sitcom, and becomes increasingly anxious about it as a result, especially since everyone was pretty much oblivious of it at first. However despite this, when the family confronts Donald about the wish, while Donald does make a compelling point of how this scenario gives them a sense of normalcy and security, Huey also brings up the fact that despite the hardships they may face, adventuring is an integral part of their new found family. Even though Huey has always been pretty enthusiastic about adventuring, especially in comparison to Louie and pre-season 3 Donald, there has been times where adventuring has caused him anxiety due to being confronted with new settings or situations that he doesn't immediately know how to handle, so considering this, I think that line alone has shown the great improvement Huey has made with adjusting.

2.) embracing "The Duke": in the first two seasons, while we always had somewhat of an idea that huey was the triplet that inherited the infamous McDuck anger, "The Duke" wasn't something that was necessarily explored much in the first two seasons, leading people to believe that it was just for comedic plot. However, in season 3, we finally got an image of what "The Duke" actually is and represents, alongside with how Huey truly feels about this side of him.

Based on my perception of "The Split Sword of Swanstantine", Huey sees The Duke as an entire separate entity from himself rather than just how far his anger can really go, decides to completely reject this side and keep it locked away in his brain. Of course, we've had our early season moments where The Duke "slipped out", but for the most part, leading up to The Split Sword of Swanstantine, we never really got a full glimpse of what exactly the Duke is: and given his personality, it makes sense as to why Huey was rejecting this side of him instead. Not only does The Duke represent one of Huey's most vulnerable states, but knowing how far his anger can go, goes completely against the side of his personality that he does allow to shine: Being orderly, being well put together, and being the brain of his sibling trio, which being blinded by anger would all deter. Despite the strength that embracing his anger gives him, Huey obviously still sees it as a weakness, because it's the side of him he doesn't want people to see, especially those closest to him, because before the events of The Split Sword, Huey didn't exactly have the greatest control of his anger, so while nobody would want to think of it, no one knows how far he could really go if he's pissed enough.

However, thanks to the encouragement of Lena, Huey was finally able to embrace that side of him, and fully gain control over his anger which is something we don't typically see with the infamous McDuck Anger, given that the only way he could defeat Steelbeak who had an obvious advantage, was to tap into his true strength. The biggest takeaway Huey got from this situation, is that his anger shouldn't be treated as if it's a separate entity, or as if it's something to be embarassed of, but to truly embrace that side of himself, and learn how to control it, all things that he was able to accomplish by the end of "The Split Sword of Swanstantine".

3.) building new relationships:

Since season one, it's been hinted that Huey does struggle a bit on the friendship aspect of things. He does have very close relationships with his brothers and Webby, but even these can be hindered by clashing personalities and differing interests. Even though it's fairly obvious that HDLW all love and support each other like family, Huey has never really exactly been shown to have a bond with someone where he shares completely similar interests: Now, this isn't really important in friendship, often times opposites attract even down to the friendship aspect, but it is nice to have someone where you can just sit and chat about similar interests, and do stuff together that you'll both enjoy.

The first time we've gotten a hint at Huey struggling with making friends was in "The Day of the Only Child!", where, if the Beagle Brothers didn't show up, Huey would've been out of luck with finding two other participants for the three-man cookout, considering that everyone else was already paired up and Louie and Dewey were already off doing their own things for the day. Also hinted in that same episode, is the fact that Huey make struggle with loneliness as well (Huey "Be horribly alone." Dewey: "For once!"), given that he's spent most if not all of his life constantly with his brothers and Donald, so even if him and his brothers did have fall outs every here and there, he could always rely on them to be there given that outside of them, he didn't rely have any other friends.

Now, this somewhat turns around in season 2, when we're introduced to Fenton, who Huey not only idolizes as Gizmoduck, but looks at like a genuine best friend and most likely, as an older brother figure. Besides Huey's admiration of Gizmoduck, it's been shown that they bond over their similar interest in science, and in general, Huey is constantly looking out for Fenton and always wanting to protect his best friend from any danger or hurt that he himself can prevent. Despite Fenton undoubtedly being Huey's closest friend, I think that it's also important to shed light on the friendships that he's made that are more in his age group.

Following the events of Astro BOYD!, we are introduced to Boyd and Huey's friendship, two characters that existed in the show prior but never had any interactions. Huey and Boyd bond over their interest in the Junior Woodchucks, something that we once again see Huey get backlash for from his fellow Woodchucks, for being too "by the book" and not just "relaxing and being a kid" (even going as far to label him as a "robot"). Even in Boyd's malfunctioning, Huey is determined to stay by his side until the end, not only because of their shared interests and the bonding they began to do at the very beginning of the episode, but also because Huey understood what it was like to be cast away and treated as less just for being different (or in Huey's words, "wired a little differently"). Even though Fenton is Huey's closest friend by a margin, I would consider Boyd's friendship with him really meaningful, at least given the circumstances of how they became friends in the first place: Two people who were cast aside, for not being what society considered the "perfect/normal kid", and instead of people working with them, they were just cast aside easily. Considering how fast Huey probably had to grow up given the circumstances of living with Donald who, despite being an amazing father figure, dealt with poverty pretty often, it's no wonder why he's very mature for his age and very "by the book", but it's also no wonder why kids who probably didn't have to grow up with those circumstances, would easily be turned off. Louie and Dewey are a lot more understanding considering they grew up in the same setting, but even they dealt with it differently, often leading to their personalities clashing, which is even lampshaded in this episode as another insecurity of Huey's when building relationships ("Are you sure you want me to continue? My brothers are usually *begging* me to stop.).

We're also introduced to another friendship at the very beginning of season three, with Violet. Even though at the beginning, things were a bit rocky considering how anxious Huey was getting from the Senior Woodchuck competition, and his determination to beat Violet, even to the point of leaving him behind when she probably needed him the most, by the end of the episode, we see both Violet and Huey not only reconcile, but start to actually bond. During this high stress situation, Violet was a great source of relief for Huey, using her own experiences of failure to inspire Huey to not give up, and that even if he does lose (which he did) in this specific situation, there'll be more opportunities because he is great when it comes to the Junior Woodchucks. Even when Violet wins, instead of being bitter which would definitely be expected considering that Huey is a child and how much he was anticipating winning, he is able to put his grievances aside and congratulate her because she helped him greatly during a point of weakness. Even if Violet and Huey's friendship didn't end up as closeknit as his and Boyd's, or as prominent as his and Fenton's, I think this was still a meaningful connection for him as Violet was great balance for the anxiety that he was feeling at the time, and despite him leaving her behind, she beared no ill will towards him.

This is only the first part, where I examined what I felt were the key component to his character development over the last three seasons, and the next post will focus on other aspects that weren't as focused on during the series!

[crimesandcuriosities]

"This is getting to be restraining order level crazy. I'm not kidding... She just really needs help."

In early 2011, 27 year old lawyer Ryan Poston was browsing Facebook when he came across pictures of 18 year old university student Shayna Hubers posing in a bikini. They began talking, and by Spring of that year the two had met and begun dating. However, it soon became apparent that Shayna was significantly more invested in the relationship than Ryan was, and the cracks already began to show. 

Ryan was becoming increasingly concerned by Shayna’s obsessive behaviour, and he was ready to break it off for good. For every one text Ryan would send, Shayna would send fifty. Despite living almost 80 miles apart - Shayna in Kentucky and Ryan in Ohio - she would constantly turn up unannounced to his home and let herself in. She had even Googled how to pick locks using hair pins. On one particular night in April 2012, Shayna outright refused to leave Ryan’s home, so he fled his own property and stayed at his dad’s house just to escape her. Jay Poston, Ryan’s father, would later testify that his son’s phone did not stop pinging all night.

By October 2012, during the 18 months they had spent together so far, the couple had broken up and got back together on numerous occasions; usually because Shayna would cry and Ryan would feel sorry for her. However, this time he’d had enough. In a text sent to his cousin, who was also Shayna’s friend, he wrote: "This is getting to be restraining order level crazy. I'm not kidding... You need to talk to her... She needs help, and I say that without exaggeration.” To another friend, he also messaged: "Literally probably the craziest fucking person I have ever met. She almost scares me.”

During the afternoon of October 12th - believing that he was now free from Shayna - Ryan was preparing for a date with another woman. Her name was Audrey Bolte (pictured bottom), and she was also Miss Ohio and a Miss USA runner-up that year. Before leaving work, he had excitedly told colleagues that he was taking a beauty queen out for a drink that night. However, instead of sharing Ryan’s positivity, one coworker replied: “I'm very nervous about what you're doing tonight because who knows what Shayna will do. You need to get her gone. I need you to call the police. I need you to call a locksmith. I need you to make it very final.” While Ryan reassured them that he had the situation with Shayna under control, he was sadly unaware that he would not make it to his date that night.

After hearing that Ryan was taking out a beautiful pageant winner, Shayna became consumed by an inconsolable, jealous rage. Once again - and for the last time - she turned up to her ex-boyfriend’s condo and an argument broke out between them. During this exchange, Shayna reached for one of Ryan’s firearms lying on the dining table and fired six bullets into him. After firstly calling her mother to confess what she had done, Shayna eventually dialled for emergency services after some delay, during which she immediately began to claim self-defence:

Hubers: He beat me and tried to carry me out of the house and I came back in to get my things and he was right in front of me and he reached down and grabbed the gun and I grabbed it out of his hand and pulled the trigger.

911 operator: And how long ago did you shoot him?

Hubers: I don't know, 15 ... 10, 15 minutes ... not even that long.

911 operator: 10 or 15 minutes ago?

Hubers: Yeah.

Shayna also claimed that Ryan threw her across the room and into a bookshelf. However, upon inspecting the scene, investigators noted that none of the loose objects placed on the shelves had been disturbed. In fact, there was a line of bullets standing upright on one shelf, which most certainly would have toppled over if the bookshelf was moved in any way - but they hadn’t.

After being brought into the police station, Shayna was left alone for a few minutes and watched from a different room by officers. During this time, she paced the room, danced and sang “Amazing Grace”. She was also heard muttering to herself: “I did it. Yes, did it!” During police questioning, despite requesting the presence of an attorney, Shayna voluntarily divulged a significant amount of information about what happened. One particular statement proved to be quite bizarre and incriminating:

“And he was laying with his face on the table, like twitching. And so I knew he was gonna die... And I walked around the table [cries]. And I think that's when I shot him... in the head. I shot him probably six times, shot him in the head. He fell onto the ground. He was, like, laying like this [she gets down on the floor]. His glasses were still on. He was twitching some more. I shot him a couple of more times just to make sure he was dead 'cause I didn't wanna watch him die... I knew he was gonna die or have a completely deformed face. He's very vain... and wants to get a nose job; just that kinda person and I shot him right here... I gave him his nose job he wanted”

Numerous people who knew Shayna did not believe her claims of self-defence from the offset. According to a former friend who had grown up with Hubers, she was extremely academically intelligent, but on the other hand she was extremely volatile and fragile when it came to boys: "If a guy, like, broke up with her or something or if a guy just said they weren't interested in her she would take it pretty hard... crying and maybe a little screaming... she didn't really like to let things go." Also, according to one of Ryan’s female friends, Shayna was described as follows: "She was so cold. You could just immediately tell... she was just obsessed with him... I think she had a goal, in the beginning, to make him settle down with her. And when she wasn't becoming successful, that became a problem."

Forensic evidence used by the prosecution refuted that Hubers had acted in self-defence, as an examination of gunshot trajectories showed that the victim had been sitting when the first shot was fired. He also would not have been able to stand after receiving the first head wound, therefore rebutting Hubers’ claims that she fired multiple shots because Ryan was still chasing her. Neighbours living in the apartment below Ryan’s also reported hearing two gunshots, followed by hesitation and then a further three shots, indicating that Shayna had paused with enough time to process her actions and realise that Ryan was already incapacitated.

Those who testified for the prosecution, including Audrey Bolte, spoke of the victim’s humour and gentle nature. According to those closely aware of the tumultuous relationship, Ryan was extremely non-confrontational and often sought help with escaping the toxic cycle he had become entangled in with Shayna. Friends argued that he prolonged his own torment by remaining in the relationship just to avoid upsetting her, and ultimately this thoughtfulness was the catalyst for his own demise. Although Hubers had attempted to argue that she was a victim of relentless emotional and physical abuse at the hands of Ryan, the jury - like family, friends and acquaintances - did not buy it. She was found guilty of murder in April 2015.

Following a retrial in 2018, Shayna Hubers was ultimately sentenced to life imprisonment with the possibility of parole. She is currently incarcerated at Kentucky Correctional Institute for Women and may be considered for parole in 2032. If parole is granted, she will have served 17 years in total for Ryan Poston’s murder.

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six: Little Damerons

Series Masterlist

Plot: Poe and Y/n take a trip for Poe’s birthday.

Warnings: extreme fluff, so much fluff, chocolate dipped cotton candy with sprinkles kind of fluff

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Life has been kicking my ass these past few weeks so writing has been on the back burner. It’s still insane but I found time to finish this one. It felt like the series deserved a nice piece of fluff consider it’s so intense 😂 Please forgive any typos, I’m lazy and tired and my brain is basically mush right now...

————

The first sound I heard upon waking up made me smile before I’d even opened my eyes. Bee’s beeps and squeals were moving around the room at a frantic pace.

“Thank you, Bee,” I groaned, “I got it from here.”

As it was every morning, Poe’s arms were locked tightly around my waist. It was of great difficulty turning myself around so I could face him. He hadn’t moved a muscle through Bee’s wake-up call and didn’t show any sign of changing that. I rolled over onto his torso and finally got a groggy moan out of him.

“Good morning, birthday boy,” I greeted him in a singsong tone, propping my chin up on his chest.

Poe rubbed a hand over his face and opened his bleary eyes, focusing them on me. “What if the birthday boy wanted to sleep?”

“As willing as I am to grant any and all wishes today, that one is a no-go,” I replied sweetly, tapping him on the nose lightly, “We’ve gotta haul ass if we’re going to make the most of a rare day off.”

I began to roll towards the edge of the bed but was apprehended. Poe pulled me back into his arms and maneuvered me to straddle him in one smooth motion. His hands found their way up his shirt I was wearing and rubbed circles into my back, sending a shiver through my body.

“I’ve actually got other plans for our asses at the moment,” he said, his gruff morning voice and suggestively raised brow making it nearly impossible to deny him, “Ten minutes tops.”

“You and I both know neither of us does ‘ten minutes tops’, Dameron,” I said, trying my best to ignore his hands wandering south and failing as a soft moan escaped me. “But I did say I was granting wishes today.”

Poe lazily smiled up at me as I slid my hands up his smooth chest and lowered my lips to his. He took me by surprise and flipped me over so I was trapped underneath him, the two us laughing into the kisses that followed…

————

A significant amount of time more than ten minutes later, Poe and I were far from Ajan Kloss in the cockpit of his new X-Wing. Ever since we’d planned where to spend his birthday, I’d been dreading the destination we were fast approaching. But there was no chance of me ruining the day with ghosts from the past.

“Coming out of hyperspace,” Poe reported as he performed the action, bringing us face to face with the planet. A shiver of panic ran through me as my blood ran cold. The blue waters only reminded me of blue blades clashing in a fit of desperation and rage. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah,” I said firmly, trying to feel as confidant as I sounded, “I’ll be fine, there’s no way I’d miss this.”

Poe hummed in disbelief but kept us on course, steering us towards a greener portion of the menacing planet. I tried to center myself, I wanted to be fully in the moment for the day. It was too important to Poe and I’d been looking forward to it ever since we’d started dating. Anxiety ran through me again as we flew above the greenery, memories of wandering aimlessly above trees flooding my mind. As we got closer to our destination though, my stress began to lessen as the excitement set in.

Eventually, we were landing in a large clearing of land near a small house. I was the first to pop out of the cockpit and make it down the ladder with Poe following close behind. Our feet had barely touched the ground before a figure emerged out the front door of the house and made a gentle sprint towards us. Poe left my side to jog over to meet him, the two of them embracing upon collision and laughing joyfully. I watched from a distance, beaming as I watched the reunion between father and son.

Poe kept an arm on Kes as he gestured for me to come join them, “Dad, this is Y/n.”

Kes Dameron was, I had a feeling, the spitting image of Poe in thirty years. They could have passed for brothers with a significant age difference. As soon as I made it over, I was pulled into a warm hug. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally meet you, Y/n,” he said over my shoulder, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You as well,” I returned as we pulled back to get a look at each other, “Poe’s told me such wonderful things about you.”

“However many times he’s brought me up, I can promise you,” Kes said, his eyes flicking to his son briefly, “It’s nothing close to the number of times I’ve heard about the captivating Y/n Solo.”

I smirked and turned around to face a very pink cheeked Poe, “Captivating, huh?”

He stammered, “I mean, I may have used it once…”

Kes’ chest rumbled with laughter as he patted my back, “Come inside and I promise to embarrass him some more.”

He pulled me under one arm and his son under the other and we made our way into the Dameron homestead. It seemed that I stood to finally leave Yavin 4 with some pleasant memories…

————

We’d spent our day catching Kes up on our lives, it had been a while since Poe had last visited so there was a lot to fill him in on. The former comrade of my family gave me his sincerest condolences over the losses of Dad and Uncle Luke. It was so strange to think of my family and Poe’s having known each other, like there’d been a decades old string connecting the two of us together. Kes regaled us with stories from his days as a soldier and we told him a few of ours. I shared more than Poe, it was clear he didn’t want to worry his father too much with his particular brand of reckless. Kes eventually caught the lightsaber hooked to my belt and asked about my training. 

“Before you leave, you have to go out to the backyard,” he said, “Your uncle gifted us with a Force after the war, someone like you needs to experience it.”

Once the skies darkened and we sat around the dinner table, Kes made good on his promise to embarrass my loving boyfriend.

“So Shara and I come running into the backyard and there he is,” Kes slapped his son’s shoulder, “Cockpit closed, lifting the damn ship into the air!”

I had my napkin covering my mouth as I laughed uncontrollably, the image of Poe as a child giving his parents a heart attack was completely believable. “Had he ever been up before?”

“Only with Shara and she never let him touch the controls,” Kes replied with a laugh, “He’d watched her enough times to know how to get it off the ground.”

Poe was a sport about each story from his early years, defending himself occasionally, though very few of them left him with an opportunity to do so. He’d been just as much trouble as a kid as he was now.

“I wish I could say I’m surprised,” I chuckled, “My dad never let me touch a thing on the Falcon until I was thirteen. And I didn’t fly her on my own for much longer.”

“Keep up, Solo,” Poe teased from across the table, “Some of us are doers.”

I smiled and shook my head at him, “I think you broke enough rules for the both of us in your younger days.”

“You calling me old?” Poe asked with a palm thrown over his heart in mock pain.

“Are you calling thirty three young?” I quipped back, swirling my wine in its glass, “I saw a couple gray hairs the other morning I didn’t tell you about.”

Poe’s cocky expression faltered briefly as his eyes widened before returning to normal, “You’re lying.”

Kes and I caught each other’s eye and shared a sly smile, both choosing to take a sip of our alcohol and leave Poe in suspicion. His confident exterior was broken by the tentative hand that ran through his jet black curls.

I’d convinced the two Dameron men to let me clean up after dinner so that they could spend some uninterrupted time together. They didn’t get to talk as much as either of them wished, that was a reality of war. Some went months without speaking to their loved ones. I felt unbelievably lucky that my mother was only a few minutes away at any given time of the day.

As I’d finished, Kes and Poe entered the kitchen. Seeing them side by side, it truly was astonishing how similar they looked.

“I think I’m going to head to bed and let you two have some time to yourself,” Kes announced, patting Poe on the back before making his way over to me, “I’ll be up early tomorrow so I can see you off.”

He wrapped me in a fatherly hug and I sunk into it, I couldn’t remember someone as quick to welcome me into their life as Kes Dameron. In a single day he had practically initiated me into the family as one of his own. Though nothing could ever replace the holes left by the fathers I’d lost, it was comforting to be around a dad again.

We bid our goodnights and with Bee charging in our room, it was just Poe and I left. He slung an arm around my neck and I laced my fingers with his as we walked back to the living room.

“So have you had a good birthday?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Poe laughed under his breath, “Are you kidding? This whole day has been perfect. And Dad loves you…”

“I love him,” I replied as we made our way to the sofa, “But I feel bad for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Judging from his stories, the poor man has spent every day worrying about you since you were in diapers,” I answered as Poe fell back on the couch, keeping our hands locked.

“Every parent worries,” Poe stated plainly, “Are you saying you never worried Leia and your dad as a kid?”

“I didn’t pull half the shit that you did,” I chuckled, “I hope that particular Dameron gene doesn’t carry over to our kids.”

As soon as the words had left me, I wished I could have retracted them. Poe’s eyes eyebrows lifted in surprise as he gripped my hand. “Our whats?”

“Our…nothings,” I scrambled for a sufficient denial, “I said nothing.”

“No, you said-“

“No I didn’t,” I faked a yawn and attempted to pull my hand away, “It’s late and we have to leave early so we should get to bed.”

Poe tugged me by the hand so that I had no choice but to land next to him on the couch, “Oh no, I want to hear about these kids we’re having.” 

My cheeks felt red hot to the touch as I rubbed my free hand over them and groaned. While I’d thought of mine and Poe’s future in daydreams, we’d never actually talked about it. Why should we? We’d only been together for five months. Even if we’d practically been a couple before that, it felt like a conversation for further down the line.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Poe pulled me closer and wrapped an arm around me, I settled against his chest and prayed that he let the subject go. “Well, if it’s nothing then it shouldn’t be so hard to talk about.”

“I just think about what our lives might look like after the war sometimes,” I explained timidly, fiddling with a loose thread on the sweater I wore, “We could retire somewhere like here, build a house…”

“Sounds nice," Poe said, “We’re married in this scenario, right?”

I looked up at him and caught the mischievous gleam in his eye, “I don’t know, are we?”

Poe shut his eyes and nodded, “Oh, definitely.”

“Alright,” I smiled, trying to hide my glee at the thought, “We’re married, living in our house on a planet we’ll decide on later and the war is over.”

“Sounds perfect,” he replied, rubbing his thumb back and forth against my shoulder, “And our army of kids are wrecking all sorts of havoc in the backyard.”

My body shot up at his words and I stared down at him, “Who said anything about an army?”

“I think we should have at least ten,” Poe answered so straight faced that I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not, “We could totally handle it.”

“Says the man who’s job in the child making process takes ten minutes. Who do you think’s giving birth to these ten children?” I shrieked, sending him clutching his chest and into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, fine,” he finally said after regaining his composure, “Ten’s not the magic number. But can we agree that it’s higher than two?”

I grabbed the two fingers he was holding up and settled back against his chest, “Agreed.”

“So we have an undetermined number of kids waving around lightsabers and trying to fly their old man’s X-Wing.”

“No,” I strongly objected, “No lightsabers or piloting till they’re old enough.”

“C’mon, we both know that at least one of them is going to be a Jedi considering your family. Might as well start them young.”

Of course there was no guarantee but it was safe to assume that yes, at least one of our kids would probably be Force sensitive. “Well, I hope at least one of them takes after you. I don’t think I could handle more than one little Padawan running around using the Force to throw things at their sibling’s heads.”

Poe snorted, “Knowing us, they’ll be a handful. But they’ll be great.”

“Damn right they will,” I agreed, rubbing a hand over Poe’s chest as I tried to conjure up an image of our children in my mind, “They’ll probably have your hair.”

“And your y/e/c eyes.”

“They’ll run their mouths like you.”

“But be the first to protect their family like you.”

“They’ll be reckless.”

“They’ll be stubborn,” Poe stated before inhaling deeply, “The galaxy better watch out, the Solo-Dameron-Organa-Kenobi kids will be unstoppable.”

“Okay, we’re definitely gonna have to drop a few names,” I made note of.

“I disagree, I think it conveys strength,” Poe objected, stroking a hand up and down my arm, “Hey, I’ve got a question.”

I hummed for him to continue, “How come you don’t add Kenobi to your name?”

We’d had so many conversations about my fateful visit to Ahch-To, but my family’s name was a sore spot that I hadn’t talked to him about yet. I had no way of finding out my father’s last name or if my grandmother had given my mother her last name of Kryze. Kenobi was the only name I could claim. “I thought about it but it’s not safe,” I answered quietly, “If it got out that I was the granddaughter of Obi-Wan, everyone in the galaxy would be after me even more than they already are. Believe me, I wish I could but it’s not realistic.” 


Poe squeezed me tighter on hearing my explanation, not saying a word because there was really nothing to say. Neither of us could change the fact that I was a wanted woman. Nevertheless, it killed a part of me to not be able to take pride in bearing both of my family’s names.

“So I’m guessing you’ve thought about our future too considering how many details you’ve been providing?” I asked in an attempt to lighten the mood of the conversation.

“Maybe once in a while…” he teased, “On long fights back to base or sometimes before falling asleep at night. It gives me something extra to fight for on the tough days.”

I traced the sharp outline of his jaw as I watched him speak. The thought of Poe flying his X-Wing with one of our kids on his lap or me teaching one of them how to levitate objects made my heart beat fast in excitement. But for every dream I had, there was an equal amount of doubt. I knew that the reality of our lives were that even after the war, we’d probably never have a peaceful existence. And if I shifted the focus to myself, I held my own fears about raising children.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s even a good idea though…” I admitted, lowering my gaze, “I’ve never had any sense of normalcy in my life, I doubt I’d know how to provide it for our kids.”

“Normal is overrated, and are you kidding me? You’d be the best mom in the galaxy,” Poe said, pecking my hair softly before stroking his hand over it, “We’ll make all of it happen, might take a while but the Damerons will have their day.”

“The Damerons…” I repeated back to him, a smile spreading across my face, “I like that.”

We laid there in the quiet a while longer, soaking in the peaceful silence before our lives descended back into chaos. The one day leave for Poe’s birthday had been a gift to both of us, a 24 hour oasis in the midst of the raging storm we were caught in. We spent our days strategizing, fighting in the skies and undergoing intense training. But here we could just be…soft. We could be what we would’ve been had there been no war. I fell asleep that night on Poe’s chest, dreaming of a free galaxy and curly haired children chasing playing with BB-8 as Poe and I watched.

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Kes hadn’t exaggerated, the Force tree my uncle had gifted him and Shara was extraordinary. I didn’t even have to try to feel connected to the Force, the second I’d stepped foot in the backyard it had overwhelmed me. There wasn’t enough time for me to properly meditate underneath it, but I still used the little time I had left to center myself. I could feel the Force flowing through every part of me, it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

“I’m glad you got to see it,” Kes’ voice called from behind me, “It’s something special.”

“Sure is,” I agreed, opening my eyes but still unable to turn away from it, “Is Poe done checking the ship?”

Kes came to stand next to me, admiring the tree too, “Almost, he sent me to come get you but you take all the time you want.”

“I wish I could,” I smiled sadly, finally turning to face the man, “But we can’t be late getting back to base. There’s so much going on, we’re lucky we got a full day off. Well, I don’t need to explain wartime to you…”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re talking about. I saw my share of action during the Rebellion…” Kes paused, staring off into the distance as he relived a decades old memory. He snapped back after a few seconds, shaking his head and returning his gaze to me, “Well, I’m just glad I got to see the two of you for however long I could. I worry about both of you.”

“You worry about me?” I asked with a quirk of my lips.

Kes’ expression shifted further into its somberness, “Of course I do. I know how dangerous war is but I also know how dangerous it is to be in love during war. There wasn’t a day during the Rebellion where I wasn’t worried about losing Shara. I know both of you know that feeling well.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment. The thought of something happening to Poe was quick to make me emotional.


“I’ve lost the love of my life, the last thing I want is for either of you to have to go through that. The two of you…You’ve got something very few people are lucky enough to find. Something that deserves to live on long after this war is over.”

There didn’t seem to be a right thing to say in response. Poe and I’s worry for one another never waned, it was like a constant white noise in both our minds. There was no guarantee of seeing the next day during war. It was a reality we lived with every day whether tucked away in base or on mission off world. How many couples were casualties of war? Too many to count, my parents having been one of them. But the belief that Poe and I wouldn’t lose each other was something I clung to each day. The future we both fought for was one where we didn’t have to worry about losing one another.

“It’s a constant fear, losing him,” I mused as I stared out at the clear sky, watching the rising sun, “But I don’t regret being with him, not for a second. He’s worth all of it.”

“I know he feels the same way,” Kes smiled softly and patted my arm, “From what Poe has told me, you’ve pulled your share of stunts.”

I swiveled back to face Kes and raised a finger, “If he’s talking about what happened above Batuu, I’d like to play up the fact that I took out eight TIE’s singlehandedly.”

The former rebel soldier cocked an eyebrow, “Impressive, but no…He told me about Crait.”

“Crait…” I sighed, finding the ground much more interesting to look at.

“Even before he told me I’d heard about it. You were the talk of the city and I imagine everywhere else.”

“Yeah, apparently news travels fast…”

Crait seemed like a lifetime ago. It was no longer the actual fight between Ren and I that bothered me, though I’d admit to still questioning why he hadn’t killed me occasionally. It was the legend status I’d achieved without trying to. The over exaggerated tale of my heroics had spread across the galaxy quicker than I knew what to do with. Not only was I one of, if not the, most wanted woman in the galaxy but even the Resistance had begun treating me differently. Seemingly everyone except my mother and friends treated me as if I was some deity. I was glad no one else knew about my being a Kenobi or the attention would become too much to handle.

“I hope you’ll see that more as a symbol of what I’m willing to do for the cause rather than my personality. What I’m willing to do to protect the people I love,” I said, staring at him with all the conviction in the world, “That includes Poe.”

“I know, and that dedication is what makes the Resistance, and Poe, lucky to have someone like you.”

I could hear Bee’s squeals, only making out my name and knowing that we needed to head out. Kes and I turned to each other regretfully before he put an arm around my shoulders and we began to make our way out of the backyard. I turned my head to get one more look at the Force tree and silently promised myself that the next time I came, I’d spend a proper amount of time underneath it.

Poe was beginning to load Bee into the X-Wing when Kes and I rounded the corner of the house. Even though we were headed back to base where as soon as we landed we’d be thrown back into our responsibilities, he still looked relaxed. He hadn’t put on his commander’s hat yet and was simply Poe Dameron at home with the people he loved. He reminded me of the day I’d gotten back from my last stay with Dad, when we’d flown back from the transport station. We’d both been so carefree and at ease and I’d wished then what I was wishing now…for the war to be over.

“Any more Poe stories you want to send me off with?” I jokingly asked Kes, we were still far enough away that Poe wouldn’t hear me.

“There was one I wanted you to hear, he’d never forgive me if I told him but…” Kes chuckled and waved his hand dismissively, bringing our walk to a halt. “It was the day he arrived at the Resistance base. We’d talked after Leia recruited him about how excited he was about having command of his own fighting wing, meeting the other pilots…Pretty much everything he spoke about had something to do with an X-Wing. That night he called me and you could’ve paid him any amount of credits to talk about anything flying related and he wouldn’t have cared. The first thing he said to me after ‘Yeah, everything’s fine’ was ‘I’m pretty sure I met my future wife today.’ And for the rest of the call, not one mention of any ship. Just about this girl who had shown him around base and ate dinner with him and who he tried to be extra funny around just to make her smile. I made sure to make note of what he was saying so once I finally got to meet this Y/n he spoke so highly of, I could tell her that there hasn’t been one day that boy’s known you where he hasn’t been in love with you.”

My grin was practically idiotic by the time he’d finished telling his story. Poe had only mentioned that he’d fallen for me the first day we’d met and he’d never mentioned anything about telling Kes about me. I gazed over at Poe, standing atop the ladder next to his ship and my heart swelled. Just as it did when he returned home from a mission and we’d embrace outside of his ship. Or when we’d climb into bed together at the end of a long day and his arms would instinctively wrap around me. Or when I’d work late nights in the command center and he’d send Bee in with a sweet note stuck to the droid’s body. I didn’t think it was possible to fall any more in love with him, but every day he showed me it was. He spotted us and waved me and his dad over. After a tearful goodbye with Kes, Poe and I were on our way back to base.

When we were in hyperspace, I tilted my head to press a kiss to the side of Poe’s mouth. He smiled at me, “What was that for?”

“I just love you,” I shrugged.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I love you too,” he replied, taking my chin between two of his fingers and locking our lips together.

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A/N: I’ve been getting notifications every few days that people have been liking chapters which causes me to skim over some of them. I really can’t believe I started this series back in May as a way of coping with quarantine boredom and here we are six months later and I can see the end in the distance. I’m so glad that you guys enjoy it and it can distract you from the nightmare that is this year for just a few minutes. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this one! Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers!! 🦃🦃🦃

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[mrs-nate-humphrey]

you’ve talked a little bit about this wrt dan, but i’m curious: what are your favorite seasons/arcs for the main gg characters? (serena, blair, dan, nate, jenny, vanessa) cause everyone’s personalities tended to uh, shift a bit from season to season and storyline to storyline, and i’m wondering which eras of those characters were your favorite?

oh, so i sat on this question for a very long time, and spent a ton of time thinking over it. here we go! 

i loved the way serena was written in s1 and s2. she was so full of joy despite all the difficult things she’d endured, so bubbly and warm and... lively is ALWAYS the adjective that comes to mind for serena, despite how it’s a terrible pun. but yeah! she had an energy to her that was very childlike & genuine, and i loved that about her - despite the things she’d endured, she was so full of light (?? how do i describe this.) i know that serena’s arc gets notably more tragic s3 onwards, but i feel like the way she was written lost a bit of depth s3 onwards as well. she had a sharp wit, and a good sense of humour, she was playful and... most notably, she had this little giggle? that she literally NEVER does in the later seasons, which makes me sad?? she stopped laughing like a child at the age of, what, 19?? idk. in s1 & s2 serena had so many layers, and i feel like as the seasons went on they tried to, uh. keep only the surface layers? they didn’t really do justice to the character they started out with.

my answer for vanessa is actually the exact same, with slight modifications. vanessa’s energy in s1 and s2 was unparalleled. literally the best. i loved her and the way she was critical of everything and YET so ready to learn. compared to all these rich, privileged, white people... her presence was just SO good and so important to me, because the way she was so critical of the uber rich was something nobody else really was, and i think that perspective WAS valuable and should’ve remained, haha. idk what it was about s3, but i feel like they didn’t keep the crux of who vanessa was? it wasn’t a BAD vanessa season as much as an incomplete one. i felt they could’ve done so much more with a character like vanessa.... she’s so vibrant and full of life! and the way s3 was for her was very surface. and then in s4 they just demolished her character entirely. i’ve said it before, i’ll say it again: what jenny, juliet and vanessa did in 4x09 was TOTALLY out of character for vanessa. she would never, ever do that. and by the time s4 came around... someone else said this, i don’t remember who. but they said that vanessa was basically being used as a plot device more than as a character. notice how she’s always in the right place at the right time to overhear the right thing? it’s a travesty, because vanessa was just..... so significant to me. like her being there added so much value & even changed the tone of the show imo.

my blair feelings are very complicated. i think she’s fascinating, and i love leighton & her performance. i love book blair so much more than show blair, and idk why or how to explain it. i mentioned this in that post where i ranked the characters, but while watching blair in high school specifically i can’t EVER forget that she would probably hatecrime me, and even when she’s out of school she is still supremely racist at times. i actually liked blair best in s5 - and i know she was going thru ~tragic~ stuff (i think they dialled the tragedy too high actually, like, blair had TOO MUCH on her plate and from a storytelling point of view it was... ambitious, to say the least, to hope to bring all out of that out on tv) but like, keeping her tragedy aside. her capacity for kindness and care really shone thru while she was with dan, and i liked how the d/b relationship took her out of her comfort zone and her “but im a Waldorf!” bubble and let her, idk, be a person. i liked her in s4, too. i feel like blair is a really good, nuanced, fleshed out character as blair, and the way she clung to being a waldorf combined with her rich-white-girl privilege got kind of boring after a while because like. she’s not like louis? her character has so much depth. her character doesn’t need to be reduced to a title, because she’s SO much more than that.

i feel like i need to do a lot more rewatching when it comes to dan because i CANNOT be objective about him. he reminds me far too much of myself!!! down to his flaws and his mistakes and his issues –  i was a precocious little shit in high school at times in very similar ways to dan, i like to think i’ve grown out of that (& am perpetually making an effort TO grow out of falling into those patterns) & that’s what i want for dan, too. dan’s arc feels real to me, because a lot of it is my arc, too. feeling lonely, out of place & unaccepted in high school --> being a popular kid in college… that hits really close to home. s1 & s2 are important seasons to me because i’m extremely protective of awkward, trying-his-best high school dan (he can be awful at times, but he can be earnest and sincere, too!) i feel like s4 is actually the best dan season – took me a while to get here, but halfway thru my s2 rewatch that’s how i’m leaning. but dan’s arc was very interesting to me, and i wish they’d kept his heart. trying to retcon him as evil fell absolutely flat to me, like. who are you convincing! one of my friends and i were joking about how georgie blackmailed dan into pretending to be gossip girl (she obviously has dirt on him that nobody else does.) anyway. dan’s arc felt pretty true until the end of s4. i wasn’t a big fan of how he was written in s5, i felt like something had been taken away from his character, but i don’t know how to say it better. you’re right though, i have gone over this a lot! so i’m not going to break my head over it, ‘cause we’re already a thousand words in and i still have nate and jenny to go.

speaking of jenny, though: i think dan’s storylines REALLY needed more of a big brother arc. the way he was characterised, especially in s1, was very “i would kill a man for my baby sister” and i have NO idea where that went or why they got rid of it. (actually, i do have some idea. fucking chip wiskers apologism & elevation of chair over literally anything else. sigh)

okay, now speaking of jenny in terms of jenny. i liked her s1 arc, like, her trying to make friends with these people & trying to keep her morals and realising she can’t do both was interesting. i think that should’ve been that with her clashes with girls in constance, though. and afterwards, either nothing happens, or she transfers out of constance, etc. jenny’s s2 arc makes me sad – she was exploited and treated like dirt in so many ways :( the jenny/agnes was interesting in s2, though, and there’s no way to interpret it that ISN’T lesbian. i’ve always felt like jenny’s feelings for nate in s2 are very comphet. jenny’s s3 arc made me even sadder than her s2 arc- she was alienating all her friends one by one, making everyone hate her, and just…… spiralling. she really needed a better support system. her s4 arc made no sense. like. why did she come back in the city to fuck with serena like that? it didn’t feel right.

yeah, all that said… i feel like there are many super intriguing elements of jenny’s storylines and arcs, like, even within canon events if things had been executed differently, it could’ve been actually good/empowering. but the writers hated jenny. and this show was never a feminist show.

ah, so… nate. he started out as a flake in s1 & s2. that’s his whole thing. he doesn’t know who he wants to be / how to get what he wants / how to get where he wants. he takes people for granted. he isn’t dependable or reliable, he lets people down (most notably, blair & vanessa.) and he means well, sure! but his life is like amber and he’s trapped in it. he doesn’t follow his heart, he’s too busy trying to please the wrong people, etc etc. in s3 he’s suddenly so ready for commitment, which always breaks my heart because vanessa!!! but anyway. s3 has a shift in his character, possibly him getting dumped at prom and realising that high school is over and one thing that tethered him to his family (being a kid, being a high schooler, being a minor, whatever) –  one big thing that held him there is gone. so it makes sense that he starts trying to be his own person. i like s3 nate, and s4 nate. we see nate sort of gradually try and be a moral compass, and it’s interesting to me. when i write d/n fic something i really focus on is dan finding nate dependable, and i think that’s a value that builds in nate over time. nate of season 1 is not dependable, nope, no way. but nate of s4 seems like a decent friend to have. in s5 and s6 they more or less threw his entire arc to the wind and gave him so many shitty storylines (sage spence, wtf? nate would not do this. he’s been on the opposite end of this before, he would not carry the pattern forward, ffs.)

idk. this almost hit 1.7k, LMAO. i hope it made some amount of sense!

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 4

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Summary: Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

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Rating: M

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Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

AO3

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A/N: Thank you @thisonesatellite​ for being the best beta I could ever ask for . And thank to all of you who are reading this.

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Chapter 4 . .

But I, being poor, 

have only my dreams; 

I have spread my dreams 

under your feet; 

tread softly because 

you tread on my dreams.

(W. B. Yeats)

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Days passed quietly. Emma and Henry went back to their usual mother-son relationship sooner than Killian had expected and he enjoyed all the domestic moments with them. Especially at night. Not that he didn’t care about the boy, Henry was always a ray of sunshine, and Killian felt he was starting to bond with him deeper than he could have ever imagined. But at night, after Henry had gone to sleep, Emma always spent some time in the main cabin, sitting next to Killian: sometimes just staring silently at the starry sky, other times listening to him explaining all the different constellations they passed through, even though Killian wasn’t sure whether she was interested in his knowledge, or she was too well-mannered to stop his blathering. 

Emma Swan. This beautiful and somehow mysterious woman had invaded his life and had fascinated him since their very first meeting. 

More exactly, she had tormented his nights and thoughts from that moment on. A bittersweet obsession that had accompanied him for years. He had almost convinced himself that he was over her, during his reckless years with his friend Robin. But that wasn't entirely true, and he couldn't lie to himself. She used to appear in his dreams when he least expected and left a hollowing feeling in his soul for the rest of the following days whenever it happened as if he wasn’t entirely complete without her.

The night he had found her again, thanks to Henry, his heart had skipped a beat and he had known he was in trouble. But it was a cross he was willing to bear. It was not only a physical attraction he felt towards her, even though he couldn’t fool himself, she was a very good-looking woman; but he was also determined to discover every single detail of what she was, no matter the effort. From that moment on, he cherished every minute, every second spent with her.

When they finally arrived at their destination, permission to land on the new planet was easily granted. Nevertheless, the day was coming to an end and they decided it was better to sleep inside the ship in the hangar than to find an available place to spend the night. 

The next morning, from one of the lockers in the entrance of the spaceship, Killian retrieved the package that he needed to trade in exchange for the item he had to recover for his client.

It was still early and Killian was surprised to see Henry coming out of his cabin, still wearing pajamas. “Are you already going?” The boy asked him, trying to suppress a yawn.

“Aye, but I will be back soon.” He assured the lad.

Henry threw a glance at the closed door behind him and stepped closed to Killian. “Mom is still in the shower. May I ask you a favor?” He whispered, conspiratorial. 

Killian made a great effort not to linger on the thought of a naked Emma under the shower jet, he breathed deeply and concentrated on the boy in front of him. “Sure, lad.”

“Today is my mom’s birthday.”

“Is it, now?” Killian was both surprised and amused by this piece of information.

“Yes. We have this tradition, my mom and I,” the boy explained. “When it's my birthday she tries to celebrate it with a cake... or something… It's not always a big thing, I remember once we just had a couple of biscuits with frozen spicy cream on them.” After a small pause, he added, “mom doesn't want to make me worry, but I can see she’s in some kind of trouble. I’d like to make a little celebration for her this time. But she won't let me wander around an unknown planet all by myself.”

Killian nodded in understatement. “You want me to purchase something sweet for your mother.” 

“I know you have your job to do, but if it's not much of a problem, could you look for something?” He asked hopefully.

“Not a problem. At all.” 

Henry's grin widened. “Of course mom doesn’t have to know anything about it. And we are going to need a name!” 

“Come again?” Killian couldn’t follow the boy’s thoughts.

Henry extended a hand to shake with the man in front of him “Operation Candlelight is on!” He exclaimed. 

Killian chuckled and retrieved his hand just in time to see Emma appearing from another door, fully dressed for the day.

She was wearing a pair of stretched dark blue jeans and a thin white v-neck blouse with a skinny light brown leather vest over it. Her hair was still damped and Killian had to swallow a groan when his eyes followed a drop of water running down her cleavage. 

“Oh, Henry, you’re already awake.” She said surprised.

“I was just saying to your boy…” Killian came in help to a puzzled Henry, who wasn’t so quick in thinking of a good excuse why he was already out of bed. “I've heard there's a fair in town.” 

He turned to Henry “Maybe you and your mother could have a look while I’m attending my duties.” And then back to Emma “What do you say, Swan?”

The boy looked hesitantly at his mother. 

"I think it's a good idea," she agreed and was rewarded by a big grin on Henry's face.

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~·~·~·~

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.    The trade went smoothly as predicted, which gave Killian enough time to deal with the assignment that Henry had sent him on.

Finding something sweet to celebrate was more difficult than expected, it took him a few rounds through narrow streets and alleys and after asking a few passers-by for information, he finally found something that in his opinion could serve as dessert. But the hardest part was to discern the right thing to buy as Emma's present. Henry hadn’t mentioned anything about a gift, but Killian thought it could be the right excuse to surprise her.

The problem was that he had no clue what she would like. 

Killian tried to think about the time the two of them had spent together. All right, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to linger on the memories of their first encounter. And maybe it wasn’t good either to think about their second one. But since Henry entered his life things had changed. When the boy was in the same room with them, she seemed more relaxed, more condescending, less closed up inside her inner barriers. Killian would say she even seemed happier. 

And the moments shared at night in his cabin had been... well, some had been carefree and others had been intense, very intense. In the short amount of days they’d spent together, Killian had already revealed to Emma too much information about his past, something he had never done before with anyone, not even his best friend Robin. And that was alarming. He knew he had a soft spot for her, but to which extent? 

Bloody Hell, man, you’re so screwed-up! He said to himself. That Lady Swan is going to be the death of you. Killian sighed and passed a hand through his hair as if that simple gesture could be enough to clear up his mind. Swan. He thought and realized that he never asked her why she chose exactly this surname while changing her identity. He assumed that it had to mean something of significance to her. And there it was: the perfect idea for a gift.

When he went back on his spaceship it was already late evening and he found his guests sitting at the table in the entrance playing hologram chess. 

“Who's winning?” He asked, securing the locks of the main gate.

“Henry is a much better player than I am,” Emma admitted.

Killian took a seat next to her and whispered something in her ear. After that Emma studied the board. “Oh. That's an interesting move,” she exclaimed carrying out what Killian had just suggested.

“It's not fair. That's cheating.” Henry complained. 

“Come on, lad, your mother is at an evident disadvantage. Let me give her some advice.” But when Henry made an unsure face, “just this time?” Killian added winking at the boy.

“Ok...but only this once.” Henry surrendered.

Emma looked at them perplexed, sensing that something was brewing between them, but didn't ask for further explanations.

Dinner passed by telling how their days had gone. It was clear that Henry had enjoyed the fair quite a lot, especially some storytelling he’d had the opportunity to attend. “Have you ever been to the NTH-Confederates planets, Killian?”

The NTH-Confederates planets belonged to a very far galaxy and they were shrouded in layers of fabulous legends. Killian had always had problems discerning the truth from the myth, but he knew the large hand of The Industry had touched them somehow, and they had succumbed to it, dark times awaited those planets. “I've heard about them but never had the luck to land over there. From what I know, it's a very different place now than what it was in its glorious days.”

“This man, he told us of so many fantastic creatures he saw!”

“I wouldn't believe every word the storyteller said, kid. They are just stories.” Emma tried to rationalize.

“Yeah. I suppose. But it would be cool if a place like that actually existed.”

“One can always dream about marvelous lands and wish they exist, right? Talking about dreams and wishes…” but Killian didn’t finish his sentence, he stood up from the table and went to rummage in some of the kitchenette lockers. When he turned to face his guests, he was holding a sort of a brown whole cupcake with colorful cream and a single lighted candle on top. He deposited it in front of an astonished Emma with a grin on his face, and he sat down again on his chair. “Sorry, it was the only sweet food I’ve found on this planet.” He said apologetically.

“Killian...?” Emma started to say, but Henry was faster: “It's perfect!” The boy was wearing a matching grin to the man in front of her. 

“How...? What does it mean?” Was the only thing she was able to put into words.

“Well, some fleeting rumor told me that today is some sort of anniversary. Correct me if I’m wrong.” Killian explained. Before she could answer him, he lifted a hand to stop her.  “Before blowing out the candle, don't forget to make a wish!”

She looked up at her son, then at Killian for a brief moment, then she closed her eyes. When she opened them again there was resolution and something Killian identified as hope in them. She blew out and the candle went off.

Cheers and applause rang out. Henry was glowing, hugging his mother fiercely, while Killian smacked his forehead, as if he was suddenly remembering something, and then he retrieved a little package from one of his pockets. He offered it to a puzzled Emma. 

She extricated herself from her son's arms and took the wrapped item Killian was giving to her. “What is this?” She asked cautiously. 

“Customarily, a surprise is part of the fun of gift-giving.” He answered smiling. “Open it.” He urged her. 

Opening the paper wrapping Emma found a small dark swan pendant made of polished meteorite rock.  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered with shiny eyes, close to tears.

.

.

~·~·~·~

.

.

Later that night, Killian was resting on his hammock with his arms behind his head. The door opened and closed and Emma entered his cabin as she had always done the last few nights while they were flying. But tonight was a bit different. He wasn't sitting at the controls, but already lying on his bed.

She approached him with a serious look.

“Everything alright, Swan?” He asked as she stepped closer biting her lower lip.

She seemed to consider the situation for a few seconds before climbing into the hammock and lying next to him: her head on his chest and an arm resting across his torso. “Thank you.” She spoke so quietly that Killian wasn’t even sure he had heard correctly.

He didn’t know how to react, he felt paralyzed. But when it seemed she was feeling comfortable with the proximity, he put his left arm around her back and released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

They spent a few moments like that, neither of them wanted to break the spell of silence. Killian’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Of all the questions he would have liked to make her, to help him solve the puzzle this incredible woman represented, one came out of his mouth without really thinking about it “What happened the day we met? I mean after I left.”

She kept quiet for a few minutes, and he began to believe that she was in no mood to speak, but then she started with a soft voice almost audible: “Just after you left the room, that man, Neal Cassidy, he entered declaring that it was his right to… you know. He just wanted the reward money. I haven’t heard from him since. He’s probably not interested in his son at all. He just used me for his benefits.”

Killian clenched his jaw; if he had that Cassidy guy in front of him right now he would have punched him in the face. “Did he hurt you?” He asked, trying to control his rage.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly an expert in that matter, given that I was raised in strict privacy and all.” She sighed. “I knew I had to relax, but my mind wasn’t on the same path as my good intentions. So I’m not sure it was entirely his fault.”

“Son of a bitch.” Killian couldn't repress a curse. 

“If it makes you feel any better, that wasn’t even the worst day of my life.” She stated. “The night you found me on the shore… I was so furious with you. I went back to the Palace to talk with my lawyers, to see if I could banish you from the planet, or put you in jail, or something like that. But it was late and I didn’t find anyone in their office. What I did find were some papers about me, ready to be signed. You were right. The King and Queen of New-Tolemac wanted full authority on my child, they weren’t interested in me or my future.” 

“I should apologize for the horrible things I said to you that night.”

“Don’t. At least you were the only one who never lied to me.” Her gaze seemed lost in the memory of those days. “I also found a document, an old one. I discovered I was adopted, or rather, I was sold. My real parents gave me away when I was only a few days old. They probably needed some money and they used me, as so many others did.”

After a small pause, she added: “Henry is the only person in my life that cares about me for who I am.”

“I never intended to use you.” Killian assured, but he soon corrected himself: “All right, maybe I did. But that was before meeting you.”

She seemed to ponder her next words. “I know. This is why I told your name to my son when he first asked me about his father.” 

“If there's anything I can do for you…” She had told him the night Henry entered his life. 

But Killian dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “No problem.”

“Thank you for bringing him home.” Her tone was genuinely thankful.

“It was the right thing to do.” And when she didn't reply he felt it was the moment to say goodbye. 

He started stepping back but suddenly stopped and turned around facing her again. “Uh... now that I think about it. There is a thing you could do for me.” He tilted his head arching an inquiring eyebrow. “I have one question,” he said, emphasizing his words lifting one of his fingers, “why does your boy believe that I'm his father?” 

At those words, she lifted her gaze to look straight into his eyes. “I wanted Henry to believe his father was a good man.” Emma had answered, staring at him with sincerity before entering her house and closing the door behind her. 

.

[ashketchup119]

Musicality

Ok I LOVE this story!! I made a whole story based off a lil convo @jemtoka and I had, and I made oc’s based off each of us and went to town. It was very fun to write, and I got to combine my music knowledge with my writing skills.

Enjoy!

When Benji had first set out to find the ghost of Beethoven, he wasn’t actually sure that he’d be able to do it. His brother had once called him “all bite and no bark”, a reference to the fact that out of the four brothers, Benji had been the only one to not outgrow his infant habit of biting things- or people- when stressed. But in this situation, he definitely felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

He absentmindedly chewed on his chewing necklace as he drafted a grant proposal with his friend, Mujika. Muji was drawing in a notebook, something for his art classes, though he looked up when prompted to review the words that had appeared on Benji’s screen. Muji had done his fair share of research, and though he did want to help with the writing of the research paper, it had been agreed that Benji was the more… academic writer. The two of them had met through social media a couple of years ago, and once they’d started direct messaging, had become close friends quickly through a mesh of shared interests, similar humor, and a half-baked scheme to take over the world.

Which led them here, to a table in the back of a 24-hour McDonalds, Benji chewing the head off a stiff chewable bat pendant and Muji using his nocturnal tendencies to do things like “make sure his friend drank water and didn’t forget that he was a person.”

“Fo you fink ish bit avou duh Immoruhl Bewuved ith done? Ish kinda duh hoh vashis of arr puhposal so…” Benji trailed off, jaw absentmindedly moving over the poor bat, whose head was holding on by sheer force of will to the rest of its body.

“What?” Muji asked. He did not speak bat-in-mouth.

Benji pulled the pendant out of his mouth with an audible pop. “Y’think this bit about the Immortal Beloved is finished? It’s like, the whole basis of our proposal n shit.”

He turned the laptop towards Muji, who closed his notebook, set it to the side, and pulled the laptop in front of him. He read it quietly, and Benji began to tap out the beat to the song playing on low volume in his earbuds. He began to hum, too, murmuring lyrics under his breath as he stared off into the distance.

“I think it looks good.” Muji finally replied, turning the laptop back toward Benji and grabbing his notebook again. “I can’t think of anything else we could add to that section.”

Benji gave a little half shrug. “I guess you’re right.”

The two of them once again worked in solitude, only broken by Benji ordering fries at about 1 AM. At 3, they decided to call it quits, though Benji seemed more wired than ever and voiced some apprehension about “going to sleep when there’s so much work to be done, Muji!” Muji chastised him slightly and promised that they could come back the next day- or rather, later that day- to finish up. There were only slight revisions to be done, then it could be sent off to the Music Master Scholars, an organization dedicated to the care and keeping of the ghosts widely considered Music Masters, which included household names like Mozart and Beethoven, but also lesser-known composers like Joseph Bologne and Francesca Caccini.

Ghosts were, of course, a commonplace occurrence, though one could theoretically live their life without interacting with one. That was rare, though; ghosts had a tendency to wander, though they could only appear in places that held significance to them in life and graveyards, but even living in a house increased the average person’s chances of encountering a ghost exponentially.

But these ghosts were special, because of the knowledge they possessed and the lives they’d lead. The Music Master Scholars were the only people in the world who both knew and had access to the location of every ghost, and to join their ranks, one had to find the location of one of the ‘hidden’ Music Masters- of which Beethoven was the most hidden. Their non-administrative members were unknown, but said to be most, if not all, of the foremost music scholars in the world. How could they not be, with the Masters themselves guiding their research?

Benji and Muji really, really wanted to be Music Master Scholars.

When he was 10, Benji had been given some sort of “young musician” scholarship to visit Europe for a month. He was a double bassist, a dying breed in the modern age, and the fact that he had progressed from monotonic exercises to Baroque sinfonias in the span of four months had impressed his teachers.

His parents had gone along, too, mostly because they knew their child, and Benji did have a propensity to get into trouble. Devil’s luck, his mother had tsked, and that had been that.

He’d managed to escape the group in the middle of a museum, though he didn’t wander far. He just wanted to look at everything without feeling like people were constantly breathing down his neck.

Well. HE didn’t consider “the park near the museum” to be far. His parents did, though, he found out later.

At the park, he found a man. Well, not a man. A ghost. The ghost was staring wistfully at the museum in the distance, and started when he noticed a small child staring at him.

“Hi! Who are you?” Benji asked, clutching the stuffed animal his parents had gotten him at another museum the day before.

The ghost cleared his throat. “I’m uh…” He started in a raspy voice before pausing and clearing his throat again. “I’m,” He sighed. “I’m Johannes Brahms.”

“Yo-hahn Brahmzzzz.” Benji repeated, drawing out the last “s” sound. “Oh! You did music, right?”

Brahms smiled slightly, and nodded.

The two of them talked for a while before Benji’s parents arrived, harried and frustrated. They apologized profusely to the ghost, who insisted it hadn’t been a problem.

The whole experience left Benji starry-eyed, and with the help of a friend he’d made in Germany, he would call and converse with Brahms for hours, asking about counterpoint and meaning and technique and just in general picking his mind. The composer took this with grace, and seemed more than happy to answer the young musician’s questions. When he’d told Benji about the Scholars, Benji had immediately decided that he was going to be a Music Master Scholar.

Muji had played violin until he’d dropped out of high school to take care of his mom, and hadn’t resumed it until after him and Benji had been talking for a while. He didn’t know much about composition, but he loved music history, and after getting his GED and enrolling in college, had even majored in it. Plus, he just kinda just thought the whole thing was cool.

They’d been researching for a year and a half, with pointers from Brahms, and tips from a professor Benji’d had two years ago, a Classical scholar named Dr. Chang. Benji had once emailed her and asked, point-blank, if she was a Music Master Scholar, but she’d only sent back a cryptic winky face emoji in response.

The next day, after three more hours of sitting in McDonalds, revising the proposal (most of which was Muji saying “Benji it looks fine!” and Benji responding with “No, no, this comma in paragraph seven just makes it sound better! Ties it all together, don’t you think?”), it was sent off in an email, and Benji resolved not to think about it while Muji resolved to mention it at the most inopportune moments, just to mess with his friend a little.

They were approved a month later, and three months after that day at McDonalds, they were sitting on a plane heading to Austria, Benji mouthing practice phrases in German as Muji slept. They had about a month to traipse all over Europe in search of a ghost very few people had been able to find, and they were excited to start.

The first week was spent in Austria, visiting Beethoven’s own grave (a nonstarter; the ghosts there hadn’t seen Beethoven since he was buried, and none knew where he’d gone), his childhood home and the area surrounding.

Nothing.

The second week was spent in Vienna. There, they visited the ghost of Mozart, who was a fidgety, flighty sort. He was known for being somewhat immaterial, and often took to jumping on top of objects in a manner that caused the people around them to panic for a few seconds before realizing he was too immaterial to do anything more than whisper vaguely about his childhood. He’d tried to pet Muji’s hair and got annoyed when nothing happened, so it wasn’t a particularly long visit.

They tried to visit Haydn, but while the location of Haydn’s ghost was well-known, only Music Master Scholars were allowed to see him, as he claimed the crowds exhausted him, and he wanted to be able to give his full attention to those visiting him. It made sense, since ghosts used massive amounts of energy to communicate and interact with the world around them, and the more energy they expended, the less time they were able to spend on earth. Despite this, the two  of them did make an effort, but were summarily barred from entering.

“Next time!” Benji declared confidently as they walked to their next potential Beethoven hot spot.

They visited Brahms, who had resolved to meet them in Vienna upon learning they were coming, and spent a whole day with him, visiting locations which had been important to him and letting his impromptu history lessons wash over them with a look of awed reverence.

Beethoven wasn’t in Vienna, and by the third week the two friends were feeling the threat of rejection hot on their heels. They began keeping odd hours, trying their hardest to figure out their next move.

“Maybe we should reread our proposal? Clearly the Scholars saw something in it, right?” Muji theorized from the bed he’d claimed as his their first night in the hotel.

“Mmmm.” Benji responded from his position on the floor at the foot of his bed, still feeling the after-effects of a well-deserved mental breakdown.

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried to motivate him. “We can do it! You’re a super cool music spy, remember?”

Benji huffed at the reminder of an old, inane conversation between the two. “I don’t know, Muji. I think it’s kinda pointless.”

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried again. “This is like, your dream! It’s now or never! Put our mutual brain cell to use so we can find Beethoven!”

Benji sighed and got up. “Fine, fine.” He murmured as he got off the floor, grabbed his copy of the proposal from his bag, laid down on the bed, and stuffed another chewable pendant into his mouth. “Wet’s fee.”

Silence reigned for a few, brief seconds, before Muji suddenly exclaimed, “Hey! We never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved, right?”

Benji sat up straight on his bed and spit out the pendant. “Holy shit, we never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved.”

After a quick Google search, two train tickets, a couple of sandwiches, and a dash through the rain, they arrived at the Frankfurt Main Cemetery. There, they asked after the name they’d listed in their proposal as the possible Immortal Beloved, and the ghosts pointed them towards the back of the cemetery.

In a ghost grotto, they found a woman, calmly humming the tune from one of the Diabelli variations, though in their excitement neither Benji nor Muji could name the tune.

“Are you-“ Benji paused and took a couple of deep breaths. “Are you the Immortal Beloved?

The woman stopped humming and smiled at them.

“Ah, that is a moniker I have not heard in some time.” She arose and walked away from them, lifting her skirts elegantly in a manner which conveyed a sense of class. “Come; I think you are the ones I’ve been expecting.”

The two followed after her eagerly and looked confused when they stopped at a mail office in town. There, she reached into a P.O. box, pulled out a silver envelope, and gave it to Benji.

“This is yours.” She murmured. “Please do come to visit; it’s rare that I receive visitors.”

With this, she disappeared.

The two stared at the envelope for a couple of seconds before Benji eagerly opened it, accidentally ripping the envelope in half. He then read it, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s it say?” Asked Muji, eagerly, from over his shoulder.

“It says… it’s just numbers? I don’t get it.” Benji gave him the paper, trying to puzzle out what it meant.

Muji frowned, then plugged the numbers into Google.

“It’s a location!” He burst out, excitedly shoving the phone in Benji’s face.

The two of them hurriedly called a taxi, listing the location Muji’s phone had given them. They were dropped off in front of the building, and saw someone standing at the entrance. They showed the person (a Scholar!) their letter, and with a large smile, they were taken inside, their guide walking confidently as Benji and Muji trailed behind them. The interior of the building was long and winding, which left the two feeling as though they’d been deceived by the outward appearance of the building. The building had looked small and unassuming, and this place was built like a maze. They were sure they’d be lost if they tried to head back without a guide.

Near the end of the path they heard the sound of a piano playing, and warm light spilled into the hallway. They eagerly rushed ahead, much to the amusement of the Scholar.

There, facing the wall, conducting half a beat behind the sound coming from the recorder behind him, stood Beethoven.

Benji gasped, and clutched Muji’s shoulder. He pointed ecstatically at the figure in the room. “It’s Beethoven!!!” He stage-whispered.

Muji smiled widely as he nodded back. “Yeah!!”

The two of them turned around when a voice behind them cleared. The Scholar gave them each a thick letter with the recognized seal of the Music Master Scholars on the back, and the two of them stared at it, unsure of what to do.

“Well?” The Scholar prompted, rocking back and forth on their heels. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Benji ripped into his envelope first, completely abandoning the flap as he tore the side off. His hands shook as he pulled out a letter on creamy white stationary. He skimmed the words and began crying, clutching the letter and envelope to his chest.

Muji was slightly more careful, removing the letter from the envelope via the flap and pulling out the other contents of the envelope. A laminated membership card, a list of locations of other ghosts, and an alphabetized list of other Scholars with contact info and a small bio were also in the envelope. He pulled out each one, looked at it, and put it back in the envelope. He then stopped and held the envelope in his hands, staring at it.

After about ten minutes, the guide worriedly asked Muji, “Is Benji alright? He’s been crying for a while.”

Muji nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, he cried for like two hours after I finished streaming Crisis Core for him.” At the guide’s look of confusion, he added, “Video game.”

The guide made a small noise of understanding and nodded.

When Benji’s sobs finally faded into sniffles, the three of them began the trek out of the building.

“Sorry this route is so long.” The Scholar apologized. “Oh! Also! I forgot to introduce myself.” They paused and turned, offering their hand. “I’m Soraya Cham! I was the last person to find Beethoven’s ghost. When I heard about you guys, I got excited, really. I was rooting for you!”

The two of them shook her hand and nodded, unsure what else to say.

Soraya continued, then hailed a taxi when they reached the road. They waved goodbye to Benji and Muji as the two of them got in the backseat.

“We did it!” Benji shouted once they were back at their hotel.

[self-ships-ahoy]

My Heart in Your Hands

Saturday (Feb 13th) Heart / Soul / Confession

Summary: During the events of Mann vs. Machine, Technician faces her greatest fear for the good of her friends - and the love of her life.

Warnings: General depictions of surgery (nothing too graphic, but there is a lot of talk about Tech’s heart in the second half)

Word Count: 1,307

A/N: Ok...I am very very nervous about posting this fic. I had to scramble to find a good reason for Tech to have this surgery done (i.e. if lives were on the line), and I’m just always nervous when presenting my writings with Medic. I have seen quite a few people be critical about his depictions, if he’s ‘in character’ enough, and I was afraid of being met with that kind of criticism. But writing is supposed to be for fun, and IF I’m a little ooc with him, so what? I put a whole lot into this fic, and you’re going to really see the extent of their feelings, so I’m proud of it. (Also, about the end, I am totally one to use wordplay even if I’m just coming out of anesthesia, so yeah Tech is like that too.)

~ 💖 ~

     For as long as she could remember, Technician's greatest fear and weakness had been anything related to medical procedures. From the smell of a sterilized office to the mere sight of a needle, it all made her anxious at best and panic-stricken at worst. Everyone at the RED base knew this, since they heard how she ‘freaked out’ during her initial physical examination. Fortunately, although her phobias still remain, her reactions have started to become less severe over time, thanks in big part to her relationship with Medic. Forming a friendship, and later a romantic affair, with him helped her tolerance to her fear triggers greatly. Her desire to see him had her visiting the medbay often, where she soon became accustomed to many sights and smells of the lab. The doctor remained supportive of Technician working to overcome her fears, and he took an active role in the process. Still, Katie had a long way to go, and he knew that. He knew, by now, what kind of answer he would get to a proposed surgery, even though he only offered what was for her benefit. "It's very sweet that you care that much, but it's just not worth it to me." So, he would sigh in defeat and drop the subject, loving her too much to breach the boundaries she set.

     This pattern continued until 1971. Mann Co. was under siege by Grey Mann, effectively taking control from Saxton Hale with an army of robots. Both Red and Blu teams were hired to take back the company, so far with little avail. It all seemed pointless to Technician, at first, if not fortunate; this could be her ticket out of here, if she could convince Grey to fire her. Then the game changed. In an effort to drive the mercs away for good, Grey's forces managed to sabotage and shut down respawn - for good. Now, they could actually die. After so many years of being alone, Katie couldn't bear the thought of losing her friends. With Medic's new reviving invention still a work in progress, that thought could become a reality. She would do anything to keep them safe, even just to increase that chance by a fraction of a percentage. This was what she came to talk to Medic about, one quiet afternoon at the base.

     The two of them sat on the couch in his office. The programmer remained silent, a hesitant and apprehensive frown on her face. She had yet to reveal why she called Medic here, and the longer she waited, the more concerned he became. However, his patience was finite, and spending the whole day on this conversation could be time otherwise spent working on his invention. "Darling," he addressed her gently, but with seriousness, "Vhatever is troubling you, don't be afraid to tell me about it; I cannot help you if you don't tell me...nor do I have time to vait much longer."

     Technician's chest tightened, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment. She couldn't wait forever. Sighing nervously, she began, "...I need you to...do something for me."

     "Anything," he answered without question.

     Another short pause. "I'm scared. I really think we could die out there..." She held his hand for support. "I can't lose you, Ludwig. You're the most important person in my life...and you're all my friends... You're the closest thing I have to family. So, I want to do whatever I can to help protect you."

     "...Vhat are you saying?"

     "...I want you to put Über in me."

     Medic couldn't believe what he heard. Technician seemed to have a knack for surprising him, but, understandably, this was a big deal. Thus far, she had refused every surgery offer presented to her, and now she comes to him and requests one? The man was no reader of emotions, but judging from the tension on her face, and how she squeezed his hand, it didn't seem like she was completely positive of the decision. Excited as he felt, he had to make sure they were on the same page, or he could lose her trust in him forever. "You are...absolutely sure of zhis?"

       Technician went quiet again before answering. "I don't know. But...I want to be. I don't want to be afraid of this, especially if it could help you stay alive. With how often I've fallen onto front lines, it could even protect me, too. But..."

     "If it's pain you're concerned about, I promise zhe pain medications I use, in addition to zhe medigun, vill decrease anything you feel down to manageable levels." He couldn't help but try to convince her to go through with it. Despite her indecision, he agreed with her points that supported the procedure; this could protect her and her friends, should she fall into danger. "You won't even need stitches," he added with a small smile.

     He was getting excited, she could hear it in his voice. Technician expected as much, but she had to finish. "It's not just about the pain. I just...I don't like operations, I never did. You know that... And...I wanted to make sure I could...trust you with it. And I do, now. It's just...hard."

     Medic's smile grew when he heard that he finally earned Technician's trust. That alone made him feel so accomplished. "I promise you, I vill handle zhe procedure vis as much care as I handle our fledgling doves. You have my word as a doctor - license or no." He tilted his head down to further meet her gaze. "Does zhat ease any of your fear?"

     "...Yeah. It does."

~~~

     On the day of the operation, Technician's friends all came to give their support. She was facing a great challenge for the good of the team, and for her own safety, a decision that they all could commend. Soldier told her she was making her country proud by pushing through the fear; Scout brought her some comic books to read for when she's in recovery; Sniper and Engineer pledged to stay by her bedside when she goes under and when she wakes up; even Spy said he would anticipate hearing her wake from a successful operation. Their faith and encouragement helped Technician move forward with this, and she kept their words and gestures in mind when nervously changing into her special hospital gown. Above all, she remembered all Medic promised to do for her, to keep her as comfortable as possible.

       Placing her jewelry in a plastic bag, her thumb brushed over the heart-shaped pendant of her necklace. That was a prized possession now, a symbol of how much she was cherished. As she stared at it, her mind began retracing every instance of Ludwig prioritizing her happiness. This...this was a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And why: because she knew she could entrust him with her very life, even on the operating table. She knew that if she asked him to do or not do something, he would take that request seriously. She's going to go into the operating room with full confidence that Medic will do nothing more than implant the Über device in a human heart. That was true love.

     Technician made her way to the hospital bed, and squeezed Dell's hand as the I.V. went in her wrist. As she settled down from that, Medic gleefully presented his patient with precautions he doesn't usually take during surgery, such as a clean pair of gloves and keeping Archimedes at a distance, so the dove doesn't get tempted to play assistant surgeon. In the time between now and the first Über implantation, Medic had even been experimenting with his invention to make it more efficient, i.e. less likely to overload the patient's heart and what not. There was a good chance that Technician could come out of this with her original heart in tact.

     At last, the time came for her to be put under anesthesia, per her request. Katie kept her eyes away from the sight, but listened to Medic's voice as she slipped into unconsciousness. "You'll be awake and feeling good as new in no time, my dear. Don't worry..." he told her calmly as he watched her drift off. Engineer and Sniper then left the room, and the procedure began.

     Everything was running well. Throughout the procedure, Medic talked to his patient as if she was awake, from making light (one-sided) conversation to commenting on each step he was taking. (He said she had very healthy ribs, for instance.) At last, Technician's heart was successfully removed and resting in the doctor's delicate hold. He was being timely about each step so far, never stalling or rushing; but here was when he began to pause, staring at his love's heart while the medigun kept her on life support. The power he felt was indescribable, surmounted only by the honor of being granted the chance to literally hold Katie's very life in his hands. He, too, understood the significance of being allowed to perform this surgery on her, the amount of trust it showed she had in him. There was excitement from finally getting to operate, yes, but...it had yet to truly sink in until this moment.

       As he cradled the tiny, life-giving muscle, a euphoria began to overtake him. This was more than just the thrill of practicing medicine; this was finally realizing the meaning of his beloved not only allowing, but asking without prompt, to partake in her greatest fear. The love she had for him was stronger than her fear and doubt, for she realized that he would never hurt her. And for all the love he felt for her, and how much closer he would feel to her if given the chance to do this, hearing her finally approve was his strongest wish. Ludwig was already sure he had found The One, but now - oh, now he was 100% positive and then some. His breathing cut short a couple times as his eyes began to well up. But, instead of crying, he began to laugh - slowly, quietly, then rising in strength with his elation. It was a laugh of pure joy, unlike anything else ever heard in the operating room.

~~~

     Awaking from the anesthesia was a slightly difficult task, only due to Technician's penchant for prolonging sleep. With the pain medication still in her system, she had almost forgotten for a moment that she had underwent surgery. But a growing echo of voices helped pull her out of her induced slumber.      

     "I think she's comin' to, doc. Hey, Tech, can ya hear us?"

     "Come on, mate..."

     "Vake up, meine geliebte~. Zhe surgery is all over now."

     The sing-song tones of Medic's call lured her out of her sleeping state, and cerulean eyes fluttered open to the sight of the doctor's beaming smile. To her left, Engineer and Sniper sat with their own happy expressions. Technician turned her gaze back to Medic, attempting to speak through her haze. "Did...everything..."

     "Everything vent perfectly, darling, visout a hitch." Medic answered her, "I hadn't completed a procedure zhat smoothly in years, heh." In truth, there had been one or two slight deviations in the plan - minor errors that he was able to work around, and certainly not worth mentioning to the tomophobic programmer. That being said, it was still one of Medic's more successful operations. "How do you feel?"

     She thought for a moment, hesitant to feel her heart in case she might feel the Über implant. "Strange...Tired... Chest feels tight. Is my heart okay?"

     Engineer spoke up with more words of reassurance, "Heart's a-OK, Techie. Doc said it survived the whole thing, no transplants 'r anything like that."

     "It vas remarkable to witness," Medic commented with glee, "For a heart of such small size, I vas expecting more resistance to zhe device. My upgrades must have made an even greater improvement zhan anticipated!"

     The corners of her lips began to curl as she heard the great news. Above all, she was worried about her heart needing to be replaced with something bizarre for the device to work. But, the doctor fulfilled his promises and kept her heart intact...as did another force unbeknownst to her. Should someone tell her of it, she would show no surprise at the fact.

     Facing Medic again, Technician inched her hand closer to him, a kind look in her sleepy eyes. "I knew you could do it... I was in good hands."

[p5youllneverseeitcoming]

So I finished Persona 5 Royal

And once again I was a crying mess when the ending credits rolled.

Now, I’d like to share my thoughts about this game but I also respect the fact that not everyone had the chance to finish it yet so anything that is a spoiler will be talked about under the cut.

Anyways, let’s begin.

From the very beginning... I love the new title screen, the fact that you can see each member just hanging out in the streets of Tokyo is so cute and I love it. It’s so easy to get a platinum trophy for Persona 5 Royal which at first I thought was somewhat disappointing as it doesn’t require you to play through it again but then I found out there’s a bunch of challenges in the Thieves Den so I was really glad I had a reason to play it again.

Speaking of the Thieves Den, it’s really nice to see your team members just chat about the decorations you put in there, like for example Yusuke and Ann casually chatting in front of a Reaper statue like it’s no big deal. On a small sidenote, my mum really likes the fact that you can play Tycoon in the Thieves Den and I’m not gonna lie she spent hours playing with them which means I now have thousands of tokens but nothing to spend them on :’)

Much of P5R is very similar to the vanilla P5 except of course the fact that there’s 2 new characters being introduced to the story. You still get sent to Tokyo for ‘assaulting’ the drunk man however, the first change that you really notice is Sojiro’s conversation with you when he is taking you home on the Sunday you visit the school. Of course, by this point you know that there have been many psychotic breakdowns and a lot of accidents but what Sojiro tells you is... Interesting to say the least. I didn’t think of it much at first but then again I went into Royal completely spoiler free (except of course with the knowledge of how Persona 5 plays out) but eventually you find out that what he said was actually really important.

Another thing I really loved that they put in Royal is the fact that they managed to make the battle system even better. I always thought it was pretty amazing but they somehow managed to make it even better. First off, you can Baton Pass right off the bat. No need to establish a social link with the party members or anything, which honestly makes everything so much easier, especially in the early game. They also decided, you know what this nasty crime boy needs? Unlimited bullets... Well sorta. Remember how in Persona 5 you only had a limited amount of bullets per infiltration? Well, now they replenish every battle which of course means I did the only rational thing:

You also get the grappling hook in Royal and honestly? Just watching Joker do flips all over the place is really aesthetically pleasing. I love that they reworked the Palaces so that the grappling hook plays a big part in getting around and as I said, it’s just so fun to see Joker zooming through the air.

They added new Shadows/Personas to Royal which I think is fantastic as it makes returning players not bored of the battles but they also changed some weaknesses/removed weaknesses for some shadows which means you gotta strategise a little bit more. They also changed up the Palace Ruler Bosses but I found them... A lot more easier than the original? I don’t know if it’s due to the fact that I love to grind a lot before finishing a Palace or if I just had the perfect Personas for the occasion but yeah... That’s not to say the changes are bad! I still really liked them but it was just... Really easy for me lol. 

Another major change is the fact that Morgana decided that you may be a tired boi after going to the Metaverse but you still have enough energy to do some things in the cafe. That makes it like a ton easier to max out your social stats which means you can max out your confidants a lot faster, I managed to max out everyone and still had days where I literally had nothing to do which just shows how much time you actually save now.

Along with the fact that they fixed some translation errors, they also improved the sprites and added a lot more voice lines which was really nice in my opinion, it was a lot better when a character was expressing a certain emotion and their sprite actually matched it instead of just them facing one way and occasionally changing the facial expression.

I’ll mention this briefly seeing as this is sort of spoilery but I really loved the new confidants. The fact that you can actually hang out with Akechi and get to know him instead of being forced to level him up automatically was so good. The scenes where you would automatically rank up are still there but they kinda act as a filler of sorts now which in all honesty I didn’t mind. 

Ummm... That’s about all I can think of that doesn’t contain spoilers so... The section below will have spoilers so please only read this when you finish the game!

I’m going to talk about Akechi’s Confidant for a bit because I just really loved it okay? You learn so much about him, even things that seem trivial like the fact that he’s left handed become... Well rather important near the end. The more time you spend with him, the more you see how much Akira actually means to him. When you defeat him in his Rank 8 event, I actually loved it when he said he hated Akira. That was pure Akechi right there, no lies, no fake smiles just pure, honest truth. Also, I love how he decided to be extra and dramatic by throwing his glove as a challenge. It’s also really significant, at least to me, mainly because you never see him without gloves, in a way, this sort of showed that he fully exposed his true self to Akira. Their exchange in Shido’s Palace when you remind him that you still have his glove... That was really sad. I really wish there was some way you could help him, but alas, you can’t always have happy endings.

I’m not gonna lie, I was really confused when I got to 12/24 and we still went to Mementos. You discover a Palace and explore it for a bit but then it’s kind of... Forgotten? Like Morgana is genuinely like: Lmao this doesn’t concern us atm so you know, killed God with the power of friendship, was ready to stop being a Phantom Thief and surrender myself to the police but then... Mr. Sketchy himself just appears out of nowhere and decides that he’ll take Akira’s place for him

When I first saw him I was like: Omg? How is this even possible? Can I hug him? But then weird things started happening in the story

Reality becomes distorted after New Years and you see that right away when your cat, is no longer a cat. But that’s not all, Futaba’s mother is alive and well as well as Haru’s father and supposedly they were never dead in the first place. I was really confused but then guess who turns up to clear some things up... Mr. Pankechi.

This post is already long as hecc so I won’t go into details but I really like the new Palace. It’s so different to the other Palaces and for once the Palace Ruler is not some evil adult... He’s actually quite the opposite.

I’m going to quickly talk about Kasumi for a second now, or rather Sumire. Honestly when you learn the truth, I was really shocked. Remember when I said what Sojiro tells you becomes important near the end? Yeah well it’s like the game was telling you from the start that she’s not really who she says she is. Just like Akechi, I was fully convinced that the New Palace was hers but I was kind of relieved to find out that wasn’t the case. As a party member, I really like her, she’s really cute and her Persona abilities are helpful in the new Palace. As a confidant... Again, she’s just so cute. When you help her pick out the glasses for her dad... Bruh I just wanted to give her headpats all day. Once you unlock the rest of her confidant, it’s really nice to see her grow and accept the fact that she doesn’t have to be Kasumi appreciated, and once she accepts that she’s Sumire but she’ll still do everything to make Kasumi’s dream come true it was honestly so satisfying. 

I think the thing I loved the most though is the fact that Akechi becomes your navigator for a little while and honestly? I wish I had the option to keep him as the navigator. His lines are so funny because they’re helpful but at the same time they’re so passive aggressive! ALSO his Showtime with Joker is by far my favourite Showtime. I love how he’s able to just be himself and literally rip enemies apart and Joker’s just there like: Yeah I’ll play along why not. Whenever they finish and Akechi is just there like: “Don’t waste my time.” ... Big mood, me when I’m driving around Mementos trying to find the stamps.

One more thing I gotta talk about... The ending. I love it so much. I think it’s a lot better than the original Persona 5 ending and here’s why. First of all, the fact that you see the Thieves still being themselves is just so sweet I love these funky kids, that fact that Maruki gives you a lift to the station and he accepts that this is the world that you have to live in? Amazing, thank you Atlus. The fact that Morgana is just snoozing in your bag? Beautiful, let me pet my cat plz. But most importantly... The edgy pancake loving detective LIVES, granted Akira doesn’t actually see him but I DID. I burst into tears when I saw him walk by, I’m so glad he got to live in a reality where he isn’t anyone’s puppet anymore. He can finally fix the mistakes he did, don’t get me wrong, Akechi is still a bad person, I mean he literally killed people but he still deserved a second chance, and seeing him alive means that he finally has a chance to do that... Bruh I was crying so much.

Anyway, I could talk about this game for hours but here are just some of my thoughts that I wanted to share, I’m sure I’ll have a lot more to say later on but for now... Have this mess I call a post!

[daesungfmd]

30 days of character development : 1 - 6. headcanon  /  wc: 1322

day one  /  introduce your muse.   hwang daesung is the lead vocalist  &  rapper of impulse; a 7-member boy group that debuted on january 16th, 2014. despite being labeled as a rapper, there’s only one song that daesung has significant rap lines in:  king, which is a duet between himself and one of impulse’s other rappers. on a similar note, daesung is not officially part of the dance line, but gets (arguably) more than his fair share of center time. so, what does this mean for daesung? it means that he’s an idol who believes he could 100% be seen as a triple threat if gold star would promote him as such, but instead, he’s pushed for his voice and has to read comments saying “why’s he a rapper if he never even raps?” and “why’s the lead vocal in the center?” on the daily. </3

day two  /  talk about your muse’s childhood and when they decided they wanted to be an idol.   daesung was born and raised in seoul, but to be more exact, it was in the neighborhood of samcheong. it’s a lovely place (as daesung himself will claim), but his childhood hardly reflected the color of his hometown. he initially had both parents, but after losing his father in 2008, he and his mother were left on their own. the loss greatly affected both daesung  &  his mother; ignoring the emotional impact, their financial situation was on a fast decline. you could argue that they couldn’t even afford for daesung to have big dreams  ―  that’s certainly what his mother tried to tell him, but he was a stubborn kid. the only “dream job” he ever had was becoming a rockstar, which is a dream that he never fully let go of. he stressed his mom out a lot during these years because instead of studying hard and aiming to go to a good university/get a good job, he spent most of his “study time” playing his guitar and/or trying to weasel his way into divebar shows. he ultimately became an idol trainee at age fifteen, but it wasn’t because he suddenly decided that he wanted to be an idol instead; he just didn’t realize what he was auditioning for, and who the hell was he to say “oops, nevermind” when he had a reality check? up until he debuted, he didn’t have any interest in being an idol. seven years in, he still doesn’t. he’s a rockstar in his heart and that’s what matters!!!

day three  /  talk about your muse’s audition.   part of daesung’s ~charm~ is that he’s blindly optimistic. he has a lot of faith in himself, his talent  &  his abilities. by the time that he auditioned for gold star, he was more confident and hopeful than ever because he had already gone through hundreds of other companies and he’s the type to think that after lots of failure, you’re bound to succeed. in retrospect, perhaps the reason why so many companies turned him down was because they were looking for idols and he was a boy so clearly inspired by grunge and rock ‘n’ roll. regardless, by the time he reached gold star he had gone through enough auditions to realize what companies wanted to see in their auditionees, even had a dance memorized as well as he could with his lack of actual training in case they asked to see it. looking back on it, he wouldn’t give any advice to his former self except to do more research into what the auditions were for. he’s happy enough with where he’s at in life, but becoming an idol was never the end goal; he just went with the flow because he didn’t want to face pressure to do well in school. (ofc he realized that idols face pressure way worse than that every day but </3 mf realized too late)

day four  /  talk about your muse’s trainee years.   daesung trained for eight months before being selected for who’s next?: origin story, having joined gold star in april of 2012. now... eight months is a decent enough amount of time, but keep in mind that he had no prior experience in idol music, nor did he even know much about idols; to put it simply, he felt (and was) underprepared. still, he figured that he wouldn’t be put in a team and thrown onto a survival show if the company didn’t have some kind of faith in him, so the show also made him more confident (even though his team lost)!!! he had another 10-ish months of training after the show ended, so if you ignore the three-month period of the survival show, he had a collective 18 months / 1 year and 6 months as a trainee. as for his training experience........ it was tough for daesung. he wasn’t as serious about becoming an idol as most of the other trainees were considering it wasn’t his “dream”, so he was more concerned about just making the experience fun and making friends than improving quickly (or even following the rules). he got scolded a lot, even at times when he hadn’t actually done anything to be scolded for because of course it was easy to assume that daesung was the culprit if something went wrong. a lot of other trainees at the time didn’t like his lack of professionalism/lack of care or the fact that he didn’t even really want to be an idol and was still taking up space. he struggled to make friends even with his grand efforts, so he felt really, really lonely more often than not. started to struggle with body image and general insecurities during this time as well which i won’t go into detail about here because that’s ~a story for another time~ but overall....... training was the loneliest part of this mf’s life. he tried to have fun and every now and then he did, but he really just wanted to go home most of the time.

day five  /  recall your muse’s debut.   girls, girls, girls is the bane of daesung’s existence. even though he didn’t really want to be an idol, by the time he finally got the news that he was going to debut, he was excited!!! he hates routine, so at least he would be escaping the repetitive days, right? right? no. his excitement dulled once he listened to the demo for their debut song and disappeared completely when he tried to express his displeasure but was ignored. at the time, he was seventeen and i think we all know that 17 years olds have fragile egos. everything about girls x3 embarrassed him:  the lyrics, the outfits, the choreography, the mv intro, the mv setting, the promotions. the first time he performed on stage ~should have~ been exciting, but daesung just wanted to hide. granted.... seven years have passed and he’s begrudgingly fond of girls x3 now. he won’t admit it, but he listens to it when he’s going through breakups and/or rejections for an extra little boost of confidence. but it’s humiliating if anyone else brings it up.

day six  /  talk about your muse in relation to concepts.   daesung pulls off fun and/or high-energy concepts the best. his stage presence is a fickle thing — even this far into his career, he struggles to not look bored when performing mellow songs (or songs that he just doesn’t vibe with), but he shines when he’s having a good time. he has fun performing upbeat songs and it shows. to date, he’s gotten the best feedback during the eras of just right, lullaby & look, but has also gotten decent feedback during ~manly~ concepts like if you do and you calling my name. his ideal concept would have to be something dark, like mars’ older concepts, but he’s 99.9% sure that impulse will never go in that direction. something that doesn’t feel so out of reach but he knows he could pull off would be something like alien’s jealousy  or charm’s clap — masculine like if you do and ycmn, but high-energy like look and lullaby. any time impulse has done songs that combine those aspects, it’s resulted in a huge headache because of unnecessary beat drops </3 please gold star let him have one (1) concept like this that doesn’t hurt to listen to, he’s begging </3

[antiquecompass]

The One With the Tea

For Xichen Week 2020, Day One:

Lan Xichen  was in the middle of the particular event planning nightmare that was the first round of major extracurricular events for the school year when his doorbell rang. He glanced up at the clock, surprised, since it was nearly ten at night. He knew it couldn’t be Jiang Cheng. He was in Hong Kong for the entire week meeting with the branch managers and a group of their overseas investors. Even if he was home, he would’ve just used his key anyway. Mingjue or Molly were the type to just barge in, no doorbell needed or prior notice given. Meng Yao would always call first, and he rarely, if ever, came without his husband or his son, and they were all in New York City visiting Jenna besides. Unless it was an emergency or something planned months in advance, Uncle didn't leave his home after dinner.

A mystery and a, hopefully, welcome distraction from his paperwork planning prison. He carefully shifted Cinnamon from his lap and placed her on the closest chair. Sugar lifted her head from her bed as he headed towards the door, but put it back down when she realized it wasn’t time for a walk or a treat. Pepper made a small trill from the couch, where she had sprawled across the top of the cushions, while watching fish swim on the tv screen. Xichen paused to scratch her ears and kissed the top of her head.

He was curious and cautious as he approached the door. Looking through the peephole he was surprised to find his brother on the other side.

“Is everyone okay?” he rushed out as he threw the door open.

His brother nodded. “I--the boys are having a sleepover at Molly’s and since--”

Xichen could fill in the gaps between his brother’s few words. Wei Wuxian was out on a book tour, one of the rare times he traveled during the school year. And it was the first time he’d left for any significant amount of time since they’d moved into their sprawling historical The Haunting of Hill House-esque estate.

Xichen wouldn’t want to be alone in that place either.

“Old house too big for you alone?” he asked as he ushered his baby brother inside.

Lan Zhan nodded as he took off his coat and shoes. He carefully patted Pepper on the head before heading straight to the tea cabinet.

Xichen almost laughed as he watched a little bit of history repeating itself. Late-night tea parties. Always because of Wei Wuxian.

*********

Lan Xichen was aware that it was a special privilege for him to bunk with Nie Mingjue, but Uncle occasionally granted them these rare gifts and he wanted both of his nephews to feel comfortable and safe at the Cloud Recesses since they spent their entire summer at the camp. It was rare for such indulgences, but Mingjue was Xichen’s closest friend, and so Uncle approved. It was Lan Zhan’s second year at the camp, but his first bunking with someone his own age. Last year he’d stayed in Uncle’s cabin, but this year he requested to be treated like all the other campers.

It had been an interesting summer so far.

Lan Zhan’s bunkmate was a newcomer by the name of Wei Ying, an adopted son of the Jiang family. This was his first year meeting any child associated with the Jiangs. He’d heard of them, of course, the Elders couldn’t help but gossip. The eldest child, Jiang Yanli, attended culinary camps each summer. The youngest, Jiang Cheng, was just old enough to attend Cloud Recesses for the first time this year. And Wei Ying? He’d brought a certain sort of excitement to the camp. Lan Xichen had never seen his uncle so ruffled or his brother so wound up.

That first night, Lan Zhan came to their cabin, a fierce scowl on his face and told them that his new bunkmate was shameless and impossible and he would be requesting a change since Wei Ying wouldn’t stop talking about Jiang Cheng anyway. At least Lan Zhan knew Nie Huaisang.

A week later, he came for pre-curfew tea and to inform them that Wei Ying, while still annoying, was at the very least clever. And smart. And witty. And funny. And so many other things Mingjue had started to tease Lan Zhan about his little crush, but Xichen had slapped a hand over his mouth before he could even try.

Every few nights brought a new visit and a new development in their relationship.

“What do you think it’ll be tonight?” Mingjue asked as he walked in with a steaming kettle, setting it down on the floor next to three mugs and a box of various teas.

“The summer is nearing its end,” Xichen said. “I hope he won’t be too sad. They live so far away. And he’s never bonded so closely with someone outside of the family before.”

“He likes me just fine,” Mingjue said. “And Huaisang. Well, he tolerates him at the very least.”

“And you are family,” Xichen said. He put down his brush and pulled his hair up, rolling it into a bun. He was glad that he didn’t have to try and be an Exemplary Lan and an Exemplary Cloud Recesses Camper here. He could just be tired, lazy, Xichen.

A soft but certain knock sounded at their door before his little brother appeared. He had a frown on his face, but there was a determination in his eyes. A fierceness that reminded Xichen of their uncle.

“What did the little brat do this time?” Mingjue asked as he held out a mug.

“He’s not a brat,” Lan Zhan said as he sat down between them. He leaned into Xichen as he took a sip of his tea. “I--”

Sometimes his little brother struggled with making his thoughts into words. He was so very smart, Xichen was so very proud of him, and his brother felt so much, but had started hiding it, buryng those emotions down after their mother’s funeral. It had been a hard year and Lan Zhan had only shown that fire that had always burned within him, banked for nearly a year now, since coming to camp.

Xichen kissed the top of his brother's head and held him closer.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to tell us.”

“I want to,” he said. He put his cup down and stared up at Xichen. “I want to say it. Uncle says there is power in words. And mother--”

Xichen felt his breath catch as he remembered her soft voice, smiling at the both of them, as she spoke about the power of words.

“Not all wishes come true, but it doesn’t hurt to try and speak them into existence,” he said, as she had told them, one of the lessons she’d passed on to them.

Mingjue shifted, coming to sit beside them, hugging them both. Taller and broader than almost all the other campers, he was only eleven, but in his arms both Lans brothers felt his strength and his comfort. Mingjue would protect them from the world outside.

“I’m going to marry him one day,” Lan Zhan said.

Mingjue laughed. “A little young to plan the nuptials there, kiddo.”

“Then I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as I have to.”

***********

In the end, Lan Zhan had waited perhaps far longer than any of them anticipated, Wei Wuxian trying to show the utmost respect towards the Lans while also living on his own terms. Lan Zhan had been the one in the end to announce the impending marriage, and their sudden unofficial adoption, all in one breath.

Uncle hadn’t even batted an eyelash. Just noted that he’d like to oversee the ceremony.

He said he owed it to Wei Wuxian’s mother to see her son into a proper wedding. Lan Xichen always felt that had less to do with honoring her memory and more to do with getting the final word. And the pure giddy victory of, on some terms, making her son a Lan.

“I’ve never lived alone,” Lan Zhan said as he pushed a mug towards Xichen. “It was Uncle’s home, and then the apartment in Cambridge, that small house we had here before you built this place, and then still I was mostly with Wei Ying. And then we had a son and I moved there for good and--I’m not used to an empty house. I don’t like it.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Xichen said.

They both flinched as Nutmeg jumped from the top of one of her hidden perches right onto the center of the table, sending papers flying, before jumping again towards her window seat and her bed.

“You have to live with the cats and understand that Sugar rules us all, but you’re always welcome.”

“Except on Saturdays,” his little brother said with a far too knowing look.

Xichen laughed as he nodded in agreement. “Except on Saturdays.”

[aboycalledeverything]

An In-depth Response to JK Rowling from a Transman

**CW: transphobia, suicide, surgery, discrimination, assault**

Let me first say that we should not allow this conversation to derail the progress and momentum of the Black Lives Matter movement. Though race and sexuality intersect in many fascinating and important ways, it is important to allow the voices of our BlPOC to be heard and amplified for as long as it takes for meaningful, sweeping changes to be made in our society. That being said, I would be remiss if I did not take the time to process and respond to the conversation you have chosen to bring to the table. 

TLDR: To JK’s assertion that trans women threaten the political and biological class of ‘women’,  Acknowledging that trans women are women is not the erosion of a political and biological class. It is strengthening those classes by accepting the women who, despite all threats of assault or death, stand by their identity and celebrate womanhood.

Let me also begin by saying thank you. For surviving, for persisting, for blessing the world with the gift of magic. The books-which-need-not-be-named were and are pillars of my childhood, identity, and life philosophy. I will never stop finding solace in the pages of those books. 

Before we can continue the conversation, I need to introduce myself. I am a (relatively) young white transman and former D1 softball player. I chose to defer physical transition but came out socially as a transman in my sophomore year and was one of the few openly trans NCAA athletes at the time. I was also a student, and spent a large portion of my collegiate career studying LGBTQ+ issues and how they connect to human psychology. My senior capstone was a paper titled “Transmen and Suicide: Unique Contributors to a Disproportionately High Suicide Attempt Rate.” This involved both an in-depth literature review of trans research and theory as well as an independent collection and analysis of transman testimonies. The year after graduation was spent as a Lab Coordinator for the Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity: Health and Human Rights Lab at the University of Texas at Austin which does phenomenal sociological and psychological research on queer youth in particular. This is not to say that I am an expert, but rather to make it clear that I, too, have spent years researching the fraught topics of gender and sexuality.

Thank you for referring to my trans brothers as “notably sensitive and clever people.” We do try to use the unique empathy granted by being seen and treated as both women and men. Most of us grew up as girls and have been targeted by the misogyny and sexism that you reference; we try to use those experiences to inform our responses and opinions to societal issues. I, specifically, am going to use my lived experiences to respond to your essay. There are some points with which I agree and appreciate your recognition - freedom of speech, the importance of nuanced conversation, and the fact that both women and trans people are at disproportionate risk of violence and must be safeguarded. There are other points with which I take umbrage and will address one by one.

JKR: “It’s been clear to me for a while that the new trans activism is having (or is likely to have, if all its demands are met) a significant impact on many of the causes I support, because it’s pushing to erode the legal definition of sex and replace it with gender.”

Response:  Let’s be clear: trans activists - at least the majority of us - are not trying to erase sex as a definition. Instead, we are asking that the parameters be reconsidered to make space for intersex people and who have biologically transitioned. Your points about the biological differences in treatments for MS are well taken. Ignoring intersex people and focusing on only the binary sexes male and female, you’re right. There are often sex differences in diseases and health disorders. But the problem is that we don’t always know what drives those differences; if they’re based on hormones, physical bodies, or something else entirely. Intersex and trans people, if they choose, now have the medical capability to change their hormones and physical bodies to the extent that they can be classified as male or female.

I’m not going to give you a full explanation on sex as an expression of levels of hormones, chromosomes, and physical organs. I’m sure you already know that both biological men and women have varying amounts of the same hormones, and that hormone replacement therapy can and does give trans men and women the hormonal levels that correspond to each definition. I have been taking testosterone for just under 2 years and, for all intents and purposes, have the chemistry of a biological man. In the same way, surgeries can and do affect physical biology and organ makeup, from removal or reconstruction of a penis or vagina to the removal of ovaries and uterus entirely. 

This creates a gray area as to how to medically treat diseases like MS in trans people. We’re still learning, and I’ll be the first to admit that. What I can say is that there are many binary trans people who are not trying to replace legal definitions of sex with gender, but rather are trying to expand the legal definitions of sex to those who, for all intents and purposes, are biologically male or female.

JKR: “I’m concerned about the huge explosion in young women wishing to transition and also about the increasing numbers who seem to be detransitioning (returning to their original sex), because they regret taking steps that have, in some cases, altered their bodies irrevocably, and taken away their fertility. Some say they decided to transition after realising they were same-sex attracted, and that transitioning was partly driven by homophobia, either in society or in their families.”

Response:  I would very much like to see the studies that you are referencing in this “huge explosion” of detransitioning individuals. If you’re referencing the article by Lisa Littman, it is definitely worth noting that her study was a) descriptive rather than empirical and b) based on the testimonials of parents and not the actual trans youth.

According to a different and arguably more experienced researcher, Dr. Johanna Olsen, regret and detransitioning as you talk about it are extremely rare. I encourage you to watch her video below and read over some of the other research she is and has been doing.

Even if we were to listen to descriptive research such as Littman’s and assume that there are people who wish to detransition, the lack of fertility you’re talking about is not universal and, as with people assigned female at birth, varies. According to recent studies, trans men who wish to reproduce biologically can take a break from testosterone while carrying their children and resume afterwards. So far, there are no negative side effects for the children of transmen.

What should also be considered, especially in youth, is that hormone blockers are entirely reversible. But puberty is not. When trans children are put on hormone blockers, they are essentially delaying permanent puberty and taking time to examine whether it’s right for them. Access to medical care such as hormone blockers are essential to trans youth because it does give them time to figure out their identity before going through the male or female puberty that affects them.

I have not seen any cases of transition driven by homophobia, but would like to note that working to make parents less homophobic and transphobic seems to be a better use of time than arguing against the right of many trans youth who do need access to medical intervention.

JKR: “The argument of many current trans activists is that if you don’t let a gender dysphoric teenager transition, they will kill themselves. In an article explaining why he resigned from the Tavistock (an NHS gender clinic in England) psychiatrist Marcus Evans stated that claims that children will kill themselves if not permitted to transition do not ‘align substantially with any robust data or studies in this area. Nor do they align with the cases I have encountered over decades as a psychotherapist.’”

Response: This point is one of the more frustrating parts of your article because it is using one medical professional’s opinion to ignore a horrifying truth. Trans adults and youths experience suicidality and depression at staggering rates. While I cannot comment on studies in the UK, here in the US the lifetime suicide ideation rates for trans adults is 81.7%. The attempt rate is 40.4%, almost 10x the national average of 4.6%. 

And those are just the statistics of the people who survived long enough to participate in the study. Denying the real threat of suicidality in trans youth is not only saddening - it is actively harmful.

JKR: “The allure of escaping womanhood would have been huge. I struggled with severe OCD as a teenager. If I’d found community and sympathy online that I couldn’t find in my immediate environment, I believe I could have been persuaded to turn myself into the son my father had openly said he’d have preferred.”

Response: This is one of the most frequent arguments I see for people denying trans men their identity. My own mother has suggested that I transitioned to escape sexism. To this, I respond that choosing to transition does not provide an escape to discrimination and harrassment. I was well aware, when choosing to come out and transition, of the statistics of discrimination I was entering. I was well aware that it might mean the loss of my athletic scholarship, the dismissal of the team of sisters that I played on, It was not a matter of escaping sexism, but rather a matter of being my most authentic self. Even if you dismiss my own personal experience, I would point to the trans women who actively transition and give up their male privilege in exchange for the trials and tribulations of womanhood. Either way, I can assure you that the suicidality trans people experience makes the “choice” to transition no more of a choice than raising your hands because a gun is pointed at your head. 

JKR:  “ I want to be very clear here: I know transition will be a solution for some gender dysphoric people, although I’m also aware through extensive research that studies have consistently shown that between 60-90% of gender dysphoric teens will grow out of their dysphoria”

Response:  I appreciate your recognition of our reality! I would love to see the studies that present a 30% difference. In my experience, those of us that lived long enough to see adulthood have not grown out of dysphoria, even if we’ve learned coping strategies to make it bearable. And again, hormone blockers for teens allow the opportunity for them to grow however they need to without permanent changes being made.

JKR:  “So I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe. When you throw open the doors of bathrooms and changing rooms to any man who believes or feels he’s a woman – and, as I’ve said, gender confirmation certificates may now be granted without any need for surgery or hormones – then you open the door to any and all men who wish to come inside.”

Response:  Once again I cannot speak to the politics or legislation of the UK. What I can say is that “bathroom bans” on trans people that require us to use the fitting room/bathroom/locker room of the sex we were assigned at birth lead to significant sexual and physical assault on trans people, which already face a disproportionate risk (as you mentioned). I personally have been fortunate enough to have not been physically assaulted when I was trying to go to the bathroom, but have been harassed in both mens and womens bathrooms (which I varied between during my transition, depending on how well I thought I was passing). Many of my friends are not as lucky.

JKR:  “But, as many women have said before me, ‘woman’ is not a costume. ‘Woman’ is not an idea in a man’s head. ‘Woman’ is not a pink brain, a liking for Jimmy Choos or any of the other sexist ideas now somehow touted as progressive.”

Response:  The implication that trans women - who are literally dying to be acknowledged as women - putting on a “costume” is flagrantly offensive. I am choosing to believe that you did not intend this implication and instead are confusing sex and gender. In which case,would refer you to the seminal work Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity by Judith Butler. According to her, gender is literally a performance that one chooses to express. Transwomen define their gender and femininity as individuals, and do not choose to go through the grueling process of changing their biological sex because they like Jimmy Choos. The gender ‘woman’ is not a “pink brain” but rather an identity that can be inwardly cultivated and outwardly expressed. The sex ‘woman’ or female is an amalgamation of complex physiological systems that, as we’ve already discussed, can be altered. 

JKR: “I refuse to bow down to a movement...” 

Response: There is undeniably a movement, a “cancel culture” that dismisses nuanced conversation. I, like you, am concerned about the erosion of free speech and the expression of alternative points of view in nuanced discussions such as this one. But this movement is not specific to trans people and should not be described as such. Most trans activists and researchers that I know are not asking you to “bow down.” We’re asking you to come to the table and have an open mind. We’re asking you to use your huge platform to help trans people (as you clearly want to) without harming them (as you clearly have).

JKR: “...that I believe is doing demonstrable harm in seeking to erode ‘woman’ as a political and biological class and offering cover to predators like few before it.”

Response: This is the crux of the “TERF wars”. The refusal to accept trans women as women. To this, I would simply say: Acknowledging that trans women are women is not the erosion of a political and biological class. It is strengthening those classes by accepting the women who, despite all threats of assault or death, stand by their identity and celebrate womanhood.

[justforbooks]

Nausea (French: La Nausée) is a philosophical novel by the existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, published in 1938. It is Sartre’s first novel and, in his opinion, one of his best works.

The novel takes place in ‘Bouville’ (literally, 'Mud town’) a town similar to Le Havre, and it concerns a dejected historian, who becomes convinced that inanimate objects and situations encroach on his ability to define himself, on his intellectual and spiritual freedom, evoking in the protagonist a sense of nausea.

French writer Simone de Beauvoir, Sartre’s lifelong partner, claims that La Nausée grants consciousness a remarkable independence and gives reality the full weight of its sense.

It is one of the canonical works of existentialism. Sartre was awarded, though he ultimately declined, the Nobel Prize for literature in 1964. The Nobel Foundation recognized him “for his work which, rich in ideas and filled with the spirit of freedom and the quest for truth, has exerted a far-reaching influence on our age.” Sartre was one of the few people to have declined the award, referring to it as merely a function of a bourgeois institution.

The novel has been translated into English at least twice, by Lloyd Alexander as “The Diary of Antoine Roquentin” (John Lehmann, 1949) and by Robert Baldick as “Nausea” (Penguin Books, 1965).

Written in the form of journal entries, it follows 30-year-old Antoine Roquentin who, returned from years of travel, settles in the fictional French seaport town of Bouville to finish his research on the life of an 18th-century political figure. But during the winter of 1932 a “sweetish sickness,” as he calls nausea, increasingly impinges on almost everything he does or enjoys: his research project, the company of an autodidact who is reading all the books in the local library alphabetically, a physical relationship with a café owner named Françoise, his memories of Anny, an English girl he once loved, even his own hands and the beauty of nature.

Over time, his disgust towards existence forces him into self-hatred and near-insanity. He embodies Sartre’s theories of existential angst, and he searches anxiously for meaning in all the things that had filled and fulfilled his life up to that point. But finally Antoine comes to a revelation into the nature of his being when he faces the troublesomely provisional and limited nature of existence itself.

In his resolution at the end of the book he accepts the indifference of the physical world to man’s aspirations. He is able to see that realization not only as a regret but also as an opportunity. People are free to make their own meaning: a freedom that is also a responsibility, because without that commitment there will be no meaning.

Antoine Roquentin – The protagonist of the novel, Antoine is a former adventurer who has been living in Bouville for three years. Antoine does not keep in touch with family, and has no friends. He is a loner at heart and often likes to listen to other people’s conversations and examine their actions. Even though he at times admits to trying to find some sort of solace in the presence of others, he also exhibits signs of boredom and lack of interest when interacting with people. His relationship with Françoise is mostly hygienic in nature, for the two hardly exchange words and, when invited by the Self-Taught Man to accompany him for lunch, he agrees only to write in his diary later that: “I had as much desire to eat with him as I had to hang myself.” He can afford not to work, but spends a lot of his time writing a book about a French politician of the eighteenth century. Antoine does not think highly of himself: “The faces of others have some sense, some direction. Not mine. I cannot even decide whether it is handsome or ugly. I think it is ugly because I have been told so.” When he starts suffering from the Nausea he feels the need to talk to Anny, but when he finally does, it makes no difference to his condition. He eventually starts to think he does not even exist: “My existence was beginning to cause me some concern. Was I a mere figment of the imagination?”

Anny – Anny is an English woman who was once Antoine’s lover. After meeting with him, Anny makes it clear that she has changed a considerable amount and must go on with her life. Antoine clings to the past, hoping that she may want to redefine their relationship, but he is ultimately rejected by her.

Ogier P., generally referred to as “the self-taught man” or the Autodidact – An acquaintance of Antoine’s, he is a bailiff’s clerk who lives for the pursuit of knowledge and love of humanity. Highly disciplined, he has spent hundreds of hours reading at the local library. He often speaks to Roquentin and confides in him that he is a Socialist.

Like many Modernist novels, La Nausée is a “city-novel,” encapsulating experience within the city. It is widely assumed that “Bouville” in the novel is a fictional portrayal of Le Havre, where Sartre was living and teaching in the 1930s as he wrote it.

The critic William V. Spanos has used Sartre’s novel as an example of “negative capability,” a presentation of the uncertainty and dread of human existence, so strong that the imagination cannot comprehend it.

The Cambridge Companion to the French Novel places La Nausée in a tradition of French activism: “Following on from Malraux, Sartre, Beauvoir, and Camus among others were all able to use the writing of novels as a powerful tool of ideological exploration.” Although novelists like Sartre claim to be in rebellion against the 19th Century French novel, “they in fact owe a great deal both to its promotion of the lowly and to its ambiguous or 'poetic’ aspects.”

In his What Is Literature?, Sartre wrote, “On the one hand, the literary object has no substance but the reader’s subjectivity … But, on the other hand, the words are there like traps to arouse our feelings and to reflect them towards us … Thus, the writer appeals to the reader’s freedom to collaborate in the production of the work.”

The novel is an intricate formal achievement modeled on much 18th-century fiction that was presented as a “diary discovered among the papers of…”

Hayden Carruth wonders if there are not unrecognized layers of irony and humor beneath the seriousness of Nausea: “Sartre, for all his anguished disgust, can play the clown as well, and has done so often enough: a sort of fool at the metaphysical court.”

Like many modernist authors, Sartre, when young, loved popular novels in preference to the classics and claimed in his autobiography that it was from them, rather than from the balanced phrases of Chateaubriand that he had his “first encounters with beauty.”

Sartre described the stream of consciousness technique as one method of moving the novel from the era of Newtonian Physics forward into the era of Einstein’s theory of general relativity. He saw this as crucial because he felt that “narrative technique ultimately takes us back to the metaphysics of the novelist.” He wanted his novelistic techniques to be compatible with his theories on the existential freedom of the individual as well as his phenomenological analyses of the unstable, shifting structures of consciousness.

Disdaining 19th-century notions that character development in novels should obey and reveal psychological law, La Nausée treats such notions as bourgeois bad faith, ignoring the contingency and inexplicability of life.

From the psychological point of view Antoine Roquentin could be seen as an individual suffering from depression, and the nausea itself as one of the symptoms of his condition. Unemployed, living in deprived conditions, lacking human contact, being trapped in fantasies about the 18th century secret agent he is writing the book about, shows Sartre’s oeuvre as a follow-up of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and Rilke’s The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge in search of the precise description of schizophrenia. Rilke’s character anticipates Sartre’s.

Roquentin’s problem is not simply depression or mental illness, although his experience has pushed him to that point. Sartre presents Roquentin’s difficulties as arising from man’s inherent existential condition. His seemingly special circumstances (returning from travel, reclusiveness), which goes beyond the mere indication of his very real depression, are supposed to induce in him (and in the reader) a state that makes one more receptive to noticing an existential situation that everyone has, but may not be sensitive enough to let become noticeable. Roquentin undergoes a strange metaphysical experience that estranges him from the world. His problems are not merely a result of personal insanity, without larger significance. Rather, like the characters in the Dostoevsky and Rilke novels, they are victims of larger ideological, social, and existential forces that have brought them to the brink of insanity. Sartre’s point in Nausea is to comment on our universal reaction to these common external problems.

Hayden Carruth wrote in 1959 of the way that “Roquentin has become a familiar of our world, one of those men who, like Hamlet or Julien Sorel, live outside the pages of the books in which they assumed their characters… . It is scarcely possible to read seriously in contemporary literature, philosophy, or psychology without encountering references to Roquentin’s confrontation with the chestnut tree, for example, which is one of the sharpest pictures ever drawn of self-doubt and metaphysical anguish.”

Certainly, Nausea gives us a few of the clearest and hence most useful images of man in our time that we possess; and this, as Allen Tate has said, is the supreme function of art.

Criticism of Sartre’s novels frequently centered on the tension between the philosophical and political on one side versus the novelistic and individual on the other.

Ronald Aronson describes the reaction of Albert Camus, still in Algeria and working on his own first novel, L’Étranger. At the time of the novel’s appearance, Camus was a reviewer for an Algiers left-wing daily. Camus told a friend that he “thought a lot about the book” and it was “a very close part of me.” In his review, Camus wrote, “the play of the toughest and most lucid mind are at the same time both lavished and squandered.” Camus felt that each of the book’s chapters, taken by itself, “reaches a kind of perfection in bitterness and truth.” However, he also felt that the descriptive and the philosophical aspects of the novel are not balanced, that they “don’t add up to a work of art: the passage from one to the other is too rapid, too unmotivated, to evoke in the reader the deep conviction that makes the art of the novel.” He likewise felt that Sartre had tipped the balance too far in depicting the repugnant features of mankind “instead of placing the reasons for his despair, at least to a certain degree, if not completely, on the elements of human greatness.” Still, Camus’s largely positive review led to a friendship between the two authors.

G.J. Mattey, a philosopher rather than a novelist like Camus, flatly describes Nausea and others of Sartre’s literary works as “practically philosophical treatises in literary form.”

In distinction both from Camus’s feeling that Nausea is an uneasy marriage of novel and philosophy and also from Mattey’s belief that it is a philosophy text, the philosopher William Barrett, in his book Irrational Man, expresses an opposite judgment. He writes that Nausea “may well be Sartre’s best book for the very reason that in it the intellectual and the creative artist come closest to being conjoined.” Barrett says that, in other literary works and in his literary criticism, Sartre feels the pull of ideas too strongly to respond to poetry, “which is precisely that form of human expression in which the poet—and the reader who would enter the poet’s world—must let Being be, to use Heidegger’s phrase and not attempt to coerce it by the will to action or the will to intellectualization.”

The poet Hayden Carruth agrees with Barrett, whom he quotes, about Nausea. He writes firmly that Sartre, “is not content, like some philosophers, to write fable, allegory, or a philosophical tale in the manner of Candide; he is content only with a proper work of art that is at the same time a synthesis of philosophical specifications.”

Barrett feels that Sartre as a writer is best when “the idea itself is able to generate artistic passion and life.”

Steven Ungar compares Nausea with French novels of different periods, such as Madame de Lafayette La Princesse de Clèves (1678), Honoré de Balzac Le Père Goriot (1835), André Malraux La Condition humaine (1933), and Annie Ernaux Une femme (1988), all of which have scenes with men and women faced with choices and “provide literary expressions to concerns with personal identity that vary over time more in detail than in essence.”

A main theme in La Nausée is that life is meaningless unless a person makes personal commitments that give it meaning. William Barrett emphasizes that the despair and disgust in Nausea contrast with the total despair of Céline (who is quoted on the flyleaf of the French edition) that leads to nothing; rather, they are a necessary personal recognition that eventuate in “a release from disgust into heroism.”

Barrett adds that, “like Adler’s, Sartre’s is fundamentally a masculine psychology; it misunderstands and disparages the psychology of woman. The humanity of man consists in the For-itself, the masculine component by which we choose, make projects, and generally commit ourselves to a life of action. The element of masculine protest, to use Adler’s term, is strong throughout Sartre’s writings … the disgust … of Roquentin, in Nausea, at the bloated roots of the chestnut tree …”

Mattey elaborates further on the positive, redeeming aspect of the seemingly bleak, frustrating themes of existentialism that are so apparent in Nausea: “Sartre considered the subjectivity of the starting-point for what a human is as a key thesis of existentialism. The starting-point is subjective because humans make themselves what they are. Most philosophers consider subjectivity to be a bad thing, particularly when it comes to the motivation for action… . Sartre responds by claiming that subjectivity is a dignity of human being, not something that degrades us.” Therefore, the characteristic anguish and forlornness of existentialism are temporary: only a prerequisite to recognizing individual responsibility and freedom. The basis of ethics is not rule-following. A specific action may be either wrong or right and no specific rule is necessarily valid. What makes the action, either way, ethical is “authenticity,” the willingness of the individual to accept responsibility rather than dependence on rules, and to commit to his action. Despair, the existentialist says, is the product of uncertainty: being oriented exclusively to the outcome of a decision rather than to the process yields uncertainty, as we cannot decide the future, only our action.

In his “Introduction” to the American edition of Nausea, the poet and critic Hayden Carruth feels that, even outside those modern writers who are explicitly philosophers in the existentialist tradition, a similar vein of thought is implicit but prominent in a main line through Franz Kafka, Miguel de Unamuno, D. H. Lawrence, André Malraux, and William Faulkner. Carruth says:

'Suffering is the origin of consciousness,’ Dostoevsky wrote. But suffering is everywhere in the presence of thought and sensitivity. Sartre for his part has written, and with equal simplicity: 'Life begins on the other side of despair.’

Sartre has written, “What is meant … by saying that existence precedes essence? It means that, first of all, man exists, turns up, appears on the scene, and only afterwards defines himself. If man, as the existentialist conceives of him, is undefinable, it is only because he is nothing. Only afterwards will he be something, and he will have made what he will be.”

If things—and also people—are contingent, if they “just are,” then we are free and we create ourselves solely through our decisions and choices.

David Drake mentions that, in Nausea, Sartre gives several kinds of examples of people whose behavior shows bad faith, who are inauthentic: members of the bourgeoisie who believe their social standing or social skills give them a “right” to exist, or others who embrace the banality of life and attempt to flee from freedom by repeating empty gestures, others who live by perpetuating past versions of themselves as they were or who live for the expectations of others, or those who claim to have found meaning in politics, morality, or ideology.

In simply narrative terms, Roquentin’s nausea arises from his near-complete detachment from other people, his not needing much interaction with them for daily necessities: “the fact of his alienation from others is important; as his own work ceases to entertain and to occupy him, Roquentin has nothing that could distract him from the business of existing in its simplest forms.” As a practical matter, he could solve his problem by getting a job; but, as a device for developing the novel’s theme, his aloneness is a way of making him (and the reader) recognize that there is nothing inherent in the objective nature of the world that would give any necessary meaning to whatever actions he chose, and therefore nothing to restrict his freedom. “[H]is perception of the world around him becomes unstable as objects are disengaged from their usual frames of reference,” and he is forced to recognize that freedom is inescapable and that therefore creating a meaning for his life is his own responsibility. “Nothing makes us act the way we do, except our own personal choice.”

“But,” David Clowney writes, “freedom is frightening, and it is easier to run from it into the safety of roles and realities that are defined by society, or even by your own past. To be free is to be thrown into existence with no "human nature” as an essence to define you, and no definition of the reality into which you are thrown, either. To accept this freedom is to live “authentically”; but most of us run from authenticity. In the most ordinary affairs of daily life, we face the challenge of authentic choice, and the temptation of comfortable inauthenticity. All of Roquentin’s experiences are related to these themes from Sartre’s philosophy.“

Genius is what a man invents when he is looking for a way out.

During the Second World War, the experience of Sartre and others in the French Resistance to the Nazi occupation of France emphasized political activism as a form of personal commitment. This political dimension was developed in Sartre’s later trilogy of novels, Les Chemins de la Liberté (The Roads to Freedom) (1945–1949), which concern a vicious circle of failure on the part of a thinking individual to progress effectively from thought to action. Finally, for Sartre, political commitment became explicitly Marxist.

In 1945, Sartre gave a lecture in New York that was printed in Vogue in July of that year. In it he recast his prewar works, such as Nausea into politically committed works appropriate to the postwar era.

Marxism was not, in any case, always as appreciative of Sartre as he was of it. Mattey describes their objections:

Marxism was a very potent political and philosophical force in France after its liberation from the Nazi occupation. Marxist thinkers tend to be very ideological and to condemn in no uncertain terms what they regard to be rival positions. They found existentialism to run counter to their emphasis on the solidarity of human beings and their theory of material (economic) determinism. The subjectivity that is the starting point of existentialism seemed to the Marxists to be foreign to the objective character of economic conditions and to the goal of uniting the working classes in order to overthrow the bourgeoise capitalists. If one begins with the reality of the "I think,” one loses sight of what really defines the human being (according to the Marxists), which is their place in the economic system. Existentialism’s emphasis on individual choice leads to contemplation, rather than to action. Only the bourgeoise have the luxury to make themselves what they are through their choices, so existentialism is a bourgeoise philosophy.

Sartre was influenced at the time by the philosophy of Edmund Husserl and his phenomenological method. He received a stipend from the Institut Français, allowing him to study in Berlin with Husserl and Martin Heidegger in 1932, as he began writing the novel.

Roy Elveton reports:

In January, 1939, one year after the death of Edmund Husserl, Sartre published a short essay entitled 'Husserl’s Central Idea.’ In the space of a few paragraphs, Sartre rejects the epistemology of Descartes and the neo-Kantians and their view of consciousness’s relationship to the world. Consciousness is not related to the world by virtue of a set of mental representations and acts of mental synthesis that combine such representations to provide us with our knowledge of the external world. Husserl’s intentional theory of consciousness provides the only acceptable alternative: 'Consciousness and the world are immediately given together: the world, essentially external to consciousness, is essentially related to it.’ The only appropriate image for intentionality and our knowing relationship to the world is that of an 'explosion’: 'to know is to “explode” toward’ an object in the world, an object 'beyond oneself, over there…towards that which is not oneself…out of oneself.’

Following Husserl, Sartre views absurdity as a quality of all existing objects (and of the material world collectively), independent of any stance humans might take with respect to them. Our consciousness of an object does not inhere in the object itself. Thus in the early portions of the novel, Roquentin, who takes no attitude towards objects and has no stake in them, is totally estranged from the world he experiences. The objects themselves, in their brute existence, have only participation in a meaningless flow of events: they are superfluous. This alienation from objects casts doubt for him, in turn, on his own validity and even his own existence.

Roquentin says of physical objects that, for them, “to exist is simply to be there.” When he has the revelation at the chestnut tree, this “fundamental absurdity” of the world does not go away. What changes then is his attitude. By recognizing that objects won’t supply meaning in themselves, but people must supply it for them – that Roquentin himself must create meaning in his own life – he becomes both responsible and free. The absurdity becomes, for him, “the key to existence.”

Victoria Best writes:

Language proves to be a fragile barrier between Roquentin and the external world, failing to refer to objects and thus place them in a scheme of meaning. Once language collapses it becomes evident that words also give a measure of control and superiority to the speaker by keeping the world at bay; when they fail in this function, Roquentin is instantly vulnerable, unprotected.

Thus, although, in some senses, Sartre’s philosophy in Nausea derives from Husserl and ultimately from René Descartes, the strong role he gives to the contingent randomness of physical objects contrasts with their commitment to the role of necessity. (Elveton mentions that, unknown to Sartre, Husserl himself was developing the same ideas, but in manuscripts that remained unpublished.)

Ethan Kleinberg writes that, more than Husserl, it was Martin Heidegger who appealed to Sartre’s sense of radical individualism. He says, “for Sartre, the question of being was always and only a question of personal being. The dilemma of the individual confronting the overwhelming problem of understanding the relationship of consciousness to things, of being to things, is the central focus” of Nausea. Eventually, “in his reworking of Husserl, Sartre found himself coming back to the themes he had absorbed from Heidegger’s Was ist Metaphysik?” Nausea was a prelude to Sartre’s sustained attempt to follow Heidegger’s Sein und Zeit by analyzing human experience as various ontological modes, or ways of being in the world.

In 1937, just as Sartre was finishing Nausea and getting it to press, he wrote an essay, The Transcendence of the Ego. He still agreed with Husserl that consciousness is “about” objects or, as they say, it “intends” them – rather than forming within itself a duplicate, an inner representation of an outward object. The material objects of consciousness (or “objects of intention”) exist in their own right, independent and without any residue accumulating in them from our awareness of them. However, the new idea in this essay was that Sartre now differed in also believing that the person’s ego itself is also “in the world,” an object of consciousness to be discovered, rather than the totally known subject of consciousness. In the novel, not only Roquentin’s consciousness but his own body also becomes objectified in his new, alarming perception.

And so Sartre parted company with Husserl over the latter’s belief in a transcendent ego, which Sartre believed instead was neither formally nor materially in consciousness, but outside it: in the world.

This seemingly technical change fit with Sartre’s native predisposition to think of subjectivity as central: a conscious person is always immersed in a world where his or her task is to make himself concrete. A “person” is not an unchanging, central essence, but a fluid construct that continually re-arises as an interaction among a person’s consciousness, his physiology and history, the material world, and other people. This view itself supported Sartre’s vision of people as fundamentally both doomed and free to live lives of commitment and creativity.

As Søren Kierkegaard, the earliest existentialist, wrote: 'I must find a truth that is true for me … the idea for which I can live or die.’

La Nausée allows Sartre to explain his philosophy in simplified terms. Roquentin is the classic existentialist hero whose attempts to pierce the veil of perception lead him to a strange combination of disgust and wonder. For the first part of the novel, Roquentin has flashes of nausea that emanate from mundane objects. These flashes appear seemingly randomly, from staring at a crumpled piece of paper in the gutter to picking up a rock on the beach. The feeling he perceives is pure disgust: a contempt so refined that it almost shatters his mind each time it occurs. As the novel progresses, the nausea appears more and more frequently, though he is still unsure of what it actually signifies. However, at the base of a chestnut tree in a park, he receives a piercingly clear vision of what the nausea actually is. Existence itself, the property of existence to be something rather than nothing was what was slowly driving him mad. He no longer sees objects as having qualities such as color or shape. Instead, all words are separated from the thing itself, and he is confronted with pure being.

Carruth points out that the antipathy of the existentialists to formal ethical rules brought them disapproval from moral philosophers concerned with traditional schemes of value. On the other hand, analytical philosophers and logical positivists were “outraged by Existentialism’s willingness to abandon rational categories and rely on non mental processes of consciousness.”

Additionally, Sartre’s philosophy of existentialism is opposed to a certain kind of rationalistic humanism. Upon the confession of the Self-Taught Man as to being a member of the S.F.I.O., a French Socialist party, Roquentin quickly engages him in a Socratic dialogue to expose his inconsistencies as a humanist. Roquentin first points out how his version of humanism remains unaffiliated to a particular party or group so as to include or value all of mankind. However, he then notes how the humanist nonetheless caters his sympathy with a bias towards the humble portion of mankind. Roquentin continues to point out further discrepancies of how one humanist may favor an audience of laughter while another may enjoy the somber funeral. In dialogue, Roquentin challenges the Self-Taught Man to show a demonstrable love for a particular, tangible person rather than a love for the abstract entity attached to that person (i.e. the idea of Youth in a young man). In short, he concludes that such humanism naively attempts to “melt all human attitudes into one.” More importantly, to disavow humanism does not constitute “anti-humanism”.

The kind of humanism Sartre found unacceptable, according to Mattey, is one that denies the primacy of individual choice… . But there is another conception of humanism implicit in existentialism. This is one that emphasizes the ability of individual human beings to transcend their individual circumstances and act on behalf of all humans. The fact is, Sartre maintains, that the only universe we have is a human universe, and the only laws of this universe are made by humans.“

In his Sartre biography, David Drake writes, Nausea was on the whole well received by the critics and the success of Sartre the novelist served to enhance the reputation he had started to enjoy as a writer of short stories and philosophical texts, mostly on perception.”

Although his earlier essays did not receive much attention, Nausea and the collection of stories The Wall, swiftly brought him recognition.

Carruth writes that, on publication, “it was condemned, predictably, in academic circles, but younger readers welcomed it, and it was far more successful than most first novels.”

Sartre originally titled the novel Melancholia. Simone de Beauvoir referred to it as his “factum on contingency.” He composed it from 1932 to 1936. He had begun it during his military service and continued writing at Le Havre and in Berlin.

Ethan Kleinberg reports:

Sartre went to study in Berlin for the academic year 1933. While in Berlin, Sartre did not take any university courses or work with Husserl or Heidegger. Sartre’s time seems to have been spent reading Husserl and working on the second draft of Nausea.

Drake confirms this account.

The manuscript was subsequently typed. It was at first refused by the Nouvelle Revue Française (N.R.F.), despite a strong recommendation from their reviewer, Jean Paulhan. In 1937, however, the imprint’s publisher, Gaston Gallimard accepted it and suggested the title La Nausée.

Brice Parain, the editor, asked for numerous cuts of material that was either too populist or else too sexual to avoid an action for indecency. Sartre deleted the populist material, which was not natural to him, with few complaints, because he wanted to be published by the prestigious N.R.F., which had a strong, if vague, house style. However, he stood fast on the sexual material which he felt was an artistically necessary hallucinatory ingredient.

Michel Contat has examined the original typescript and feels that, “if ever Melancholia is published as its author had originally intended it, the novel will no doubt emerge as a work which is more composite, more baroque and perhaps more original than the version actually published.”

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[notgonnarememberthis]

A Compromising Engagement - Chapter 3

Ho boy was getting to this point a struggle. I had very much intended on sending this chapter out at the beginning of December but when finals hit they hit HARD. I had the great misfortune of taking physics this semester and it was biting off a lot more that I could chew. I ended up having to abandon a lot of things that I wanted to do including getting this chapter finished and participating in Elementary month. I may still throw together some short prompts for that but I needed a long and restful break after finals. But I am back. No idea what I’m doing for the next chapter but that’s a beast for another day.

I’d also like to thank y’all for the massive amount of support for this story. I never would have imagined when mapping this concept out that people would respond so well. Hope y’all enjoy this update and again, thank you. Your kind words mean so much.

Sherlock wakes to the opposite end of his bed dipping violently. Falling asleep in a bed for him is a rarity, however, with a motorcycle settled in the place their couch once was, he had no choice but to retire to his bedroom once sleep threatened to claim him. He opens his eyes to find Watson wild eyed laying next to him. Her cheeks are flushed and chest heaving from effort to catch her breath.

He says nothing, allowing her to explain herself. “Mrs. Hudson let your father inside. They’re coming up the stairs right now.” Surely enough he can hear the amicable chatter of the other woman steadily approaching.

They’d been expecting his father for a week since he sent nothing more than a letter announcing their engagement. It would enrage him enough not to notice the convenient timing of the letter. Her mother, however, had yet to be informed. Hers will take much more planning as this one will be a face to face conversation. They spent the week preparing their story so absolutely no gaps or faults could be spotted and pointed out.

He nods to her, granting permission for whatever she had in mind. She pulls the sheet over herself settling herself next to him. She turns her back to the door allowing her head to rest on his chest. He places an arm over her noting how soft her cardigan feels. No wonder she wears it so much. Once again the smell of her washes over him, lulling him into an odd sense of calm he’s not quite used to. He relaxes into the hold savoring the small moments where they’re alone. Her breathing evens out and she closes her eyes as if she were sleeping all along.

He tracks them across the landing, first going to Watson’s room. He can hear Mrs. Hudson’s confusion at her being missing. She’d spied the ring once before, but said nothing. However, with Watson ‘resting’ on his bare chest, he’s certain she’s going to have enough questions that could rival what Mary could throw at them. 

He ponders for a moment why they went to Watson’s room first, was his father planning on seeing her instead? He tenses at the thought but it’s her hand resting on his ribcage that forces him to relax again. His father’s observations could rival his own on matters that he actually cared about. Any sign of discomfort could clue him into their little game.

A swift two knocks announces the presence not waiting before the door swings open. Mrs. Hudson throws an apologetic look, it wasn’t her who had opened it clearly. His father stops in his tracks when he spots the woman in the bed, if Mrs. Hudson is shocked she certainly doesn’t give anything away. Sherlock raises one eyebrow at the two of them challenging any questions to be asked.

“Meet me downstairs.” His father is curt, not caring much for pleasantries. As he walks away Mrs. Hudson mouths an apology before heading after him. Practiced intimacy helps with the weight of her against him. She’d fallen asleep on him only once after a case involving children, so exhausted that she dozed off in the car with her head on his shoulder. He wasn’t that good of a pillow then but it didn’t seem to bother her at the time. Her fake sleeping is so convincing that he momentarily regrets having to move from beneath her, lest he cause her to stir. It’s her head turning ever so slightly that reminds him of the truth, she’s tracking the movement downstairs using Mrs. Hudson’s voice.

“Think he bought it?” She murmurs opening one eye to look up at him.

“I believe so.” She drops her head letting out a breath of relief. “Ready to face the beast?”

“Not as such.” Her soft laugh rumbles against his chest pulling a smile across his lips. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

“We’ve gotten into worse. Wait until we face my mother.” He laughs allowing the short moment to calm him before he faces the monster awaiting just below them.

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Eventually he has to leave the comforts of the bedroom. Properly dressed he takes the stairs quickly, ready to tear the bandaid off. The quicker he can turn his father from his home, the better. He rounds the corner spying his father on the couch, a cup of tea in hand.

“Your help saw herself out.” Sherlock opens his mouth to correct him that Mrs. Hudson isn’t their ‘help’. His father doesn’t give him a chance however, rolling straight into the questioning. “Will Miss Watson be joining us?”

“She’s still getting ready. She’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“No need. I won’t be here long.” He places the glass on the table pushing aside the case file resting there. “She has your mother’s ring.”

“She does.”

“I was under the impression that the ring was lost over the years.” He rocks on his feet nodding at the statement.

“I found it while transforming the basement into Watson’s own office of sorts.” A lie, but a clever enough one that his father doesn’t push further.

“The ceremony?”

“Small. Watson’s family, her brother’s, Kitty and Archie. I imagine the captain and Detective Bell will be in attendance as well.” He doesn’t bother with an invitation towards him. It would likely be met with an announcement that he was busy and send a lackey in his place. “It is both of our wishes that it be kept a private event.” He can tell the statement bothers his father but the older man doesn’t push. He’d rather not imagine even his fake wedding be used as an excuse for his father to make contact with more criminals and those with questionable morals.

“Very well. The ceremony will be held at my estate.”

“No it shall not. Watson wishes to be married in the same place as her mother and step father. It holds significant meaning to her and I only wish to make her happy.” The lies roll too easily off his tongue. “You’re welcome to fund the wedding but as you can imagine, it’s not needed.”

“I see. Do keep in touch. I wish to hear more in the future but I have a meeting with a very powerful ally. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” The threat comes out softer than he expected. Convinced, even.

When Watson finally descends the steps he’s already gone. She seems relieved but concerned nonetheless. He guides her to the kitchen where he’s already preparing their coffee for the day, his hand brushing her lower back as he fills her in on the conversation.

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Where the talk with his father went smoothly, Mary was the opposite. It was to be expected but both of them were uneased and exhausted by the seemingly relentless questioning. Their first date, when it became official, who knows of their relationship, how many dates there had been across the years, and more were tossed at them across the hour with both of them longing for a break and another coffee.

“Joan why don’t you go get us some coffee I wish to speak to Sherlock alone.” They flash each other a concerned glance at each other. This was far from what the two of them planned, but they’d have to honor her wish in order not to raise suspicion. He squeezes Watson’s hand nodding to her that it was okay. She’s still hesitant in leaving, eyes lingering on the two of them even as she goes up to the counter to place their orders.

“Mary-” She places a hand up stopping him mid-sentence.

“Save it. You are hiding something.” Her jaw is set, accusatory. He swallows heavily letting out a sigh. “Why did you propose to my daughter? Joanie told me before how you hate marriage. I won’t be fooled by a simple death threat with the two of you. You’ve seen more than I care to remember.”

His heart sinks caught in the plan. He nods in submission. “Truthfully, I proposed because of my father.” The woman across from him lets out a disapproving noise that feels more painful than any scolding. No wonder Joan is so well put together. “He had a talk with me, not unlike the ones that I imagine you’ve had with your daughter. My brother recently passed and my father is not a young man. He said something that frightened me.” He sucks in a breath. “I don’t wish to be the only Holmes remaining.” He glances over at Watson ordering at the desk. Her hair is swept up and her suit coat unbuttoned. A relaxed polite smile graces her features as she speaks with the cashier. “Watson,” He catches himself using her last name still. “Joan, she’s the only one I’d ever trust to share that with. For so long I thought the name only brought with it death and pain. Yet she stayed and I still can’t piece together why.”

“Good.” Her simple response causes his head to snap towards her. “The ring?”

“My mother’s. It’s the one thing of hers that I managed to keep away from my father. It’s the only thing that felt right.”

 “Grandchildren?”

“If Watson wishes I will give my life for the child just as I would for her.” A click of heels announces Watson’s presence again as she hands them each their coffee.

“Well now that the two of you are engaged Sherlock is going to have to start coming to our lunch dates.” The younger Watson shakes her head at the change in tone, shooting a look at him asking silently what he had said. He simply shrugs in response. “Have you told your brother yet?”

Beneath the table her hand slips into his, relief flooding over the both of them that thus far, their ruse was being bought. Not quite willing to look into the future at what challenge awaits them next.

@tamarknott @averageinside

Also a big shoutout to @lilspookydiaz for making this all possible in the first place!