#i was like “no...surely not...” and now i am one very specific word richer.

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

(via @boltlightning)

(via @tortoisesshells)

come with us. james, come with me.

[lookinginview068]

I mourn the fact that I will never have children.

It is not because I want any that I do so.

I love children. I love the wisdom they have, the spark that they have that haven't been beaten down by the oppressive rules of our society. I love watching them learn, I love helping them by answering their questions about life and the whole world.

I could still never have children.

I couldn't hope to afford it, for one. I have never been capable of working, and so my disability income provides only enough to support myself and the person I share home and living expenses with. Second, I am physically incapable of being there for any hypothetical child I would have, as I'm limited by constant pain and injuries.

And even if it weren't so, I would hate having to constantly disappoint due to my fatigue, given my own very active upbringing. Growing up in nature, exploring and learning within it is one of the most blissful parts of my entire life. I couldn't personally stand to not provide my child(ren) with that as an option that's at least available to them.

Third, my mental disabilities are only manageable because I am able to live daily life on my specific terms that separate me from general society. My routines and needs are strict, and also pivotal for me to be able to function just sometimes here and there. No matter how many fancy words I might vomit, none of them could ever begin to convey the delicate balance between a good day and one where my whole sense of self is all but gone.

This constant balancing of emotional and physical needs is like work in and of itself, and I only manage as well as I do now because there are no outside forces left to drain me.

All of these things were, in a sense, collectively decided for me. To say that me having a child would be a life sentence would not be an exaggeration. I do not even have pets for this reason.

I cannot unhave a child. Not in the way I can sell an object, or arrange an agreement with a significant other.

I also saw what raising a child while struggling my limitations did to my parents, and I would never wish to inflict anything even remotely similar to another child if I can at all help it. I came into this world learning that they were simply not equipped for what parenthood entails in our society, and then accepted that I wouldn't be either.

I do not want to have children. This is one of the simpler facts of my life.

But I mourn that it was never my choice to make to begin with.

I mourn not being given the chance to decide such a thing for myself, to decide what I'm capable of and willing to do. I mourn that I won't get to pass on the stories and teachings my well-meaning parents did. I mourn that my family line will die with me, not because of matters of blood, but because there are just so many things I would have loved to share. To see through the eyes of someone I love and chose to take on the role to help grow and support. To be able to provide the things I needed while growing up.

So much knowledge of my home and its history is likely to die with me. I would have loved to share it with someone, so that even should they choose to walk a different path in life, would at least have been granted that point from which their road started. Something that might hopefully have made their life richer.

I mourn that I will never get to even consider these things as an option. I mourn that I cannot confidently say for sure that I've chosen to be childfree.

It's for the best that I do not have children, no matter how you look at it. And that fact hurts me, perhaps more deeply than it should.

[lepoppeta]

2, 7, 10, 13, 16, 18, 22, 25, 27, 28, 32 and 36 for the writing thiiiing!!

my goodness, what a lot of numbers! im going to be sticking this all under the cut so i dont clog up anyones feed.

2. if you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? if you already write everything by hand: (a) are you a wizard? and (b) pen or pencil?

i think i could, but it would take a lot of practice. writing stuff out by hand is immensely satisfying, and one of my favourite hobbies is buying stationary and office supplies that i only eventually get around to using, but typing also has its merits (specifically speed and lack of carpal tunnel).

i am not a wizard, but i appreciate both pen and pencil equally. it just depends on what mood i happen to be in that day.

7. what is your deepest joy about writing?

im not really sure how to answer this one, simply for lack of adequate description. theres just and immense satisfaction to the written word; to craft poetry and prose.

10. has a piece of writing ever "haunted" you? has your own writing "haunted" you? what does that mean to you?

"haunted" has two different definitions depending on what its applied to.

sometimes ill find a fanfiction that makes me feel so hollow and raw that it hangs over me for a while, almost up to a few days. these fanfictions are often my all-time favourites and i revisit them whenever i want to have my soul metaphorically scrubbed clean.

in the case of my own writing, "haunted" means that i come up with a single passage that i adore but cannot connect to a larger prose, so i let it sit in my documents for years. i open it with the intention of working on it, stare at it for a while, and then close it again, but nothing that i write around this will do it justice.

13. what is a subject that is incredibly difficult for you to write about? what is easy?

i find sex to be hard (badum-tssh). its not an activity i enjoy nor i participate in. i can tolerate it if its written a certain way, and i have written smut, but im not particularly gung-ho about it.

emotions are also very hard due to me not knowing how to describe them. i hesitate to because i always feel like im never doing it justice. i hate filter words like "felt" and "thought" so whenever i slip back into the habit of using them i get discouraged.

i dont think theres a subject matter i find particularly easy to write... nothing that comes to mind, anyway.

16. whats the weirdest thing youve ever used as a bookmark?

uhh... i dunno, a receipt? im a very dull person, you must understand.

18. choose a passage from your writing. tell me about the backstory of this moment. how you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

"... John Ryan, do you take this man to be... to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward... for better or for worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until..." His voice is thick by the end, sticky from the absurdity of the words. "...until death do you part?"

Jack continues to gaze at Atlas in earnest, until he sighs softly through his nose. "... no."

Atlas tries to object, but his tongue weighs heavy in his mouth and his jaw is stiff. A watery smile breaks across Jack's face. His eyebrows wilt endearingly at their ends, and it's only now that Atlas realises that the shine in his eyes from before was from unshed tears.

"Not until death do us part. We're past that." He reaches out and catches Atlas around the back of his head, entwining his fingers in his dark brown hair. "We died, and we came back, and we're here now." He leans forward until their noses brush. "I will love Atlas Mulligan past death... into the life and lives beyond. I did not --" he pushes their foreheads together "-- survive hell on earth just to lose him a second time."

(My Lover Stands on Golden Sands)

this was the first concrete bit of this piece that i had written down in a document; the first passage that i knew i didnt want to change.

rapture is an odd sort of place where racism and homophobia obviously still existed: sander cohen was gay but his career didnt seem to suffer from it (possibly because he was pretty buddy-buddy with mr. ryan), and while there was only a smattering of non-white characters that im aware of off the top of my head (charles porter, grace holloway, yi suchong) there was evidence of at least them experiencing microagressions somewhat regularly.

in the early stages of this piece i had considered removing all of the -isms and -phobias from rapture entirely because i was working off what rapture was originally supposed to stand for (a place where everyone got along and anyone could be anything -- a weird sort of submarine zootopia), but i realised there was no way i could do that in good conscious. so, i had to settle with jack and atlas lightly musing over period-typical homophobia. jack was able to get away with it most likely due to his status, and the fact that while the people of rapture brought all of their biases down with them, it doesnt appear that arrests were made due to homosexuality (so long as it was kept on the relative down-low).

(im getting off track, i think)

in any case -- i knew i was inspired by something else for this passage. possibly a pinterest prompt? about the deconstruction of the phrase "until death do you part". that was the main focus here.

22. how organized are you with your writing? describe to me your organisation method, if it exists. what tools do you use? notebooks? binders? apps? the cloud?

my writing portfolio is, regrettably, incredibly scattered. onenote, google keep, the apple notes app, simplenotes... its all over the place and i despise it. im always on the look out for a free cross-platform notes app (i use apple on mobile and windows on desktop) that has a rich text editor and a way to organize notes via folders/notebooks/tags. the closest ive gotten to what i like is notebook by zagg, but the last time i tried using it more regularly it had pretty major syncing problems and i fell out of love with it.

25. what is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

hmm... i wouldnt say this is wholly irrelevant, and its not a detail so much as a bit of a useless headcanon that ive spent too much time thinking about, but... atlas mother was named rosie (my inspiration for her came from the song "the star of county down"). she was flighty and flirtatious and didnt give a rats arse about settling down and behaving sensibly. she wasnt especially maternal (atlas was raised mostly by his devout catholic maternal grandparents) but she was around enough for atlas to have a vague relationship with her. she died when he was a teenager from an unspecified illness.

atlas father is nameless and deceased, although he was a musician (like atlas is today).

27. who is the most stressful character youve ever written? why?

i havent written him (yet) but mister augustus sinclair gives me a great deal of stress because theres no way i can write about someone as viciously intelligent as he is. my talents pale in comparison to the bar he has set for his personality and inner workings.

munkustrap (from the cats musical) also causes me a great deal of stress because my vision of him is so complicated and self-destructive but like... i dont blame him at all for being that way. i do dread about having to one day tap into all of that angst, though.

28. who is the most delightful character youve ever written? why?

atlas! i love atlas so much (or at least my personal very ooc vision of him) because its a bit like watching a feral dog get housebroken: hes never considered himself to be the domestic sort at all, and seeing him slowly find his place alongside jack as a lover and a father never ceases to delight me.

32. what is a line from a poem/novel/fanfiction (etc.) that you return to from time to time? how did you find it? what does it mean to you?

a lot of the lines/passages i like can be sorted into one of two distinct categories: (a) lines that make me laugh, and (b) lines that rip my heart to shreds.

" "Alright Swin, I'll cut you a deal," you decide, and sit up, criss-cross applesauce in his hand. Swindle perks up, instantly interested-- he's like a clicker trained dog, you swear he has some kind of Pavlovian joy response to the word 'deal'... "

(sugar (daddy), oh, honey honey)

theres several lines in this fic that make me choke on my own air but this is one of my personal favourites.

He stops, props himself up, and gently shakes his shoulder. “Sweetheart?”

Hanzo says nothing. He buries his face at Jesse’s neckline.

More than trembling: he’s weeping.

“It is you,” Hanzo ekes out, grabbing fistfuls of Jesse’s jacket.

“Aw, darlin’,” Jesse bleats. His throat tightens. “Of course it’s me, it’s the real me.”

“It is really, truly you.”

He laughs, a jittery heh-hah. “The genuine article.”

The archer finally lifts his face and speaks in a tone that nearly breaks his heart.

“You left me,” Hanzo says.

Jesse gathers him tight, expects Hanzo to pull away, floods with fondness when he only clings closer. “Honey, I fucked up. I messed up real bad, honey, I did you wrong.”

“You left me.” Hanzo’s cheeks glisten with tears.

“I know, darlin’, I know. I was bein’ a real jackass.”

“You left me. I deserved it.”

Now McCree thinks his heart will outright shatter. “Darlin’, please. No, you didn’t.”

(Hang the Fool)

chapter 19 in hang the fool is something i revisit again and again without remorse. just... ugh. this fic is perfect. this chapter specifically is perfect. i am such a hardcore sucker for tearful reunion scenes, you have no idea.

36. they say write what you know. setting aside that this is terrible advice... what do you know?

i was a horse girl, back in the day. i dont know how surprising this is -- ive been told that i just kind of naturally have that vibe. i know horses, i have books on horses. im not an expert, mind you, but i probably know slightly more than the average person. enough to get mildly annoyed if someone says something largely incorrect.

[writing-in-april]

A Hope to go Home

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Spencer’s POV and Vietnam war AU)

Summary: Spencer is drafted for the war and the only thing that helps him get through it is the letters he gets from Reader.

A/N: This is my second fic for my 1250 follower celebration!!! It’s also the third part for my Spencer Reid & Letters series based on this request by @90spumkin 😊 This was super fun to write cause of how much of a history nerd I am! It’s the first time I’ve done a full blown historical AU (besides the series I’ve got coming in the future) Thanks for reading hope y’all like it and requests are open!

Warnings: Talk of violence & Talk of war- this whole fic is kinda loosely based on the prison arc with Spencer, just with an obvious twist

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.6k

When October 28th was called out over the radio my heart dropped deep down into my stomach. I had been huddled next to the men that I worked with that were eligible. I remember distinctly thinking that there was no way that it could ever be me, if I didn’t fully acknowledge the possibility it would be easier to get through.

Then reality decided to slap me across the face.

Out of all the 27 million men that were eligible for the draft, why did I have to be part of the 2.2 million that got chosen?

None of the other men I worked with at the bureau had been called in, besides Anderson though I wasn’t very close with him. Most of them besides Me, Anderson, and Morgan were already too old to be eligible, I envied them immensely.

The looks on their faces told me all that I needed to know. They looked like they were already ready to start planning my funeral. I was glad I had at least been given the rest of the day off so I wouldn’t have to look at their somber faces anymore. At least I’d also get to go home to them early. It would probably be my last day off in a while, maybe ever.

Morgan and I had been pushing to get funding from our bosses for a new department, along with a few others, especially that old timer named Rossi. We had a few working names, chief among them the “Behavioral Science Unit”. Our idea was to create a unit in response to the uptick of violent crimes- especially serial offenders and help catch them by analyzing their behaviors. Most of the bureau thought we were a bunch of cooks, they still viewed our idea to use psychology to help catch criminals as a pseudoscience. I had even considered quitting my position a number of times because of the rampant disregard for people’s rights by the director, J. Edgar. Hoover, who’s questionable investigations caused my stomach to churn regularly.

But, we were getting close to getting that first pile of cash to help us fund a unit and I felt a need to see this project through. It was too important of a project to quit right when we were so close. Even though the actions of the government made me sick, I wanted to help from within, I wouldn’t quit. Though in light of my new circumstances I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see that pile of cash, let alone be able to name the unit. Maybe I’ll live to see what name they choose, if I get out of Vietnam alive. Though from what I had seen already from the people that came back injured beyond belief, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get out alive.

Even though I considered myself too weak to be a proper soldier that could be successful in combat, I didn't have any viable exception to the draft and I wasn’t brave enough to dodge. I cursed myself internally for not going for another PHD, I had heard it was rather easy to obtain a waiver if you were a student. However, I felt increasingly guilty for thinking that.

It was a well known fact that the richer you were, the easier it was to get a deferment. And, even though I wasn’t the most well off I still would have been able to afford to get another PHD when many couldn’t even think about getting a bachelors. Plus, I wasn’t even sure what we were supposed to be fighting for anyway. In the last world war there had been a reason. It seemed like no one knew the reason for this one. Was it worth it to see all these men perish? I guess it was for the Washington elite.

As I boarded to leave to a country so few knew anything about or cared to know anything about, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever come home again. The look on their face when I broke the news to them and their devastation when we had said what may be our last goodbye haunted me. They were smart, arguably just as smart as me, they knew I was most likely marching to my death. I hoped their devastation wouldn’t be the last thing I’d ever be able to remember of them while I bled out in a country I didn’t think we should be fighting against. I hoped I’d be able to come home.

—-

The only thing that was really keeping me going over here, where the sun was so hot I thought I would be incinerated to a crisp like those poor people in Hiroshima and Nagasaki was my hope. Though maybe that was the fear of being bombed by my own country and brushed off as “necessary casualties” talking, all in an effort to put down an enemy most of us didn’t understand.

I waited impatiently under the burning sun tapping my foot repeatedly while someone next to me kept talking. Any other time and at any other place I would’ve been talking just as much as he had. When I first got here and the only person that I had connected with in basic training was almost immediately blown to smithereens. I decided that forming relationships here was futile. It was just easier to keep my head down and hope for home.

It had been quite a long time since I had gotten my last letter, specifically from them. Most of the letters I ended up getting were from them, my mom sent some on occasion but because of her fragile mental health I had told the staff where she was to not tell her where I had gone. My co workers had tried too, mostly at the beginning though when it was somewhat assured I’d still be alive. I think they had lost hope that I’d return, though some had obviously thought that was never going to happen, probably on account for my obviously unathletic stature.

My significant other had been the only one who seemed to hold out hope, even sometimes more than I could muster. That’s why every night I’d look over the letters they had sent me, to help replenish the hope that had been drained throughout the days.

It had been so long though, since I had received my last letter from them. A sense of dread filled the bottom of my stomach over the crippling fear of wondering if they had moved on. I didn’t know how long I’d been here, I stopped counting after a month. Had they stopped bothering to count too? Was it no longer worth it?

“Reid!” My last name was barked at me by the man in charge who I only bothered to learn the name of because I didn’t know I would have gotten in trouble. He barked again at me, “Letter for you!”

My heart caught up in my throat. I hoped the letter would be from them, if it was from anyone else I’m not sure it would bring me any happiness- at least it would be nothing compared to the happiness letters that they sent me made me feel, even if only for a moment.

I scooted off quickly with my letter in hand towards the barracks eager to tear into the letter. I hadn’t flipped over the envelope yet, wanting to wait to see who it was from by myself so I didn’t show emotion in front of the other soldiers. I plopped down on the cot assigned to me, though it was so thin it might as well have been a wooden board. My fingers shook as I tore into the envelope rabidly, I needed to see the words written in their hand. I didn’t know if I could handle this letter not being from them.

“Dear Spencer,”

As soon as I saw those words written in loopy cursive on a creased piece of paper I always felt slightly better. The letter was filled with sweet words and flowery language that most people would scoff at, but it meant the world to me. I wasn’t ok by any means and I didn’t know if I’d ever be fully ok again. But the words ‘Dear Spencer,” made me hope I’d one day go home again.

—

When that fateful day came, it was surreal. It wasn’t until I was back home on U.S soil that I had processed that I was finally going home.

My heart pounded in my chest as I waited to be reunited with them- the streets were crowded with many people. It had been the happiest sight I had been able to see in a long time, people reuniting with their loved ones.

I couldn’t find them in the sea of happiness around me, it made me worry. The last letter I had gotten from them had been a few months ago. I clutched it in my hand like I had clutched onto my hope. I wondered if it had been too long since I had been home.

“Spencer!” My name being called, my first name, not my last as I had become accustomed to overseas. Relief flooded through my veins that had only known anxiety, dread, and fear for so long. I knew who it was instantly and I knew it was time to come home. Maybe they’d let me name the unit now that I was home.

——

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

Letters Series: (Group of Unlinked fics about Spencer and letters)

@whoreforthebau @sierraraeck @90spumkin

[ryctone]

Okay but with all the hype for the new event I forgot I made a Dark Choco & Croissant fic based on @the-wereraven's Golden Child!AU lol;;

Srry if the pace is weird I wrote this when it was late and I just wanted to write fluff of these two; Also Raven, I put some of my headcanons in these hope u don’t mind TwT.

(Warnings: Fluff, so much fluff and Dark Choco being a good older brother for a sick lil Croissant. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.) enjoy!

---

---

---

The prince carried himself with elegance and grace. So much in fact, that his metal shoes touched the yellow-stone flooring with utter gentleness, soft and delicate as a trail of kisses. Despite the circumstances.

He didn't expect to receive a letter from the Cheese Kingdom that day, even less being informed that Golden Cheese's daughter; his pupil, was sick. Dark choco just had to see for himself, specially after how... peculiar this sickness was. He just wanted to make sure she was okay.

The guards at the door were already familiar with the heir of the Cacao Kingdom, since both their rulers are very close allays and knew he'd do no harm to the already i'll princess, granted him access to pay her a visit.

He entered the room and was greeted by-

“Hi, Choo.” came a little voice, muffled by the many blankets covering it before slowly revealing a little freckled face with golden eyes. Dark Choco paused mid-step, then smiled to himself.

Princess Croissant Cookie wasn’t just any cookie, that was certain. In the years since first being instated as his pupil of the throne by Golden Cheese herself; to show the young princess of Cheese Valley the ropes of ruling when the times comes; she had gone onward and upwards in proving her virtue and worth at such a young age, making for herself a dear place in the prince’s heart.

“Yes, it’s me. Hello Croissant!” The long haired prince proceeds to sit at the edge of the sumptuous bed.

“It’s really nice...that you’re here.” It was not the usual voice the little cookie addressed him with. Not the un-selfconscious, innocent delight and adoration of Croissant’s voracious curiosity. Rather, this was the voice that croaked and groaned, miserable enough to get the week off from school and not even enjoy it, though being Croissant, fell a little short. She had never enjoyed missing out on learning for anything, as Dark Choco well knew.

It hadn’t been the first time the prince had nursed his student through an illness, though it had been a while since the last time, and the fact this wasn't a normal sickness.

“I’m really glad you’re here. Thank you.”

The innocent sincerity touched Dark Choco, as it always did. “Of course, Cross. Your mom sent word to me as soon she knew too. You were quick to figure it out.”

The sick golden child made an aimless, sweeping gesture with her hand. “The first hundred degrees I went above normal were a bit of a clue. Candyneritus!” she suddenly exclaimed, knocking a few beetle and bird plushies about the floor.

“Candyneritus!” the little cookie cried out again. “Candynnnnnerrrrriiiiiiitus!” Dark Choco feared his student slipping into a moment of delirium. “I’m sorry,” Croissant said sullenly. “Is mom okay? I hope I got away from that sick cakehound quick enough.” She groaned and turned over.

“She is. She doesn't seem to have any symptoms according to the nurses. But is best to keep her out of your range until you’re feeling better and it can be disinfected completely.”

The freckled cookie nodded. “I hope she’s not worried...” she worried aloud.

“Only as much as you are.” Dark Choco said warmly.

“How do I even catch a Cakehound disease anyway? I’ve never heard of it happening, or read of it, or even read a story about it! Even for you, Choo, this has to be a first.” 

Dark Choco accommodated the shifted blankets to cover his little student. “Indeed it is, I’ve never heard of it, let alone seen it happen.”

Croissant gave a throaty chuckle, which quickly descended into a cough. “It shouldn’t even be possible. It’s too terrible to be allowed. I’m all achy and dizzy and shakey...and that’s not even a real adjective! Or is it an adverb?” Croissant grumbled and kicked some of her blankets off. “...I’m cold now,” she intoned quietly. “I’m sorry, choo.”

“Don’t think anything of it, Cross. You’re not well.” the prince said as he tucked her in with her blankets once more.

“I know. I’m trying to think straight, but I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

“If you’d rather sleep, I could—”

“No! Please, stay?” Her winged form scrambled and scooped her way through the blankets and pillows until she was more or less grabbing Dark Choco's arm. Her wide, wobbling eyes pleaded wantonly. She shivered, then buried her head in the remaining cushions that weren't on the floor to keep warm.

“Croissant. It’s alright. I'm here.” He said in a reassuring tone, seeing her act like this breaks his heart a little.

“I think it’s my high magic quotient,” she said irritably into the fluffy pillows. “Anycookie would be immune, because cakehounds are really magical too, so any flu that targeted them would have to be adapted specifically for that. The Candyneritus thinks I’m a cakehound, so now my body thinks it is one too, and is fighting it that way. My magic is tricking itself.”

Dark Choco paused, then looked back to his student. “That was surprisingly succinct.”

“Well, I am sick, but that doesn’t mean—” She sneezed. The thick, viscous kind of sneeze perpetrated by only the true mucous exporter. Right in Dark Choco’s face. Croissant looked more sheepish than an actual cotton candy sheep. Dark Choco just casually whipped it out with a gloved hand; he has to remind himself to clean up later.

“I was actually considering much along those lines as well.”

It might have just been the fever, but Croissant’s eyes took on a particular shine. “You mean it?”

“I do.”

“I think like you do? I always,—I mean, I wondered and maybe, maybe I hoped that...I’m glad.” Her head and eyelids sank respectively. “Choo?”

“Yes?”

“I know...I know I’m not really thinking straight, and I’m kind of scared and everything’s still hurt, but...but...”

“I love you.”

Dark Choco drew a gasp. Suddenly his poise and calm were fleeting things before him.

“I love you. You’re like the brother I never had. And...and...and usually I’m so worried about one thing or another, or thinking things through so much, but...but, I can barely hear myself think right now. I’m just babbling, but it’s nice for once not thinking and just saying.”

“Cross.”

The winged child found the strength to dredge her head up from the pillow. “I love you, and I don’t say that enough and maybe no cookie says it enough even though we mean to, and especially not enough to you because you’re so much, so amazing, and for everything I’ve done and been and learned... Everything I’ve learned, and I find out there’s two more things I didn’t know and-”

“Croissant.”

“...and how much you’ve done for me, because maybe a tower full of books is what I used to think was the biggest gift to me you ever gave, but I’m just a silly, sick cookie and when I’m better I’m going to be so embarrassed but I want to say it anyway, because it wasn’t the tower or the books that means so much; it’s every time you make me smile, or inspire me, or challenge me to grow, and I realize now that you’ve been treating me my whole life as... Me, and not just a spoiled lil' princess to put in a pedestal and I love you for everything and why am I crying and smiling at the same time?”

Exhausted, Croissant dropped softly to her caramel-colored bed. The occasional tear going down her cheeks with a sniff. “And now I’m scared,” she whispered. “Because I don’t know what’ll happen once I’m through the fever or if I’ll even—”

“Cheese Croissant Cookie” Dark Choco said, being firm yet gentle with his tone. “It’ll be okay. I’m here, and I won’t leave you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“But how—”

“Don’t concern yourself with that. You just get some rest and I’ll be right here.” Croissant sniffled and shivered. “Just sleep now.”

“I think...” she mumbled as her eyes drooped. “I think I can, now. I’m not so afraid with you here. I’m glad I said what I said.” 

“Sleep, Cross. I’ll watch over you.” Croissant murmured something as she sank softly into sleep. After a little while and in the privacy of the utterly spacious room, Dark Choco smiled.

“I love you too.” He whispered to the sleeping little cookie before him. Dark Choco listened to Croissant’s breathing and, in the glow of the setting sun outside the window, felt himself richer than all the marbled cheese towers.

[bookwyrminspiration]

WAIT. I'm late to the party but I just remembered all those anons were sending in "why I send you asks" and their reasons and I actually really want to participate, so I hope you will accept late applications?

The reason I send you so many asks is because you've just...built such a nice feeling that anything can be discussed, and it's never too niche or cringy or boring, and that's really relieving and amazing.

I'm sure you (along with many others) have realized by now, but I suffer from....really bad anxiety, both social anxiety and just in general, and it very often gets in the way of my life. Because of this and past experiences, I'm always very scared and hesitant to talk about my interests and my thoughts on anything.

But every time I've sent you an ask, even if it was, in retrospect, probably really annoying to read through the one hundred "sorry"s and "my bad"s, you've always been nothing but kind and interested in my ideas, and that was just...so surprising. Because I never really knew anyone who was willing to talk about anything, and it was just...really amazing to meet someone who was! Especially because I love and am interested in so many different things and kind of need someone to bounce ideas at. And it was really cool to see someone that was unashamed of their own interests and thoughts, but didn't make others feel bad for having different ideas.

Every time I send you an ask, you always have something interesting to say back. Something I hadn't thought of or considered, or a query that would make me rethink my own theories, or just a very well-thought-out answer to a question. I remember sending in tons of asks about the wings AU before it was released, and writing those was probably the highlight of my day, because I knew you'd take them and run with the ideas, and do your best to match my energy, and I was really grateful for that. And you were always willing to dig deeper, to think "but what if there was more?" and that's just...incredible! I don't have any other word for it!

I love sending you asks because you don't dismiss an idea or deem it as stupid, and you're just...such a kind and wonderful person that can make even the most obscure subject infinitely more interesting than before, and you never fail to make me consider things again, to expand my thoughts and views, and I'm really grateful for that.

So, because it should definitely be said by now, thank you!

And, well, that's why I love sending you asks :]

- pyro

there is no timeline so there's no way to be late! and I'm answering this a few days after you sent this, so if you believe yourself to be late then we can both be late together :D. you are fully welcome to participate if you want to (which you said you did)! it was mostly just a random question I had because i'm just as analytical with myself as I am with keeper, and knowing how other perceive and think of me is helpful for that--and I was curious about how i'd aquired so many asks so quickly, and then you all just turned it into complimenting quil hours for some reason !! (but on to your ask before I get even more distracted)

(note from a quil who has answered all of this: got very long so that's why there's a readmore! i love you /p)

this means so much to me--specifically your use of "built" because I do try pretty hard to maintain a positive atmosphere and welcome everyone in and treat everyone with the same attention. it didn't just fall into place, i try to be encouraging to everyone and support all the amazing work--art, writing, ideas, etc--I see from people. (note: i've been wanting to do a thing where I ask for fic/art/other recommendations from others (can be friends or their own) so i can go through and reblog a bunch of them with comments and the like, I just want to get through more of my asks before I start something like that). But you're right--nothing is too niche! there's so many details in the story it's impossible for one person to notice anything, so people bringing up the obscure and their own thoughts makes the story richer and more fleshed out for everyone else! and i think it's really cool to just see what other people focus on (like I said, my analysis isn't limited to characters, but I'm not like dissecting you all to understand each of you in a creepy way or anything. I just like to get a better sense of someone so I can respond in a way more tailored to them when we interact)

anxiety can really suck, so as someone who also has anxiety i am giving you a comforting hug if you'd like one. it genuinely impacts everything you do and think about, rewriting how you experience life. a single, inconsequential experience to someone else can literally change major aspects of how we think, which makes interactions so scary sometimes. i remember things people said years ago and still base my actions around them, but those people have absolutely no recollection of ever saying it, but just the fear of having done something wrong once permanently altered my thinking. (this is not to make this about me, I'm just trying to show I understand by sharing an experience of my own).

reading through all your "i'm sorry"s and "my bad"s wasn't annoying and never will be. you have never had anything to apologize for, and I know that sometimes you feel you need to enter a conversation and first apologize for being there, but I'm thrilled to have you here and always love seeing you in my inbox. I don't know how to articulate this properly, but I'm going to try. i saw your apologies and your apprehension as...a puzzle? that's absolutely not the right word but I can't think of the right one so please let me explain (I don't mean to imply you're like something to be solved or a problem in any way. words can be difficult and I'm trying to describe something very intangible rn, so I hope this doesn't sound bad). I didn't see it as annoying (you're never annoying), I saw it like it was something to work through, and while it's not my job or anything to help other's with their personal problems, it was like if I could just provide one space where I could encourage you (not just you, but anyone) as a friend to try shifting your language and start thinking of yourself more positively, then I wanted to give that.

because I am interested in your ideas! and I want to be kind and welcoming to you! but I also want you to be kind to yourself, so any impact I've had to give anyone a safer, less scary space is really cool. I don't know if that made sense, but I'm not trying to talk down to you or anything or be like I'm this high and mighty figure harboring lost souls or something, just that connection is important and I like being there for people. kinda worried that sounded bad because it feels worded strange but I'm trying to reciprocate and say i appreciate you and am happy to talk about anything!

i love bouncing ideas back and forth and you are more than welcome to say anything and everything you're thinking about. talking to you is always an absolutely joy and I get so excited when you send me an ask and when you're reading my response, because it often feels like this like...buzz? like we're just vibing on this frequency and it makes it so much fun to throw ideas back and forth and just listen to each other talk. i am very glad to have surprised you and met you! I don't know a lot of people like myself either, so having someone like you interact with me and just go all out on these little things and what we personally like about different parts of the so much fun. a lot of the other people I know irl feel like they just scratch the surface, they say things just to get credit for it and to appear like they know what they're talking about while ignoring all these other things that have such an impact, so it's amazing to have found someone else who looks at everything and anything like I do. my brain really is "a little bit of everything all of the time" so knowing you have so many different interests too is really cool. i am giving you an internet high five and pretending you aren't so far away.

I spent so much of my life being quiet when I had so many thoughts, so now that I have this kind of outlet I just! want to say everything I can! i want to look at everything from every perspective possible! the world is a huge collection of things tied together and I love following the strings to find the connected pieces! but I think that's a way of approaching the world not a lot of people share (I could be wrong), so it's really cool to hear you think my thought process is interesting!! my brain is practically composed entirely of questions. any subject at any time of the day and nearly all of my thoughts are just wanting to know more and trying to understand things, so having that opportunity to ask further questions and just learn things (about what other's thing, how things work, etc) is so much fun. you might've seen me ask some questions of other's in a few of the asks I answer, but those barely scratch the surface of just how many I have. my handle is in_quil_sitive (inquisitve) on nearly every social media platform (except for this one) for a reason.

I remember some of your asks from before the wings au was published, too. those were absolutely incredible, and I got a rush of excitement every time I saw you sent another. those were the the highlight of my week, too!! your enthusiasm and excitement for something I hadn't even posted yet gave me so much motivation to continue and you helped me think through so many future ideas and consider things from new perspectives. i know i specifically wrote that you inspired one chapter in the notes, but you've had an impact on every single chapter of this story/ it wouldn't be what it is without you, and I mean that with complete sincerity. you were the one who made me think "what if there was more" so I could make this au even better and work towards something bigger. I just have so many thoughts about everything all of the time, I can't go more than a few minutes without being distracted by a different train of thought, but knowing there was someone who would want to hear all the weird, disjointed ideas i'd strung together and composed into a more cohesive format was so cool. there's just so much to think about!!

I probably sound repetitive at this point but I love answering your asks because you're so receptive to the way i say things and it's like you're actually listening and want to hear what I specifically have to say, not just the general ideas. you want to know my unique, personalized opinions and perspectives and don't just dismiss them when they're not what you expect to hear or aren't generic. you're incredibly kind, too, I hope you know. I love the description of how I can "make even the most obscure subject infinitely more interesting than before." that is such a meaningful compliment to me. I just keep thinking about this line over and over again and it just...it really means a lot. because you're saying it's me that interests you and not just what I talk about. I could talk about anything and you'd still want to interact with me and that's so fucking nice. I hope you know the same goes for you. we can challenge each other's thinking together and make things even deeper and more complex before together <33.

thank you for being here and being my friend, pyro. talking to you is always one of the highlights of my day and gives me a very positive feeling that I carry around for a while. I do this thing sometimes where I film myself to later observe my behaviors in the middle of intense emotions to understand myself better (back to that whole analysis thing again), but it's not just negative things, it's also when I'm really excited or pleased with something and jumping around and stimming and all that, and some of those are from when I interact with you. that might sound a little weird but I mean it positively, as in talking with you makes me ecstatic.

I have said. so many things. so I will stop (for now). but I really appreciate having you in my life <33

[thearvariblues]

The Real Loki Always Chokes Me

Sooo... I might have actually written a fic for @zombieporno​‘s prompt from... last week, I guess. Except that my brain only managed the first part, since I don't have the patience for the asshole avoiding Tony. Bear with me, writing this took me a week. :D I might write an alternate version of this when he does avoid him, though - when I find my patience again, and maybe stop spending my evenings playing Witcher 3 instead of writing. :D

But until then... enjoy this, I guess?

*

Contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark didn’t really enjoy being a superhero. Well, yes, he enjoyed some parts of it, but others he kind of hated.

Like being dragged out of his workshop (when he was getting so fucking close to finding the solution for the problem that had been on his mind for two weeks now) by yet another attempt at world domination.

Though, to be fair, their current opponent wasn’t really trying to sit on the ruler-of-the-whole-world’s throne anymore. He was more or less just being an annoying piece of shit, probably just wanting to have some fun while he was stuck here in ‘Midgard’ as he insisted on calling it.

It was Loki, of course.

For the past five months, it had always been Loki. Almost as if he had bribed all the other villains not to attack.

Since his ‘having fun’ mostly consisted of robbing quite a few banks by teleporting in and out of them, he very well might have had. The guy would soon get richer than Tony himself.

“So what’s our drama queen done this time?” Tony asked as they took off in the quinjet. “Please don’t tell me it’s a dildo rain again.”

“I’ve told you a million times, we don’t call it a dildo rain,” Steve growled.

“It was literally raining dildos, Cap, what do you want to call it?” Clint smirked.

“I… I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. It’s not dildo rain today, so could we just stop talking about it?”

“Sounds like someone should have stolen one of those dildos and taken it home,” Natasha chuckled. “Like Tony did.”

“Like Tony what?!” Bruce blinked.

“What?” Tony shrugged. “Purely technically, Loki stole my credit card and used it to pay for all those… toys.”

“It’s worse somehow when you call them toys instead of dildos,” Steve sighed.

“Yeah, well. They were paid for with my money. So they were mine, weren’t they? I could have taken all of them instead of like… five most interesting.”

“My brother would be delighted to hear someone takes pleasure in his mischief,” Thor commented.

“Oh, yes. Lots and lots of pleasure.”

“Guys. Stop,” Bruce said, clearly fighting a chuckle. “I think Cap’s about to start crying…”

*

It really wasn’t a dildo rain this time. It was more of a… Loki rain. Or a Loki avalanche.

It was a few hundreds of perfect clones of Loki annoying the living daylights out of everyone they could find. They disappeared upon being touched, yes, but they were also extremely good at avoiding being touched in the first place.

As the team found out when Hulk ran straight through three of the clones and into the building behind them. This incident made Tony stop trying to assess the damage and give JARVIS an instruction to just pay for everything the idiots manage to destroy while ‘saving the world’.

Then he proceeded to turn off his comm, fly up to the roof of the nearest high building and just watch the spectacle underneath. Cap would give him hell for that, he was sure, but he kind of didn’t care.

“And what in Hel’s name are you doing here?” asked a growling voice just a few seconds after he had landed.

Tony turned around, let his helmet fold down and cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh, look, a clone Loki. Hey. How you doing?”

The Loki in front of him frowned, tilting his head.

“You’re supposed to be fighting the clones.”

“Nah. Too boring,” Tony shrugged. “You make Loki disappear. Turn around, another Loki. And look, another. Loki, Loki, Loki.”

“That’s the point,” the clone hissed.

“Yeah, I got that much. But hey, look, even though you’re all hot as fuck, the battle isn’t particularly amusing, you know?”

Loki blinked, so puzzled that Tony almost felt sorry for the clone.

“Hot as…” the clone whispered under his breath.

“Yeah, I mean… God, I hope you’re not connected to the real Reindeer Games. Fuck. If you are, can we pretend I never said what I said? I tend to let my mouth talk without my brain controlling it.”

“Connected to the real…” the clone gave an ugly chuckle. “I am the real Loki!”

Now it was Tony’s turn to frown and tilt his head.

“Nah,” he said after a long inspection. “You’re not. Haven’t tried to kill me yet. Not even to choke me. The real Loki always chokes me.”

The clone’s face went completely blank at that.

“Uhm… Hey?” Tony said after a few seconds of silence. “Did I actually manage to break a clone? Error 503: Brain Unavailable?”

The clone shook his head, probably to clear it, and took a step towards Tony.

“You idiot,” he growled. “You impossible mortal. I will crush you underneath my heel, you–”

“See? Now you sound like the real stuff!” Tony grinned. “Just a little angrier… That’s it! Perfect. Now to the crushing, while I’m not exactly into hard BDSM, I do like to get a liiittle kinky… Uhm, back to the question, you really aren’t connected to Loki himself, are you?”

“I am Loki!” the clone snarled.

“Yeah, we’ve been through this. The choking, baby. Except you can’t. Because you can’t touch me. Because if you touch me, poof, you’re gone.”

“Are you asking me to prove to you that I am real?”

“Yup. Indulge me.”

“As you wish.”

A split second later, Tony felt a very real and totally non-disappearing hand close around his throat and he came to a realization that he had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

But before he could utter the words ‘Don’t kill me, it was just a joke’, or even a mere ‘Oh, fuck’, Loki’s lips crashed against his in a wild and passionate and hungry kiss.

Tony’s brain stopped working for a second. Or two. Maybe even ten. Because when he came back to his senses, Loki was just pulling away, breathing heavily, his face a perfect mask of horror.

“Wow,” Tony gasped, licking his lips. “I know I said indulge me, but I haven’t expected that. If I say I’m not entirely convinced yet, can I have more?”

Loki’s eyes went even wider at that, and then he disappeared in a flash of green light.

“Okay,” Tony nodded. “I take that as a no. Shame, really.”

A look down to the street revealed that all the clones were gone, too.

Right. Time to go home.

*

It had been four days since the whole clones-and-kissing incident and if Tony was to be honest, he kind of couldn’t stop thinking about it. Well, he could – but the thought was always somewhere at the back of his mind, always ready to show up and remind him that hey, Loki, as in Thor’s brother Loki, as in the wannabe-world conqueror, kissed you and you liked it.

And he did. Very much.

That was why he didn’t mind when he walked into his penthouse only to find said god sitting on his couch and reading a book.

A fucking book.

“Uhm,” Tony commented. “JARVIS?”

“I tried to alert you, sir,” the AI said. “Two hours ago. But you told me to, I quote, shut the fuck up, J, or you’re gonna spend the rest of your days in a fucking elevator, calling out the number of the floor. End quote.”

“You might have said it was… urgent,” Tony muttered as Loki looked up from his book and smirked.

“I really don’t wish to spend the rest of my days in an elevator, sir.”

“Right,” Tony nodded. “Hey, Lokitty. How you doing? J, I’m gonna need an armor at the ready.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Loki said and the book he was holding promptly disappeared. “I came to apologize, Stark.”

“Uhm… For what? I mean, there’s a long list of things you should be apologizing for, so let’s be specific there. Drink?” he asked, already heading for the kitchen.

“The kiss.”

That actually made Tony stop dead in his tracks. He frowned, turned around and stared at Loki.

“As in I’m sorry I ever kissed you, or…”

Loki sighed, avoiding his gaze. Tony realized the god wasn’t wearing his usual armor – only a pair of simple black jeans and a loose, long-sleeved green T-shirt. He looked… weirdly normal. Almost like a human.

“Oh, dear. No. Never,” Loki said, a corner of his lip twitching. “But I shouldn’t have done it without your permission.”

“Seriously?” Tony laughed, taking a step towards the couch. “You’re apologizing because you didn’t ask for consent first?”

“Well… Yes. It was inappropriate. Improper. Brutish.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Tony said, sitting next to Loki without really thinking about it. “I mean… It’s not perfect, I’ll give you that, but do you see me complaining?”

Loki kept staring anywhere but at Tony.

“I’m not some kind of an animal, unable to control my impulses…”

Tony’s brain kept trying to alert him that this was Loki, who was very much wild and unpredictable and, yeah, sometimes even unable to control his impulses. But Tony didn’t listen. Because this wild and unpredictable deity was just sitting there, biting his lower lip and apologizing for something as simple as a kiss.

“Impulses?” Tony repeated after him. “Sorry, just to be perfectly clear, was the impulse a one-off thing, or something you’d like to, perhaps… happen again?”

Loki’s eyes flicked to Tony’s, then to his lips, then up again, and away.

“I should go,” the god said. “I shouldn’t have come. It was stupid of me–”

“Or…” Tony murmured, his own eyes straying to Loki’s lips. His brain was screaming at him to stop, but Tony wouldn’t listen. He’d always been bad at controlling his impulses. “Or you could try again.”

“Anthony, are you seriously suggesting…”

“Fuck,” Tony whispered, a shiver running down his spine. He could have sworn that he hated his full name, but when he heard it from Loki’s lips like this… “Say that again.”

The god’s green eyes were so close and so full of longing that it took all of Tony’s willpower not to simply crash their lips together.

“May I… May I kiss you, Anthony?” Loki smiled.

“Yes,” Tony hissed. “Please. Yes.”

This kiss wasn’t wild and passionate and hungry. It was calm. Sweet. Loving.

And long.

Very… very long.

*

“Six months!” Steve growled. “Loki hasn’t been seen for six months. No attacks, no robberies, no showing-off, nothing. Thor isn’t even sure his brother is still on Earth!”

“I said I think he is,” Thor specified. “But it’s possible that he isn’t.”

Except that Tony knew perfectly well that Thor knew too damn well where Loki was at the moment, having visited the god only a few hours ago.

“Come on, don’t make a big deal out of it,” Clint sighed. “Maybe he’s just grown bored of us.”

“You? Maybe. Me? Never,” Tony smirked. “Everybody knows I’m amusing as hell and completely irresistible even to Norse gods!”

“And so very modest, too,” Natasha added. “But I’m with Clint – I think Loki’s just had enough. He might be back in the future, but for now, we should enjoy not having to see his fucking magic tricks every other day.”

“Agreed,” Bruce nodded. “I don’t think there’s a bigger plan. Just Loki being Loki.”

“I’d like to point out that even before his disappearance, Loki was mainly just causing mischief. I mean, we were the ones who did the most damage during his last, uhm… attack?” Tony shrugged.

“What if he just wanted to lull us into a false sense of security?” Steve asked. “While he prepares for something big?”

Tony sighed and shot a quick look at Thor.

“What do you think, Point Break? Does your baby bro have a great sinister plan to murder us all, or does he just have better things to do than being an annoying little shit?”

“The latter, I’d say,” Thor smiled, because he knew he was right. Loki did have better things to do. Tony, for a start.

And reading.

And watching sci-fi movies and TV shows.

And yelling “That’s not how space works!” at the TV.

Also cooking. Which was something he was surprisingly good at.

And studying all the ancient tomes and spellbooks Thor managed to sneak out of Asgard. There were a lot of those. So many that Tony had to transform a spare room into a study.

And if he was bored, he could always do Tony again. Of course.

Or, well, cause some minor mischief all around the Tower – like hiding Clint’s arrows in weird and random places, replacing Bruce’s herbal tea with mate (and then sulking when Tony spend the whole night in the lab with hyperactive Bruce, working on a project), making the elevator stop working so everyone had to take the stairs…

Or the thing he was doing just now, which was kneeling right in front of Tony, naked from waist up and undoubtedly invisible to everyone but him, stroking the inventor’s thighs not with his hands, but with his magic, slowly getting closer and closer to his crotch...

Tony drummed his fingers on the table and got to his feet.

“Alright, so are we agreed that Loki isn’t dangerous at the moment and his sudden disappearance doesn’t mean he’s got some nefarious secret plan?”

“Agreed,” Natasha said before Cap could even open his mouth.

“Good. If you’ll excuse me now, I gotta go. I also have better things to do.”

Loki, for a start.

The second the elevator door slid closed behind them, Tony felt a pair of hot lips on his neck.

“Let me guess. You got bored?” he chuckled before sighing softly.

“Very much so,” Loki purred. “And don’t even try to pretend that you were having fun, my love.”

“It wasn’t about having fun, sweetie. It was about you being… Oh, god, right there, Loki… It was about you being a threat to all of humanity and…”

“Oh, please. I’ve only been a threat to your fridge and alcohol stash lately.”

“And my poor T-shirts. I’m still waiting for you to find the pocket dimension where you hid the Black Sabbath one, you know.”

“That was one accident, Anthony! And it wasn’t exactly my fault. To think that they call me Silvertongue…”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Tony murmured, burying his fingers in Loki’s soft, curly hair. “I still want it back.”

“I’ll look for it, I promise.” Loki’s long fingers found their way underneath Tony’s T-shirt. “When I’m done with you. But I promise to deal with all your clothes the non-magical, old-fashioned way in the meantime.”

“You’d better,” Tony said.

The elevator stopped in the penthouse. Loki took Tony’s hand and dragged him out, grinning.

“You know what, Anthony? I’m really glad I kissed you on that roof.”

Tony smiled back, his heart suddenly so full of affection that it was almost hard to breathe.

“Yeah, Lokes. So am I.”

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

if you have a question about aussie slang, for a fic or whatevs, please just ask i don't know all of it, but we do have some fun words and sayings that are day to day statements

esp. the more rural you go

not everyone has the full accent though, because you do get a lot of pressure at work to come across... professional or whatever.

the only one i've never been sure of being an Actual Phrase, or if it Became A Phrase after popularisation on a tv show, is "Stone the Flaming Crows" bc a dude from Neighbours used to say it frequently.

examples of day to day stuff i can think of right now

mad as a frog in a sock (angry about something, went off, off the shits)

mad as a cut snake (usually means 'they're nuts', but can also mean they exploded with anger, usually contextual)

she'll be right (it's fine - can be a flippant statement, can be reassurance, etc)

drongo / galah - (idiot, not very smart, wanker, etc)

dunny = toilet

thunderbox/outhouse / long-drop - usually outdoor toilet

dry as a nun's nasty / dry as a dead dingo's donger (I am thirsty, or It Is Hot AF/we need rain so bad)

chuck a u-ey (do a u-turn)

Oi! (Hey I want your attention/i was surprised, general exclamation, stop that, you are in a lot of fucking trouble mate - depends on the tone of voice and volume) like "OI!" says aunty ruth has just found her dentures in jello and she knows you did it, etc

Bugger off (go away, or sometimes a statement of disbelief)

Yeah nah /Nah yeah (can mean yes, no or maybe depending on what was said directly before the statement)

you cant pull the wool over my eyes - you can't lie to me like that / i can see you are not telling the truth

shut your gob / put a sock in it / put a cork in it - (shut up / shut the FUCK up / close your mouth or i will shut it for you) depends on tone

Ya wally (you idiot)

Roo = kangaroo

o = can be affixed to anything to shorten it at the servo - gone to the service station, arvo - afternoon, smoko - morning tea, bottlo - where the grog is

goon/goonsack - wine in a box

grog - alcohol

stubbie - beer, ususally

boardies - board shorts

rashie - swimming shirt,

slip, slop, slap - ancient proverb for avoiding sunburn. singing pelican.

thongs - footwear

sheila = female / woman, don't hear this a lot at the moment tbh except in certain contexts or from specific people

'Getting rowdy' = things are heating up, people are riled up, a fight is about to/has just broken out, etc.

DJ's like a mad cunt = one very specific meme about a bad PM we had like 10 years ago. i can't tell you how many PM's ago, it's been game of thrones here lmao

Beyond the black stump / Out whoop-whoop / references to timbuktu (quite a distance away)

strewth!/crickey!/bloody hell - (exclamation of surprise, expletive replacement, etc)

flat out like a lizard drinking (tired / drunk / exhausted / sleeping)

pull a harry holt - (I've heard a dozens variations of this one, it means Go Missing / Disappear, often used as a joke. PM Holt went swimming one day and disappeared)

have a stickybeak (to poke your nose in/investigate/look around)

chuck a wobbly/throw a tanty/chuck a tanty/throw a wobbly (throw a tantrum, i have legit never seen anyone successfully deescalate a situation by telling someone not to chuck a wobbly or throw a tanty, go figure lmao)

bogan - (very specific kind of low-income, generally white, people. sort of like rednecks, but with more stereotypical aussie features like a mullet, singlet tops, sunnies, stubbies, etc. tend to fall under the liberal party ideology - who are our republicans... )

ankle-biters / rugrats / little takkers / gremlins / nippers - (kids, usually the littler ones)

tiff - argument, small fight (had a tiff, had a row)

pav = pavlova

piss/whizz/take a piss = going to pee

vegemite - delicious

Kiwi = New Zealander

Banana benders - the disrespectful bs that apparently other states call anyone living in Queensland, the wankers

station - farming areas that have sheep or livestock usually, have farmhands etc.

dole bludger(s) - (anyone on Centrelink, whether they want to be or not, with no other employment. but like, a lot of people on centrelink have a job that does not cover enough and need additional financial supports to meet a minimum wage, or are students or apprentices, etc. there are people who go on centrelink on and off to avoid engaging in the jobseeking stuff, they are the real dole bludgers, but a lot of richer people tend to call anyone on 'welfare' bludgers)

don't you come the raw prawn with me - (do not lie to me / don't try that shit with me, mate / I wasn't born yesterday /etc)

dak/dack - to dack someone is to come up behind them and yank their pants down (or skirts). Often taking out your boxers, too.)

budgie smugglers - (speedoes, male swimwear)

togs/toggs or cozzie (swimwear, any kind. cozzie = costume)

mozzie - (mosquito)

better than a kick up the backside /better than a kick in the arse - (pretty self explanatory, one of those phrases parents use to get slightly hurt kids to start laughing and/or coworkers to commisserate about new work rules, etc)

I wouldn't piss on (name) if they were on fire - (self-explanatory, you hate them, or they're a useless tit or an insufferable person /a suckup etc, and you would gladly hand them a match)

one for the road = getting a drink for the road, usually. can also make a joke of it like, "one last piss for the road" = I'm going to the bathroom before I leave

here's your handbag, what's your hurry - probs not an aussie phrase but a common joke in my family

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

So like, there's some words and items from Australian Indigenous culture that often get used wrong in stereotypical characters, like saying 'gone walkabout', using 'cooee', making digeridoo jokes, and making some really uncomfy 'savages' statements can be very disrespectful. You might want to go looking into Australia's fucked up policies and historical (and only recent) situations before starting any arguments about this stuff... in many ways it mirrors the cruelty of american colonisers to native american peoples, etc.

Avoid some phrases. Your character gone to cool their head? He's gone off on to soak his head, or he's on his bike (gone away) but he'll be back... You can use 'Oi, dickhead!'

Please don't mock the names of towns or places, they are often the names from the traditional custodians and inhabitants.

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

Random things:

We drive on the left side of the road, driver's side reversed.

More of our cars are automatic than manual. Utes aren't atypical, but bigger vehicles are out in rural areas because more than a few of the rural roads are poorly maintained or dirt, with potholes that yoyo your soul into your body.

If you have a character on a long drive on a non-highway, or rural road: +if you are on a one-lane road and someone is comingthe other way, you both move half-on, half-off; for big vehicles or trucks, you can choose to pull off completely and stop. Just for safety, esp. in rain, fog, mist or late at night. +at one-lane bridges, you have a give way sign on one side. if you want your characters to have a moment of 'pause to look at each other while driving' or 'a quiet moment of reflection', have them wait for another car or truck to pass from the other side. These can be a few metres long, to like, a really long bridge. +They may pass markers that say 'flood level marker' with numbers of 2, 3 or 5 metres. Could be useful to remark on if your fic needs a reason for them to have a crisis. +Bushfire warning signs (from Low to Catastrophic) are frequent +Animal Crossing signs are very frequent, and often have a wildlife rescue number on them +Water restriction signs are in most small towns, they range from levels 1 to 6. This can change what the characters are allowed to do with water in little towns, etc. +You may occasionally find a small servo and one or two houses. +pubs don't open/won't serve alcohol until after 10am. the joke has always been, 'beer on your cornflakes' but you will never be able to actually get that unless you preplanned the night before in your hotel room. +Around dawn and dusk, a lot of animals like hares, kangaroos, wallabies, sometimes echidnas and koalas and little numbat things, and snakes and bushmice will be close to the road. Sometimes dashing across. They do not react logically to cars approaching, and will leap out at random. Hares do this zigzag nonsense. If you need the character to hit the brakes frantically, or swerve, this is a good reason. If you are ever driving here and see an animal on the side of the road, flip lights to low beam, slow down and watch to see how they react. If you can. If there's a truck blaring down on you, you may not be able to.

+Emus are in more rural areas. Echidnas sometimes appear on fringes of towns though.

+Kookaburras are a lovely creature, I have rescued a few and they are nice... but their laugh is very grating when it goes off super early in the morning. They eat snakes (good) and baby birds (not so good).

+Lots of snakes round here. LOTS. Carpet Snakes are pretty common, red-belly black snakes, eastern brown (big danger!!!), whip snakes have declined in my region, keelback snakes, this one black and white banded one we found deceased, etc. Snakes can climb, snakes can SWIM. Putting something that stinks around a campsite MAY help, but not always.

+Never go swimming in a dam you don't own, and that hasn't been checked, and if no one knows where you are. How deep is it? What's on the bottom? How stirred is the water? etc.

+Kangaroos CAN drown you. They have perfected this attack, and will do it to humans, dogs and other pursuers alike. They can also eviscerate you with their hind paws or shatter your ribs with a kick. The 'boxing' they do is exceptionally violent. This seems to surprise people, but like, giraffes can kill each other by slamming their heads into each other, you think a 7 ft swole motherfucking cryptid can't do harm? They can be lovely tho, if they trust you. But DO NOT GO PETTING WILDLIFE.

+Dropbears, austrilanicus vericanthus bitus, are real. We do make jokes about them, but they are a Problem. The pee on yourself thing won't ward them off, that's more about working out which tourists are the most gullible (and if they run with it, the moistest) lmao. Akubras and other thicker-layered headwear,

+We have wild dogs and feral pigs. Do not fuck with the feral pigs, some are HUGE, and no... they're not just pigs who escaped farms, these are MASSIVE motherfuckers who will Get You if they See You. Rustling in the night outside the tent? Good Luck.

+Koalas should not be picked up directly. They have claws, and a lot of them have chamydia. I mean if a character saves one in a fic that's fine I guess, but like... someone's getting antibiotics after that lmao. They are bigger than you think, dumber than you think, and sometimes they have to be chased across a highway with a windscreen cover bc they're not very bright and keep failing to climb metal fences, lmaoooo

+Towns of about 20-30k will have more shops (some franchise, some local owned), servos, fast food places and usually at least two to three shopping centres. Usually small level entertainments like a cinema, or local groups. +Towns with 10-20k, may have one or two major shopping centres, servos (tracks and RVs catered to), possibly a maccas, and the majority of stores will be local-owned. May have a cinema, but not one that has the newest releases. Local council may have more festivals, or 'that one thing they're known for'. +0-10k towns have a small local store, prices usually a bit higher. A servo, often with capacity for trucks. Local festivals. Characters can cop a bit of side-eye in these places, esp. if they don't fit the traditional ideas or are loud/violently american. +Grey nomads are a thing. Old people with fancy caravans who drive So Slow, and move all around aus. Several refused to stop during covid and it was like, WHO DO YOU THNK WE'RE TRYING TO KEEP ALIVE BY STOPPING YOU MOVING THROUGH MULTIPLE TOWNS???

+Some rural areas have legit red dirt, its always super cool to look at. Some places have light brown to dark brown, some have more chalky colours or yellowish dirt. Depends.

+Reminder: Australia has very specific gun laws, if your character/s have weapons then they may need to be sneaky or store them specifically in the vehicle. Although if you're talking about like, mad max type rules, then who cares. But if you have them get into a gun fight in a town, the police will come, etc.

Dunno, just ask if you have a question... just trying to think of random things to paint a picture if you have a character over here for a roadtrip or mission or whatever.

[readerficsbyhyaku]

Specifics (DJSS x Reader) Part 1

summary

Getting physically closer to someone can lead you to discover things about them... or yourself.

(i don't want to spoil anything but this summary is bad, so it may be subject to changes. The title too can change uefiefizeif)

author’s note

Any feedback is welcome :D

Also thank you to Roseyful for being an inspiring fic companion c:

Art by me

You were one of the many people that came to Vinyl City, and never left. The atmosphere, saturated by sound and melody, was unlike anything you’d seen elsewhere. Alas, you were soon becoming accustomed to it as you worked for the charter of the Cast Tech District. You were a stage technician for the ridiculous amount of hazardous equipment there was in Club Planetarium, and it had been a year or so that you worked for DJ Subatomic Supernova. You didn’t think too much about him, always being one to focus on your work, especially since you had to do some acrobatics more often than not.

It was nearing New Year’s Eve, and NSR had organized a gala, for all their artists and their staff. Tatiana was going to give a speech and even though you didn’t particularly enjoy such formal festivities, you thought you might as well give it a try.

You had gotten out one of your prettier dresses, of a beautiful deep midnight blue color with discreet sparkles and a nice corset. The back wasn’t going down too low, and your décolletage wasn’t too deep either. It was poofy, but not so much you would have trouble fitting into doorways. You assorted it with high heels that you knew you would regret later on, and a few pieces of jewelry. You were all set for the gala.

However, when you arrived at the concert hall and realized you were the only one from Club Planetarium, your mood soured a bit. Feeling uneasy, you decided to grab a cup of champagne as a waiter slithered through the crowd, far too agile for someone holding so many brittle glasses on a platter.

As your gut started to warm from the alcohol, you began to greet the people around you. Making a bit of small talk, listening to someone chat about their work… It wasn’t much, but it was better than staying mute all night. And honestly, the people were pretty nice ! There was a graphic designer that did all the album covers for the NSR artists, who had many delicious stories about the leaders of every district, and without you noticing a big chunk of the evening was gone.

As you were easing your way through the denser crowd to grab on some more food, the lights dimmed suddenly and the music changed from DJ Subatomic Supernova’s theme to Yinu’s piano.

It was time to dance.

You did not have any partner (and didn’t intend to), but as you receded from the dancefloor area that was slowly clearing, you bumped into someone.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t see you” you mumbled before even looking at who you had collided with.

But then, as you craned your neck to grasp the person’s identity, you were met with a smooth orb glistening with stars.

It was DJ Subatomic Supernova, your boss.

His garb was wildly different from what he was wearing at work, switching the sneakers and hoodie look for a refined shirt and waistcoat, straight pants and shiny leather shoes. His sleeves were rolled, revealing the glowing patterns on his forearms and reflecting into his tie pin. If you had to describe it in one word, it would be stunning.

He extended his hand towards you, asking in a low tone

“Would you like to dance ?”

The crowd was moving around you and the dancers were already taking their place in the middle of the room. All the other NSR artists were there, except for Yinu who was to play the piano. DJ Subatomic Supernova was the last one to go.

So you smiled and grabbed his hand – or should you say his finger – and said

“That would be my pleasure.”

And off you went as he guided you towards the dancefloor, the music picking up as all the couples were finally in position. He placed one hand around your waist and the other engulfed your own. It was impossible for you to put your hand on his shoulder so you settled for his waist too. You took one step at a time, trying to get used to having his body so close to you. Everything about him was huge, but it was jarring how big he was when you were this close. And you had high heels, for goodness’ sake !

As you and DJ Subatomic Supernova were falling into a gentle pace, he leaned towards you and said, under the intimate cover of the dance

“I am most grateful for your presence here at this reception. It would have been a very awkward moment if I had to invite someone else for this dance.”

You laughed, feeling a bit lightheaded. Maybe it was because you were spinning, maybe it was because of the champagne, or maybe because of DJ’s hold on your body that was growing increasingly hard to ignore.

“I’m glad I could be of some use to you. To be fair, I didn’t have that much company during the night either.”

DJ made you spin in his arms, your dress fluttering around your legs and catching the dim lights of the dancefloor. You almost fell, but his large hands caught you and you were dancing again, as if nothing had happened.

“That dress suits you well.”

You breathed in a little harder, chest heaving in your corset as your heart pumped from the rush of adrenalin. DJ Subatomic Supernova’s scent was something you never had noticed before, but now it was permeating all your senses. Something light and floral, maybe a little cold, with richer undertones akin to musk.

“You look like a different person in this waistcoat, it’s… really nice.”

His fingers were grazing your naked back, sending jolts down your spine. Your breathing had calmed down, but your heart was still beating in staccato, in rhythm with Yinu’s piano.

“Well, it is enjoyable to know that my appearance fits your tastes.” DJ rumbled as you both took another step and swirled around the dancefloor.

Your throat went a bit dry. How sweet his words were, barely disguised under his formal elocution, wafting in the darkness to reach your ears. How his tone kept you on your toes in expectation, a deep murmur unperceivable to anyone beside you two. How intimate it felt having him so close, exchanging pleasantries under the cover of dancing.

You looked at him, taking a step back to appreciate his height, only to get pulled flush with him once more.

You huffed.

“It’s hard to look at you when you’re so tall.”

“That may be because you are so small.” he replied with a cheeky tone, his hand pressing just a bit harder on yours.

Feeling braver for some unknown reason, you retorted

“I’m wearing heels, you know.”

He chuckled.

“I have taken notice of that, yes.”

His teasing demeanor was spurring you to answer his piques.

“There is such a thing as too big, DJ.”

You spun once more before he caught you again and bent over you, your back arching in his arms and his orb getting so close to your face.

“I beg to differ.”

And there was no way you were imagining how he purred that while his face was a breath away from yours, your skin hot and tingling. You were at his mercy, bent under him, and while you had this realization images flashed in front of your eyes. Him, towering ominously over you, without his waistcoat or his shirt. His hands roaming your body and leaving it ablaze. His deep voice whispering oh so sweet nothings in your ear as you gave in to him…

But your fantasy melted away as he straightened up and let you go, the atmosphere that had built up between the two of you fading as the lights shone strong once again. DJ Subatomic Supernova adjusted his tie, surprisingly nimble with those big fingers of his, and turned towards you again.

“It was very agreeable to dance with you tonight. I hope you will have a pleasant evening.”

You forced a smile out, hoping your cheeks weren’t too red or your bosom too flushed.

“It was indeed a delightful dance, and I hope you will enjoy the rest of your night.”

You then parted ways with him, and soon enough the gala was over; Tatiana declaimed her speech with her usual verve, and you went back to your home.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol taking its toll on you or what had transpired during your waltz with your boss, but as you tossed and turned in your bed your mind was replaying over and over again the words he had addressed your way. Your mind swirled, dizzying, and it almost felt like you were still in his embrace.

[inawickedlittletown]

The Dresden Files - an overall review

(There are very very minor spoilers, but I mostly wanted to write something non-spoilery about the series as a whole.)

-

The Dresden Files. I knew a few things about this series before I went into reading it in part because I had watched Daniel Greene’s YouTube video about why people should read it and I won’t lie and say that I didn’t go on Goodreads, look at how long the series is and then question if I actually wanted to read it and wanted to spend months and months going through the books. But, I had nothing else that was pressing on my TBR list and my library had Storm Front on ebook available. So, I gave it a chance. I am so glad I did. I think I finished that first book in two days and I rolled right into reading Fool Moon pretty much as soon as I finished Storm Front. 

I didn’t expect to like it as much as I ended up liking it. I didn’t expect to read the series as quickly as I did. But here we are. The thing about Dresden Files is that it’s the type of story that starts off small and then evolves into something much bigger. After all, the first few books can almost be read as standalones because while there is consistency of character, largely the events of each really remain within the scopes of each book aside from a few minor details. This is why at first glance Dresden to me seemed like a procedural leaning towards a pulp-fiction style of storytelling which I was okay with even though from the aforementioned YouTube video, I was aware that that would change as the series went on. 

Back when I was a kid, one of my favorite shows was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And Dresden has been one of the few things that reminds me of BTVS, although I’d wager that Dresden more closely resembles the BTVS spin-off Angel more. I think it’s this resemblance that made me eager to keep reading. That and knowing that the books weren’t as simple as first presented. 

The things I love about it:

I love how simple and yet complicated it is all at once. It’s simple because the concept can be summed up in two words: wizard detective. You really don’t need a whole lot more to describe it. And yet as the books go on the world is expanded and suddenly things are more connected than you once thought and there are different levels of power at play as well as factions and magical creatures and politics in the middle of all of it. This just makes the world so much richer and interesting and fantastical while still keeping the roots of the human world. 

I love the characters. There is no character in this series that isn’t complex and flawed. They are very very human even when they’re not actually human and it is very easy to relate to one or more of them. Not every character is likable, but many — even the villains — are. And to go off of that, it is the relationships between the characters and the growth of that over the course of the books that makes this series worth reading. 

The mythology that is weaved into the story is great too. There is so much that comes right out of myth and adapted to fit into the world of Dresden and I am just in awe of how well Butcher manages to fit all the different things into one world from characters to artifacts and story and then also weave it into his own additions and his own changes to fit with his story. I’m aware that Fool Moon has a lot of criticism, but one cannot ignore the work that went into depicting all the different werewolf myths in one book. Then you also have the three courts of Vampires, the Sidhe, and characters like Odin, as well as archangels, and so much more. 

The writing is also good. I think one of the best parts about it is that Butcher has gotten better and better with every book. His descriptions are vivid and he does so well when it comes to magical battles and action. And it’s very easy to read and get just sucked into the world in part because the books are written in first person POV. 

As far as representation goes, it isn’t amazing, but there is some and specifically, there are a lot of women in positions of power which is always enjoyable to read. 

All of this does not mean the books aren’t without their flaws. No one thing can be perfect (except Black Sails…), there is always some problematic aspect to a work or something that doesn’t appeal to everyone. Some might say that Dresden Files has a lot of problematic things going on. 

The number one glaring thing is the way that Harry talks about women. It’s not that he doesn’t respect women or think that women can be strong and capable — I mean, he literally has Murphy there to remind him — it’s that the male gaze is so very very prevalent throughout the entire series. It’s like Butcher and Harry through him, cannot help but notice how beautiful or sensual or sexy any woman that crosses his path is. It’s understandable because we are reading the first person POV of an adult man, and even more so when we realize that sex is a big part of the supernatural world. I mean, we literally have vampires that are essentially succubi and get their “food” from sexual energy rather than drinking blood. The Sidhe all seem to be attractive and in multiple instances we see these fairies use their bodies and sensuality and like weapons to entice and seduce and overpower Harry and others. 

And yet, there is a clear choice that Butcher has made here to have Harry notice every woman and describe them nipples first and then describe them again on a next encounter in the same way. Even Murphy who does get described by her stubbornness and her strength and her accomplishments and her prowess also has the attached description of how short and how cute she is and Harry does also sexualize her in his head. Susan gets similar treatment and in the first book we even get to see her throwing herself at Harry due to the imbibing of a mis-intended potion. 

So, yes, this is very much the male fantasy/male gaze in action. Harry has women — mostly supernatural women — throwing themselves at him and in-book context there are reasons for this, but we’re supposed to praise Harry for how much his male libido is telling him “yes” and how he manages to somehow rise above that and not take the temptation — there’s even a scene where he literally pours ice water down his pants. And to be honest, I see the problems, but I also think it fits his character and Butcher describes the series as “Dirty Harry Potter” so what can you do. 

The moment that it became truly a big problem for me was when Molly came into the picture. The first time that Harry has a scene with Molly she’s fourteen and I can’t quite remember the exact words used but I’m sure that he manages to notice her body.

Molly doesn’t return for a few more books, but when she does she’s seventeen and Harry definitely notices Molly then and while it is one thing to take notice once, he constantly goes back to noticing Molly throughout the book. Molly’s feelings during all of this is one thing in part because Molly is young and impressionable and I think most young women have crushes on older men they admire and look up to, but to continually make a point of having Harry notice Molly and be attracted to Molly is icky. It doesn’t even matter that Harry doesn’t intend to act on it and that he actively puts a stop to it when Molly tries to turn things in that direction, mostly because in books following this one Harry still always takes a moment to appreciate Molly’s appearance and not just him but other male characters. 

So, yes, the sexulization aspect of the books is not the best, but I did appreciate that at least earlier on Harry is a bit demure when he is with women. His sexual acts are not described in detail. I was a bit surprised, then, when we did get slightly more graphic descriptions when it came to Harry and Murphy. It’s nothing like what you’ll find in fanfic, but it was a surprise. 

And the thing that also gets me about this is how easily Harry being this way could be explained because of his past and because of how Harry relates to sex, but instead Butcher explains it by saying that Harry is repressed because he isn’t getting any so that’s why he notices every woman that comes into his life. 

I will also point out that there aren’t just women supernatural beings, and that aside from Thomas who is described as the perfect man — strong and attractive and young, a lot of the male characters are a bit rougher and older and monstrous. 

Now, I’m not the best person to speak on this, but religion is a bit strange in Dresden. Mostly because while we have characters like Odin and Hades show up we also have fallen angels and archangels and characters that believe in God and have faith. But we have Christian artifacts in play so I do feel like there is a bias towards Christianity. 

Overall, I did enjoy these books. I think it’s a really good immersive story and that the world is interesting and ever expanding and that as a fantasy series — in particular an urban fantasy series — it is one of the best out there and I can’t wait to see where the rest of the series takes us. So I do recommend it with the caveat that it isn’t perfect and that some books are better than others but that as a whole it is an enjoyable read. 

--

Other Meta/Reviews 

[revolutionary-demosthenes]

John Laurens’s ideal Republic has yet to be realized... in 2020

So I was reading through John Laurens’s June 16th 1776 letter to Francis Kinloch.  This letter is mostly known for its particularly vengeful and aggressive passages, such as Laurens’s closing of “as Sincerely as a Republican can be to a Royalist” and “I hate the Name of King.”

But as I read through it, something else kept popping out at me... how much Laurens expresses ideas still considered “radical” now. And how much his ideas of what the American Republic would look like still have yet to be realized. In the post I’ll go through the relevant passages in the letter, and talk about them a bit. (And note that whenever I quote the letter, I’m quoting it from the transcription on @john-laurens‘s blog here, and there’s also a microfilm version online if you’d like to see the actual letter.)

The context for the letter: Kinloch sent Laurens a letter, which based on the points Laurens seems to be refuting in this letter, was essentially pro-monarchy arguments and refutation of Republics. (I can’t find the full letter, only the closing and opening.) The letter from Kinloch was also the one where he “ended things” with Laurens, probably leading to the abnormally aggressive and much less affectionate tone in Laurens’s return letter.

Anyway! The first part in the letter I want to talk about is as follows: 

“If you mean by Mediocrity, the Government of a Man’s Passions, the continual Sacrifice of private Interest to public Good from which kind of Conduct, a Happiness which Riches cannot give, results to the Individual, and Strength and Grandeur are ensur’d to the State, I agree with you that it is required in the Government to which I give the preference_”

“Sacrifice of private interest to public good” why did this man fucking die why why why again ties into Laurens’s detestation of wealth inequality, but also tells us that he was thinking about this in a broader sense as well. He, or at least the form of government he preferred, valued the “public Good” over “private interests.” 

“...a Happiness which Riches cannot give...” is not quite like Laurens’s other wealth equality statements. He is not saying that wealth should be equalized-- he is pointing out that it takes more than money to be happy. But again, the context of this means Laurens is also saying that a republic would bring happiness from things other than money-- and Laurens does seem to be implying that it is a greater happiness than that derived from “Riches.”

This, in particular, is very interesting to look at, because of course Laurens was very rich. And especially at the time, money was believed to be where happiness, or at least ease of life, came from. But here’s John Laurens, son of Henry Laurens, declaring that there is a “Happiness which Riches cannot give.” 

This is total and complete speculation, but I also wonder if this hints a bit at Laurens’s mental state at the time, which, judging by this letter even, was probably not great. Even if he did not mean this in a conscious way, perhaps this was partly Laurens expressing frustration over people assuming his life was perfect because he was rich. Laurens was incredibly privileged in his lifetime, but at this time his younger brother had died recently, his boyfriend had just broken up with him, and of course having had a gay relationship must have been incredibly stressful and I would guess Laurens had many very conflicting feelings over it. This is probably reading way too much into this. Main point: Laurens did not, unlike many others, believe that money was the key to happiness. This passage actually seems to imply Laurens thought happiness was greater when not derived from wealth.

“...under a Republican Government there is the fullest Scope for Ambition directed in it’s proper Channel, in the only Channel in which it ought to be allowed, I mean for the Advancement of Public Good_ need I desire you for proof to turn to the Histories of Ancient Republics_ no_ your Memory will present to you Instances enough of Men vying with each other in the glorious Service of their Country and receiving distinguished Marks of Approbation from her_ Does this noble Emulation, or it’s consequent pure Rewards, shock the Spirit of Democracy_ no_ but the Ambition of acquiring greater Riches than the rest of ones fellow Citizens, the establishing that odious Inequality of Fortunes, Source of Luxury and Wretchedness in Society_ or that of usurping more power than the Laws allow_ such pernicious Ambition shocks the equitable Spirit of a Republic and the Selfish Enemy to his Country, in whose Conduct it appears, must fall under the wholsome Rigour of the Law_”

Well, firstly and most clearly, this is yet another example of Laurens expressing wishes for the equalization of wealth. I take especial pleasure in his labeling the inequality of wealth “odious,” a word which is defined as “extremely unpleasant; repulsive.” This is probably the most vehement criticism of the inequality of wealth Laurens ever expressed. 

And then there’s the bit that hits the hardest. (For me, anyhow.) “[The ambition] of usurping more power than the Laws allow_ such pernicious Ambition shocks the equitable Spirit of a Republic and the Selfish Enemy to his Country, in whose Conduct it appears, must fall under the wholsome Rigour of the Law_” And this is quite plain, and pretty simple. John Laurens did not believe anyone in the new American government should seek or obtain more power than the laws explicitly dictated. This could even imply that Laurens did not believe anyone should even want to have more power than was lawful. And that makes me think he’s been turning in his grave for about the past... four years.

“To be confounded with Tradesmen, and mean Mechanics, you add, would give pain to Men of Education and feeling_ I know not how a Man of Education and Talents would be lost undistinguished in an ignorant Herd, unless by his own Neglect_ for he has it in his power to do his Country more eminent and essential Service, and thereby entitles himself to more signal Rewards_ these Rewards I grant you are not calculated to enrich the Individual and introduce all the odious and destructive Consequences of Riches_ but they are fully satisfactory to a Virtuous Mind_ surely no virtuous philosophic Mind will take Offence that the useful industrious part of the Community, should have their persons and properties equally protected with those of the most enlighten’d Men...”

So this does have some not-so-great things in it, like the usage of “ignorant Herd” to describe tradesmen, and, for that matter, that woman are not mentioned at all. And I would guess that Laurens was not including enslaved people here.

But again, Laurens is expressing an idea that still has yet to really be in place in modern America-- that the working class and the richer and/or more educated people “should have their persons and properties equally protected” under law, I would guess. Of course, Laurens does not go as far as to suggest that perhaps they should educate poorer people, but I feel it is still pretty significant he still is essentially implying that the rich and the poor should have equal protections in the new government. I mean, that’s applicable in the modern healthcare debate, in college and student debt debates, in the wealth tax debate, and in the crusade for criminal justice reform. (And I am 100% sure that Laurens would have approved of a wealth tax.)

And tying into that, in the above paragraph there is again a truly vicious attack on being rich. “these Rewards I grant you are not calculated to enrich the Individual and introduce all the odious and destructive Consequences of Riches...” This brings up two points but I’ll talk about the riches one first. So again, Laurens uses the word “odious...” but this time it is not to describe the inequality of wealth, but “riches” themselves! Like, Laurens really was against himself! He implies here that money will only lead to trouble! I’m really wondering if something specific happened to spark this, because many times in this letter Laurens has just completely rejected lots of money as being any sort of good... and he was... really rich. Like, this totally seems to be Laurens implying he’d be happier without so much money, so I wonder what was making him feel that way? Was it a guilt thing? Did he feel that it was causing him to be excessive? Was he upset that he was rich via his father? Or that the slave trade was where nearly all the money came from? 

And then the second point Laurens brings up here is that the “Rewards” (which is pretty vague... I’m not sure precisely what he’s referring to here.) “are not calculated to enrich the Individual...” So again, being more broad and implying that most things should benefit the entire community rather than a single person. As you can see from the full sentence above, Laurens connects the “wealth inequality” and “private interest” points here. Based on context, Laurens could be talking about serving in the army here, which would definitely fit. And if that is the case, it brings up another question: if Laurens believed that serving in the army was tied into wealth equality and was a way to favor the public over the private, could that have been part of Laurens’s motivation to join the army? But perhaps he also believed it would compensate for his privledge.

This letter is the most complete picture I know of of what Laurens really did dream of for the New Republic. It makes the tragedy of his death even more profound. If Laurens could have convinced other people to go for some of these ideas, they could literally be written into the constitution. Imagine if even just one of the values Laurens expresses here had simply been the norm of the American Republic from the start. Even if these conversations were happening this early in our history. 

I truly believe that in some ways Laurens could have been the Founding Father we desperately needed in the earliest days of our country-- the one who was not in it for the power, who believed in the strict rule of law, abhorred the abuse of power, who believed in economic equality, and was a fierce advocate of the then-radical idea of abolition. 

[artmotherhoodandmadness]

Breaking the trauma bond with the help of EMDR

Trauma bonds have punctuated my whole life; in fact my very first one was probably the relationship with my middle sister. I put her on a pedestal and thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world and a genius. She took umbrage with my perception of her and in seconds her volatile outbursts could leave me flattened and annihilated. My mother and stepfather frequently had outbursts too; you never knew when another bomb was going to be detonated. But then my sister could be funny, charming, charismatic and erudite; my mother made exquisite food; and my stepfather would buy my art materials when I needed them. They could behave monstrously, but they could be nice too. This was how the intermittent reinforcement was cemented, there would be storms peppered with moments of sunshine and you hoped there would be more sunny days than stormy ones. Like the lab rats experimented on in Skinner’s experiment, the rat would keep pulling the lever hoping for a reward but Skinner ensured that the pellets came with less frequency; nonetheless the rat would keep pulling the lever and neglect everything else hoping for another pellet. Just one last high, one last reward, one final hit of dopamine. Without realising it the rat had become an addict, and without realising it as a child I became an addict, too, addicted to a lethal combination of chemicals, unleashed when I was shouted at, namely cortisol, followed by my reward dopamine if I was on the receiving end of a moment of kindness. But moments of kindness were inconsistent and unpredictable.

The next trauma bond lasted ten years with a girl at school who really didn’t like me and could be cruel, indifferent and a bully, but I was blindly devoted to her and it caused me great distress and sadness when she discarded me, then hoovered me up, gave me a crumb of attention only to devalue and discard once more, it was an insidious pattern. I watched her develop from a vibrant, happy girl, to one who was obese and an alcoholic from the age of 10 to 18. I didn't understand at the time that it was another trauma bond and so a pattern has persisted in my life to this day. When I look back on specific friendships and numerous interactions, there were often unhealthy attachments with typically narcissistic types.

During my session with Dr S I told him about my friend of three years, a fellow, artist, who struggled with emotionally unstable personality disorder. His outbursts left me decimated, but then I focused on his talents in music and photography and believed, as a mental health campaigner, I could not abandon him.

Dr S said, ‘No good comes from maintaining contact with a narcissist. The only person that benefits is the narcissist, you are being used as supply.’

Dr S ascertained that my friend was a narcissist in minutes after I shared a text exchange. I had told my friend that I was doing EMDR and very quickly his texts became rebarbative.

‘You have to delete his number, you cannot allow someone to speak to you like that, he’s a scumbag.’ Dr S said matter of factly.

I thought of the times in the past, since I had my psychosis, when I had erratic outbursts and said things that I would never have said if I had been well, and I was convinced me deleting his number would be tantamount to abandoning him.

‘You are spreading yourself too thin,’ Dr S concluded.

‘You are in therapy, you are trying to get better, you have to focus on the here and now, your husband and children, not saving others.’

My friend reminded me of my sister, just as I had hoped to save her, I hoped to save him, but Dr S was right, I had to reinstate myself. What good would come from having a ‘self detonating fire cracker’ in my life?

‘Charity begins at home,’ Dr S said.

‘He has made you his slave. He has become heroin. You are behaving like an addict.’

All of this was shocking, I didn’t want to be anyone’s slave and the EMDR commenced. I held that thought. ‘Slave.’ The word got bigger and louder in my head to the point where I said, ‘No more.’

Had the penny dropped? I had a high tolerance for abuse, because I grew up in a volatile household but everyone has their tipping point. My husband knew about my friendship and didn't approve, in his eyes my friend was a ‘loser’.

Suddenly I was confused, were there some mentally ill people that you just dismissed as beyond help?

‘Could he ever get better?’ I asked.

‘Yes, with EMDR it’s possible.’

He was a cannabis user, too, and as long as he smoked he would continue to have delusions of grandeur and a strong sense of entitlement. I thought of my other friend, a photographer who was addicted to cannabis. He was on medication and receiving mental health support but still had not turned his life around, and it was frustrating to talk to him. I realised that it did not serve me to listen to him talking about cannabis, it brought me low, he was doing nothing with his life, just frittering it away. I was proactive, productive, a creator and I wanted to be around people who appreciated my talents, who were supportive and encouraging, who were stable and kind. My digital paintings reflected the conflict between the turbulence that I was facing and the desire for calm, there was a stark dichotomy of disparate forces coming into play when I looked at them.

Dare I say it I needed normal people in my life, not dysfunctional ones and this predilection for the dysfunctional stemmed from childhood. Did I want to be dysfunctional or functional? Of course I wanted the latter.

Dr S continued with the EMDR focusing on the analogy of the friendship being like heroin and as he moved his fingers I said to myself, ‘I don’t want to be a heroin addict, I am not a junky, I will go zero contact, I will no longer respond.’

Dr S went even further and said the abuse I had received during the friendship, had left me with battered wife syndrome and a diminished sense of self, this was also shocking. But it reminded me of how I felt as a child when my stepfather hit me in public, or my sister and mother shouted at me in a public place, my self esteem would shrivel to the size of a pea. I always felt that I had done something wrong and that I deserved it.

My friendship with the artist, accompanied with his volatile outbursts, replicated these seminal childhood relationships and subliminally I knew all of this. In fact I had tried repeatedly to break contact.

My husband, by contrast, was stable, solid, responsible, patient and consistent. I didn’t get the same chemicals from my bond with him, but I did get a sense of security from an attachment with someone I had known since I was 19. And of course it had not been easy for him to see his wife go through a roller coaster ride of mental health struggles, often I had seen him as the enemy but that was no longer the case. It was like a dense fog had lifted. With the right treatment maybe I was going to finally turn a corner. Certainly he was happy with my progress, I owed it to my family and well being to stick with the treatment.

Maybe this would be my last ever trauma bond?

I told Dr S that everyday I did my writing, art, music and exercise. I also tried to be present with the kids, my focus was on being calm, fostering a stable environment at home and so far I had achieved this. I didn’t believe that I could have psychosis again, or raise my voice or have an episode. In fact, I didn’t recognise who that person was. I was returning to the person I was before the psychosis.

Dr S said it would be a long road but that all the dots could be joined together from childhood, and there was still much to investigate and unpick. My life was filled with so much trauma, how would it be possible to process it all? The bilateral stimulation that came from EMDR activated the left and right hemispheres of the brain; these memories would become less potent as they were processed. I saw EMDR as a method of breaking down and diminishing the power of unpleasant memories and when I got home I decided to try it myself. I took a recurring and unpleasant memory and then I analysed and focused on one aspect of it. For example, when I was in London, I met many famous people and often it made me feel uncomfortable and inadequate, I couldn’t deal with such interaction and yet at the same time I wondered if they were better than me because they were richer and more successful. Instead I said, ‘I am me, I like my simple life, they have skills, but so do I, do I want to be them? No I am happy painting, writing and composing, my heroes are the underdogs, the ones that never got any recognition but carried on regardless.’ Then I held onto that idea and did the EMDR. I did this repeatedly with memories that  have kept on recurring for decades until I felt giddy with mental exhaustion. Dr S said that I might have vivid dreams as a result and sure enough my dreams were filled with random recollections of trauma. There was so much of it and it was shocking that I had endured and survived it all, but that was the point, I had survived and I was still standing.

I read online that it was possible to do EMDR on your own, I realised that there were things that I didn’t want to share with Dr S, they were too harrowing and sometimes his response was not gentle, he was tough with me, he did not mince his words and I was just too sensitive. I felt judged by him in many ways, judged by everyone and of course I wanted to hide it all, hide everything that had happened but that was not possible, I had to face it.

Thankfully my relationship with my mother is healthy now, she acknowledges  that when my sisters and I were growing up she could be irascible and identified that it stemmed from her relationship with her father who was always screaming at home, it left her terrified and unwittingly she emulated this model of parenting. I have learnt from the past and don’t shout in front of the children, they are happy and vibrant and thriving, there is no need for patterns of childhood to be repeated.

EMDR seemed to be the right treatment, I would stick with it, bit by bit I was getting stronger and yes, my artist friend, despite his talents, I would have to let him go. He would be my last trauma bond and my brain would recalibrate and no longer be addicted to the chemicals that it had fed off for most of my life. It was not going to be easy - that’s for sure -  but with patience and persistence and support and critically, EMDR, it was possible to break the trauma bond for good.

[istgimamess]

Moodboard Ship(s): NCT and TXT...

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

"...hiii my love !! how are you ? i hope you're well ashaja it is now my turn to threaten so yes you better be well or else 🔪 aahha.

may i get a moodboard ship with nct and txt please ? if not two then either of them is fine love !! thank you so muchh you're absolutely an angel and im so happy to have you as a friend. we need to talk more truly..."

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

In NCT I ship you with...

Jaehyun!

Your moodboard:

“Why do I get the feeling our relationship is backwards?” he asks as he wanders into your room, shrugs his jacket off, and hangs it over the back of your desk chair. You stare at his back, perplexed. Why was he here? “Isn’t it usually the girl who always wants to talk about feelings and the guy who bottles everything up inside?” he continues, his words finally catching up to you. Relationship? Feelings?

“I don’t bottle things up,” you shoot back, unable to clearly process the deeper meaning behind his words. Well, there is an imaginary box you like to hide things in, but that’s different—you think, in afterthought. “Right.” he responds, concurring. You can practically taste the sarcasm, his usual honey-like voice dripping with it. 

“Why—” you clear your throat, “Why are you here?” There’s a brief pause—not too long, but still long enough for your palms to begin to garner sweat. “Give me the setting sun, and I’ll be a richer man than most.” his voice is soft, almost as if he’s whispering. His hand reaches back in a swift motion, and he’s pulling off his shirt. As pure reflex you lower your gaze, but not before catching sight of his wings. They flutter momentarily, the sheer pink reflection catching in the setting sun. “For never have I seen gold like that which glows above the earth. Give me the night sky, and I’ll be the richest man for sure. For never have I seen diamonds like those that dance beside the moon.” he continues, back still facing you. You just barely recognize the scripture, fae are an ancient breed who take tradition very seriously. They have scriptures for everything—some more important than others. Your gut tells you this specific scripture is important. You begin to panic, wracking your brain for any clue as to what he’s saying to you—what he means.

And that’s when you see it, tucked beneath his left shoulder blade, almost hidden by his wing. A tattoo. Tattoos, to fae specifically, are much more than body art. They’re not meant for fun, they’re a declaration. A promise. A vow. You swallow your shock, narrowing your eyes to get a better look at the art. It’s small, delicate—but it also sticks out amongst his smooth, wide back.  You open your mouth to question him but your words die in place, your tongue suddenly feels thick, heavy in your mouth. It’s your name—the intricate design, the complex lines. This was more than a friend showing another friend some body art. This was a confession of the highest degree. A confession a fae of royalty should not be making to a simple human.

 “That’s incredible, Jaehyun. It is. But—" you swallow loudly in the quiet room, your heart jumping erratically in your chest.

“No." He turns around. "No buts. You think I'm going to hurt you? You think I'm going to get bored and run off with some undergrounder, some fairy, the first chance I get?” his eyes are piercing, dark with frustration. “You obviously have no idea how amazing you are. You are incredible, and I want you.” you take a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by his proximity, what he’s saying. “Every part of you. I want your stubbornness and your sarcasm and your competitive spirit. I want you challenging me and fighting beside me.” His large hands settle around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You resist—holding your hand on his chest—keeping him at a distance. What if one of the guards saw? “I want to hold you and kiss you and so much more because there's no one else in the world who knows me like you do. You have always been the one for me, even when we couldn't stand each other.” he lowers his voice, and suddenly everything becomes much more intimate. “You're beautiful, and you're more intelligent than any fairy I've met. It just feels right when you're beside me. It feel like I've been lost in the desert for years, and...I've finally come home.” he finishes, winded like he’s ran a marathon.

His dark eyes trace your features, gently removing your hand from his chest, closing the distance between you slowly. And, instead of fighting it like you should, you close your eyes and let yourself go. You feel the muscles of his shoulder beneath your hand. The frame his arms create is strong, secure, but you want those arms tighter around you. You want there to be no space at all between you.

As if reading your mind, he closes the distance. Tilting your chin up—his lips drawing you in—your breath becoming one. You want him so badly. You want to kiss him, laugh with him, cry with him, share every waking moment of your life with him because no matter how many awful things he's done in the past, you can't shake the undeniable feeling that when his arms are around you, you’re home.

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

In TXT I ship you with...

Beomgyu!

Your moodboard:

“I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trelon. I have spent the night with the Duke of Death and left with both my sanity and my life.” he’s ranting now, his wide eyes holding you in place, hands frantically waving about. “I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during the day. I have talked to gods, slept with sirens, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.” you cock your eyebrow, patiently waiting for him to get to the point. 

“You have to have heard of me.” he balks at your impassive expression. 

“Your highness,” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I know who you are, I just don’t care.” The absolute shock that momentarily paints his handsome features has you holding back a laugh. “But—” now you do roll your eyes, already bored with the conversation. 

“Your highness, I’m here to teach you—not indulge your ego. You’re going to be king soon—” he cuts you off, abruptly. “I do not wish to be king.” there’s an edge to his voice, a hard set to his jaw. You take a deep breath. “That doesn’t change the fact that you will be.” There’s a dark, forlorn and almost heartbreaking look in his eyes—it’s sudden and it’s gone as fast as it appeared—but it’s enough to stop you in your tracks. You swallow down the insult that was steadily making its way up your throat and you look at him, really look. Despite all of his accomplishments, if you wish to call sharing a chamber with a siren an accomplishment, he still just a kid. And suddenly your heart hurts for him,

“I once knew a troll who was heir to the throne of a great kingdom, he lived as a ranger and fought his destiny to sit on a throne but in his blood he was a king.” you say offhandedly, gazing out the large window to the east woodlands. You can feel the snap of his gaze on you. “I also knew a fae who was the king of a small kingdom, it was very small and his throne very humble.” you smile to yourself, remembering how delighted you were to meet such a respectable court. “He and his people were all brave and worthy conquerors.”

He takes a step towards you, you feel his eyes settle on your own—but you keep your gaze resolutely out the window. “And I knew a vampire who sat on a magnificent throne of a big and majestic kingdom, but he was not a king at all, he was only a cowardly steward.” you confessed quietly, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of such a cruel ruler. Your eyes must reflect your feelings on the matter because the prince steps in front of you, cutting off your line of sight to the great woods.  “Why are you telling me this?” he questions, his tone lowered to match yours. 

You finally concede, looking up and catching his eyes. “Because I want you to know. You will be the king of a great kingdom, human or not—whether you want it or not—you will be the king, even if you live in naivety.”  His gaze darkens as you turn around and reach for a book on the 9 woodland kingdoms, the kingdoms you’re meant to teach the prince about, thoroughly; the book is old and worn, it smells like burnt leaves.  “My lady, I did not think you could answer it.” his voice cuts through the sudden silence. You tilt your head in his direction, for the first time, curious. “Answer what?” you voice, confusion etched in your features.

“Your calling, of course. When my father took you from your home without your leave—and set value only on your gift—I questioned your knowledge on the subject matter at hand.” he rounds the table, holding your gaze hostage. “But I am answered truly. You have given fair return for insult thrice over and set your worth: higher than my life and all my kingdom and all who live therein.”

He comes to a stop in front of you, yet again, this time much closer than before. “And though you can send my people to the fire, I can claim no debt to repay. It would be justly done.” his whispered words catch you off guard—the implication, the suggestion of a confession. You drop the book you’re holding, the noise echoing through the barren halls. 

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

@urirealvibekiller​ omggg you're sooo sweet 😍😭 I'm going to cryyy. But also? That knife threat sENT ME hahhahaa 😂

And no, YOUR an absolute angel! I can't get over how pretty you areeeee! Teach me your ways! 🥺

Lol I hope you like your moodboard ship(s) — It started out one way, and then I randomly got inspired by a fantasy cottage-core advertisement lmfaoooo sorry! 🥰

[ofcastora]

SHAKESPEARE’S REGAN + DIVERONA’S REGINA

happy birthday hayley! @reginadalys

INSP. 

FULL PASSAGES UNDER THE CUT

1.

SHAKESPEARE:

LEAR: Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue Be this perpetual.- What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

REGAN: Sir, I am made Of the selfsame metal that my sister is, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short, that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys Which the most precious square of sense possesses, And find I am alone felicitate In your dear Highness' love.

CORDELIA: [aside] Then poor Cordelia! And yet not so; since I am sure my love's More richer than my tongue.

LEAR: To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom, No less in space, validity, and pleasure Than that conferr'd on Goneril.- Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love85 The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interest; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

REGINA: [in a starter]

She watches the priest baptize the children, as if this water could truly purify their souls, like a casing of holy armor around the intangible thing. Regina believed that everyone was born a blank slate, neither filled with light nor darkness, that these things sought you out later in life. Darkness had found her, a willing and empty vessel. No holy water could chase it away, for no water had magical properties. It only served to purify the mind’s conscience, not the soul, for the mind, like these babies below, is an easily manipulated thing, poised to be shaped however one commands, so long as they believe hard enough. You can trick the mind into thinking almost anything, including that this stuff works. The only thing purified is one’s folly. It’s pathetic, if you ask her.

2.

SHAKESPEARE:

REGAN: What might import my sister's letter to him?

OSWALD: I know not, lady.

REGAN: Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being out, To let him live. Where he arrives he moves All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone, In pity of his misery, to dispatch His nighted life; moreover, to descry The strength o' th' enemy.

OSWALD: I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.

REGAN: Our troops set forth to-morrow. Stay with us. The ways are dangerous.

REGINA: [in conversation with Vivianne Sloane]

“I was at the bar the target was expected to visit, which he did. However, he was unexpectedly with a Montague — the one called Perdita, to be specific. I wasn’t sure what she wanted with him, but I thought completing the assignment was more important.” Regina spoke of murder so clinically, as if it were another thing on their laundry list. “However, somehow, they’d anticipated my presence — or the presence of some obstacle, if they did not know specifically that I was assigned to this target.” It was all speculation, of course, but the thought had surprisingly stayed itching in Regina’s mind since that day: someone had gotten word that this man had too much knowledge. Someone had gotten word that the Capulets wanted him gone. Someone may have even gotten word that it was Regina who was assigned to take him out. The question was: how?

“They had Celia waiting to attack. Because of this, I was unable to get to the mark, and he left with Perdita. It was an organized ordeal from them.” While their expression remained neutral when they said that, there was a flash of something more underneath, something rare. Regina might not have even had the words to describe it, but it was almost angry in nature, perhaps more hungry than anything else. It was thus: the Montagues had stolen the pleasure of the kill from Regina, and they craved it still. They had some sort of organized front, something new, something to keep an eye on — something to destroy. The beginnings of something that looked opposite of apathy simmered. The transparent steam rose in green curls of jealousy

3.

SHAKESPEARE:

SERVANT 1: Hold your hand, my lord! I have serv'd you ever since I was a child; But better service have I never done you Than now to bid you hold.

REGAN: How now, you dog?

SERVANT 1: If you did wear a beard upon your chin, I'ld shake it on this quarrel.

REGAN: What do you mean?

DUKE OF CORNWALL: My villain! Draw and fight.

SERVANT 1: Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.

REGAN: Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus? [She takes a sword and runs at him behind]

SERVANT 1: O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left To see some mischief on him. O! [He dies.]

REGINA: [in conversation with Boris Kovrov]

Wait, he now says. Regina had heard plenty of others beg for their lives; the sound was nothing new. And yet, he does not beg. He does not say a word beyond that, and she takes a step closer, still shadowed, to get a better look. He is not special for being before her gun. But his expression is amusing, and so, she entertains it for a moment.

“For what, exactly, am I supposed to wait for? I am not here to waste my time.” That much was apparent by the swiftness she took in shooting the woman who now lie in a sea of her own blood (and perhaps piss, she couldn’t be certain from this distance). Regina once thought she had plenty of time to spare, and now, Verona had made her worry that she may have been mistaken. But she would not hesitate. She would not allow opportunity to slip through her fingers again. If she must make up for it with another body, she would. Her gun remained pointed in Boris’s direction as she took another step closer, out of the shadows.

[halorocks1214]

the law of compensation

Word Count: 10960

Summary: The Law of Compensation is the Law of Cause and Effect applied to blessings and abundance that are provided for us. The visible effects our deeds are given to us in gifts, money, inheritances, friendships, and blessings

Previous Parts (in order):  Alan | John | Virgil | Scott | Kayo | Gordon | You are here!

*heelies into view* sup, im not dead.

i wrote myself into a corner with this one with the ages and stuff, and right before i could figure it out to fix it, covid hit hard and writer's block even harder. however, recently, my brain went 'hey you know how you can fix your story' and welp now im here. i hope you like it! idk how i feel about it since my general emotions right now are pfsdppomdfgpomsd so feel free to fill in the blanks for me~

Penelope’s life has been upside down since day one.

Her parents were rich and influential in many circles, which meant they ran into more problems than most other families probably did. Penelope learned every trick in the book when it came to noticing spies, always making sure someone tasted her food for her if there was even the slightest amount of suspicion behind it, never unattended in unfamiliar places.

So when she walked into her bedroom on her 12th birthday alone and was met by the strange elderly man nearly crushed under her dresser, she had to admit she was quite perplexed by the sight, but not frightened.

Tilting her head as she walked over to be about three feet away, she squatted down to be on his level. Well, as much as she could, because he was pinned to be laying on his back, and she wasn’t going to place her cheek against the cold floor just to look him directly in the eyes, “Hi there, who are you?”

Despite being 12, she was keenly aware of how abrupt that sounded, but after a moment of struggling, he finally decided to give her the time of day, especially considering it looked like he wasn’t going anywhere for a while, “Someone who was just stopping by to-” he grunted as he tried wiggling out once more, “H-enjoy the view.”

Well, for the most part, that made sense, but, “Well you’re definitely in the wrong place for that. My room is rather cruddy compared to other views in my home.”

The trapped man blinked before realizing that he was in the presence of a literal child, “Oh? Well, where would the best view be h-in this place?”

Her brain said she was going against all her training, yet her heart refused to set off any alarm bells just yet, “Here, I can take you. Let’s get you free.”

Through lots of effort, the dresser was pushed off the man, and then the two of them were going somewhere, Penelope eagerly grabbing his hand and dragging him as much as she could as a small preteen. The man just stuck along for the confusing ride.

He was there to steal, of course, but the absolute willingness of this child to be his temporary best friend befuddled him, “Why h-are you doing this?”

She paused momentarily before looking up at him, “I don’t really know,” she shrugged her shoulders, “I guess I was lonely, and I could tell you were too.”

Stuck between being disheartened and offended, Parker prompted her to go on, “Oh?”

Penelope nodded her head, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and family, and they love me, but I’m sure you know all the cliches about being a rich child from an even richer family. Especially a rich daughter of all things.”

Thinning his lips, the man looked back up to watch where they were going, “I suppose I he-ave.”

The two of them made their way over to Penelope’s favorite balcony. Quietly pushing open the door, the man widened his eyes at the sight. No wonder the girl liked this place more, it was breathtaking. The stars in the night sky shone beautifully over their garden-filled back yard, making the flowers and fountain sparkle like they were infused with magic.

Penelope proceeded to tug on his hand again to bring him out to the railing of the balcony. After standing there for a few minutes, she started to speak softly, almost startling the strange man, “See what I meant?”

It was so cold his puffs of air were condensing in front of him, “Yes, I do believe I see hu-what you are getting h-at.”

He almost got lost in the sight forever before noticing movement out of the corner of his eye. Behind them on the balcony very suddenly was a criminal clad in all black holding a knife. He appeared to be trying to sneak into the mansion but caught sight of what must have been his target. Before the man could tell Penelope to run, the criminal made his attack.

Penelope shrieked as her new friend lunged at the criminal before he could do any harm. As they both attempted to subdue the other, her friend knocked the knife out of his hand and pushed him over, but not before the criminal was able to trip him up.

Penelope watched pushed up against the railing as the two men struggled to stand amidst their fight. Before she could blink, the criminal found his weapon and glared at her while her friend was just about done catching his breathing

“Dammit!” The assailant swore before gripping the knife tighter, “I didn’t work this hard for some fuddy-duddy grandpa to steal my thunder!”

The criminal lunged at Penelope one more time, but that was even more fruitless than the last attempt. When he was about three feet away from the girl, her friend grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and pushed him straight into the ground, knocking the wind out of him before going even further and putting his knee on the small of his back.

As the criminal began to struggle, her friend looked up at Penelope with surprising concern, “H-are you h-okay, m’lady?”

Blinking a few times, Penelope stood up and wiped her dress off, “Uh, yes, I am. Thank you…”

Her friend finished her question for her, “Aloysius Parker, pleasure to meet you.”

With that, rapid footsteps came from inside the building before they burst out onto the terrace. A bunch of family-mandated bodyguards were being followed by Penelope’s parents. Once they took in the sight of Parker, Penelope, and the extra third, the action got even crazier.

Three bodyguards went and obtained the criminal from Aloysius’ grasp while two more went and held both his arms. He was slightly annoyed by the gesture, but he couldn’t say it was exactly unfair. Over on Penelope’s side of the ordeal, her parents were hugging and kissing her, reprimanding her for going off alone, especially while a ball was happening, do you know the kinds of people that can sneak in during them-

One of the bodyguards coughed, “Um, what would you like us to do, sir?”

The other bodyguard was way too excited, “Let’s throw them in the dark dark wine cellar.”

Another bodyguard groaned, “I said the newbie would get too big of a head chaperoning this event.”

The one right beside him scoffed, “Oh please, none of this shit would have happened if you just stayed on your post with the kid.”

The third one spoke again, “Oh shut your goddamn piehole you-”

The parents were finally standing up with their daughter behind them. The father proceeded to pinch his nose, “Gentlemen, for the love of God, please-”

Popping out from behind his leg, Penelope shouted to shut everyone up, “You’re not going to do anything because his name is Parker and he saved my life!”

The night air was even quieter than it was when it was just the two of them.

Penelope’s mother slowly looked over at Parker with shock, “You did?”

Parker looked once at Penelope’s rapidly nodding head before reluctantly admitting it, “H-yes, I did.”

Penelope shot out from her father’s side to Parker’s, “He sure did! So you can’t be too mad at him for whatever other reason he appeared tonight, okay?”

Penelope’s father gave Penelope a soft look before turning and giving Parker an inquisitive one, “You do appear to be a man of particular skills… I may have an idea of how to get you out of any jail time or trouble if you want to hear me out.”

‘Hear him out’ was exactly what Parker did, and they eventually agreed on the best outcome: all ill-will would be forgotten if Parker started working for the Creighton-Ward family, specifically as Lady Penelope’s chauffeur, servant, and everything in between. She was shocked Parker agreed to the deal. She thought he would hightail it as soon as he could, but alas, he was ready and willing to stay put. To this day, she still isn’t sure what glued him to her side…?

Regardless, she had a new servant, and not to brag, he was better than any other one she had before.

About a year into their little arrangement, everything was going swell. Parker was very talented at what he did and yet was always ready to listen to Penelope’s beck and call. They were becoming quite the pair, and one day while shopping for other kinds of pairs (a preteen girl needs to have all the best shoes, Parker!), they came across a peculiar situation.

Actually, she’ll be more specific, she’s not that rude: they came across a man seemingly being mugged, and since her parents raised her to be a kind lady, she ordered Parker like she always does, “Parker, do be a dear and help the poor fellow out.”

Parker hadn’t needed to be told twice, “Yes, m’lady.”

With that, the assailant was subdued rather quickly, and Penelope went over to the man, who was bent over and out of breath. He was putting up somewhat of a fight, but it didn’t hurt to give him a little help, “Are you okay, sir?”

The man turned to look at Penelope with a small, fatherly smile, “Why yes, I am. Thanks to you and your bodyguard, that ended up a lot less painful than it could have been. Do you mind me asking your names?”

Why not, Penelope thought, “My name is Penelope Creighton-Ward, and my bodyguard over there is named Parker.”

The man pondered over her answer for a moment, “Penelope, that’s very pretty. Nice to meet you, Penelope, my name’s Mr. Tracy, but you can call me Jeff if you’re comfortable with that.”

Jeff Tracy, that name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Before she could ask what he did for a living, a gasp came front a few feet away, causing the three not-unconscious people to look in its direction.

Starstruck at the mouth of the alleyway was a brunette that looked so much like the man they just saved yet totally different at the same time, “Dad, what the hell-”

Mr. Tracy waved the boy off, “Scott, please, children are present.”

At that, ‘Scott’ grew sheepish, “Oh, sorry,” then he was back to his previous shocked state, “Dad, what the heck happened here?!”

With that, Mr. Tracy- Jeff, why not, stood up straight, “Don’t worry, Scooter, I just-”

Penelope stopped him there, “Parker over there is holding the incapacitated man that tried harming Mr. Tracy. I saw it happening and asked him to help out.”

Mr. Tracy quietly bit out, “Dammit.”

So much for children being present.

Scott wasn’t deterred, “Dad! I told you going out was a bad idea, or at the very least going off by yourself!”

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose, “Well, forgive me for wanting to get some fresh air. Besides, it’s not your job to worry like this, you know.”

Scott threw his arms out in exasperation, “It is when you do dumb stuff like this!”

Penelope could definitely see how these two were father and son.

Rolling his eyes, Jeff placed his arm around his son and looked back somewhat at Penelope, but mainly at Parker, “If you don’t mind, sir, but I would love getting your contact information.”

Before Parker could even exhale, Penelope spoke for him, “Sorry, but anything you want of Parker is something you want of me.”

Scott started glaring, “Hey, how old are you-”

Jeff quickly placed his hand over Scott’s mouth to shut him up, “Sorry, he’s pretty understandably rattled.” He took his hand away, and while Scott didn’t start talking again, he did cross his arms. Considering it a victory, Jeff put his full attention on Penelope, “That’s quite alright, you clearly seem to be the one in charge. Does that mean I’ll be taking your contact information?”

After giving him the bare minimum of necessary information, she, Parker, and Jeff kept in touch (it was mainly Jeff trying to speak with Parker but her joining them anyway, but she digressed). She went on to remember that Tracy Industries was a thing, and she always thought you could never have enough friends in high places. Plus, Jeff was one of the nicer ones, so to speak. She genuinely enjoyed his thought processes, and Parker was even starting to warm up to him.

Almost a year later after that fateful encounter, Jeff Tracy was announced dead, and Penelope expected that to be the end of things. She was saddened by it, maybe even more than usual, but she was raised to keep living in the present.

Until just a few months after her 20th birthday. She and Parker were relaxing in the main room before they received a random phone call. Normally she would let Parker handle it, but today she was exceptionally bored and wanted to do something. Once she reached the phone, she recognized the number immediately, “Jeff?”

A man cleared his throat, “Um, no, unfortunately, this is his son, Scott. I think you maybe remember me? That day in the alleyway?”

Recalling her thoughts, that’s when it hit her, “Oh, right, you were the one ready to throw hands with a 13-year-old.”

“A 13-year-old with a wardrobe more expensive than most families’ salaries and her own trained bodyguard that she ordered to practically break the arm of the guy that was attacking my father.”

Fair, and if her instincts were correct, that was the exact reason he was calling, “I suppose you are technically correct, but remember you were the one that called me. Tread carefully.”

Penelope heard shuffling on the other side, as if Scott were unable to sit still, “I have a… proposition for you, more specifically, Parker, if you’ll let me talk to him.”

Penelope was too curious to let it go. She glanced at Parker, who was watching out of the corner of his eye but ultimately letting her handle it, before pushing Scott to continue explaining, “What are you getting at?

Scott cleared his throat again, this time more in an attempt to steel himself for what was about to come, “Well, you have every right to turn this offer down, so does he, but my father’s plans involved calling your bodyguard and asking for his assistance for some things. I thought it was completely unnecessary, but after about a year of doing this, I’m starting to realize he may have had a point.”

That was cryptic, “About what?”

She could practically see the look on his face. It screamed ‘well, you see…’ “Certain jobs can’t be handled through normal means if you know what I’m getting at.”

Ah, of course. Considering who she’s friends with, she knows all too well what he’s talking about. ‘Normal’ is a generous descriptor.

Looking back at Parker, she thought long and hard. It’s not like they’ve been doing much. Going to balls, representing the family name, carefully lording the right information in the shadows; outside of that last thing, she’s not exactly spending every night out in the town.

Besides… she's seen Jeff’s legacy in action. It is quite the feat, and it’s taken the world by storm. She was surprised it could keep up even though the man behind it was, well, dead.

With that in mind, she made her decision, “Okay.”

Scott’s blink was so hard she almost heard it, “Okay?”

She nodded despite the fact he couldn’t see him, “We’ll help you out.” Then she paused for dramatic effect, “On one condition: I get to help out too.”

The pin was dropped, and she was sure Scott heard a record scratch in his head, “Uh, I mean-”

“Those are the terms, Scott Tracy,” she interrupted, “And if you don’t want to follow them-”

“No!” He double interrupted, “That’s not what I was saying, hang on.” Penelope heard some shuffling papers before he began again, “I’m totally okay with that. You’re an adult, you are a very powerful adult, you can make your own decisions. I can handle it, I just want to make sure you can.”

Now it was her turn to blink, “Huh?”

Scott cleared his throat, “As long as your willing to put in the work and agree to other terms we may have, I can take on both of you. I just don’t want you to feel coerced into this because my dad offhandedly mentioned that your bodyguard might be a beneficial asset to his goals. You have to be absolutely sure, after all, there’s a lot more here than just a rescue operation.”

Well, Penelope had to admit he had a point there.

… Still, she was tired. Tired of the same repetitive, high-class bullshit she dealt with every day. She donated to charity and advocated for everything she believed in, but after over half a decade, it was getting repetitive. She still wanted to help, yes, but she also wanted to see more, offer more, be more.

She just wanted more, “Yes, Scott Tracy, I truly believe I want to do this.”

He didn’t miss a beat after her final answer, “Alright then, I’ll give you coordinates for the island. Would this weekend work for a meeting?”

Adrenaline raced through her veins, “That sounds perfect.”

The weekend came, and after being able to convince Parker of the idea (deep down he knew he needed to get out and do something just as much as she did), the island they ended up visiting was absolutely stunning. Forget her mansion, she was going to move to the Caribbean or something with weather like this.

“Hey! Get back here you jerk!”

Bringing her out of her thoughts was the sound of laughter between two guys. It got closer and closer until two blonde boys came sprinting out from behind the corner with the slightly taller one chasing the shorter one. A few seconds of being out in the open, the taller one eventually saw Penelope and froze.

Before either of them could say anything, he grew slightly red and ran back behind the wall he came from with the shorter one chasing after him, his voice getting quieter and quieter with distance, “Hey, what are you doing? What’s wrong?”

Well, that was slightly rude. Regardless, another voice grabbed her attention before she could think about it too much.

“Penelope Creighton-Ward!”

Turning to face the voice, she smiled, “Ah, the voice over the phone!”

Scott rolled his eyes, “Haha, glad to see we’re going to have another jokester in our midst.” Before she could ask what that meant, Scott beckoned her and Parker to follow, “Now then, please, follow me to the main attraction. I have a few ladies who are dying to meet you.”

After a few minutes of walking through the weirdest tunnel system she had seen in her entire life, she eventually came out into what was a humongous hanger holding various sized rockets and ships. On the giant green one was a black-haired man somewhere in his mid-twenties talking to an older lady. Penelope assumed they were family, considering the laughter that was scattered about them.

Along with the green ship, a giant red rocket sat still in the corner. Despite no direct light being shined on it at the moment, it glowed like the sun itself, even outshining the way smaller silver rocket placed directly under a spotlight. The lack of shininess could be the fact that a completely different pair was working on the silver one, an older man with a younger woman this time, but one would think the silver one would shine the brightest regardless?

Bringing her back to reality, Scott Tracy walked in between her and the giant vessels. He proceeded to hold out his hand, “Well, welcome to the Thunderbirds. We’re glad to have you.”

With a sly grin, Penelope took it with grace, “Well, I’m glad to be here.”

This was going to be a very interesting business partnership.

---

“I thought you didn’t like to drink”

A scoff, “Contrary to popular belief, I can get quite hammered when I want to. It’s not my fault my brothers have such shit taste in their alcohol consumption.”

Snorting as she kneeled, Penelope gazed at the bottle in Gordon’s hand with a hint of concern, but hopefully, kept it well hidden, “Well, you’re not wrong there. I’ve had to request the weirdest things for John at my balls, you know. It takes a lot of effort to find Amazonian lemons. Can the rest of you even pronounce the brands he likes?”

Gordon shrugged, gripping his bottle a little tighter, “I think Scott was the one that created our betting game off of it. How many syllables we can get right. By the way, nice to see you didn’t immediately jump down my throat at the sight of my drunk ass,” another sip, making her wince, “At least I’m not the only one feeling this way.”

She placed her hands gently around his, bringing the bottle away and getting him to look her squarely in her eyes, “Well, anyone worth their weight in salt would be feeling shitty at the moment, but considering even Scott is relatively sober and not out here with you,” she squeezed his fists at little more, “What’s bothering you, Gordon?”

Another shrug, more broad and wide with the way both his exhaustion liquor were catching up to him. The grin he formed was anything but happy, “You said it yourself, everything?”

Penelope thinned her lips, “Both you and I know that you’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

Seeing as her words were cracking his shell, she quickly but quietly moved her hands away from his, leaving only one on his shoulder. It was the right decision, as following her movements, the first thing Gordon did was shake his hands in frustration and groan, “He’s still gone, Penn, two weeks, scared and alone and we might have well have sat around on our asses drooling at the walls with how far we’ve gotten in terms of finding out where he’s been taken.”

Ah, she figured it had to be that. Penelope had learned the hard way about what had befallen the Tracy family this time in the form of them not calling her when they got home, followed by the majority of them not picking up her calls either. She was about to call it a night and come over to the island herself when Mrs. Tracy was the first one to pick up. Penelope was a little grateful she didn’t video call. It might have been worse if she saw the state the older lady was in.

“Yeah, yeah, Jeffie is back safe and sound, and believe me, I’m eternally grateful, so are the boys, but…”

Penelope waited with bated breath. That breath was soon lost with what she heard next.

“Despite it all, we still don’t have the entire family back home, and-- dammit, Alan-”

Being the lady she was, she firmly yet gently let the grandmother know that it was okay if she didn’t want to say everything over a call. She and Parker would be over to the island first thing in the morning. With a terse goodnight, the ladies cut their lines with newfound senses of dread. Penelope got to the island with her escort just like she said, was given the long and short of it (was shown the damn note), and with aggressive clicking of her heels, she promised hell upon every one that wronged their family.

Which was only one, crazy, insane, bald madman.

It was a mess-and-a-half, and Penelope had been spending at least 80% of her time recently trying to help bring the youngest home. She hated how she hadn’t made it any further than the other Tracys, but it was a good starting argument, “Well, I don’t have much else to go off compared to you. Maybe I should be held just as accountable.”

It took him a second to register her words, but once he did, Gordon blinked and shook his head, “What, no, Penn, God no, you’re doing the best you can. Don’t you dare think you’re failing us, you’re not.”

Penelope sat up straighter, “And yet you are?”

Suddenly, Gordon was aggressive, but not at her, never at her, but always at himself, “Yes! Yes, I’ve already failed so much, goddammit, and the fact that we’re taking forever is the fucking cherry on top!”

Within the blink of an eye, she had her arms around his shoulders and was staring deeply into his amber eyes, a hint of faux-naivety behind hers, “Why’s that?”

This pattern was something they’ve done with each other many times by now. Not so much toying with one another’s emotions, but definitely playing with their heart so the things they couldn’t quite get to fumble out of their mouths gently left it instead after some careful prodding. Every single time they played this trick on one another they would only realize it in the morning. Yet, they wouldn’t even be mildly annoyed by it, they would be secretly grateful. Such is love.

Gazing into the gorgeous blue eyes of Penny, Gordon couldn’t stop the tears that leaked down his face, “John’s been beating himself up over missing the fact Alan was in trouble during our call, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? Our call. I was right fucking there, my chest was burning with that feeling Scott gets on a daily fucking basis and I did jack shit. I didn’t even have the excuse of needing to man my station like John did! I could have left at any time, and I should have, but I didn’t. I’m the only other family member that rivals Scott’s need to follow one’s gut, and I fucking blew it.”

Penelope knew she was expecting a tirade to come out of his mouth, but she would be lying if she said she was prepared for how much near self-hatred would be laden in it, “Gordon, that’s--”

Gordon’s crying started having some laughter behind it and it broke Penelope’s heart, “Alan has always appreciated me for being a different kind of older brother, but all I can think is that if Scott or Virgil were there, they would have gone to him. They would have saved him. I was so caught up in the excitement of seeing Dad again I couldn’t see anything else, but maybe… maybe they would have. They would have followed that feeling in their chest.”

Yes, she was quite aware of the connection the two youngest had. Both were experienced in being babied by the older members, and while they didn’t exactly hate it, they both shared the feeling that it could be taken too far. That’s not to say Gordon has never babied Alan, it’s a Tracy older brother rite of passage to baby anything younger than you-- Kayo notwithstanding because the boys would like to live to see tomorrow-- but he was the only one with enough balls to look Alan in the eyes when he was being stupid to just straight up say, Alan, you’re being stupid. Again, Kayo notwithstanding, but she’s always been an outlier in their habits. It drives Brains insane with how much he has to change his general character study of the family.

Right, the important issue at hand. Gordon was still going, not helping her already bruised heart in the slightest, “Alan’s going to come back and he’s going to realize just how shitty I am as an older broth--”

Gordon always thought of Penny in the same way he thought of the waves that propel him when he swam: always there, gentle as ever, but when he needed a kick, they aren’t afraid to give it to him straight. Penny, however, couldn’t exactly shoot water from her hands, so she settled with a surprise kiss from nowhere. Gordon’s lips were salty with tears, and despite her eyes being closed, she knew his expanded to the size of baseballs.

Leaning back, she sighed at the smeared lipstick on the corner of his lips, “Gordon, I think both you and I know that what you’re saying is absolutely rubbish.”

Gordon’s lips were still a little puckered, “Wha--”

She placed one of her fingers on his lips, shutting him up, “You are the one best older siblings on the planet alongside your brothers, and the fact that you would doubt that means you’re letting that bastard win,” Gordon’s gasp meant she was going in the right direction, “Alan is a very crafty boy when he wants to be, which he definitely got from you, so don’t you dare think him slipping out of your grasp was your fault. As backward as it is, you should be thinking that the reason he was able to so selflessly give himself was because of your undying love for him. He wouldn’t be willing to go through hell and back just for any group of people, no?”

His eyes were practically twinkling with awe. Was it really so hard to believe that these boys had nothing but adoration and respect for one another? At least he took her words into consideration in the form of swallowing down the spit in his mouth like he swallowing a large rock, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Her soft grin fell over her face once more, “Aren’t I usually though?”

A similar one fell over him, “Yeah.” Then, his face became somber once more, “Hey, Penelope, I’m real sorry you had to catch me like this. Despite it, you comforted me through it anyway. God, sometimes I wonder if I even deser--”

Another peck to his lips, “What did we just get finished talking about? Besides, you’ve helped me in similar circumstances, and over arguably less pressing matters too.”

Gordon found himself rolling his eyes for the first time in a while. This woman was truly incredible, “Nah, I wouldn’t say that. You really did have too many clothing options for that ball, you know. Who picks a theme as generic as “Color” and doesn’t expect for it ruin a couple of ladies’ weekends? C’mon.”

The laughter that rang out in the air was magical.

After their joy died down, she shoved herself in his arms like a needy cat and gently scraped her fingernails over his cheeks in that familiar comforting way, “Just you wait, Gordon Tracy. Alan’s going to come back and the first thing he’s going to do is smack all of you, especially you, silly for how dumb you’re all acting.”

With tear tracks still on his cheeks, Gordon let out a few wet chuckles, “Yeah, he would, wouldn’t he?”

Penelope turned around to lay her back on his chest, and with it, his arms snaked around her waist and his chin was placed on her shoulder in their special soft hug they like to do, the bottle of alcohol long forgotten, “He will, Gordon. He’s got an amazing father, a wonderful sister, a lovely grandma, and four absolutely stellar older brothers to make sure of it.”

She felt the rise and fall of Gordon’s chest as he took a shaky deep breath, “... Four handsome older brothers, I assume?”

She rolled her eyes. So they were going to play that game tonight, “Yes, Gordon, though, I would prefer to call one of them absolutely fetching instead.”

“Scott was always a ladies man.”

“I suppose, though his flirting skills leave much to be desired.”

“Those muscles on Virgil make quite the argument by themselves.”

“They do create the most wonderful hugs.”

“But I thought John wasn’t into this kind of stuff?”

“You’re insatiable, Gordon.”

“Kayo prefers to call it high maintenance.”

“Insatiable.”

“Hard to please?”

“A prick.”

“Wow, and Virgil said I was going to be the asshole of this relationship.”

“He was right.”

“Yet you’re not gunning for freedom away from me, so I must be doing something right.”

“Hmm. Yes, you are.”

---

“I didn’t know you could drive.”

She pulled the key out of the ignition of her familiar FAB 1, “As much as I enjoy Parker’s company, I do need some alone time every once in a while. I feel you feel a similar way about your older brothers, or am not I correct, Alan?”

The boy stepped out of the car and stretched his arms above his head, “Yeah yeah, but Parker not being bound to you would be like Captain Nightleaf not having his famous grappling hook in the sequel. You can’t have one without the other. I sometimes wonder if you summoned him or something, or have him bound by a blood contract.”

“He’s 80, not ancient.”

Alan was now on the other side of the car right next to her, grin prevalent as ever, “Could’a fooled me.”

Then, the grin he was sporting fell slightly off his face as he trailed over to look at the GDF compound he asked her to take him to. Currently, it was night, but before, it was a crisp afternoon only a few days ago. Penelope was chilling in a hotel room in Switzerland, waiting for Parker to pack the car down at the entrance and give the okay to leave when Alan called her by himself with a request she wasn’t expecting, least of all from him.

“Alan, I’m not saying no, but… you want to see him so soon after everything?”

The he did was left unspoken.

The boy fervently nodded his head anyway, “I want to get it out of the way and my family won’t let me get within 1000 feet of the guy for the next 150 years. I don’t exactly blame them, but… I dunno, I just want to get the last word in, or maybe some answers. It would give me some sense of relief. Isn’t that how it works in the movies?”

Penelope rolled her eyes, yet a small smile followed soon after, “That is also how it works in real life, you know. Not everything is a Hollywood flick. If you’re sure, let’s figure something out. I’ve got the feeling you don’t want Parker breathing down your neck, and your family will have eyes like hawks. We’ll need to be sneaky about this.”

She supposed it was immature, but she couldn’t help the laughter that escaped her at Alan’s, “Aha! Viva la revolution!”

With careful espionage, Alan was able to trick every single one of his family members that he was asleep (even John, who must have been exceptionally tired) for the night. After they all left to their respective rooms to pass out like the youngest, said youngest popped up and snuck out to the hangar where Lady Penelope was waiting with her ride.

After a few hours of mindlessly talking with the boy (who had some interesting conversation starters), they finally arrived at their destination, and Penelope wondered if Alan was starting to grasp what exactly he was in for. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “It’s quite alright if you want to turn back now. You’re not wrong if you want to leave just as much as you’re not wrong if you want to continue with this. It’s all about your comfort.”

Because it was true. Penelope has been through these types of situations numerous times. Even if Alan wasn’t going to see his personal hell personified, the environment of these places was undeniably spooky, even scary in some cases. She might have become somewhat numb to it, but little Alan, while had one of the worst forays into this kind of culture in the form of being literally tortured, was still adjusting to just how dark the world could be. She was sure the Tracys already understood a little bit of it with how casualty-heavy their jobs could get, but there were things even the older boys were sheltered about out of necessity.

She would absolutely be willing to turn back now if he wanted to leave it behind and shroud himself in the warmth and light of his family. Not many have the ability to do so in the first place.

Alan thinned his lips before his blue eyes became fire-filled with determination, “No, Penny, I want to do this. We’ve come this far, and I promised I would pay for gas money. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Snorting, she gently squeezed on his shoulder before taking her hand away, “Just give the word, darling.”

Checking in and learning all the appropriate rules and whatnot, they gandered at the steel walls as they made their way to one of the deepest parts of the compound. Before they knew it, they were outside one cell in particular. Penelope gazed over at Alan, who was sweating ever so slightly more than before. She was about to make the offer to go home again, but Alan abruptly spoke, “Uh, are you going to unlock it?”

Oh, right, she had the key. Maybe she wasn’t the one ready for this.

Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the cell and the door swished open. Both blondes were hit with a rush of cold air, making them shiver. Penelope wasn’t entirely sure if she was seeing her breath due to the chilliness or if her mind was making her see things due to how unsettling it was. Regardless, the two IR operatives stepped into the dark room and gulped at the sight before them.

Shackled to a chair and behind a table was none other than The Hood, glaring at them like they murdered orphaned puppies.

Ha, like he would care if they did that. She knew exactly why he was angry, and it was sickening all the same. Even after all the atrocities he has committed, he felt he was right in feeling slighted at being put into custody. She had taken down many horrible people, and yet she would never understand how they could have such twisted egos, or as Gordon would put it, have their heads shoved so far up their asses they no longer could see the light of day.

And that was sugarcoating how Gordon said it.

At the sight of Alan, The Hood lost all of his fury. In fact, in the blink of an eye, his glare turned into a slimy smile. One straight from a creepy uncle, which described him better than any of them liked, “Alan, why, I didn’t expect to see you so soon! How has it been?”

The Tracy in question gulped at being addressed directly, “P-Pretty good. Just wanted to make sure you were enjoying your time in jail. You really earned it.”

Penelope grinned ever so slightly at Alan’s attempt as sass. It was subtle, but enough for The Hood to pick up on the hidden message. The guy’s eyebrow twitched, and before either blonde could continue their merciless roasting, “Well, I suppose I do. After all, I’ve clearly done everything I could ever dream of. Now I’m in one of the safest locations on the planet away from harm. Yes, I do deserve this.”

Alan’s grin became awkward, and he took a glance and Penelope before he could help himself, “Aha, what?”

Penelope secretly winced at the fact that Alan asked a question instead of doing anything else, because The Hood, seeing the hole in Alan’s bravado, sat up straighter and his grin got even more ear-to-ear (Gordon’s comparison to the Grinch hurt suddenly. At least the Grinch became nice), “You don’t think I’m not aware of all the damage that has come upon your family? The things that make them squirm? How they would feel if those same things befell the one object they desperately wanted to protect? Why did you come with the Missus over here instead of one of your amazing brothers? Could they not handle it? Or were you too scared to be alone with them? Either way, it’s still exactly what I wanted.”

Alan’s lips thinned, “H-Hey, you don’t know what you’re--”

Penelope was caught off guard by a large bang resonating throughout the tiny room. The Hood was standing, his hands slammed down on the tabletop and breathing heavily. His eyes had a dangerous gleam to them, one that spoke, I might be chained down, but clearly I’m still in control.

Throughout that series of events and before he could help it, Alan jumped back and gripped Penelope’s arm, eyes wide and filled with fear, just like The Hood probably wanted.

The Hood, watching Alan’s clear display submission, grinned evilly, “Don’t you understand, Alan? It’s just like I told your family, I win. No matter how much they want to do to me, they can’t when I’m sitting behind bars, and you on the verge of a panic attack like right now just makes them hurt even worse. I. Win.”

Seething with anger, Penelope was about to give that awful man a piece of her mind when she suddenly felt Alan let go and step forward with taut shoulders. She looked at him and saw a glare that could have even rivaled his eldest brother’s, “Yeah, you know what? You did win, I am scared of you, the world is a little darker. It’s taking all of my willpower right now not to pass out on the spot, but you also know what?” At The Hood’s shock and raised eyebrows (he must not have expected such a bite to the youngest’s words), Alan grinned and continued onward, “I’m not scared of my family like you desperately wanted me to become. Yeah, I’m not. Maybe sometimes I’ll forget it, and yes, you certainly didn’t help, but who needs to know when I’ll always feel their love and care for me till the end of their days? So, sure, you did win in some regards. My family now has even more shit to struggle through until we get back to some semblance of normal, but I still have them, unlike your sorry ass.”

Alan took a step back as to signify these are the last words we’re having, asshole, rot in hell, “All of your henchmen have been promised safety away from you, you growl and hiss at every scrap of help people somehow manage to want to throw your way despite everything you’ve done to them and you still think you’re the right one in this situation. The one on top of it all. Well, guess what? You’re not, and my family and I, together, are one day going to toast to this momentous occasion. You finally being left in a cell to rot. Alone. Have a good rest of your life, Hood, I hope it’s as dark as you wanted it to be.”

With that, the boy turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Penelope to give one last glance to a flabbergasted Hood with a cheeky grin. Soon after, she left herself and locked the door just like she knew how to and followed Alan out. The boy had quite the lead on her, not that she was going to try and close any time soon. She was going to let him have some space after all of that.

She was pretty good at judging distances, and it was about two hundred and twenty-three feet away from The Hood’s cell door when Alan suddenly leaned against the wall and slid down it to bring his head between his knees. Not skipping a beat or becoming even slightly caught off guard, Penelope kneeled next to him and placed a gentle hand on his back, “You were very brave, Alan, and extremely right. I’ve known utter wackjobs who only have fantasies of being able to say or do something like that.”

Minutely trembling, Alan brought his head up to look at her. Unshed tears were in his eyes, yet he still grinned and laughed all the same, “You mean like Parker right?”

Blinking, Penelope had to grin too, “Well, I wasn’t going to be the one to say any names, but if we want to go there...”

Just like that, they were interrupted by the sounds of footsteps heading their way.

Both blondes looked up to see a GDF member walking in their direction who jumped at the sight of them, “Woah, hey… Uh, are you two alright? Do you need me to fetch someone?”

Shaking her head at the generous offer, Penelope declined, “No, but thank you. We had to make a necessary stop for the future that was draining, but it’s over now, and we just need to catch our breath. Isn’t that right, Alan?”

Penelope felt Alan’s breathing was a little more hectic than before, but his terse nods made her focus back on the man in front of them.

Also nodding, the man continued on his journey to wherever he was going, “If you’re sure then…”

As his footsteps became muffled due to distance, Penelope finally registered that it was panic that was swiftly overtaking Alan, and before she could ask what was wrong or comfort him, Alan roughly gripped the front of her shirt, “Penny, do you know if there are any other criminals being held down here?”

Uh, that was weird, “Not yet, or at least, none that I know of.”

If Alan wasn’t careful his breathing would become hyperventilation, “And who did you say was allowed access to The Hood’s cell?”

She didn’t like where this was going, “Well, there’s myself, I believe your father and Scott, Colonel Casey, and about one other well-trusted higher-up in the GDF. Why?”

Alan looked at her with the widest eyes imaginable, essentially saying she held the world in her palms at that very moment, “Then why did that random employee, who definitely was not a high rank in the slightest, have a keycard like ours?”

Oh, damn, why the hell didn’t she notice immediately that a random member being down here at this time of night was suspicious? Regardless, Alan picked up the slack for her- must have seen the key in his pocket somehow- and before he could utter another word out, she reluctantly left him behind to go chase after the man.

She wasn’t sure how the man got the keycard, but those details were to be left for the GDF to find out. It was their spy problem, after all.

Coming around the corner, her eyes laid upon the man about two inches away from unlocking the door. Before she even thought, she tackled him in a very unladylike manner, which led to a rather brutal scuffle on the ground. She was still winning it, however, like she always does. At some point, she managed to grab his key from him and escape the weird tango they were doing on the floor, and right as she stood up, a young voice called out to her, “Penny!”

Looking up, it seemed Alan had finally found his feet. She saw the man had also found his as well and was coming at her once more, “Alan! Take these and run!”

Chucking two identical keycards over the man who returned her tackle from earlier, Penelope was barely able to watch as Alan caught them and did as he was told. Boy, didn’t Gordon once mention he was in track at some point? It clearly showed. She blinked, the man stood up and Alan was gone. Too bad the man was very insistent that he freed The Hood tonight, as he started booking it as soon as Penelope stood up as well.

God, how did this night go to shit so quickly. She wasn’t even wearing the right heels to run in!

She eventually caught up to the two men as they made their way into the lobby. The person who was seated at the desk and who Penelope got her key from was swiftly knocked out, most likely due to their little intruder. So that at least explained why the intruder was able to get the key. Well, Penelope would need to wake them up somehow. She couldn’t run out and get help herself because she didn’t want to leave Alan alone with that man; if they both left he would just go and break The Hood out; and something about radio communication was jammed down here for safety reasons. The only thing that could call the rest of the GDF was that desk.

As she was thinking of a way to get that person to wake up, she watched out of the corner of her eye as Alan dodged a tackle thrown his way. Penelope thought she could sigh in relief, but then the man, while still on his stomach, shot his arm out and grabbed Alan by the ankle and yanked him down. Alan had no other choice but to fall right directly on his tailbone, which fell directly on the cold, hard, metallic floor, causing him to yelp out a high pitched “OW!” in the process.

Oh, so that must be how Scott felt during these moments. Interesting.

Getting over to the commotion, Penny jabbed the sharp part of her heel right into the spy’s side, making him wheeze and release Alan’s ankle, allowing the boy to scoot away. The man growled, and Penelope kneeled to try and pin him. She might not have been physically strong enough to completely hold him, but it was enough to significantly slow him down. Meanwhile, Alan scooted so far back his actual back knocked against the desk. Taking a deep breath to calm his erratic chest, he reached behind and above himself to place the cards on the desk and rejoined the fray.

Right before the man could break out of Penelope’s grip, Alan was there pinning him down from the other side. It stopped him for just a bit, but the momentum he had from before was enough to throw them off. They both landed on their butts, and Penelope watched as the man focused his anger on Alan once more. Leaping off her bottom, her arms wrapped around his chest right as Alan jerked one of his legs out in front of him to nail the man right in the stomach, making him huff due to the sudden loss of air in his diaphragm.

This brawl was going in circles. Penelope had to wake that person up, but how? Looking around the room, quickly losing her grip on the spy once more, she saw she had a clear shot of the knocked out receptionist. Closing her eyes in pain (these shoes were limited quantity) for what she was about to do, she moved her arms to have one still wrapped around the man’s neck and used the other to reach down and grab one of her heels.

Hopefully, with more grace than she thought she had, she closed one of her eyes to aim and chucked the heel right at the head of the sleeping GDF member. It hit the target right on, and before she could feel elated at her momentary victory, the man gripped her arm and chucked her right at Alan. They collided at let out two groans right at the moment of impact.

She usually was more refined in the way she kicked ass. Tonight, she hoped it would be okay to make an exception.

Her Deus-Ex-Heel must have worked because outside of her peripheral vision, she heard the noises of someone groaning after being knocked out, followed by a, “What the- HOLY-”

That was good enough for her, and now her focus was 100% back on the man in front of her, as well as Alan beneath her. Both she and the youngest Tracy looked up to see the man standing threateningly over them like a dark shadow, most likely casting one over them in the process as well. She wasn’t sure if it was her or him that growled, but only feeling partially sorry as she sprang off of Alan like he was a trampoline, she tangled with the spy once more. At some point, Alan joined the dance as well, and it was a blur of limbs. The receptionist was fearfully crouching behind the desk, mainly because you had to be insane to join in on that twister of a fight.

After a little bit more scuffling, Penelope was only reminded of the fact that she was wearing one heel when she tripped like an absolute buffoon over her own two feet. Regardless, the spy wasn’t expecting it either, and with a yell of shock, the two of them tumbled down, taking Alan with them, onto the ground for the last time, and in the process, the man smacked his head directly on the steel floor. While he wasn’t completely knocked out, the guttural noise he made after the fact signified he was down for the count.

Suddenly, they were in the weirdest triangle formation ever conceived, with Penny laying atop his chest with her nose against the ground and Alan laying over the man’s legs as his knees jutted uncomfortably into the boy’s gut, Alan’s face only a few inches away from hers. The man was finally done fighting and he was staying that way, however, which was more than enough. She only wished she had more grace during it all, especially at this moment. It was embarrassing as hell how they ended up, and she couldn’t even begin to make herself more presentable because the help she desperately wanted showed up at the exact wrong time.

“This is the GDF! Put your hands- Alan?!”

With the grace of a newborn angel, Alan popped his head up above the chaotic knot to see what the new commotion was about. It was kind of hard to be mad at the scene when his hair was so unkempt in that way baby animals get after lick-baths from their mothers, as well as the dopey smile he was sporting with such an adrenaline rush, “Oh! Hi Aunt Casey! Glad to see you again!”

Penelope groaned into the ground, Well, poop. This was not how she wanted this to go.

After being held in a cell for about an hour or so (it was regulation, they knew that, didn’t make it suck any less), the Colonel herself came and brought them out. It was very obvious they didn’t do anything wrong, honestly, they did more than right, but the GDF had rules. Causing such a commotion, especially in such a facility, had to be looked into, and what she found was exactly what she expected. Nothing less of a Tracy, or Miss Creighton-Ward.

Didn’t stop her from gripping the boy’s arm like a tired mother, however, “Now then, another part of our regulations is to call the family of anyone we incarcerate, so the past half hour of my job has been more hectic than I can bear. Please, Alan, don’t make this worse for anyone, or yourself.”

As soon as the word ‘family’ left Casey’s mouth, both Penelope and Alan winced. They both subconsciously figured that the rest of the Tracys would find out about their little mission, they just hoped it would be in the morning a few hours after everything was said and done. Not right in the middle of it, and especially not right after they essentially took down an enemy cell.

Casey let the boy go with a fond smile. Penelope watched as the boy gave one back, albeit a little bit more awkwardly. It said please don’t feed me to the starving lions. Casey only eye-rolled. You were the one that thought it was okay to steal their food. Alan eye-rolled right back. Yeah, fine, fair enough. The two women stood and watched as Alan took a deep breath and descended the stairs to his frantic family.

Penelope took a moment to look at said family. Jeff and John were off to the side talking to two officers while Gordon and Virgil were steaming and sitting with their arms on a seemingly even more steaming Scott, all three glaring at the spy currently in handcuffs. Oof, they probably got a brief rundown about what happened, and that most likely didn’t put them in a good mood. Which was to be expected. How else should one feel when you’re abruptly woken up to a call from the GDF saying your younger brother is in our captivity. Please come pick him up before he makes even more of a mess. It didn’t help that they had to wait to see the younger brother when they knew Alan was right inside and could have been let go at any time.

Penelope was brought out of her thoughts at the sound of Alan speaking rather loudly. The rest of the Tracy family jumped at the voice too. Everyone looked at the middle of the stairs to see the freckled boy slowly bound down them, careful as to not set off any more metaphorical explosions, “Heeeeeeey guys. So, uh, funny story, would you believe me if I said getting into a brawl with an enemy spy was not on my agenda? Like, we were supposed to be in and out in less than an hour, I swear, but--”

His foot barely tapped the ground at the bottom of the stairs when Scott, in a typhoon of brotherly fury and care, was suddenly upon him and picking him up into the biggest, most smothery hug he had gotten in a while. And he had been getting a lot of those lately. Barely being able to breathe, both due to the tightness of the hold and the fact that Scott was subconsciously suffocating him in his shoulder, Alan could only bring his head up, gently set his chin down on said shoulder and wrap his arms around his older brother, “Yeah, okay.”

Penelope continued to watch as Gordon followed suit and proceeded to hug Alan from behind, making Scott move his arms to hold both tinies. Virgil and John sauntered up to the group hug but instead of joining, they simply waited for the storm to calm so they could get their versions in. Virgil even slung an arm around John’s shoulder, which the astronaut surprisingly leaned into.

Huh, maybe tonight went a little off schedule, but maybe it was also for the best.

Casey, who had been watching everything the whole time as well, grabbed her hands around the middle of her back as she tended to do, “Well, as unorthodox as it was, thank you for your help tonight. After The Hood’s big scheme came to fruition, our little spy went under the radar. After The Hood was taken in, he dug himself even further. We were worried we were going to have to shut down operations in that sector for a little bit to catch him.”

Penelope relaxed at the small conversation. Tonight seemed to take a little bit more out of her than she realized, “Glad to be of service. Just count this as another thing checked off on our long-ass checklists.”

Casey chuckled, “It is indeed. Now then,” Casey suddenly looked up, and before Penelope could follow her line of sight, “Jeff Tracy, you have just as much right to be in that hug as the rest of your sons.”

Oh. Finally looking up herself, Penelope was met with the sight of the ex-astronaut coming up the stairs to the two ladies to join their conversation. His hands were in his pockets, and while his eyes looked tired, his smile said he was quite at ease, “Cool your jets, Colonel. I’ll get my due when there aren’t 50 of your men and women watching my every move. Besides, I need to speak with my old friend for a moment. My other one, obviously.”

Casey scoffed and threw her hands into the air, though Penelope could tell it came from a place of fondness. From years of working together that couldn’t be taken away no matter the circumstances, “You always say that, but you still owe me that 50 bucks from 25 years ago.”

Jeff waved her off, “Please, can you even remember what it was over?”

“Maybe I won’t, but that Singing Tiger Ale House sure will,” she stated with a grin. Penelope had to giggle at the way Jeff started meekly blushing, “Speaking of getting things done in a timely manner, unlike certain oafs I know, I suddenly have some new reports I need to file tonight,” even though that statement had the potential for it, there was no malice laced in it whatsoever, “I bid you goodnight, friends, you’ve earned it.”

As the Colonel walked away, Penelope gave a small wave as Jeff made a small salute with two of his fingers. Then, the two adults were alone in comfortable silence. Now, Penelope was never a patient person, “You said you wished to speak to me?”

Jeff blinked before registering her words, “Ah, yes, I did. I was just wondering what inclined you to kidnap my son and take him for a joy ride. Did he bribe you with something? I have to know, I’ve never figured out what I could get you to maybe make you more malleable to certain decisions, and I’ve had a near-decade to ruminate over it.”

Penelope rolled her eyes, “First of all, never in a million years would I tell you what you can get under my skin with, you would have to physically interrogate me for such valuable secrets, and second of all, Alan came to me with an offer I had no argument against. I had to concede and help him out.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow, “Do you mind explaining that a little more or?...”

Penelope sighed, “He wanted to talk to The Hood in captivity. For closure.”

Jeff flinched, “Jesus, Penny, that’s-”

The London Agent in question wagged her finger in his direction, “Ah ah ah, Mr. Tracy, do not finish that sentence. You are not a bad person, nor is your family a bad family for not wanting Alan near that man. It was the logical feeling you should feel after everything. However, Alan’s needs are similar yet different, which he knew, which is why he came to me for this. He was ready for something you weren’t, nor were your sons, and he wanted to respect that. I was worried if I told him no he would never get the courage to ask again.”

As Jeff listened to Penny’s semi-tirade, he continued to watch his sons mindlessly chatter with one another. Penelope’s words washed over him like a cool shower, relaxing his mind and his body. He was suddenly aware that Alan’s face was even more relaxed than before, his smile more natural. Whatever happened between him and The Hood during that awful month of hell would be a dark spot on the rest of their family for years to come, but every day it grew smaller and smaller.

Jeff really was becoming a sentimental old fart, “He’s grown up to be a fine young man, hasn’t he.”

Penelope heard Jeff phrase that as a matter of fact, and she was glad he did. He was right, “He sure has.” And it’s thanks to you. You were always there in spirit for those boys, and they relished every minute of it.

Jeff rolled his shoulders and started stepping down the steps to go see his family. Right before Penny could walk away, Jeff stopped about three steps down, brought one of his hands out of his pockets, and pointed to the sky in that familiar way that said, wait, I forgot this one thing, “Parker called me right before the GDF hit Scott up. I’m just warning you ahead of time. He seemed pretty worried he was suddenly out of a job, or that he was somehow the only person left on the planet Earth. Maybe you should address those fears of his?”

Penelope grimaced, “Thank you for the warning, Jeff.” That was going to be a fun conversation. Even so, she knew it was technically her fault. There was a note she forgot to write and leave for him in there somewhere.

Giving her a thumbs up with the same hand he made the previous movement with, he continued to not look at her as he put the hand back in his pocket and started walking towards his family once more. Penelope waited only for a moment, wanting to make sure Jeff didn’t evaporate the moment he got near his family. As she watched him wrap Alan in yet another hug, she finally let go and figured everything was going to be alright.

An hour or so later, FAB 1 was pulled into her garage and she was drinking tea alongside Parker in her living room. After explaining what went down and why she went alone, Parker simply grumbled, “First that family warps your romantic standards, and now they’re h-affecting your common sense! Next, they’ll make you think you’re H-Australian or something! What h-am I supposed to do then, m’lady?”

Grinning with the teacup still touching her lips, she brought it down, set it on the tiny plate in her lap, and relished in her long time friend’s antics, “Well, we’ll learn to adapt just like we always have, Parker. Just like we always have.”

Her world has been upside down since day one.

But maybe those crazy boys and their endless love are the things she needs to keep it right side up.

[pluviophile-bookworm]

AWAE 1x7 rewatch: thoughts and reactions

The time has come at last to rewatch the season 1 finale of Anne with an E. This one, as far as I can remember, was extraordinarily eventful, so we’re in for a long, bumpy ride. Let’s take off with no further rambling. 

I like the parallel between the two simultaneous conversations in the cold open - the girls on one side, and Anne and... Moody of all people on the other. Funnily enough, both conversations are about Anne, and yet they’re so substantially different. Anne tells Moody about Christmas (or the lack thereof, to be painfully precise) at the orphanage, and at the other table Josie is gossiping about the Cuthberts being poor now. Of course, Anne is not deaf, and is certainly not immune to hearing nasty things about her family, so she calls Josie out on it. 

“It’s only true, you’re poor.” Well, yes, but it’s not nice to state the truth in such a rude way. Josie is just being nasty. I know she gets at least a bit better at the very end of season 3, but this doesn’t excuse her behaviour right here and now. And fuelling Anne’s insecurity about whether the Cuthberts will keep her or not is just the cherry on top of her nasty sundae of gossiping and taunting. 

Being a choir kid myself, I really enjoy the beginning of this performance of Angels We Have Heard On High, and I chuckle to myself at the funny reality of Moody being the token boy in the choir of girls. This is more common than one might imagine.

The beautiful song can’t be enjoyed for too long, though, as Anne almost has a panic attack and runs off in the middle of the chorus, and Diana, good friend that she is, follows her out. 

I’m missing something here. What exactly happened to make the Cuthberts need a bank loan all of a sudden? I mean, the bank did show up at the end of last episode, but... what am I missing?

It’s heartwarming how Marilla is now more concerned about Anne’s future than anyone else’s. She’s a mother already. This is beautiful, even though it comes up amid a bad situation.

It is a rare occurrence that Matthew should raise his voice, and that makes it all the more effective at attracting the attention and making himself heard. But it’s kind of scary, too - you know, when the quiet person raises his voice, you know things are getting serious.

That was some ending to the cold open - believe me, with how bad the current reality is, I do not need Matthew collapsing to the ground. I mean, I know full well he will be fine, but it still makes my heart skip a couple beats.

There, Anne has raised the sensitive subject - and Marilla reassures her, just as Diana did earlier, that she’s a Cuthbert for life now. For richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health... ok, I’m turning into Anne here. This is not a marriage. But it’s a family, and they are going to get through this together.

This is one thing I like about Rachel Lynde - she can be a bit rude and insensitive at times, but she knows when it’s time to stop - for the most part, of course. But leave it to Marilla to let her pride turn away any offers of help, lest it should be perceived as charity. It’s ok to accept help, you know. 

“We can’t keep Jerry on”. See, this is the difference between Anne and Jerry, at the moment at least. She is a part of the family, someone to be provided for and looked after; he is still not. As much as I hate saying it, he is a farmhand who gets paid to do a certain job and when they can no longer pay him, they need to lay him off. But that will change, of course, I know it well. And soon enough.

Anne’s willingness to give her beautiful puff-sleeved dress says quite a lot considering how long she had dreamed of such a dress and the fact that it is the only valuable object she possesses. It almost just breaks my heart to see her and Marilla let go of so much. But that’s just me, I get attached to objects easily and it hurts me to see even people in fiction give away or break or lose their possessions in any way. That’s an issue for me to resolve, not to discuss here. 

Even though I know Marilla said they were going to lay Jerry off, the fact that he’s accompanying Anne to Charlottetown makes me think of something - this trip is exactly when their sibling-like bond was formed, and it’s extra special just for that reason. I have, of course, forgotten some (read: most) details, so it might be misinformed of me to assume, but I think after this journey Jerry would stay with the Cuthberts even if they can’t pay him anymore. 

When Jerry tells Anne that it’s ok to ask for help sometimes - just what I said about Marilla’s pride earlier - it dawns on me how similar Anne and Marilla actually are, even if it isn’t shown very explicitly. They both refuse to admit they need help, and in fact stubbornly refuse it. Like mother, like daughter, even though they’ve been a family only for a short time. 

If someone looked at Anne and Jerry right now, it wouldn’t be too far off to assume they are siblings - bickering, annoying each other partly-on-purpose... If anyone ever asks me to prove Jerry and Anne are honorary siblings, this trip to Charlottetown will be my supporting argument. This and the moment in season 3 where Jerry tells Anne about Diana.  

Jerry singing cheerfully while Anne is all like “This is an Important Journey™” makes me think this boy will teach Anne not to take herself so seriously all the time. Considering their relationship in later seasons, I can say that, at least the way I see it, he actually did teach her that by showing her an almost parallel- universe perspective of what her life could have been like. I mean, they’re perfect foils, those two - both kids with difficult childhoods who have had to grow up too fast and work from a young age, but so different in every other aspect: Anne is an only child and an orphan, Jerry comes from a large family that is still united and happy despite their poverty; Anne gets to receive an education and strive towards larger goals, Jerry is denied this opportunity because he needs to help support his family; Anne ends up with the Cuthberts by mistake, a girl instead of the boy they wanted, but gets to stay and be raised as the daughter they could never have had; Jerry could have easily been the boy the Cuthberts originally asked for (and judging by Matthew’s comments in the last episode of season 3, he goes on to become exactly that), hired to help with their farm work. I could go on and on, but this is not what we’re here for. Either way, I just wanted to say how very glad I am that Moira took this one-mention character from the book and made him into his own character, a foil for Anne and an important agent in the story. Anyone who has been following me for a while will know how important Jerry is for me - and I didn’t even remember his book counterpart existed at all. But now, let’s get on with the episode.

Anne selling her “if-these-were-ordinary” items is sure to be interesting... I remember it being so, but not the particulars, It’s been a while. Let’s hear.

Ah, sure, Anne uses her talent for storytelling to sell every single thing so well. She could be an excellent saleswoman. Also, is this the brooch that got Anne chased out of Green Gables on her first day? That’s an important one. 

I have to say all Cuthberts are lucky that Anne went on this trip alone with Jerry. Had Marilla been there, Anne would never have managed to pull all of this off.

“Everyone will be moved to generosity”, alright, but do you, Rachel, think Marilla will accept it? Charity, I mean. I don’t really think so.

What are these scoundrels doing to my precious Jerry? They almost just killed him for so little as they were able to take from him. Jerks. 

Ah, and who should appear out of nowhere but Gilbert Blythe... I remember this next part being interesting. 

I see Anne has realised she was insensitive about Gilbert’s father, and I see Gilbert is preparing to travel, just as his father wanted him to. This is nice. Meaningful. A more mature conversation than these two usually have. 

Wait, are those two... the same odious creatures who beat up my poor Jerry... they’re... Nate and- Dunlop, was it? Those two who live at Green Gables in season 2, with the gold rush and all that. I remember now. It had escaped me when I was watching season 2 for the first time that their debut was actually here, in the season 1 finale. See, this is what rewatches are for. Also, those two are dirty miscreants and I hate them. Just wanted to get that one out of my system.

T-R-U-C-E - an important word for Shirbert at this stage. But what is with the sudden mention of Moody out of nowhere? This is almost like that time in the third season when they were discussing the Take Notice board and Anne was like “Ruby...”, and I was like *facepalm*. Hey, Moody and Ruby... I see now. Or is there anything to see here?

Maybe I’m overthinking it. Let’s move on now.

You know, I’ve always wondered why exactly Jerry reacted the way he did here... but now, thinking it over once again, I know why - he has just been beaten up and robbed in a ditch, how do you reckon he’s going to react when he sees Anne, whom he was specifically sent here to accompany and take care of (not that she needs to be taken care of, but she sure could use some help sometimes), talking to a guy he doesn’t know? For all he knew, something terrible might have been about to happen to her. I’m just impressed he was ready to throw down after what those... ugh, my vocabulary is failing me - did to him just minutes ago.

Poor thing, he won’t stop apologising even though he’s badly hurt. And of course he wouldn’t like the city after what happened to him. Who would.

I usually do not condone moment-wreckers, but this here was an awkward silence at best, and all Jerry did was break it - and make me smile in the process. And that makes up for everything.

Ruffians - that’s a good word, pretty much the one I was looking for a minute ago, thanks, Miss Josephine. That’s what they are, the wretched rogues... hey, my vocabulary of elegant insults is back. I hope I won’t need it much, though.

No, Matthew, I won’t have you talking like that either. What would some money be to Anne and Marilla if you are gone? No consolation, that’s for sure. See, this is one of very few reasons I’ve kind of made my peace with the show’s cancellation - that Matthew survived the whole show’s run safe and sound. And Ruby as well. But still, #renewannewithane

Yes, very well said, thank you, Marilla. Anne would never chose something material over Matthew.

Oh, this one - another moment of Anne and Jerry looking positively like siblings. And it’s golden, too. Poor dear Jerry can’t sleep in a bed of his own because, well, he’s never had one, so he crawls into Anne’s. My own little brother has only ever done something of the kind once and I will never forget that night. It was uncomfortable at first, since we, unlike Jerry, aren’t used to sharing a bed, but it was definitely lovely overall. This is beautiful.

Ah, of course, I’d forgotten this one - of course Aunt Jo fixes everything and will not take no for an answer. She pays for Jerry to keep on working at Green Gables - even though, remembering what those two... uh, hoodlums are going to keep doing to him in season 2, I might have preferred that he be away from there for a while. But then, you know, Anne couldn’t have taught him to read, and that’s important - both for him as a person and for the plot of season 3. 

No, Matthew, what do you think you are doing? It was a bad idea - for my own sake - to watch this at night. As someone who has had suicidal thoughts for my own reasons, I know how Matthew feels, and I want him to stop feeling that way. But of course, I know things will work out. Eventually.

I see Anne has learnt a lesson about accepting help, accepting love. And she talks Marilla into it. This is good. 

Of course, once again Anne’s rough childhood has given her a means to dealing with a situation. She’s selling her services now. And she’s happy to do it. And she’s realised that although they’re poor in money right now, they’re rich in something much more valuable now. 

I’m not going to lie, Angels We Have Heard On High brought a tear or two to my eyes. Things are looking up.

Although, if they knew who the boarders really are, they wouldn’t have been so happy. Not at all. But that’s another story for another time.

Oh, they’re there already... things are about to... get interesting, to say the least. I can’t wait to get into season 2 soon.

To sum up this last episode of season 1: the Cuthberts are poor; Matthew is ill; Green Gables is at stake; Anne and Jerry take off for Charlottetown to do their part in trying to save it; the Cuthberts do not accept charity; valuable lessons about accepting help and love; Jerry takes a hit from two... boarders at Green Gables, is that what we call them now?; Anne and Gilbert spell T-R-U-C-E; Anne and Jerry become siblings; Aunt Jo saves the day; Matthew thinks about taking his own life, gets over it just in time; the Cuthberts are rich, though not in money; things are looking up, but thugs are in the house.